Saturday, July 29, 2006

Beating The Odds

Something for you to consider:

I took a stats course in graduate school that was taught by the manager of General Motors' seat belt division in Detroit (you're asking - a statistician was in charge of seat belt design and manufacture? Yes. He was there to calculate failure rates, which there always will be, no matter how safe they become. Six sigma and all that.).

Anyway, I remember him asking the following question of his students one day:

If you were to take all the different kinds of gaming in Las Vegas - roulette, slots, craps, blackjack, etc. - rolled them together and calculated the odds of a person winning, what percentage of the time would a person beat the house and come away a winner?

Answers ranged from 1% to 10%.

In fact, your chances of winning are 49.5%. Nearly every other time you sit down to gamble, odds are you're going to come away with some extra cash. Nearly being the key word. It is that 0.5% that makes Las Vegas rich. If you think about it, if the odds were remote, you'd never come back for more. It only makes sense.

That being the case, I'm here to tell you I beat the odds this week in my four fun-filled days in Atlantic City. I broke even. I didn't bet a dime.

So I came out 0.5% ahead of the casinos. And spent the money on beer. I was a winner all the way around.

My Kinda Hotel

I rolled into Richmond yesterday morning at 2:00 am, was checked in by 2:05, and was in bed at 2:09.

Holiday Inn Express indeed.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Atlantic City

Well, I've been in Atlantic City for the last several days and I must tell you it's not my kind of vacation spot. Besides the fact that I seem to have found myself here at a point in time when dead mussels litter the beach - and stink up the boardwalk and surrounding countryside in front of the Hilton - there is also a certain other-worldliness to this town.

Buses roll in throughout the day, many of them originating in New York City, and they disgorge their passengers - the preponderance of which are very old; some even feeble - at the casinos. Thousands of elderly people can be found sitting in front of the slot machines at the various facilities around town with a surreal indifference in their expressions. They play. They lose. They go home. Hard to tell if they're actually enjoying it.

But they show up each day by the nursery home-load. So they must find some kind of pitiful satisfaction in their experiences.

Then I could mention the adventure it is to head out of the downtown area to find a nice restaurant at night, one in a location where you won't get your head handed to you.

But I'll not go there ...

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

It Don't Get Better Than This

I'm in a room on the 10th floor of the Hilton overlooking the (dark) Atlantic this morning. I had the opportunity yesterday to meet up with a business associate in Virginia Beach and we drove from there across the Chesapeake Bay (no we didn't have a Cuban floating car; we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel) to Lewes, Delaware, where we caught the car ferry and crossed the Delaware Bay to Cape May, New Jersey.

Great day. Calm seas. Lots of jelly fish ...

And to think - I get paid for this.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Three Red Marbles

A story:

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed, as I waited, a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. Sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley. but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man.

A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one.

Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts, all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ." With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Author unknown