The Last Christmas Letter

By Keith C. Snyder

This book started out to be just a culmination of the original 30 Christmas Letters and the stories surrounding them, but in the end turned into much more encompassing story of our family and unfortunately my somewhat questionable life decisions and ongoing issues. Nothing to worry about here, as I am and always have been a law abiding, people loving, hardworking, person, but sometimes my way of doing things has left many wondering just what the heck I was thinking. As for the book, I think it is something that you will enjoy reading, as it probably more attune to your own life's stories than you'll probably want to admit.

(Even when I die my picture will be somewhere in the back pages but with my luck it will probably be the one taken that night at the Lewiston Boy's Club and the headline won't be "Loving Father and Husband Passes", It will read, "Keith Embarrasses Mother"

So, the next day I show up to grade school with one front tooth missing and my wrist all taped up and the teacher probably wondering what kind of torture I was being put through. But in actuality, she probably had taught all three of my older brothers and just figured I was just learning to be one of them. You just gotta love my family!

Another thing I have learned is that Sharon and I don't shop the same. I shop like this. Look, like, buy, use! Sharon shops like this. Look... look... like....look... look....look.... like... look... like... look... look... look... really like... buy................... return!

Well, I finally went home and the first night back Sharon fell off her crutches, dislocated one finger and broke another. (Boy you'd think that with those crutches she'd been able to hop right over that deer lying on the floor.) ((Maybe there is something to "me making things worse".))

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638442080

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The Last Christmas Letter

Keith C. Snyder

ISBN 978-1-63844-207-3 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88616-458-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63844-208-0 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Keith C. Snyder

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

About the Author

Dedication

I have dedicated this book to my wonderful wife, friend, and the love of my life, Sharon. She has not only helped make what our life is but also what it has turned out to be, and hopefully made me a much better person. (At least I think so.)

Please note! You will find these little parentheses ( ) and comments throughout this book as my way of trying to explain something or just point out my point of view on something being discussed. (And although they will probably interrupt your train of thought sometimes—like now—please don't get bored by them as without them, this book would probably be a lot longer and then you would learn what being really bored actually means. Please keep reading. It gets better. At least I hope so.)

Anyway, Sharon has always been my Rock. Sometimes as my rock of Gibraltar support and sometimes as the thrower of the rock support when I don't listen. She not only has stayed strong through all the years of moving and different jobs but made sure the Christmas letters were better and that I didn't insult anyone. (Okay, at this, she may have missed a few.) But once you see how many times I changed jobs, moved to new locations, and in the end, I was gone way too much for work, she stuck it out. She was also the Rock for our growing children and still is today. Yes, I was there too but not the way she was, and fortunately for children, men seldom are. (Oh, we're really nice guys but we're not mothers.) ((Although I have been called a mother now and then but not in terms like this!)) Nothing replaces a good mother. Sharon just always made things better. For the kids, for the home, for me, for everything. I think she sees that as her job and she still is doing that. She made our lives livable, when things were good and when more importantly when things were bad. She never once complained, when maybe my job wasn't that great and money was tight, or when we had moved to a new place and had few friends to lean on, or even through other issues you will learn about later, which would have probably really strained the capabilities of most people, not once did she ever say, Why can't things be better. She never ever said, Why don't you quit and get a better job? or Why can't you make more money like other people? She just made do with what we had and what came along, good or bad. She just did whatever it took to help make things better. She worked to help us out financially, took care of the children (which is a job in itself), took care of the home (which anyone who knows her will tell you she is a perfectionist when it comes to almost everything, except probably when choosing a mate), and always had time for just her and me. For this, I can never thank her enough. She is and will always be the Love of My Life and, most importantly, my best friend. Thank you, Sharon Ann Snyder, for being who you are!

The Last Christmas Letter. (Or as the kids would say, Oh God, He's Written Another One.)

The start of all this begins in a time I call BC. (Relax, this is not about Religion, even though you and I might certainly need it.)

Chapter 1

Merry Christmas 1989

Surprise, surprise, you're finally getting the Christmas letter that I told Sharon I would be able to do if she let me buy a computer! Of course, that was two years ago, and I have told her they are very hard to learn, and I think she agreed with me because she said she was sure one of us had a learning disability. (I didn't know that could happen to a computer?)

