I don’t have any calls to action this week, so this is a very different kind of newsletter. Go grab a cup of coffee, kick back somewhere, and let me ramble down Philosiphize Road about family, death, and the value of truth.
My father went into hospice last year. We were never close. There was always more angst between us than anything else. However, the greatest lesson my old man ever taught me was the importance of being honest—the value and power of truth. I’ve carried that with me since I was a kid, and it’s something I’ll ways keep close to my heart.
So, having not seen him in a few years—that’s a long story—I flew out to Denver last fall in order to spell my brother in visiting my father in the hospice facility. I won’t go into all the details, but we did have a moment that I’ll never forget. The guy knew he was checking out soon. He wasn’t eating or drinking much, and was, subsequently, a shriveled version of the man I grew up mostly afraid of. That’s also a long story. Regardless, he was still my dad, and for all his faults and failures—like any human—I’d known for decades that everything he did for and even to his kids was with the intent of doing the right thing.
Believe me when I say those weeks I spent visiting him twice a day were a maelstrom of mixed emotions. What sticks out in my mind was a sunny afternoon where my wife and I were sitting with him to keep him company. The staff had just brought him his meal, and we all wanted him to eat. He’d pick through his food—he was mostly blind by this time—but he’d never quite get around to getting the fork to his mouth.
We’d chat for a bit, meaningless stuff is all, and he’d pick at his food some more. We’d chat, he’d pick. Chat—pick—chat—pick. So, he was going on about some old memory of Brooklyn and names I’d never heard of, and meandering around some vacuous point he was trying to make—he did that a lot, by the way—and I cut him off mid-sentence with a weary sigh and said, “Pop, that’s all great, but I’d pay real money if you’d just eat some of those fucking green beans.”
He went silent and met my gaze as best he could. Vicki went silent too. I’d said it with a smile, and I grinned at him, because we both knew what he was doing. And then, for the first time in both our lives, we laughed together the way I’ve heard a lot of other fathers and sons do. It was open and honest and genuine, and he knew that I’d said it because he was my dad and I was his son, and all the bullshit that had come between us over the years didn’t amount to a pile of fly shit. What mattered, right there and then, was that he still take care of himself. What mattered was that the kid he’d sacrificed a great deal to provide for was there for him and cared what happened to him.
The guy was 92—born the year and month of Black Friday and the start of the Great Depression.
In my entire life, 54 years as his son, I think that was the only time we were ever really at ease with one another… where we could be honest and open and not take it personal. There was no fight between us. No judgement. No misunderstanding. Just openness and truth.
The rest of the afternoon felt like a very old wall had finally come down, and that’s how I intend to remember him.
I left Denver a couple weeks later, spelled by my older brother to stand watch over my father as he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The old man made his last journey not long after, and I’ve never really cried over the loss… never really had to. Such was our relationship. But I do have that one conversation, that one genuine moment.
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one. A handful of years ago, I worked with a guy who, up to a particular moment in time, I considered a friend. We’d chewed a lot of the same dirt together. We’d sweat together and chased dreams that had overlapping endgames. There were a lot of laughs, some hard times, and even a few pretty strong disagreements… just like any working friendship.
His name is Alexi Vandenberg, and these days he finds himself in heaps of legal trouble on at least a few fronts. But you can read about those situations in the links below.
He always had a line of BS a mile long. At the time, it seemed to be all in good fun. Just a guy who played loose with the facts to spin a good yarn.
For the record, I have my foibles and flaws, just like anyone. Hell, there’s more than one or two things I’ve done in my past that I’m not proud of. Where and when I could, I apologized for them and tried to make amends. I still regret the times when I couldn’t. In either case, I was always willing to pay my tab. If I screwed the pooch, I was and am willing to face the music. That will stand till the day I draw my last breath.
Now, I’ve been in the writing business for going on fifteen years. I’ve seen folks come and go. I’ve seen all sorts, from innocent to noble to truly despicable. So, when friends and associates we’d both worked with started coming to me asking that I help them get paid by Alexi, I stuck my nose in. At first, it was to try and do a solid for both parties. I had friends on both sides of the equation. It had to be a mistake… a misunderstanding… an oversight. Which is what I was told at the time.
