1982 Jim Wavada’s Retirement from BMA

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I found an album with my dad’s name engraved in gold on the inside front cover. It contained thirty-five snapshots of celebrations at my dad’s employer, Business Men’s Assurance (BMA), an insurance company based in Kansas City1. This brought to … Continue reading →

I found an album with my dad’s name engraved in gold on the inside front cover. It contained thirty-five snapshots of celebrations at my dad’s employer, Business Men’s Assurance (BMA), an insurance company based in Kansas City1. This brought to mind the fact that I had written very little about my dad’s business career.

The original BMA Building was across the street from Union Station.

At some point in 1982 I received a very surprising telephone call from my dad. He had decided to retire—at the age of 58! His employer for over thirty years1 was downsizing by offering attractive severance packages to its employees. He helped to design the program, and when the president of the company learned that he was on the list of people taking early retirement, he protested, “But Jim, this wasn’t designed for people like you.”

My dad told me that he replied, “True, but it didn’t exclude me either.”

In March of 1951 my dad presented a birthday greeting to the president of the company.

When did my dad start working at BMA? I remember thinking at the time of his death in 2011 that his life was perfectly divisible into three units of twenty-nine years each. However, that would mean that he started work in 1953. That cannot be true. I have recently discovered proof that he was employed there in 1950. Furthermore, I know that I spent a lot of the time in the hospital in my first year of life. If he had not had a good insurance policy—and BMA employees had excellent policies—I doubt that my parents could have afforded the hospital bills. Finally, I doubt that John Cernech would have allowed his only daughter to marry a guy without a job. So, I think that Jim probably started working at BMA before September of 1947.

What did you do for a year and a half, Sergeant Wavada?

I have no idea what he did between the time of his discharge from the army as a sergeant in the 300th Infantry Regiment on February 18, 1946, and his wedding on December 1, 1947. He hinted to me once that my mom and her mom, Clara Cernech, saved him from going down a really bad path during this period.

What did my dad do at BMA? I have never been too certain. He probably started at the bottom. He finished high school in 1942, but, despite the fact that he certainly qualified for veterans’ benefits, to my knowledge he never took a college course.

In 1951 he was the president of the KEO (“Know Each Other”) Club at BMA. A photo of him presenting a birthday greeting to the president of the company appeared in the company’s newspaper in March. I think that he also told me that he played for one summer on the company’s baseball or soccer team. He had a first baseman’s mitt that he picked up somewhere.

In 1963 the company moved to the BMA Tower. No, it was never known as Grant’s Tomb.

Maybe he joined BMA’s Sales Department in 1953, and he told me that he had spent 29 years there. That would make more sense. The Sales Department managed the company’s salesmen. I think that what my dad mostly did was write materials used by the company. I know that at one time his title was Vice-president of Public Relations. I also know that during the last few years he spent most of his time writing speeches for the president of the company, Bill Grant. He hated this assignment. Mr. Grant often spoke against Medicare, and my dad understood what a good program it was.

I remember the quite a few names mentioned by my dad. Some of these people I probably met once or twice, but I have seen none of them since high school. Here is the list: John Saylor (his boss) and his son Bill, Bernie Johnson, C.R. Moreland, Lyle Hopkins, Kenny Higdon, Bill Purinton, Roy Uto. I remember that dad’s secretary—or at least one of his secretaries—was named Jeanette. I also remember a woman who attended his wake in 2011 and appeared in some of the photos below. I think that her name was Mary Jean or something like that. If I ever knew her last name, I have forgotten it.2

Here are the photos in the same order that they were in the album. There are two sets of photos. The first fifteen were taken at a banquet at a huge round table at BMA Tower. The second set of twenty were evidently shot on a different occasion in and around my dad’s office. I have added captions when I knew anything about them.

My mom is in white. My dad is to her right. His vision was almost as bad as mine, but he almost never wore glasses except to read and drive. He considered them effeminate.
The woman seated at the window came to Jim’s wake. The only other person whom I recognize is my dad in the foreground. No sign of his bald spot yet, and not a single grey hair. Bill Grant, the company’s president collected art depicting western scenes.
My mother was either convulsed in laughter or she spotted a huge spider on the ceiling. The man shown in profile is Bill Saylor.
I think that this was either Bill Grant of John Saylor.
No idea.

