Rich Williams

In 1998, I officially and proudly joined a grand old party of solution-minded problem-solvers. I’ve loved watching my party evolve through 9/11 and participate in the tug of war process that ultimately creates balance and opportunities for many Americans. If you associate republicans with anti-mask, anti-vaccine sentiment, please keep me in your prayers. I am a child of God and a man of science. I believe in a common good and treating others like I would like to be treated. Right now, I am a man without a party. My vaccinated, mask-wearing ass is not welcome at events designed to thank voters like me. Where did we go wrong? Who decided on conflict above a decisive victory over a common enemy. Why are republicans choosing to die rather than consider that one republican president might have been wrong? If you feel like a conservative without a party right now, I’d love your feedback.

Birthday cake is yummy. It has layers of cake and frosting and tastes delicious with punch. We cut it into pieces, pass each plate carefully, and wait until everyone has a slice. And when Mommy says go, we go.

Dancing is fun. The music is loud, and you can feel the bass in your tummy. Dancing with mommy is even more fun. But when Mommy says stop, we stop.

Hide and seek is challenging. Mommy counts for two whole minutes to one hundred while you hide. Is everyone ready? When Mommy says go, we go.

Hugs are the best. Hugs from Mommy are even better. It is nice to hug mommy. Mommy loves to hug you, probably more than you love to hug her. But when Mommy says stop, we stop.

Bicycles are fast. You can sail down your block on your very own two wheels. Freedom on your bike is a blast. Waiting, waiting, waiting. But when Mommy says go, we go.

Tickles are silly. You and mommy can be very silly. Mommy is a tickle monster. You are a tickle tiger. Tickling mommy is a great way to be funny. But when Mommy says stop, we stop.

The dog loves to go on walks with you and mommy. While you put the collar on the dog, mommy finds the leash in the coat closet. The dog is ready. You and Mommy are ready. And when Mommy says go, we go.

A race car bed is a warm and cozy place to lie down. Mommy is the best at snuggles. Mommy likes snuggling, and so do you. But it’s one hour past your bedtime, so when Mommy says stop, we stop.

TV time is when we get to watch cartoons and play video games. We can’t wait to try our new space adventure. We wait for Mommy to check our homework. And when Mommy says go, we go.

Wrestling until you are out of breath is a blast. I can jump off the couch and land on my feet. Mommy can jump off the floor and land on the couch. You and Mommy take turns as the champion. But when Mommy says stop, we stop.

When mommy and I drive a car, there are two essential skills to master. Each skill has it’s own pedal in the car. Each skill has it’s own color on the traffic light. In cars, green means go, but a stop sign is always red. One skill for driving is knowing when to go. An even more important rule of the road is to know when to stop.

So when Mommy says go, we go if we would like to. But when Mommy says stop, we stop because she has asked us to stop.

When Mommy says go, we go.
And when Mommy says stop, we stop.

When our friends say go, we go.
And when our friend says stop, we stop.

When a boy or girl we like says go, we go.
And when that boy or girl says stop, we stop.

And if you would like to do something, ask if you can go. But if you do not like something, it is always okay to tell anyone to stop.

Now, sometimes you are a red, cake-hungry, hiding and seeking, bicycle-riding, dog-walking, green gamer.

And sometimes you are a dancing, hugging, tickling, racecar-driving, red wrestler.

Green means lots of things. Red can also be a confusing color. Go means you can decide if you would like to go. But eventually, you’ll always need to stop. Because stop always means stop.

Don’t run out of whiskey on Sunday. Don’t drink it all on Saturday night. Don’t finish your beer till Monday, friend everything will be all right

Cowboys they love their cervezas. But liquor is quicker by far. So if you start early round noontime. They don’t drive a horse or a car.

Ladies like fruit in their cocktails. Fellas like ladies just fine. Careful though if she says no sir. That’s where we all draw the line.

I’ll have a Lone star with lime wedge. She’ll have a whiskey that’s neat. I found out that neat just means whiskey. Oh, Lady, I’m pleased we could meet.

So sober up Cowboy on Sunday.

Til Texas allows Sunday sale.

But if your thirsty after service.

You can buy a beer or an ale.

drink up young cowboy on Sunday

But wait til the choir is done

Singing just as I am yessir

You’ll be at the Saloon by one.

(But Cowboy, if you *do* drink all your whiskey…)

Maybe try coffe and orange juice for breakfast.

Perhaps drink a tonic at noon.

Have soda pop with supper.

Monday’s gonna be here soon.