Sharon is still making people Open Wide and the rest of the time she spends trying to outsmart the slugs and our 6-month-old black Lab, Maggie, whose is determined we shouldn't have any plants. Unfortunately, Sharon has a lot of time to devote to the little slime balls, as I have been spending a lot of time on the road. (Although this may have to stop as the neighbors are getting tired of driving around me.) Actually, I have been working away from home a lot, along with going to school, as the company is preparing me to become a Field Service Supervisor within the next year.

Nicole is in her senior year, yeah. (She goes to school half a day and skips the rest.) Actually, she works for a florist in Silverdale and really seems to enjoy it. Her Volkswagen seems to get a real kick out of frustrating her as every time she (actually me) fixes one thing, it finds something else to drop on the ground or fail. I must admit this has helped our relationship, as I have never felt so needed. You know, Dad can you fix this, or Dad can you come and get me, or Dad the car needs this done to it. We have all had one of those cars and as long as she keeps hers I'll be needed and I kind of like that. If the car will cooperate, she is going to try and save enough to go to Germany this spring. I would like to think that this is some kind of cultural learning experience, but it probably has more to do with a dud named Oliver, who is attending college over there.

Keith Daniel is recuperating from his accident and seems to be doing just fine. He is still involved with Bat Waves manufacturing and marketing Alpine Surfwear. He seems to be very excited about their progress. In any case if you would like to plan your vacations, Keith will be spending a lot of time Steelhead fishing from now until April so the freeways should be pretty safe until then. Of course those of you wanting to go fishing on your vacation are on your own.

Trevor and Jackie have given us a beautiful grandson, Keaton Jonathan Daniel Snyder, and we couldn't be prouder. I have nicknamed him Radar for he is always scanning the horizon for anything that moves. Trevor is still attending Olympic College and plans to transfer to the University of Washington next year. Jackie is plenty busy with Radar and trying to pry Trevor away from his books for a moment of attention.

We are all adapting well to the Seattle area, although my webs still itch a lot. This is a great place with lots to see and do and we hope that if you are in the area you will feel free to stop and see us!

Love to all.

Keith, Sharon, Nicole, Keith, Trevor, Jackie, and Keaton

And there you have it, the first Christmas letter and since it is really annoying to get a Christmas letter from folks you hardly even know (although they think you really want to know this dribble) I will tell you more about our little family as this goes along.

Since this is basically about the family, I guess it's only fair to at least let you know who they are. At least as best as I know them. (But then again, who really knows their children?)

Children

Keith, our firstborn, loves to hunt and fish, and these hobbies have dominated his life. If he wasn't fishing for fun, he was working on a fishing boat somewhere, whether guiding in Idaho or way up north in the Bering Sea, and now works for a painting company refinishing your household woodwork projects. He's had two wives, a girlfriend here and there; is a father to his son Thain; and is still single. He works for a painting company running the inside shop where they paint all the new boards like siding and trim and also refinish all the older wood, like siding, windows, and doors that the customers want to be taken back to their original look or to something new. And of course, he is still fishing?

Trevor, second in line, is married to Jacki, and they have three children. Trevor graduated from WSU with a doctorate in mechanical engineering and is still working on additional studies to further his education. This, twenty some years after he received his PhD. (I don't know if he really needs all this extra studying or is just a slow learner.) Jackie, his spouse, is a great mother and wife. She spent most of her life raising three great kids and now helps manage and buy goods for the home and decor section at an ACE Hardware store to keep herself busy. Both Keaton and Ariel recently graduated from Portland State, with Keaton getting his mechanical engineering degree and ended up working with his dad at Xerox in their printing division which was later purchased by 3D Printing Systems. Keaton is married to Alisha whom he met in college, and they have two children, Anara and Vlad. Ariel, who received a full-ride scholarship, associated with soccer playing skills at Portland State and ended up working for Oregon State University Hospital and is in management training. She is married to Devonte whom she met in college where he was playing football and trying to get his degree as well. Spencer, their third, worked for Dutch Bros Coffee for some time and is now also working for the same hospital as Ariel. Very busy kids and all very smart. More about these kids and their lives later.