I think that this was either Bill Grant of John Saylor.

Bill Saylor.
Note the tie bar. By the time that I spent much time with him as an adult both of my dad’s eyebrows were white, but he still had no trace of grey hair. I was the opposite. He stopped smoking in the late eighties.
My mom would be upset that this photo showed the very slight bump on her nose.
This was the lady who came to the wake, Mary Jean.
Kenny Higdon?
I was surprised to see my dad reaching with his right hand. He was left-handed. The only thing that he did right-handed was playing golf. Maybe he had a cigarette in his left hand.
This is the last photo of the first set.
This is the first photo of the second set. The gag gift of the white paint might be a reference to a project that I worked on the summer before I went into the army. I was supposed to paint the house, but I did not finish. It is possible that they never got anyone else to finish it.
I think that this cake was for my dad’s retirement. If the golfer was meant to be my dad, his aim was to the right of the hole (with the red flag in it) because he was playing the horrendous slice that accompanied each of his swings. He learned to play golf (and smoke) in high school at Maur Hill. There were no left-handed clubs available.
No idea.
I think that my dad is holding some golf balls. I think that it is totally unfair that I had more grey hairs before I started working at TSI than he had when he retired from BMA.
No idea.
One wood and one iron?
I think that the big guy in the back with the plaid jacket might be John Bolin. I knew his son in the Boy Scouts.
My dad and Mary Jean.
A black guy?
Mom and somebody.
“So, a priest, a rabbi, and an insurance guy go into a bar …”

1. The insurance operations of BMA (the A originally stood for Accident Insurance), which included my dad’s pension and health insurance, was sold to Assicurazioni Generali in 1990. AG sold it to the Royal Bank of Canada in 2009;

2. I spent several hours on the Internet trying to discover what became of the people on this list, but I was unsuccessful.

1983? Jim and Dolores Visit New England

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First retirement vacation. Continue reading →

My mom and dad never visited Sue and me while we were living in Plymouth, MI. They visited us only once after we moved to Detroit. That uncomfortable experience was described here. We did not visit them in Kansas City much either. Our excuses were that we had very little money, and we were busy trying to build a company. Their excuse was that my dad was working.

If they were smart they flew, but my dad was not averse to long drives.

In 1982 my dad retired. What little I know about that event has been chronicled here. At some point in or around 1983 my parents decided to visit New England. Both of these pieces of new disconcerted me. “Lucy, let me ‘splain.”

My parents treated me exceptionally well. It would be absurd for me to complain. They provided me with everything that I needed to survive and in fact thrive. I never have understood exactly how they did it. They had next to nothing when I was born.

Driving would be much easier than it was in 1959. Practically the entire route would be on Interstates.

Nevertheless, being around them made me more and more uncomfortable as I got older. They very seldom got angry at me or disciplined me, but they were both devout Catholics who never ate meat on Friday and never missed mass on Sunday or a holy day “of obligation”. Although they never mentioned anything about it to me, they certainly must have disapproved of the fact that Sue and I were living together. They may also have been cognizant of the fact that I had become a skeptic almost overnight in the late seventies. They probably had had several “where did we go wrong?” conversations about me. However, I did not worry much about that aspect of our relationship. I expected them to avoid these subjects while they were in New England, and I certainly would as well.

The thing that bothered me was below the surface. I called it “The Curse”1. My parents had taught me an eleventh commandment: “Thou shalt be the best.” They repeatedly insisted that they did not care what I did with my life, but they wanted me to be the best. Not the best that I could be, the best period. The only good thing about The Curse was that it had no time limit.

So, at this point I was thirty-four or thirty-five. My dad had already retired, and my parents were traveling around the country doing who-knows-what. The business that Sue and I were running was still a shoestring affair. Our income was low, and our prospects were at best mediocre. I was light years away from being the best at anything.

When I was on my own, I could easily postpone the assessment of my progress towards the superlative. When my parents were around I wasn’t sad or angry, I was just uneasy. They never said anything about it. They were just there.

Old Sturbridge Village.

