Steve Fernlund and The Long Way Home

As I sit here to write this column, I am fully aware that I place myself squarely on Trump’s list of enemies within, and I am unreservedly accepting of that fact. Not only am I a dabbling journalist, which he hates, but I wouldn’t support the man if he were running for dog catcher. It's disheartening to think that some people I know, people I respect, who are decent, and some who I love, are voting for a self-promoting huckster who, after serving a full four-year term as President, refused to leave office with the decency and respect that office deserves. Over those four years, after promising to fix all the ills of America, he failed to resolve any, and we, the people, made our rejection of him clear. It's baffling that some still cling to the lie that the 2020 election was stolen. How can they reconcile this with the fact that a Democratic cabal, supposedly efficient enough to rig the presidential election, couldn't manage to secure a majority in the House and Senate? It&

As an aged capitalist and proud entrepreneur, I like to follow stories about people who run small businesses and those who try to make business ownership a little bit easier.  I recently stumbled on an article on StartupNation, a multimedia company offering “in-the-trenches, how-to content authored by subject matter experts, thought leaders, and business professionals.” Titled “Solve the Real Problem…Not The Symptom,” it caught my eye because that statement is the essence of organizational leadership. Much of the energy within organizations, by which I mean the time and talents of people trying to fulfill a mission, is wasted on dealing with symptoms, not real problems. One example is how we pay for and manage healthcare delivery. Back in the day, when I sported cufflinks and braces (the 80s), my partners and I thought providing health insurance for our people, including ourselves, was a responsibility. We started off paying monthly premiums for employees and their families. Coverage i

It's funny how our sense of smell evokes powerful and nostalgic memories. The scent of a particular cologne or the aroma of a familiar dish can instantly transport us back to a specific time and place. When our son warms up his RAM before going to work in the morning, a whiff of its diesel exhaust takes me back to my teen years when I began working for a trucking company in Roseville.  My first duty every morning was to complete a trailer inventory. As a dozen or more trucks idled in the yard, the sweet rumble of well-tuned engines and the smell of diesel exhaust wafted over me as I strode along the fence, from trailer to trailer, making sure the ones that were supposed to be empty were actually empty.  As a naive suburban youth wandering the ground zero of my freight career, I was fond of the smell of diesel and wondered as I moved from trailer to trailer where all this equipment was going that day. Half a century later, I’ve done and seen almost everything in the trucking busines

This past weekend, I had an experience that gives new meaning to the title of this column, The Long Way Home.  It all started Thursday evening while I was at the Firehall table for our board meeting. I started feeling a bit unwell, and my hands and body started shaking uncontrollably. I made a hurried exit, and after 15 minutes, the symptoms passed. I didn’t spend time worrying. There were dogs to walk and a bed to get to. Friday started as a typical day for an unemployed old man. Toast and coffee at breakfast and a writing project all morning. By lunchtime, I didn’t feel hungry, but I felt okay. Then, at the bewitching hour of 2 p.m. I started with the shake/shiver again and severe shortness of breath. I felt like I was losing it, and anxiety took over. The Bohunk convinced me to go to the ER at North Shore Health (NSH). I finally agreed but told her she should drive—no way I could keep the car in a straight line the way my hands were twitching.  In case I suddenly got well during the