Our daughter Nicole has two children from her first marriage named Collin and Macey. Nicole had several jobs in her early years but, in the end, started following in her mom's footsteps and started working as a dental assistant. And then she started additional training that led to her job assisting a maxillofacial surgeon, which she has had for years. Collin worked for Safeway for a while and is now also employed at the same hospital as Ariel, Spencer, and Devonte but spends all his spare time on his computer. Macey, her little girl, is now out of high school, has taken training in dental assisting and also like her mom, is now working for a maxillofacial surgeon. Nicole recently remarried to Steve Wright whom we also really love. This is a second marriage for both. (Apparently also very slow learners.)

Sharon, my lovely wife of more than fifty-seven years. Why she has put up with me for this long is a mystery. (Maybe she is slow learner too.) Well………After, we married, and within eleven months, she was also a mother. (Yes, that was a close one!) As is, she has had a varied work life. (No, Sharon, you can't call our marriage part of your work life.) As she worked in retail, as a school bus driver in Alaska, a tour guide and Russian dancer for the tour company in Alaska, the secretary and business partner in our business venture, dental assistant for several dentist, and ended up the office manager for the last dental office she worked for, and a great mother and wife. And my best friend. (She says it's only because I don't have any other friends.) Anyway, Sharon's role in all this will become clearer later as our lives cross not once but twice before she finally decides I am her soulmate. (I think it's more like cellmate, but as you will learn, I like to embellish things once in a while.)

And Me, the slowest learner of all.

I guess I will add a little history and some real background on me. I was born in Orofino, Idaho, and I was the youngest of four boys with a younger sister. We grew up, for the most part in Lewiston, Idaho, at least I did as my older brothers spent some of their younger years on the farm near Weippe, Idaho. Dad and Mom left Weippe for Lewiston, Idaho, about a year after I was born and so my sister was born in Lewiston. The ranch up by Weippe, that started it all, belonged to my grandfather, and my dad was born and raised there with his siblings. (Since our family is originally from West Virginia, a lineage lesson could get quite complicated.) ((As is, I only remember having one set of grandparents, and my grandmother was my mom's mom and my grandfather was my dad's dad, and they were married to each other.)) (((I did warn you about being from West Virginia.)))

We all had normal childhood lives until I was about thirteen, and then we began to move about every year or two, due to Dad's working for a contractor that built buildings and other things all over the west. As such, I ended up going to four different high schools and could have gone to another, but I ran away. I was told later that nobody who knew us thinks I should have been the one to run away, being the youngest boy, the quietest, nicest, most intelligent, best looking (okay, I am stretching it a little), and least likely to do anything exciting. More about this later.

So the decision to write the first Christmas letter was actually my wife Sharon's idea. We would get these wonderfully written, yearly letters from family, friends, and sometimes people I didn't even know, or at least I didn't remember knowing them. (My memory lapses are something that will get more evident as you read on) ((But in the end, I actually ended up with a good reason for my current memory issues.)) Anyway, I digress. Sharon complained (she likes to call it suggesting) every year about my not writing a Christmas letter so we could tell everyone about our family and all the wonderful things in our life just like all the other people, with too much time on their hands, were doing. I am a talker, not a writer. Just ask anybody that knows me. They will probably tell you I am kind of fun to talk to (actually they do more listening than talking) as I read a lot (Reader's Digest is my bible, and I read every article) so if you bring up the Mesopotamia Wars, I probably know something about it, which can lead to a lot of yawning and downright sleeping. However, if you ask about my writing skills, they will tell you to never write, e-mail, text, or any other form of written verbiage to me as the response will be worse than my talking skills and very lengthy. (To the point of gaging.) Actually, this may be true as this book started out as just another Xmas letter, and as usual, I just got carried away.

1989—Actually this was the first Christmas letter I wrote, but this and those to follow should give you a good idea why I decided to stop writing them. (Actually, I think it was a mutual decision, meaning some of those receiving them had a little to say in the decision to receive them in the first place, but might like to have had something to say about not getting them anymore.) This and others will be included in the exact form as they were sent so you can see my progress from learning how to use a computer to much later finding out it actually had spell and grammar check. (Much, Much, Later and you will also see my lack of progress in things, like not embarrassing people, including my own children, grandchildren, and other assorted family members, especially teenagers.) I will also include my work history as it is somewhat varied and probably why am the way I am. Plus, some of my biggest pet peeves as they come to mind.

