Boyceville, Wisconsin – my hometown. When my father was alive, I spent a weekend every month in Boyceville. Our Friday night ritual was to go for fish and chips at Buckshot’s Bar. We’d order while we watched people come in and greet each other by name. They would ask about the family, comment on the weather, and speculate on the
Are you the sharpest tack in the pack?
We’ve all had bosses we remember: sometimes they’re good memories and sometimes they’re not so good. One of my least pleasant bosses was John Sherman. Mr. Sherman (as he insisted he be called,) was intelligent and hardworking, but he had an Achillies heel; he always had to be right, and every idea had to be his. He owned a placement