DUDE, Inc. continued (page 2)               Back to page 1
By PAT KEANE

After much plotting and planning, Josh and Bert established the three most important criteria of their new endeavor to support The Cause: Money, Air, and Landings. Money would come from jobs; long considered detrimental to The Cause, the j-word would benefit from a new approach. Air stood for Air Mail, how the checks would come. Landings represented said checks landing in their mailboxes.

Josh and Bert even adopted a new credo, one which supported their situational analysis of a good scam gone bad: "A constant influx of checks is necessary to ski all season." As winter drew closer, the Strategic Plan was implemented in a carefully outlined step-by-step process.

"So Bert," inquired the interviewer, "you don't think driving full-time through every state in the West all winter long, as our sales representative, will get to you after a month or two?"

"Not at all, Mr. Ormsbee." The room was dark and spare, designed to intimidate job candidates, to weed out the weak. "You see, I grew up helping my father drive his semi-truck across the country every summer." In his mind Bert was drifting to a conversation with a ski company rep ...yeah, Josh launched an 80-foot cornice right before I shot that one; this one was just before our shoot for National Geographic.... even as he continued pitching to his prospective employer. "Given my sales experience I couldn't imagine anyone more suitable for this position. In fact, I have a few appealing ideas to enhance my productivity."

Ormsbee sat for a moment, then bit. "What would they be, Bert?"

The helm was all his. "Well first of all, that 2WD company car your previous salesman drove simply isn't cut out for winter driving. A good SUV would guarantee that I could keep my appointments and thereby maintain good relationships with our customers. Also, a cell phone with an 800 number would allow customers to contact me at any moment. Sure, both requests have an initial cost, but Mr. Ormsbee, think of how much better our customer relations will be."

Ormsbee leaned closer. "Bert, I like the way you think. If I got you the SUV and phone, could you start next week?"

"Gee, I'd love to, Mr. Ormsbee, but about the salary..."


Halfway across the country, Josh was furthering The Cause by implementing his part of the Strategic Plan.

"Now Josh, as the owner of a Major League Baseball team Mr. Blubols will be traveling constantly during the season, but infrequently during the winter months," said the suit across the table. "And of course you'll be paid salary, per diems, and all expenses while on the road." There was a brief pause. "Your time and ratings in the Lear 25 are impressive, but a couple of your references noted you were sometimes hard to locate for days at a time, especially during the winter."

Josh was ready. "Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Clifford. I know the Lear 25 better than any aircraft I've ever flown. Now regarding those references...I spend a lot of time caring for my elderly aunt who lives in Lake Tahoe. I chop her wood, buy her groceries. Sometimes heavy snows knock out the phone line to her cabin. You know Mr. Clifford, if I had a SkyPager I could be reached at any time. As long as the roads aren't closed, I could catch a commercial flight out of Reno and be here in Kansas City in eight hours."

Clifford considered the proposal, then countered, "Well, what if we just keep the jet hangered at the Reno airport?"

The Strategic Plan was in motion, going exactly as planned.


Throughout winter, Josh and Bert stayed in touch via their cell phones. Bert drove from one resort to the next on his appointed rounds, but rather than actually visit customers, he closed most deals by phone from the chairlift. Only if it coincided with his ski-related travels did he meet a customer in person. If conditions were exceptional, or weather reports indicated an approaching cold front, he'd hunker down at a resort hotel for a few days feigning illness, car trouble, road closures—there were a thousand miracle excuses to log a few extra powder days.

Meanwhile, Josh skied Tahoe as he waited for the call to fly. With Bert on the road and Josh in Tahoe, they could ski the best snow in the West by updating each other on a daily basis. Gloria created fake employee IDs for Josh that allowed him to jump-seat on virtually every major airline. Just like the good old days, Josh and Bert were cutting a fat hog in the ass: free travel, free lodging, and money to pay for lift tickets without depleting their limited-funds stash. And they still had tons of gear sitting around.

By early March each had logged more than a hundred days. Riding the tram at Jackson, Josh looked out the window toward three feet of fresh on the Hobacks. "Hey dude, I got some bad news this morning."

Bert, fearing his ski partner had lost another job, stepped closer. "What's up?"

"I gotta log twenty hours of flight time by next week to get the company its projected quarterly tax write-off on the Lear."

"Bummer dude," replied Bert, a smile spreading wide across his face. "France?"

"Sorry, man, it ain't like that," Josh replied, but not giving up the positive emotion. "France takes too long. It's gotta be 20 hours on the nose. So it's Whistler, Valdez, Fernie, Colorado, then back to Tahoe." He reached inside his parka and pulled out a pilot's cap. "You're right seat," he said, indicating Bert's new co-pilot status. In the crowded tram the executives of DUDE, Inc. blurted joyous expletives and elbowed their way to high fives to the amusement and chagrin of those around them.


As Ted steered the H2O chopper up the Valley of the Tusk, Dean Cummings turned from the front seat and looked at Bert and Josh with inquisitive scrutiny. He clicked on his mic and asked, "Don't I know you guys from somewhere?"

"Um yeah, we met at SIA in Vegas last year," Bert replied cautiously.

"Yeah, that's right, you guys altered photo credits and scammed a ton of swag. Everybody in Vegas was talking about you guys this year. I heard the magazines wanted to take your pictures and get a story. TGR wanted an interview. Where were you?"

As broad smiles spread across their faces, they replied in unison, "Working."


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Reno-based writer Pat Keane calls this piece "autobiofictional." Go figure.