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                                                                             October 2011

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~

Recently, I attended a business leaders’ roundtable. The beginning question was “please review the key performance measurements you review daily.”

The answers were disappointing~ but not surprising. Most business leaders could state not a single performance measurement they daily reviewed.

The majority said they measured performance on a monthly basis.

I equate running a business to driving a car.  When driving you must continuous scan out the front and back~ while at the same time keeping an eye on your speed.

You can be assured that if you disengage for very the briefest period --bad things will~ and eventually do, happen.

I urged each of my fellow business peers to pick at least one performance measurement for daily review. 

Their reactions to my “daily measurement” suggestion were less than enthusiastic.  I received no thanks for giving them what I “humbly” considered a “very brilliant” suggestion.

Rather than embracing my “self perceived” key insight, they politely demurred.  They pointed out that their businesses were much more complex than mine and that daily measurement was neither practical nor useful.

 I am sure they rightly believed this cigar chewing, parochial, and very small time banker failed to grasp the vast complexities of their business operations and attendant profitability models.  

In a moment of unguarded frankness, and somewhere deep in my brain’s amygdala, I had to admit I knew they were right.  I could not possibly know or understand their intrinsic business models.

When clearly beaten, and realizing I was far out of their intellectual depth, I took the course any self respecting banker would take.

I scowled and then glared at them with unabashed scorn and mock piety.  (This is a standard move which all good bankers practice in mirrors late at night~ Never, ever, formally acknowledge you are clearly wrong. Make the other guy think he just did not correctly understanding you, and that it was he~ not you responsible for this failure.)   

I leaned back in my chair, chomped on my cigar and realized I had gotten myself into a real pickle.

It was then I remembered the advice of Mr. S. R. Levermore, my favorite University of Virginia law professor. 

Professor Levermore’s began the first day of his contract class, with the admonishment,  “If you say something with enough conviction and passion, and conduct yourself as if the Almighty stands behind and agrees with every word you’re saying—then regardless of whether you are right or wrong, people will at least take what you say seriously.”

 In Professor Levermore’s honor, I scrunched my graying eyebrows, leaned forward in my chair and started gesticulating with my cigar as if it were a British general’s swagger stick.  Having their attention, I snarled my misguided position with renewed force and passion.

“Here’s the deal” I grumbled, “You’re all right.  I don’t know anything about your businesses and can’t pretend to so know.   However, I do know that your businesses will perform to what ever you repeatedly and systematically measure. 

If you measure your income on a daily basis, you can be assured you will find ways to produce more income.  If you measure your expenses on a daily basis you will find ways to cut expense.  If you measure sales calls and sales closings on a daily basis you will have more sales.  I am sure there is some scientific principle behind this~ which I can’t currently explain.  All I know is that this is a very real fact of business life.”

 Seeing my manic behavior had clearly captured their attention, I then went for the coup de grâce. 

“How many of you get on a scale every morning and measure your weight?

  The shock, outrage and hostility in their faces became vividly palatable.  Before they could even respond to my deeply personal and inappropriate question, I cut their answers off.   “Don’t tell me –I don’t want to know.  However, tell me if I am wrong.

 Is it not true that when you measure your weight every day~ you are far more conscious about what you eat and how much you exercise?   Is it not true that when you’re trying to lose weight~ you make a point of getting on that scale every morning?  And when you know you’ve been splurging~ don’t you avoid that scale for that very same reason? 

          Don’t give me that excuse about the old family scale not being very accurate.

          Let me give you a reality check.  It really does not matter how expensive or sophisticated your scale is –as long as you consistently use it.  So what if the old family scale always adds 5 extra pounds or takes two off?

          They key is to understand the trend lines.  The only way to you can establish a trend line is to measure consistently and often.  The more consistently and more often you measure something, the more accurately you will understand the trend line. 

          Just like measuring your weight, if you are a business owner and really understanding your trend line you’ll know what activities add or distract from your profitability. 

One fellow business leader countered my soliloquy by responding he needed to analyze about 12 different items to really understand his business. He pointed out there was simply no way he could look at all 12 items on a daily basis. 

          I dismissed his remark as if was he was the boy in Oliver Twist asking for more gruel. I retorted, “Rank your performance measurements in terms of priority.  1)Pick the most important measurement to review daily. 2) Pick the next performance measurement to review weekly, and 3) the third to review monthly.”

