I’m slowly settling into my new home. The town known as New Bern, North Carolina is a historic one, celebrating its tricentennial this year, and it’s certainly an interesting place.
Located at the confluence of the Neuse and Trent rivers, New Bern was once an important port and trading center. It was the first capital of North Carolina, and remained the state’s largest city well into the 19th century. The city is situated about 24 nautical miles from the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, and is a popular sheltering harbor where small craft cruising the AIW may ride out foul weather. Boating is very big here. The Trent River is navigable water from New Bern to Pollocksville, and the Neuse is navigable for much of its length as well. Houses with private docks dot the shoreline, and the marinas are crowded with sailing and power vessels of all sizes.
New Bern was settled by Swiss and German explorers led by a Baron from Bern, Switzerland. The city’s coat of arms features a black bear and is identical to the Bern coat of arms in every respect save one:
As you can see, the Bern bear on the left is anatomically intact, while the New Bern bear has had a certain vital organ removed. The reason for the difference is a polarizing issue among those I’ve talked with. Some say the bear was emasculated by the razor-sharp blade of political correctness. Others contend that the bear is obviously female. I find myself leaning toward the former camp, and am sincerely hoping that the city will spare me the same fate. It hurts just to look at the poor bear, who is never named but whose name can only be Bernie.
With that coat of arms, it’s a foregone conclusion that visitors will see bears everywhere. There are huge reproductions of the coat of arms alongside the major highways, there are bear pawprints painted on the sidewalks, and garishly-painted five-foot bear sculptures greet us outside businesses and along city streets. Even the city’s police cars carry a phrase emblazoned proudly on their doors: “PROUD TO WEAR THE BEAR.” When I remember that CBers used to call police “bears” (after the Smokey the Bear hats they wear), I found myself giggling uncontrollably the first time I saw a bear wearing the bear. I giggled again when I saw an official, yellow, diamond-shaped sign on US route 70 that said, simply, “WATCH FOR BEARS.” The US constitution guarantees us the right to bear arms, and New Bern claims its right to arm bears.
The bears themselves strike me as kind of a good omen. One of my co-workers in Florida used to call me “Grizzly Adams.” My move for this job is generally to the north, and the north star (Polaris) is most easily located using two constellations called the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. Polaris is the end of the Little Dipper’s handle, and is pointed to by the two stars at the ladle end of the Big Dipper (Merak and Dubhe). Of course, these two constellations aren’t really “Dippers.” They’re called Ursa Major and Ursa Minor: Big Bear and Little Bear.
People are nice here. Atlanta’s certainly part of the deep south, and there’s a certain Southern charm to Georgians’ manner, but for the most part, I’ve been living among city folk. From downtown New Bern, one need only drive for ten or fifteen minutes in order to be in the land of tractors, silos, and endless furrowed fields. Life here, or at least my impression of it, is simpler. There are no traffic jams, no mega-malls or sports stadiums, no high-rise apartment clusters rising into the sky. When people pass me on the street, they actually greet me, and I them. When I meet a car, whether it’s on a country road or a city street, I often get a wave from the driver. The accents are comforting and familiar; in many western parts of North Carolina there’s a distinct Carolina accent, but here the accent is eerily similar to those of piedmont and tidewater Virginia.
Things at my new job are shaping up well. I spent my first week settling in and learning, and will spend much of my second week doing the same thing. Allison flew up this past weekend, with the company’s help, to look at some of the available houses to rent, as we plan to rent for at least the first year or two. One house we liked very much was rented before we could see it, and we scrambled for other options. Our first choice now is a house in the River Bend area, which is very roomy and well suited to our lifestyle. Our second choice is a very well cared for home in a neighborhood not far from work, equally roomy but not quite as private or nicely landscaped. We will have chosen one of the two by tomorrow, and hope to begin moving next week. Meanwhile, I’m living in a hotel room on the fourth floor overlooking the marina and the rivers beyond, and I suppose I can tolerate that situation for a bit longer.
I am going to have to get used to the idea of being a North Carolina resident. Growing up in Virginia, North Carolina meant only two things to me: Kitty Hawk (birthplace of powered flight) and Tarheels (football and basketball teams who were in-conference rivals of the University of Virginia Cavaliers.) The former was pure romance, and the latter pure hatred, fueled by taunting bumper stickers and slogans like, “If God is not a Tarheel, then why is the sky Carolina blue?” I may live here, and I’m proud to live in the state whose slogan is “First in Flight,” but don’t ever call me a Tarheel. I’m a transplanted Cavalier, and wahoowa to you, too. 
I have switched sides in a certain respect, though. Atlanta is known as the birthplace of Coca-Cola, that beverage having been invented by a downtown drug store owner named Pemberton. New Bern, ironically, is the birthplace of Pepsi-Cola, also invented by a drug store owner named Bradham. It was originally called “Brad’s Drink,” and was eventually given its catchy new name. Bradham’s drug store was directly across from the Episcopal church — had you noticed that “Pepsi-Cola” is an anagram of “Episcopal?” Few do, and the Wikipedia entry for Pepsi-Cola doesn’t even mention the connection.
There’s been precious little time to write, but I’ll continue to post updates as the situation permits. For those who do not follow me on Facebook, do look me up, as I post much more frequent (but shorter) updates there.