Mom

I’ve always had this obsession with wearing shoes that match my activities. It started with river rafting and Tevas and continued with football cleats for artificial and real grass, Jordans for basketball on wood and concrete, and of course, Asics for cross-training and jogging.

In college, I took a tennis PE class and loved Tennis. I still play with my dad sometimes and have since I can remember in my childhood. At the time, I was jobless, eating ramen and donating plasma so I could afford new guitars and amplifiers to feed my rock and roll habit. I waited tables at a local crab shack and probably met my wife around this same time.

I went to my folks’ house one day complaining about wanting to play tennis, but just having running shoes and turning my ankles in my PE class. I told mom I needed shoes for tennis, even though my mom and dad were always perfectly happy to wear any kind of shoes to do most activities. She seemed to understand.

They’ve always budgeted using cash envelopes and actually had a shoe budget. I didn’t know the details of their cash system, just that haircuts, clothes, and whatnot came out of this cashbox budget. Mom went and got her shoe envelope, which had more than one pay period’s worth of cash in it. She wanted me to have it to buy new shoes.

She gave me the whole envelope. All the cash in it. I didn’t really count it, but I knew it was a lot to her. And probably would do the trick. Turns out, a lot of money on shoes for my mom was $35. I was kind of disappointed that I still couldn’t afford shoes, but equally awed by the gesture, that Mom gave me dad’s and her entire shoe budget for the last couple of months.

Regardless, my tennis class was that afternoon, so I headed to the shop where I’d picked up my racquet at a pretty hefty savings, so I had high hopes. Maybe I could pick up something vintage, anything flat really, something good for a court that wouldn’t roll my ankles. I remember parking in the lot and looking at the money, wondering if I should even go in.

I walked in with a purpose: See if name brand shoes for $35 was even a thing, and proceed. I went straight for the Wilson Pro Staff, the Nikes, the Reeboks, and the Adidas. The Stan Smiths were even twice what I had for a pretty simple vintage shoe. I knew my dad always wore those, but they were leather and felt hot to me. I walked over to the tennis section, defeated, and realized that I’d be putting my ankles at risk, yet again today, wearing jogging shoes on the tennis court.

I don’t remember how I came across the Prince shoes. I think that was the brand. These were definitely tennis shoes because as far as I know, Prince just makes tennis stuff, they prefer to be known as the Tennis Brand formerly known as Prince, though. If I remember right, I shared my predicament with a salesperson and next thing I know, they were showing me these $125 Prince shoes, in all white on white. Not my favorite color combo, but dang, sweetness, and expensive sweetness at that.

They’d been sitting for a while, though, not selling as well as the Nikes and Reeboks, and eventually marked down to half price, which was about $62. That news was neither here nor there for me, as I literally just had the $35 my mom had given me. Not a penny more. But somehow that weekday morning (which was coincidentally a good time to shop at retail places) I had walked into a clearance sticker extravaganza.

75% off. $32. Right at $35 with taxes. Literally shocked. How had my mom managed to turn $35 into $125? I don’t know. I never asked. I put my runners in the box and walked out of the store with them on after I checked out. Those shoes were comfortable and supportive as you would expect from hundred plus name brand shoes and I wore them out.

So mom gave me her shoe budget. She and my dad went without new shoes for a few months, and looking back, I should have dealt with it, I probably shouldn’t have taken their money. I could have just worn the shoes I had. But then and there, it was important to me. And my mom gave me 100% and more of what she had, because she loved me. Believe it or not I’m pretty good at tennis. Assuming I have the right shoes.

Dad

So as an adult and parent, I’ve developed this rule. If you’re known for having a bad temper, that joke where you act mad about something isn’t really funny, if I can’t tell and you occasionally do actually get mad like that. My dad, however, was the master of this gag, and it never got old, because he rarely got mad, at least in front of me.

Third Eye Blind is a nineties band that is not important to my dad and only vaguely important to me. OLGA was the online guitar archive that would tell you how to play any song on the guitar. Distortion is a type of electric guitar pedal that makes the guitar louder and basically, fuzzy. Kurt Cobain famously used distortion to indicate a change in the song and an emotional increase, but he’s not in Third Eye Blind.

I liked this song called “how’s it gonna be” by Third Eye Blind. I still love that song, actually. And here’s why.

I was playing my guitar one night, on a Saturday, probably at about three in the morning. I’m pretty sure my dad was probably preaching the next morning, you know, about six hours from me playing my guitar at full volume in my room that shared an air duct with my parents’ master.

