DeWese--What Motivates This Heavy Hitter?
September 1999
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A few issues back, I wrote a column about how I'm golf impaired. It's actually worse than that. I'm golf challenged. In fact, I don't play the game, period. I do garden and, because I'm out in the sun, people think I have a golfer's tan.
I'm 57, I have a tan and I'm an investment banker to the printing industry. Add all that up and folks think I must golf.
Printers golf. Investment bankers golf. Tan, 57-year-old guys golf. So, it must follow that Harris DeWese plays golf. If you passed Philosophy 101 (Logic) back in college, you would know that rationale as an "argumentum ad hominem," or a fallacious argument.
When my contemporaries and clients talk about their handicaps, I listen graciously and contemplate my day lilies.
My day lilies, by the way, aren't doing very well. It's August and, here on the East Coast, we're in the middle of the Great Drought of 1999. Some meteorologists are saying this is the worst drought of the century. The drought is so bad that state governments have imposed garden and lawn watering restrictions. The Water Police can come around and catch people watering and impose big fines. In Maryland, I'm told, if the Water Police catch you wet-handed, you can pay a $1,000 fine and land in the pokey for six months.
My lawn and gardens are surviving OK because I faithfully watered and fed the plants prior to the restrictions. Now I'm permitted to water with a handheld hose between the hours of 5 p.m. and 8 a.m., so—when I'm not traveling to some far-off printing company—I'm in the yard at midnight watering.
All this talk of golf and the drought got me to thinking about a printing salesman friend of mine. I can't divulge his identity, so I'll just call him Fred.
Fred sells about $5.5 million annually for a 40˝ sheetfed company. Fred is a heavy hitter. I know salespeople who are content to sell $5.5 million. I know owners who are happy to have one salesperson who sells half of Fred's production.
Fred Can't Play Golf
I don't play golf. Fred can't play golf. Fred is physically disabled. He has a specially equipped car and uses a walker to get around. Fred slings a sample bag over his shoulder because he needs both hands on the walker.
I'm 57, I have a tan and I'm an investment banker to the printing industry. Add all that up and folks think I must golf.
Printers golf. Investment bankers golf. Tan, 57-year-old guys golf. So, it must follow that Harris DeWese plays golf. If you passed Philosophy 101 (Logic) back in college, you would know that rationale as an "argumentum ad hominem," or a fallacious argument.
When my contemporaries and clients talk about their handicaps, I listen graciously and contemplate my day lilies.
My day lilies, by the way, aren't doing very well. It's August and, here on the East Coast, we're in the middle of the Great Drought of 1999. Some meteorologists are saying this is the worst drought of the century. The drought is so bad that state governments have imposed garden and lawn watering restrictions. The Water Police can come around and catch people watering and impose big fines. In Maryland, I'm told, if the Water Police catch you wet-handed, you can pay a $1,000 fine and land in the pokey for six months.
My lawn and gardens are surviving OK because I faithfully watered and fed the plants prior to the restrictions. Now I'm permitted to water with a handheld hose between the hours of 5 p.m. and 8 a.m., so—when I'm not traveling to some far-off printing company—I'm in the yard at midnight watering.
All this talk of golf and the drought got me to thinking about a printing salesman friend of mine. I can't divulge his identity, so I'll just call him Fred.
Fred sells about $5.5 million annually for a 40˝ sheetfed company. Fred is a heavy hitter. I know salespeople who are content to sell $5.5 million. I know owners who are happy to have one salesperson who sells half of Fred's production.
Fred Can't Play Golf
I don't play golf. Fred can't play golf. Fred is physically disabled. He has a specially equipped car and uses a walker to get around. Fred slings a sample bag over his shoulder because he needs both hands on the walker.
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