In point of fact I remember very little about their trip. They definitely had a car, but I cannot remember whether they drove up from Kansas City in a reprise of the great eastern vacation that was described here. They might have flown to Connecticut and rented a car. Sue’s memory was no better than mine in this regard.

The four of us definitely spent a day at Old Sturbridge Village, which is a recreation of a New England village from the 1830s. Sue and I still had the Plymouth Duster, which could easily hold four. Either Sue or I probably drove. I remember that it was rather chilly. So, it was probably spring or fall. I was uncomfortably cold, but my parents seemed to enjoy the experience.

I am pretty sure that the four of us ate at the Bullard Tavern that was located on the grounds of OSV. My parents thought that the meal was great. I did not like what I ordered, but I don’t remember the specifics. I just know that I never went back.

I don’t think that my parents stayed with us in Rockville or ate any other meals with us, but I might be wrong. I am pretty sure that they drove to Maine and perhaps a few other spots in New England before heading home.

1. The Curse is described in a little more detail in my analysis of the “First Crisis”, which is posted here.

1994 August: Jim Wavada’s 70th Birthday

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Fun and crisis. Continue reading →

My dad was born on August 25, 1924. His seventieth birthday was therefore in 1994. It was a Thursday. 1994 was a pivotal year for TSI and for my relationship with Sue, as explained here. I was up to my armpits in alligators. By then Jamie had five children. By my calculation Cadie was 16, Kelly was 14, Gina was 6, Anne was 5, and Joey was 3. I could be off by a year for any of them.

Although it was torn down decades earlier, the company that designed this building still featured it on its webpage in 2023.

A decision was made that my parents would come to New England to celebrate my dad’s epic birthday with his grandchildren. Jamie probably negotiated this with our mother. Her conversations with my dad seldom ended pleasantly, and I am pretty sure that neither Sue nor I had any input. The plan was for them to stay at a hotel that was near the Lisella’s house in West Springfield. I think that they stayed at Howard Johnson’s, but they might have chosen the Hampton Inn if it was open yet. I don’t think that they rented a car.

The party: Jamie reserved a large room at the Simsbury 1820 House for the gathering. My recollection is that on the big day Sue and I picked up mom and dad at HoJo’s and met the Lisellas at the restaurant. A total of eleven of us attended—three couples and Jamie’s five children.

The party did not get off to a great start. The chair reserved for the guest of honor, who certainly weighed less than 170 pounds, collapsed beneath him and left him on the floor. Fortunately, he was not seriously injured, and the event proceeded more or less as planned.1 I had prepared an interactive presentation. I think that I took the floor for it after the meal. I hoped to involve Gina and Anne by asking each of them a question that I was pretty sure they could answer. They both let me down. Gina remonstrated me, “Uncle Mike, we are only children.”

I struggled through the rest of my little talk as well as I could. I think that I rescued the evening, however, by leading everyone in a non-traditional rendition of what all of us called the family song, “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” It was my dad’s favorite song of all time. So, we sang it all together, each of us singing the same words but using different melodies, keys, and tempos. My dad, who was completely tone-deaf2, thought that it was great. That was all that I can recall about the evening.

The name was changed to Baystate Noble Hospital.

The basketball game:I am not positive that the following event occurred on this same trip. I did not keep track of when my parents came to New England for visits. They only did so on a few occasions.

Every meal that we consumed at the Lisella’s was a cook-out. Joe fired up the Weber and cooked hamburgers and/or hot dogs. The grill was placed near the garage, which was at the end of the driveway. On the side of the driveway was a basketball goal set at precisely the regulation height of ten feet.

Before and after every meal there was a basketball game of some sort. On the occasion in question some of Joe’s brothers competed. I had played with them a couple of times in the eighties, but by 1994 I was not in nearly good enough condition to compete. Instead I kicked a soccer ball around with the kids.

At that point I had known my dad for seven and a half decades. For a few of those years we had a basketball goal at the end of our driveway. I used it extensively. I have no recollection of him ever taking a basketball shot, much less playing one-on-one with me. On this occasion, however, some demonic spirit overcame his reason, and my dad decided to play.

I did not see how it happened, but my dad fell down and broke his arm. Joe had to drive him to the emergency room at Noble Hospital. He was admitted and stayed for a few days.