          Again, I inappropriately put the business lesson into personal terms.  “If you want to be healthy, check your weight daily, check you blood pressure monthly, check your cholesterol twice a year and have your heart scanned yearly.  You don’t have to do everything all at once---some trend lines are more important than others.   

             By the end of my outburst the other roundtable leaders were looking at me as if I’d become completely unhinged.

However and perhaps more importantly, in terms of philosophical persuasion, I could see the other business leaders were each trying to mentally identify at least one performance measurement that they could review daily.

It was almost as if they were willing to set aside my arrogance, inappropriate comments, and overly aggressive behavior~ just to see if there was the possibly of even a kernel of truth in what I said.

Yes Professor Levermore, your advice was sage.  Like any good banker or lawyer, I may not always be right—but never in doubt.

July, 2011

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~

Every July, one notices a seemingly unexplainable Prairie Village area phenomenon. At the brink of a summer dawn, one sees white covered trees throughout the community.

It appears as a freak summer snowfall. Closer inspection reveals, however, these apparent snow dustings are actually highly synchronized and most comprehensive “TP” jobs.

Traditionally “TP”ing occurs when a grade school girl or boy has finally “been noticed” by at least one or two of their gender opposites. I am not sure when the “TP” fad started.  I know it was a standard nocturnal activity-and source of endless parental disciplinary action-during my formative Salina, Kansas “Brady Bunch”, Partridge Family and “Gilligan’s Island” years. 

            Our society’s increased prosperity~ and Costco’s influence can be directly measured by “TP”ing’s significant evolution since the days of my beloved Marcia Brady. 

 Back during the “Brady Bunch” years, a strong “TP” job involved at best a half dozen rolls, usually nefariously pilfered from the family closet in 1 or 2 roll increments. These secreted rolls were then communally contributed to a neighborhood supply maintained in strict secrecy by fellow classmates. These pre-delinquent grade school warriors inevitably banded together to form roaming “rat packs” for weekend “TP” excursions.

Our best “TP” jobs were haphazard affairs, frequently prematurely disrupted by the abrupt arrival of the seemingly ubiquitous Salina police patrols. (At the time, I was firmly convinced our consistent ill-timing was the result of someone in our rat pack operating as a paid police snitch.)  

In sharp contrast to the Brady Bunch years, today a proper Prairie Village area “TP” job utilizes at least a 36 roll “TP” case.  The sheer magnitude of such “TP” firepower must render poor Mr. Whipple (“Please Don’t Squeeze the Charmin) shocked and awed. One has to suspect today’s seemingly endless “TP” munitions’ were acquired with at least some passive parental support—and a credit card.

             The “Snows of July” jobs appear to be well organized, comprehensive “TP” carpet bombing efforts-sparing few driveways containing minivans, large SUVs, basketball goals, long boards, lax nets or any other indication of young children in the household demographics.  Often hand made signs in vibrant colors are tapped to front doors.  Car windows are “soaped” with encouraging admonishments regarding “Moose, Monkeys, Penguins, Hurricanes, and Piranhas.”

            My first summer as a naïve resident, I nearly wrecked my car trying to interpret the cultural anthropological significance of what was clearly some sort of native Prairie Village area summer tribal tradition. 

            With residency experience comes clarity.  July is actually championship month for many area swimmers.

In the best competitive spirit, fellow teammates and coaches “TP” the homes of young swimmers as encouragement for them to achieve their best championship performances.   The exotic names such as Moose, Monkeys, Hurricanes, Penguins and Piranhas are all local team mascots.  

Yes, the snows of July may very well be a native Prairie Village area tribal tradition, but like the flowering blooms of spring, it is a tradition even those with grown children anticipate.

 One imagines a grade schooler’s adrenaline rush awaking to a “TP” covered yard.  The various championship meets bring the thrill of broken records, “personal bests”, celebratory rituals, and of course traditional team cheers and chants. These snows of July and their corresponding championship meets are all part of the Prairie Village area communal fabric~ a much anticipated event during these often sweltering Dog Days of Summer~ and yet another reason why our community is so special.