But back to the letter. As is, my childhood Christmases are just a blur to me (kind of like yesterday now), but I am very sure they were happy times. However, I don't really remember most of them, but I do remember two that still linger in my mind. (What's left of it.) One was when one of my brothers, who was old enough to be working at the local Albertson, saved up some of his earnings and bought us some big metal Tonka construction toys. Boy that was a real big deal, and we played with them for a very long time, and I wish I still had them today. Not to play with but because they are a part of my childhood and as we get older, we seem to want something from the past. (About the only things I have from my childhood are scars which my brothers handed out like rites of passage.)

A typical rite went something like this. One night, we were all outside wrestling in the yard, and I got my front tooth knocked out. (Those involved were my brothers Larry and Gary and a neighbor named Punky Wilson and of course me. You gotta know that messing with a guy called Punky is probably not going to end well.) Luckily, it was a baby tooth, and Mom just knocked me along the head, told me to stop crying like a baby, and sent me back out to those monsters, that at times I think were trying to kill me. When I went outside, I couldn't find them and started yelling for them. And they answered from the tall grass, down a little hill, in an empty lot next to the house. So down I went into the dark calling their names and trying to find them in the grass. They kept answering, Over here—over here, and I kept going, trying to find them. But what I didn't know is that they had set a trap for me with a rope to trip me as I went by. Well, as usual, I fell for it, literally, but unfortunately, I landed on an old broken mason jar and sliced my wrist open. (If you don't know what a Mason jar is, you might want to stop reading right now, as a lot of this is from the past) ((I mean past past.)) So off I went howling like a banshee (probably not politically correct anymore) and holding my wrist to keep from bleeding to death. As is, one of my brothers caught up with me, not to help but to keep me quiet so Mom wouldn't hear me and they wouldn't get into trouble and told me to be quiet and to stop being a baby. Then he grabbed me by my good left hand, which was acting like a tourniquet and pulled it off my right wrist to prove it wasn't as bad as I was making out. Well, the blood started spurting out like Old Faithful, and he said maybe I should go see Mom. Not that he was going with me. I was on my own for that. Well, Mom smacked me up side the head for the second time that night and again told me to stop crying and quit being a baby. (Just how bad do you have to be hurt to be allowed to cry like a baby? I mean I was probably only seven or eight). Anyway, she bandaged me up and sent me back out to play but made sure I understood I was going to school the next day. So the next day, I show up to grade school with one front tooth missing and my wrist all taped up and the teacher probably wondering what kind of torture I was being put through. But in actuality, she probably had taught all three of my older brothers and figured I was just learning to be one of them. You just gotta love my family!

As is, you didn't argue with my mom as she was a strict disciplinarian and wielded a pretty wicked switch. Why switches were used for most corrective actions (the new PC words for getting your butt wacked) is not known, but probably in the very old days, they of course were very easy to find and lighter than a two by four, which hadn't been invented then anyway. This process was passed on by mothers throughout the generations until some barber invented the razor strap. Now this device was supposed to be used for sharpening those old straightedge razors men use to shave with. I am sure you've all seen the razor and razor strap being used in those old western movies, with the barber sharpening his razor on the long leather strap and scared he might cut the customer, who would then pull out his .45 colt pistol and shoot him. Or maybe it was one of those later gangster movies where the barber (not the same one as before) was doing the same thing and worried he might cut the gangster setting in his chair, whom would then jump up and shoot him with a tommy gun. (Same outcome and a much more efficient weapon for eliminating clumsy barbers.) In any case, the razor strap was used to keep the razors sharp by dragging the razor back and forth across the strap which was good hard leather, and this helped straighten the metal edges of the razor to a very sharp edge. In our case, our dad also used it for that purpose and for whooping any guilty subject that Mom had pointed to or that Dad decided needed it on his own. For the record, Dad didn't make that decision very often as he had to get really angry to make that move, and none of us made that mistake very often. Usually, it was Mom that made the decision as to who the offending party was and if it was serious enough of an offense to involve Dad and the razor strap. Now I am not sure if this was part of the razor/strap sharpening process too, but it certainly didn't appear to hurt the strap as Dad kept using it to sharpen the razor. (That is when it wasn't in use on one of us.)