I solved one situation and was assured it was just an oversight. I solved another and got the same answer. About the third time around, I could only reach one conclusion: this guy was using the money of the little fish to pay off the big fish. It wasn’t one or two, it was a half-dozen. By the time I got to the sixth, I called Alexi out in what became our last phone call.
I still have the recording of that phone call, and as you can imagine, it did not go well.
What I knew then and what I know now is that Alexi is a bald-faced liar. Nothing is ever his fault. Everything is a misunderstanding. And if you question, everyone else suddenly hears that you’re “crazy” or that you have some sort of agenda and you’re out to get him.
It was a bout then I looked back at all the stories—all the BS—I’d heard over the years. I quickly realized it was never just BS. It was always lies… literally a modus operandi.
So, that was it for me. I knew the consequences of doing anything in public, but I couldn’t just turn a blind eye. Nor could I be complicit in what was going on. Alexi was in a position where he could influence the people we’d worked with. I’d get painted as the crazy one, someone who wanted something and couldn’t get it.
So be it.
I made a very public announcement that I would never set foot in his business again, would never be seen with him again, and would never, in any way, work with him again. It went as I’d predicted. The problems were all mine. I was the crazy one… the dangerous one who wanted something. As expected, I got shunned by a handful of mutual friends. I pretty much got out of the convention game. It was coincidental that COVID hit about then, but the truth is, I just didn’t want to deal with crossing paths with Alexi or anyone he’d spoken to about me.
It wasn’t worth my time or the potential headaches.
What I know at this point is that the truth served me then, and it serves me now. The reason I’m telling you all this is not to bury or burn anyone. As I said on my phone call with him way back when, there wasn’t anything I needed to do. He’d cook his own goose all by himself. As it turns out, those words were prophetic. All of his problems today are of his own making and as a direct result of that very same modus operandi.
I won’t lie, I have popcorn and beer to watch the show.
The reason I’m telling anyone who will listen (or read), is for everyone in any business to pay attention to the people who always seem to be peddling a line of bull. Recognize it as soon as it happens. The first time, it pays to take things on faith. That’s what friendship is for, after all.
The second time around, put forth the effort of questioning but verifying. If that means putting the two parties in the same room and getting to the bottom of it, then do so. At a minimum, you can save one of those two friendships. Maybe you can save both, but either way, the truth will set everyone free.
If it happens a third time… well, there’s no such thing as coincidence, and nobody has luck that bad. When the pattern becomes apparent, then it’s likely you only know of those three events, and there’s a lot more hidden in the weeds. Ask around. Talk to people. Find out what’s really going on. It won’t take long for you to see the pattern, if it exists, but you have to be willing to accept what you hear. I’m not suggesting you believe everything you hear, but you can’t ignore it, either.
The Truth. There is nothing more important than the truth, even when we don’t like what we see or hear. If you seek it out, if you hold true to it and require those around you to hold true to it, you make your little corner of the world a better place… and you may just keep others from getting burned in the future.
That’s the takeaway here. And as long as I’m being completely honest, I have to admit that if I’d written this a few years back, there are probably quite a few people who wouldn’t have had the headaches, anguish, and conflict that they did.
So, for that, I want to apologize to everyone between then and now who got taken advantage of, was abused in one form or another, or was lied to. I realize now that greater openness at the time might have made a difference.
I implore anyone reading this to hold the truth dear. You can only ever tell your own story. That’s part of the rub here. Back then, nobody wanted to tell their own story. I’ve always maintained that I could only tell my own. And my story, such as it was, didn’t amount to anything that was really actionable. You have to be willing to tell your own story, but it’s up to the rest of us to listen, verify to the best of our ability, and stand up for the truth no matter who our friends or associates are.
When we’re silent, when we turn a blind eye or listen to well-practiced and easily debunked excuses, we become a party to the crime.
The truth will set you free.
So that’s it. That’s my little part of a much larger story that is still unfolding. If you want to read more about what’s going on, you can check these two blogs. Don’t take them on faith, but don’t discount them, either.
Alexi Vandenberg: A Monster in the Geek Community
When Booksellers Go Bad: Alexi Vandenberg, Bard’s Tower, Rabid Fanboy Enterprises
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