I am unfamiliar with the details concerning the next few days. I may have had to take a business trip. By 1994 my mom’s mental condition was not good, and she depended greatly on my dad. She was almost certainly under a great deal of stress.

Other memories: I am pretty sure that it was on this trip that the following exclamation burst forth from Gina, “Uncle Mike, you have the same hair as Grandma!” She was right. Our hair matched in color (both before and after aging), texture, and waviness. I don’t think that she previously had put two and two together to realize that her grandmother was her uncle’s mother.

One time my mom mentioned that the Lisella house did not have many books. I had noticed that myself. Joe’s reading was mostly confined to World War II. I don’t know what Jamie read. She might not have had time.

1. Jamie talked with me later about this incident. I understood her to say that she had refused to pay the bill provided to her by the Simsbury 1820 House. I may be wrong about this. I have remembered quite a few events incorrectly.

2. His favorite musical genre was Gregorian Chant. That was also the only kind of music that met the approval of Pope Pius X, who was also tone-deaf.

1995 October: Mike and Cadie at Dolores Wavada’s 70th Birthday

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D is for … Continue reading →

I took notes on all of my business trips, and I often took photos. I did not, however, take any notes or photos in the course of this adventure. So, I needed to rely on my memory.

My dad had retired from his job at Business Men’s Assurance (BMA) in 1982 at the age of 58. For the first few years of his retirement my parents played a lot of golf and did some traveling together. They visited New England at least a couple of times, and they also took a few other trips. Sue and I made only one trip to KC during that period (described here). We were as poor as the proverbial church mice.

Throughout the early nineties I traveled a lot for business. Whenever I could, I stopped in Kansas City on the way to or from a client or prospect in order to pay them a visit. I always notified them that I was coming. I generally took the shuttle service1 that was available at the KCI airport. By 1995 I had stopped at their house in Leawood, KS, two or three times, and it was evident to me that both of them were going downhill. My dad had somehow2 lost vision in one eye. Mom was having a lot of trouble with her memory, and she no longer drove a car. She had been to see doctors about her condition, but they had been unable to diagnose the source of the problem. They assured her that she did not have Alzheimer’s Disease. Both mom and dad walked much more slowly than I remembered. In fact they walked more slowly than everyone.

In the late summer of 1995 my dad called me at TSI’s office to tell me that their friends were throwing a party for mom’s seventieth birthday. I am pretty sure that he must have invited Jamie and the rest of the Lisella family (introduced here) as well. Jamie said that she would not be able to attend, but her oldest daughter, Cadie Mapes, would go. I bought airline tickets for Cadie, who was about 17, and me, who was three decades older. My dad had said that we could stay at their house. I would sleep in my old bedroom, and Cadie would sleep in Jamie’s. My mom knew about the party, but she did not know that Cadie and I were coming.

My mom’s birthday was October 2, which was a Monday in 1995. I suspect that Cadie and I flew in on Sunday. Cadie was still in high school, of course. So, the party may not have been on the evening of October 2. I do not remember whether Cadie had to deal with being absent from any classes. Maybe the entire trip took place on a weekend.

The drive took about 45 minutes.

When we arrived at the airport I rented a car from Avis. We decided not to drive directly to the house. Instead we stopped somewhere for a late lunch or supper. I have a vague recollection that it was a Mexican restaurant.

When we arrived at 8800 Fairway, my mom was in the front yard with one of her friends, perhaps Rose Goral. The other lady asked mom who had arrived. She immediately said, “That’s my son!” I was somewhat relieved that she recognized me.

I do not remember what we did that evening. I think that the party was on the following evening. It might have been at the Blue Hills Country Club, where they had been members for many years. In any case I remember that my dad was driving, mom was riding shotgun, and Cadie and I were in the back. I think that we were on State Line Road, a fairly busy thoroughfare on the south side of Kansas City.

At some point we came across a dog that seemed to be lost or at least confused. He was on the side of the road, and he meandered onto the pavement near us. My mom insisted that my dad stop the car. He knew better than to argue. He eased the car off to the side of the road. My mom got out of the car and made sure that the dog was all right. I remember this incident up to that point as though it were yesterday. I do not, however, remember exactly what she did to assure herself that the dog would be all right. She finally got back into the car, and we drove to the party without further incident.