So things went like that until one of the older brothers hid the strap. Definitely not me as I wasn't smart enough to think of it and certainly not brave enough either. This is when Mom went back to using a switch. Switches were much smaller than the razor strap, but a good keen switch could leave some nice marks on our skinny little legs. (How the use of switches came about is beyond me but probably happened in the old days when bushes were just about anywhere you looked and certainly before 2X4's were invented.) ((Not that Mom ever used a 2X4, but she might have if one was available at the time.)) So whenever someone needed a switching, Mom would send one of us out to find a good switch. Now this was a very bad chore to get, as it carried with it the prospect that the person bringing her the switch faced a couple of bad scenarios. First, if the switch wasn't just what she wanted she usually hit you with it before sending you back for a better switch, and if it was an acceptable switch, she usually started whacking the closest one to her. (That being the switch gitter.) ((Guilty or not.)) So nobody wanted to be the switch gittter as once you got back, you not only faced a possible switching but also faced the inquisition as to who and what happened and who should be punished. Unfortunately for me, when confronted by Mom, I was never very good at lying so I usually ended up telling her what she wanted to know and usually got the switch gitter job. And I wasn't very smart either, because being the closest to her when she found out bad news, I usually got it first, and by the time she got to the others, she had pretty much vented her anger or maybe she was just tired whooping after me, but it never seemed like they got it as bad as me. Maybe everyone seemed to think they were getting it worse, as when she was hitting your skinny little legs it's really easy to think you were getting it worse than anyone else. Anyway, once the strap disappeared, that's when Mom went to the switch for all offenses, and it stayed that way until you were too old for it.

Now my cousin Ron, whom you will hear more about later, had it a little better than us. When he got in trouble, his mother (whom we called Aunt Lee) would give him more verbal abuse than anything else, and when that didn't go far enough, she would have his dad (Uncle Ote) ((short for Otis)) dish out the punishment. What Ron told me later is that Uncle Ote would take him in the bedroom and then begin to whoop him. Only in this case, Uncle Ote didn't like hitting Ron so he would smack his belt on the bed, and Ron was supposed to howl each time he did it. Ron was very willing to go along with this scenario, which kept him pain free, and it helped Uncle Ote keep his wife happy. He never said anything when he was younger, probably for fear his mother would find out and take over the punishment ritual. I told him it was a wise decision as his mother was my mother's sister, and if she was anything like my mom, he wouldn't have wanted anything to do with that kind of punishment. Not that my parents beat us for nothing, we definitely had every whooping coming we were given.

(So you can see I can get off on a tangent, so please bear with me as my mind has a tendency to bring up things fairly randomly, and I have to write them down, or they just disappear into a void in my head, never to be heard from again). ((My friends say that can be a good thing.))

So back to the second great memory of Christmas I have which is the one where I come home from school with a gift I had made for my mom and dad at school. It was probably one of those school projects thought up by a talented teacher who helped us make something and wrap it up for our parents so we would feel like we had contributed to the Christmas process. Well, when I arrived home, I burst through the door and headed right for the Christmas tree to put down my special gift, not noticing that everyone was in the front room with a strange look on their faces and listening to the radio. I should have thought something was up because that's not where the radio was kept, as it sat in the corner of the dining room straight across from where the tree then stood. (I should mention that we lived in a very small two-bedroom, two-story house, and to put the tree in the dining room meant a couple people had to eat with pine needles sticking in their ears.) I should also mention, in case you didn't catch it, that two parents and five kids in a two-bedroom house was a little crowded.) Plus, for everyone in our family to be in one room meant either the Saturday night radio shows were on, something bad had happened to someone, or was about to happen to you. In any case, it never crossed my mind at the time that it wasn't Saturday night, or nobody, at least yet, was crying, or that maybe they had finally found where the razor strap had been hidden, and they were about to make-up for all the whoopings it had missed out on. So it was a real surprise when I finally looked at what everyone else was looking at and saw a big vanilla-colored piece of furniture with a big old roundish screen, and Howdy Dowdy or something like that was being shown. Man, we had a TV. That was a very big thing in those days, and I am sure my parents made payments for a very long time to make that happen. Normally, the only time we ever watched television was when we got to go down to the local appliance store on Saturday and watch one of the professional baseball games they had started televising. Of course, the owner hoped the parent would finally get tired of having to listen to the sales guy trying to convince him to buy a TV or listening to the kids whine about not having a TV, and give in and buy one. Well, in our case, I guess that worked.