Dad bursts in the door. It’s three AM mind you and he says to me, “How many times have I told you? Make sure and practice your guitar!” Then he smiled and walked back to his room presumably to try to go back to sleep. The gag doesn’t get old if you’re typically slow to anger.

So one day, I’m learning “how’s it going to be” on OLGA, which typically had pretty formal charts and really laughing, because right before the bridge to “how’s it going to be” in parenthesis, there was a playing suggestion: “Hit the distortion, man!” Oh, that cracked me up, and I immediately hunted down my guitar playing pops to share the novel silliness with. It’s mostly an acoustic guitar song, which makes that “Hit the distortion, man!” line so funny.

So fast forward, I’m hanging out with my dad in our living room. Maybe a few weeks or months after that little joke. And “How’s It Going To Be” starts playing on the radio. I loved that song at the time, and said something like, “I know how to play this song on guitar” to my dad, who kind of smiled and began to listen.

First verse. Chorus. Second verse. Chorus. Then this feedback happens and…

“Hit the distortion, man!” my Dad yells. I fell out of my chair laughing. I had totally forgotten that bit, but I never would again because that one line spelled it out for me. My dad was remembering and processing the words I was saying. He was interested in things I was interested in that he normally didn’t care about, but he cared about me.

So now that song makes me think of him. And as we get older, sometimes, “I wonder how’s it going to be when it goes down? How’s it going to be when you’re not around? How’s it going to be when you don’t know me anymore? How’s it going to be, How’s it going to be?”

Hit the distortion, man.

We’re staycationing at Renaissance Hotel in Richardson this weekend, but how we got there is quite a story.

Johanna and I celebrate the anniversary of our blind date to see Star Wars Episode One every year, that was May 21, 1999. Coincidently, in late May, Richardson hosts the Wildflower Festival with awesome throwback nineties and cover bands. It’s always on the Renaissance Hotel campus, and we’ve always dreamed of getting a room overlooking the alt-rock stage.

So that year for our “Johanna-versary”, I booked two nights at the Renaissance, bought Jo’s favorite craft beer, and hit up our favorite takeout, Snappy Salads. We arrived at the hotel after valet parking with a weekend’s worth of bags, craft beer, and fancy big salads. Walking in was welcoming and surreal to have pulled off the start of this wicked weekend.

I approached the check-in desk with Johanna. Excited to check in.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Williams, Richard.”

“Yes sir, I show that your reservation starts Monday night. Unfortunately, there is a big concert this weekend, and we’re all booked up,”

“Oh, no, I just got off the phone with reservations. They confirmed everything. The room is paid for. We’re here for the concert.”

“Yes, sir, the room is paid for, starting Monday night. Let me speak with our desk manager…Okay sir, our regular rooms are sold out, but we believe we can set you up in a suite until your reservation begins Monday.”

“Oh, that’s very kind, we can get this sorted out in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve just been made aware you have a package awaiting your arrival. Would you like me to bring it to your suite?”

“How exciting, yes please, I wonder what it could be!”

It was a laptop computer and projector for a series of presentations Rick Williams from Dell Computers would be making the next week. It was NOT a Johanna-versary care package from our parents. They spent a while in the back room looking at the package and calling in various management and team members to discuss this unprecedented event: TWO N’ER DO WELLS WERE SOMEHOW IMPERSONATING A GUEST.

We didn’t stop at stealing a weeks worth of hotel suites and room service, though. We had tried to claim ownership of thousands of dollars worth of media and computer equipment delivered that day by Dell Computers. We, of course, knew NONE of this. We were just being patient, but growing a little concerned about the sinking faces on the growing team in the reservations office at the Renaissance Hotel. Suddenly, a wall of solemn employees returned to the desk.

“Sir, is your name Rick Williams?”

“Yes, I go by Rich, but my name is Richard Williams.”

“And do you work for Dell Computers?”

“No…I work for a startup downtown.”

Noticing security appearing from nowhere.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to please leave the property now.”

There was no rock and roll that night. The salads wilted, the beer got warm, and the mood got dark, fast.

At some point that night, a third shift worker reconciling the reservations made a note that Richard Williams was a no-show that night.

Saturday morning, a manager reconciling the security reports with the no-show charges made the connection: We had a reservation, but Rick Williams from Dell Computers did too.

There had been a terrible mistake.

There was a hailstorm of direct communication. I wrote up what I understood at the time that had happened and sent emails to everyone from Renaissance Richardson management to the CEO of Marriott. Monday morning, the CEO Called the president for Renaissance who reached out to the general manager in Richardson, who called me.