The reason for my faulty memory is probably traceable to the fact that I was mentally rehearsing the speech that I planned to give at the party. The speech had seven main points; each topic began with one or the letters of my mom’s name D-O-L-O-R-E-S. I no longer remember the topics, but I definitely worked the episode of the dog into my presentation. Who else would stop a car on a busy street to deal with an animal? I also remember that I truthfully recounted that in all of the years that I had spent with my mom I had never heard her say a bad word about anyone. The only other thing that I recall is that the topic that started with L was “Libraries”. I recounted how the two of us had taken the street car to the public library in Kansas City, KS, and how she later encouraged me to read copious amounts of all kinds of literature at an early age.

The only other thing that I recall about the party is that one of their friends said that I sounded just like my dad. I did not consider that a compliment, but I suppose that it was intended as one.

Did our trip to KC make my parents happy? I suppose so, but I cannot remember any details that would prove it. No one broke into tears of joy or agony.

Cadie did not say too much on the trip. I probably should have made a greater effort to get to know her. She was definitely nervous about being the family’s representative.

We flew back to New England on the next day. I don’t remember anything else of note before I returned Cadie to her family’s house in West Springfield.

1. Two or three passengers would travel together from KCI to Shawnee Mission, which was what the southern suburbs on the Kansas side were called.

2. He blamed his detached retina on cosmetic surgery that he had undertaken to improve the appearance of his eyelids. He never took any legal action, and he did not like to discuss it.

1997 September: Mike at The Wavadas’ Golden Anniversary

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Mom didn’t want to go. Continue reading →

Jim and Dolores Wavada were married on September 1, 1947. I was not there, and so I cannot provide details of that occasion. I found a few black and white photos of the event among my dad’s possessions. The one at the right is by far my favorite.

I don’t remember them making much of an occasion about any of their anniversaries. By the time of their 25th anniversary in 1972 I was working at the Hartford (story begins here). If they had a celebration, I did not attend.

In May of 1997—after living at 8800 Fairway in Leawood for thirty-five years—my parents moved to a bi-level apartment or condo in Overland Park.

At about the same time my parents had a falling-out with my sister Jamie Lisella. I did not learn of this until six months later when my dad wrote the following to me:

When you were here for my birthday I almost showed you the Mother’s day card, the last one, she sent your mom in 1997, which mom received just a few days before we moved from Fairway. The front says: Mom, I always thought it was great the way you cared for helpless animals. Inside it says:…. especially Dad. I can still see your mother’s tear-filled eyes as she said: “Isn’t she awful? She ruins everything.” I still have the card, which was sent about a month after she hung up on me when I told her mom was too ill to move to New England.

I don’t know if anyone invited Jamie. She was living in West Springfield, MA, and working at TSI at the time. I certainly would have paid for airfare for her. She did not attend.

In 1997 their many friends in the area wanted to throw them a party. I am pretty sure that it was held at the home of Ed1 and Betty2 Rafferty. September 1 was a Monday in 1997. I flew by myself to KCI and took the private shuttle service to my parents’ place.

I did not take any notes about the trip. Why would I? I did not own a camera at the time. If I took any photos with a disposable camera, I do not know where they are. My memories of the entire trip are very sketchy. In fact, I only remember clearly one detail.

My recollection is that my dad had been in the hospital. I think that he might have had pneumonia. There was quite a bit of chaos concerning the party. By this time my mother was having a great deal of trouble with her memory. She did not want to go to the party because she was afraid that she would not remember people’s names or commit some other faux pas. My dad did not know what to do. I sat down beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. I said something like, “Mom, these people are your friends. They don’t care about that. They want to see you and to help you celebrate this occasion.”

That was enough to convince her to go. She and my dad both had a great time. I don’t remember much about the party itself. I recall a feeling of relief when it was over. On the plane ride back to New England I was, of course, greatly concerned about my mom’s condition.

1. Ed Rafferty had been a naval air pilot during World War II, which meant that his planes took off and landed from aircraft carriers. He never talked about it. He died in 2017 at the age of 94. His obituary can be found here.

2. Betty Rafferty appeared to be living in Overland Park in 2023.