As is, Dad was a carpenter, and Mom, a stay-at-home mother. Dad worked very hard and was seldom out of work and never stayed unemployed long even if it meant having to travel to other towns to get jobs. He may have almost always had a job, but a carpenter in those days never made much, so things were always tight. I am pretty sure that was the case for most folks in those days. It's probably not necessary to say that Mom worked hard, since she had five kids to take care of, four of them boys. As is, she always made things work one way or another, with things like lots of stuff with gravy, lots of canned veggies, beans of any kind, and a little pork or chicken, but mostly hamburger, and when things got lean, she would throw all the leftovers in a pie crust, and we would have Leftover Pie. (I am pretty sure that's where the idea of the more current Pot Pies came from.)

Writing the letters has actually turned out to be a great experience for me as going back, and reading every old letter has turned out to be a fun thing. I have gotten to relive a lot of the things that happened that we have forgotten about or just don't think about very often. Our son Keith's accident was a like a bad dream. One of those where you get a phone call from a small hospital in Ritzville, Washington, on I-90, telling us that our son was hit while walking on the freeway and is being airlifted to another hospital in Spokane, Washington. He was stable and would be going through extensive surgeries in the morning and would not be awake until around noon. Since we had just returned from the company yearly picnic, where I had a few refreshments, we decided to get a few hours' sleep and then drive the three hundred miles early in the morning. When we got there, he was just waking up from surgery to a broken leg in three places, broken shoulder and collar bone, and cuts and bruises all over him. Funny thing is that he somehow managed to keep his head and face from any trauma even though he had gravel stuck in his skin everywhere else.

As the story goes, he was actually putting small advertisement stickers, from his small glove company, onto state highway signs, and he had just put one on a sign near a rest stop exit. (Note to Washington State Highway Department, he hasn't done this in years for obvious reasons, but it probably gave people a reason to actually look at the signs). Anyway, after returning to the car, his friend noticed the sticker had come off, and so Keith jumped out to go put another one on. Unfortunately, he stepped right in front of a car taking the exit, and it hit him at about sixty miles per hour. It initially hit his legs throwing him up on to the windshield and then the force of the impact first broke the windshield and then launched him about one hundred feet further down the ditch between the highway and the rest stop, which, luckily for him, was covered with nice thick area of small gravel, which gave him a softer place to land, if you can call gravel soft. He survived all this, and after a year of recovery, he went on with his life as one very lucky guy. (I think he still carries a few rocks around in his head from this incident, which he adamantly denies, but this is a guy who was advertising on highway road signs and ran in front of a car. What the heck does he know for sure?????)

Usually the letter has much happier memories like the reading about the birth of our first grandchild Keaton, that brought chills to me. (This, of course, could also be explained by my wife messing with the thermostat as she is always either suffering from global warming or experiencing an ice age right in the living room.)

This first letter was written a couple years after I was transferred to Seattle, after my final employer (I had hoped) Ingersoll-Rand that I had went to work for in 1985 had been merged with another company, that being Dresser Corporation (that I had also hoped would be my final employer) in 1987. I mentioned final employer, as when I was younger, I worked for a lot of different companies and in a lot of totally different fields, always changing jobs to hopefully make a better wage and living. I must admit though that in almost every case, I could see myself working to retirement with whatever company or/and whatever job I was in at the time. Except for when I worked as a concrete finisher's helper on Boundary Dam or as a laborer/cliff-scaler for Peter Kiewit Construction during the building of some dam on the Snake River between Oregon and Washington. I think it was the Little Goose Dam or Lower Granite, but there are too many dammed dams on the Columbia drainages to keep track. (I also think I am damn sure I never want to work around another dam, ever!)

Since the above started while talking about my job history the following is a short synopsis of many of the jobs I had and trial-and-error efforts.

Subject: RE: ACTION: Educational Background

Keith Snyder Educational and Work Background. Please Note—Jobs with no number of years of experience were for periods shorter than one year and sometimes less than a few months. (I believe most of these short periods of employment will be self-explanatory.)

WM-PHD—Working Man's (The PHD part I give you credit for knowing)

MABS—Master of Assorted (The BS part I also give you credit for knowing)

Actual job/educational history is something like this.