His apology was warm, sincere, eloquent, and true. He had interviewed the team members, learned the mistakes made, and apologized for, and explained each step. He promised retraining, corporate-level policy change, and assured us this would never happen again. Then, he gave me his email and direct line and offered that they’d love to have us back some time, for a weekend stay.

”Renaissance Dallas Richardson Welcomes Rich & Johanna Back”

From: General Manager

To: Rich Williams

Hello Rich,

Again, so many thanks to you for the graciousness of how professional you were to tell us of the very poor reception experience you encountered last Saturday

at R Hotel. My apology to you and Johanna for the embarrassment and humiliation for what should have been a wonderful evening in celebrating your 15th anniversary.

I always enjoy speaking with our guests as it can be a real learning experience

and I must thank you for taking my call and the humor you maintained while we chatted. Since I have your e-mail now I wanted to let you know a reservation has been placed for you and Johanna to return next Friday, May 30th for two nights. Your accommodation, breakfast, and garage parking is with our compliments along with the warm hospitality one would expect from a Marriott Family Hotel. Should I miss you upon Friday, do not hesitate to ask for me on Saturday as I will be walking around the hotel while I engage and hopefully inspire some of our guest to explore the North Texas area. There is a great restaurant and antique shopping just one stop north of us on the DART rail, I hope the foot is better and perhaps your able to make that discovery.

Rich, there is a very special suite with your name on it but it’s a secret for now, the confirmation # for your reservation is: ########. We are excited to have you back with us so to unlock the mystery and I guarantee you, you’ll be a real hero with Johanna for the celebration of your 15th anniversary!

CHEERS!

PS: Dark beer, Italian & Mexican, got it.

General Manager

RENAISSANCE DALLAS RICHARDSON

We felt better. Shell-shocked, but the explanation made sense. Without looking through the rest of that night’s reservations, they unfortunately concluded we were guest impersonators.

We picked another weekend, if I remember a few weeks later to return.

We were greeted at valet with complimentary service and an employee escorted us to the desk.

Every employee from that awful night introduced themselves by name and kindly apologized for the mixup.

The team informed us we would be staying in the presidential suite, and there would be no charge for our stay.

Bath

The bathtub was big enough for four people. Am I a bath guy? No. Did I take a bath? Heck yes, I did.

Beer

A table in the room was lined with tasty craft beer.

Chef

The hotel chef sent us a note requesting our thoughts on a menu they’d prepared for our surprise in-room meal on Saturday night.

Meat and cheese plate

Beside the beer, on the table, a huge meat and cheese platter. We ate all we could, and refrigerated the rest.

Room service

The hotel comped all our room service, including the tips we signed for after the quick deliveries.

Board room

Our room had a board room inside it with a giant table where the chef served our surprise in-room gourmet meal. I was the chairman of the board.

One of the beers acted as a paperweight for a handwritten apology and thank you note from the first-class manager.

We bought a Royal Blood EP to play in the Bose Sound Wave CD Player.

Subject: Thanks from Rich and Johanna

Hi GM, 

Johanna and I wanted to send you a handwritten “thank you” note, but time has slipped by and we now find ourselves a week out from one of the most unforgettable weekends of our lives! 

We want to thank you for the time and care your staff took to make sure every part of our stay was perfect. We were truly surprised by a number of special gestures and very much felt like a king and queen. 

The specially-prepared dinner in our room was also a stellar cherry on top of our flawless stay. The development and review of our special menu was unparalleled in any dining experience we’ve ever enjoyed. The relaxation we experienced after we set down our forks from the creme brûlée and fruit-adorned peanut brittle can only be described as bliss. 

Renaissance Hotels are now the official hotels of Rich and Johanna Williams and any subsequent endeavors we may experience professionally. We can’t wait to bring Charlie, Grann, Papa and the whole family to our next Renaissance destination! 

So Many Thanks! 

Rich and Johanna Williams

Rich & Johanna,

I am so glad that we were able to help to re-kindle what should have been right the first

time in celebrating our anniversary.  Taking care of people and making them feel special is what we do

and it is so much fun to hear back to know so I may share with our ambassadors.  They are just as excited

as you and Johanna. If you think you may have some interest for Wildflower next year, let me know and

I will set you up with a Friday night stay at a rate you can only say yes to. Thanks for sharing with me and

I wish you both, along with Grann, Papa & Charlie a wonderful Summer! 

Your Friend, GM