Plagued by anxiety, Jerry Deleski finally surfaces

Stan: I may be tardy, but I am not delinquent.
I've been tardy because I've had an anxiety problem relating to Andy Warhol and the 15-minutes of fame thing.
Almost two years ago, I was at my brother-in-law Jim's house on the day he caddied for Tiger Woods prior to Tiger's appearance in the PGA tournament at Hazeltine. One would have guessed that Jim had just been elected to a very high office in government or something. There was media all over the place and the phone was ringing off the hook. Calls came from Canada, Australia, and South America.
I made a wish at that point. If my 15 minutes ever showed up, I would hope that it would be a bit more subdued.
Then I was reminded that I may have already attained Warhol status: A client of mine convinced me to audition for a position in an event that an unnamed major corporation was putting together.
Jerry Doughboy?
So I showed up in the warehouse district of Minneapolis and walked into a very large, open room full of cubicles and photographic equipment. With no explanation of who was involved, I submitted to an afternoon of photo-taking at a pay rate that made me feel like I was doing something illegal.
As it turned out, I was called to return for another day of the same. This time when I walked into the room, it was totally different. Everywhere you looked were corporate logos that said Pillsbury on them. There were cooks and ovens everywhere and food being prepared everywhere. It seemed like a large, yummy, cooking convention.
I, along with one half of the other guys, was given a crisp white shirt with french cuffs and large blue Pillsbury cufflinks and a blue tie, also with their logo on it. The rest of the guys were given short-sleeved shirts of various varieties.
We were told to mingle and shake hands with everyone and act like we were at a convention. All the time there were photographers taking photos. So I did.
Several weeks later, I was contacted and told that my photo, of all taken, had been selected and scheduled to run in all major magazines at Thanksgiving time. Good Housekeeping, Better Homes and Gardens, Redbook, Family Circle, Ladies Home Journal, etc. Thus my Warhol moment.
There was a problem, however. The full page ad featured two hands taking up about half of the space in the middle of the photo and all of the Pillsbury products in the background. No faces were shown.
One of the guys had a short-sleeved shirt on and a forearm and knuckles like a blacksmith. The other hand had a long sleeved shirt with the Pillsbury cufflinks. If one was to guess this guys occupation you'd most likely guess, white collered, wimpy office boy. That would be me.
The ad said something about Pillsbury bringing together two ends of America for the good of all Americans.
Now if no one in America, not even your mother, recognizes you, does this qualify as a Warhol moment? Thus my anxiety.
Blog to the rescue
Then along comes VanAmber and the '65 reunion blog. My phone is ringing and my email is jumping . People both from the Class of '65 and others are reconnecting. My anxiety is lifted. Who needs Tiger Woods? I've got Jim VanAmber.
I have since exchanged correspondance with VanAmber and it was great to reconnect. I've only had regular contact with three former classmates: Chris Mc Cabe, Jim Clifford and Mike Geiser. So the blog has been a good place for me to do some catching up.
I saw the item Byron Peterson provided. In July of 1969, around the time of Apollo One moon mission, I was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri. I had been married less than a year and hadn't seen my wife in months. It was hot. I was living on the upper floor of an un-air conditioned army barracks. Sleeping on a cot that had no mattress. (The prisoners in the stockade we were assigned to guard had rioted and set off the automatic sprinklers and soaked their mattresses. According to the Geneva convention prisoners must be provided with mattresses. So guess whose they got?) I was miserable. It was one of the lowest periods of my life and it didn't appear there was an end in sight.
I had earned a 24-hour pass, but I declined. I wasn't in the mood to tag along with my single buddies and witness the fury they were about to unleash on the townfolk on the other side of the gates.
So I decided to stay back and catch up on my mail. Thought I'd send out a bunch of don't worry I'm ok letters. Letters that would say: time's flying, food's good, people are nice, I'm ok.
So Saturday morning I'm all set up with paper and envelopes. Suddenly, someone yells from down below that I've got a visitor. I walk down and Byron Peterson is standing there. Turns out that he heard I was at the fort and he tracked me down. He said, "We're going golfing, pass or no pass." So Byron takes me for a day of golfing and then back to his off base housing and reintroduces me to a couple of things I didn't know existed anymore: A cold beer and a grilled hamburger.
Byron brought me back to the base--after hours, out of uniform and without a gate pass. Then exhibiting the skills of the mouthpiece he would later become-- he talked his way past the MP's and got me back to my barracks.
I don't know what Byron's choice of beverage is these days, but whatever he's sippin' on at the reunion, I'LL BE PAYING FOR IT.
My wife, Linda (Lundberg class of 66), and I own a cabin on Lake Latoka in Alex, so we are there frequently in the summer.
Shooting the minnow
I know where the Corral is too. Last summer my younger brother Zeke stopped by the cabin on a Friday night. He wanted me to accompany him to the corral to witness a promotion they were having. I returned to the cabin later that evening wearing a bright flourescent green T shirt. The writing across the front of the shirt in large black letters said---I SHOT THE MINNOW---THE CORRAL--NELSON, MN.
Linda asked if I got two T shirts and I explained that I didn't buy the shirt, I earned it. Then I explained how and she was no longer interested in wearing one. If you're not familier with the promotion, I can tell you that a live crappie minnow usually stops wiggling by the time it reaches the bottom of your stomach.
After all of this, I forgot all you wanted was a brief bio: I own an Insurance agency in Roseville. Linda is retired from the Wayzata school district after 17 years as a para-professional. She volunteers two days per week in a second grade classroom and enjoys it immensely. Our son, Brian, is an insurance agent and works with his Dad. Daughter Jodi will graduate from the University of Miami in about three weeks and will be married this summer.
So big things to lookforward to this summer: a graduation, a wedding, a 40th class reunion, a fishing trip with Chris Mc Cabe, and a hunting trip with Jim Clifford.
I'm forwarding a check to Karen.
Thanks Stan, for assembling and managing the blog. It's been fun and interesting.
One question though: How come whenever I'm reading something on the blog I get the feeling you're standing behind me looking over my shoulder with a grin on your face?
Take care, see you in August.
Jerry Deleski