High school Graduate, 4-0 GPA (This was really my potential GPA, my actual GPA was much lower)

50 years of constant employment (never been on unemployment) including the following:

Busboy—Worked for Commercial Hotel Casino washing dishes and cleaning tables. (Left to work at Safeway's as washing dishes didn't seem like much of a profession.

Food Goods—Bagger, checker, and all around good stock boy. 2 Yrs (Left for better job at bank).

Banking—Bank Teller, 1Yr. (short-lived as I didn't like being poor, I made more at Safeway)

Retail—Clothing Salesman, 5 Yrs (lasted longer but same as above).

Laborer—Apprentice Concrete Finisher (Extra credit should be given here as I was smart enough to quit this profession)

Industrial/Pulp Mill—Experience including Mill Pond Boomman (worked on the water for about 6 years but never learned to walk on it), Overhead Crane Operator, Cat 928 operator, and Millwright Helper. (Lived on island for 8 years, where it rained almost every day, so reason to quit should be obvious) 8 Yrs.

Aluminum Plant laborer—Included smelter experience general maintenance. (Left for better job but now have better understanding of how you get emphysema.)

Cliff Dweller—Worked as a Laborer and Cliff Scaler which involved hanging over a cliff from a rope and removing loose rocks above a new train track in the middle of winter. (No need to explain why I left this profession)

Electrician—Including complete home wiring, heating and air conditioning repair/installation/servicing and appliance repair. (Quit to become Entrepreneur) 2 Yrs.

Business—Owned own RCA-Whirlpool & Radio Shack business. (More extra credit here as I now have a very good business understanding of the words Entrepreneur, Profit, Loss, and Bankruptcy) 3 Yrs.

Logging—40 ton crane operator, faller, choker setter, Cat D3 operator,. 3 Yrs. (Took this job while learning about business and to help support that effort, but left as it was too seasonal and sometimes very similar to cliff dwelling).

Industrial/Sawmill—Experience including stacking boards, sawing boards, and finally made it to millwright which included fixing everything. i.e. welding, hydraulic systems, air systems, conveyor belt repair, and chip blowers. (This final experience which included moving vast amounts of hot air ended up being essential in my future sales employment a few years later.) Before leaving this job I was promoted to Maintenance Supervisor and held this position for two years. 5 Yrs. (Quit for what I thought was a better job with I-R).

My final employer (or as it turned out final employers).

Ingersoll-Rand—Pump Mechanic and part time salesman for the local pulp and sawmill businesses. ( I should have realized my sales shortcomings at this time)Transferred to the new the company Dresser-Rand after the merger which again I thought was a great career move. (It was about this time that I should have begun to understand my thinking shortcomings" ) 2 Yrs.

Dresser-Rand—Mechanic for reciprocating, centrifugal, and steam equipment including repair and installation, lead field mechanic for Seattle Repair Center, training in Centrifugal and Reciprocating compressors and Steam turbines. Additional training in valves, grout installations and wire alignment, none of which really prepared me for the final job of Account/Sales Manager. (However, the MABS and my past experience with moving vast amounts of hot air came in real handy 6 Years later.)

Account Manager—Account Manager for Dresser-Rand (which was sold to Siemens Corporation 2 years before I officially retired) covering the States of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Western Montana, and Alaska. Taking care of clients like ARCO, British Petroleum, ConocoPhillips, Shell, Unocal, Oil/Gas. This included exploration, production, and chemical companies, US Government accounts and numerous other industrial clients. Even though this has probably been the most challenging of all my employment opportunities and the most satisfying, I still feel as though I have a lot more to learn. (However, having been a Salesman, I can now walk on water). 24 Yrs. and counting.

I probably left something out as you already now know more than you need to, but you can probably understand why I try so hard at what I do. Fear of having to go back to any of these jobs is a great motivator. (Experience is a marvelous thing!)

Keith Snyder

As for how a high school graduate with no training or special skills, other than the skills and training I received from the jobs before that, becomes an account manager for a large manufacturing company is a story in itself, and I am sure the list above leaves you wondering how I ever got a job anywhere, and sometimes I have wondered that myself. As is, I never have been one to have a lot of self-confidence although those who say they know me will say different. They think that I think I know everything. Well…………Anyway, I will try to piece together my job history as the story goes along.

Early Jobs

My first job, if you can call it that, was working for my oldest brother (nine years older) Wes. I think he was about nineteen years old, and so I guess I was about ten, and