I’ll bet you were thinking that I’d forgotten how to write! For my sake, I hope you’re wrong. There’s certainly a lot to write about in my life recently, but the situation demands that such writing be done tactfully and with due discretion. Let’s see how successful I can be, given those constraints.
First, let me address something that’s been on my mind. You’ve probably read the ugly, ill-advised, largely unedited rant against my former employer which I posted in November. It breaks a lot of rules, written and unwritten. I violated my own personal edict against naming my employer in this blog, something I regret very much. I also trashed my former employer pretty thoroughly, something that’s generally taboo. The information presented was factual, but that’s beside the point. It was wrong to do, and I wish I’d not done it.
I have not removed that blog entry. There are several reasons for that. One is that while I’m not proud of what I did, I did it. If I were to delete it now, I think some might see that as either denying or attempting to hide what I’ve done. I’ve also not been directly asked by anyone to remove it; apparently it’s not of sufficient concern to my former employer to warrant direct communication, even though someone in Germany seems to check rather regularly to see if it’s still there.
Now, on to recent events. First of all, I am saddened at the loss earlier this month of Dug Steele, after a brief struggle with an extremely aggressive cancer.
Dug was one of the most talented, experienced, gifted photographers and photojournalists I have ever had the privilege to know. I met him in the late 1970s, through his son, Kirk, who was my classmate and contemporary at Western Albemarle High School in Crozet, Virginia. Dug was larger than life, someone who had raised the use of a camera to a fine art as I aspired to do. Kirk was himself a fine photographer, even in his teens, having learned at his father’s knee.
Dug had a quiet, unassuming wisdom that belied his vast experience. Dug was always ready with a story; I remember evenings listening to tales of sailing, of work on transmitters in Saudi Arabia and on Apple Orchard Mountain in Virginia, of photographic moments in time, and of his experiences among Native American tribes on his trips out west. He had a weird, off-beat sense of humor that was reflected in his son’s manner, and that’s probably why the three of us got on so famously. One of his terms, used to describe someone who can’t stop fiddling with controls, has remained with me to this day: K.T.B. – Knob-Twisting Bastard.
Dug and I had been out of touch for many years, but his influence on my life compelled me to travel to Charlottesville, Virginia to attend his memorial service. It was necessary to rearrange travel plans a bit to make that happen, because I was scheduled for a very important job interview the following day. Fortunately, the company was willing to bend a bit, and my planned round-trip flight became a three-legged road trip from Atlanta to Charlottesville to North Carolina and back. All waypoints were achieved on schedule and everything went very well, but before I made it home it became clear that the cold-like illness I’d been trying so hard to deny and ignore was not content to be ignored any longer. I’m feeling much better now, though, thanks to my pit crew consisting of Allison, Chelsea, Raymond, and even Allison’s sister Ellen.
The interview resulted in an offer, one which I have accepted. Beginning tomorrow, I embark on a very exciting, promising new career. In keeping with my previously-mentioned convictions, the company name will not be mentioned here. However, in order to assure my friends and other interested parties that I’ve made the right move, I will say a few words about the company where I’m now employed.
Quality. The product made by this company is engineered, built, sold, and serviced at its impressive 52,000 square foot headquarters in the United States. State-of-the-art manufacturing techniques combined with skilled craftsmanship result in a precise, elegant final product. With all manufacturing processes done in-house, nothing is left to outside contractors and stringent quality control is maintained.
Stability. The company has been in business since it was founded in 1974, and the same man remains at its helm to this day. Employee turnover is extremely infrequent. The company is debt-free and growing, despite this unstable economy.
Responsibility. The company is operated in such a way that it has zero environmental impact, releasing no pollutants into the water or the air.
Reputation. The company’s name has been a household word in the industry for decades. The name stands for quality, reliability, flexibility, and unmatched capability. Customer satisfaction is both a goal and an achievement here.
Communication. Some companies appear to be so heavily compartmentalized that communications become hopelessly unmanageable. From what I’ve seen, this company operates differently. Here, people talk, processes and products improve, and the customer reaps the benefits.
These few words are among those that have convinced me to join this superb team. I am proud to be a part of this company, and I’m excited about getting to work.
Of course, nothing worth doing is easy. As a result of my new job, we’re moving. My new home will be a beautiful, historic, medium-sized community in coastal North Carolina. I am going to start work tomorrow, and we anticipate finding a home and installing me permanently there within a month. An important trade show looms close on this horizon, and I’ll need to be there to represent my new team and its products, so I’ve got a lot of learning to do in the next three weeks. Allison’s in full take-charge mode and is determined to make the move as trauma-free as possible for me, and the company is providing lots of help as well, so while it’s going to be a bit hectic for the next month or so, it’s a good, exhilarating, productive, rewarding sort of pressure.
Saying goodbye to Atlanta will be very hard. I’m leaving behind many friends and acquaintances, lots of familiar places, and myriad memories both good and bad. There’s just not enough time for the sort of closure I’d ordinarily want. I’m going to try to make the most of my few trips back here as the move progresses, and it seems certain that a photoessay will be a part of the process. Beyond that, I’ll have to simply cross each bridge as it appears before me, and know I’ve done all I can.
A bridge. What a nice metaphor.