That being said, there is still enough purist (some might say juvenile delinquent) in me that doesn’t want to give the “TP”ing kids a completely free pass with their July missions.  There has to be an at least a mild risk element when performing a “TP”ing job or the thrill of giving~ and reception in receiving~ will be diminished precipitously. 

Over the years I’ve found myself surreptitiously waiting on likely July nights~ peering out our dark dining room window with car alarm remotes in hand. I allow the miscreants to enter our yard and start throwing the rolls before simultaneously hitting all the outside car alarms at once.  Alternatively, I’ve done the same with the yard sprinklers. Both have the same effect.  I’m sure if the kids move as fast in the pool as they do running from the yard, they will break all the meet records at Championships. 

As a side note, I recommend the car alarm tactic to anyone living alone.  You know~ those situations where you think you’ve heard a noise in the middle of the night?  (If you’re like me I immediately seize up, paralyzed trying to decide whether to get up and investigate or call 911).  With age, I’ve learned to simply rollover to the bedside table and hit the car alarm remote on the key chain.  Any right minded miscreant will not stick around with a car alarm blaring in front.  For parents, I’ve learned this trick also works when teenagers are trying to sneak out after bedtime—on their own pre-delinquent “TP”ing adventures.

June 2011

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~

Over the recent Memorial Day Weekend, I read Robert Graves’ Goodbye to All That.  Long on my “to read” list, the book is widely recognized as one of the most powerful insights into the trauma of war.

Robert Graves provides an emotional autobiographical account of his life in the World War I trench battles.  As the book jacket cover states, “Graves paints a devastating portrait of the war: of a young man’s hell, of meaningless sacrifice and everyday heroism.”

Graves was a nineteen year old, Oxford University, English literature major when commissioned as a lieutenant into a famous infantry regiment, the Royal Welch Fusiliers. By age 21, Graves became a company captain responsible for a 200 man unit who fought in some the war’s most bloody campaigns. At one point Graves was shelled, riddled with shrapnel, left on the field, presumed dead, and his family officially notified of his being “killed in action.”

Graves ultimately survived the war, and went on to become one of the twentieth century’s most prolific writers, famous for his poetry and prose.

As I read Graves’ autobiography, I was surprised and intrigued with his innate sense of common leadership, management, and organization.  (I found this all the more surprising by his unlikely upbringing in elite British prep and boarding schools and his pre-war student reputation for poetry, literature and ancient languages.)

Graves had a knack for understanding the common soldier and knowing how to motivate men even in the most adverse circumstances.   Equally important, Graves adroitly handled, with fastidious attention to trite military courtesies and skillful diplomacy, even the most idiotic of his superior officers.

Having finished the book, I found myself taking several “lesson learned” notes in my journal. 

One passage particularly caught my attention.  Recovering from shrapnel wounds, Captain Graves was drilling a new volunteer company on the intricacies of parade march.  An enthusiastic private challenged Graves as to why they were drilling for parade when all the men just wanted to “go over the top, rush the enemy trenches~ and kill Germans.”

Graves called the men together and gave the following explanation: 

“Men, I have seen companies that drilled but who lacked the fighting spirit.  I have seen companies that did not drill but who had the fighting spirit. Lastly, I have seen companies that drilled and who also had the fighting spirit. I can not explain it, but I know of the three, those who both drill and who have the fighting spirit are without question the most effective in battle.”

I contemplated Captain Graves’ statement throughout the weekend. The more I contemplated the more I realized its relevancy to sports, academics and business. Graves’ admonishment on the purpose of drill succinctly captured “the talent and work ethic” paradox which has forever baffled me.   

Growing up, I was always jealous of the natural athletes—particularly the sprint swimmers.  It seemed like some guys could practice once a week, show up at a swim meet and still out pace everyone.  They had natural ability.

Likewise, I saw guys who practiced twice a day for three hours at a time.  By sheer will and dedication they made themselves into championship swimmers. 

However, I also witnessed those swimmers who combined their natural athleticism with a championship caliber work ethic. These were the athletes who became NCAA All-Americans and Olympic participants.  As you can imagine, these guys were a very small and elite group.  By combining their talent with determined drill and dedication, they moved themselves to the pinnacle of their sport.

This “drill and fight” phenomenon is not limited to swimming.  Think of the recent NCAA basketball tournaments.   In recent years, two lesser known schools have played for the National Title. 

In both cases, these schools had less talent—at least in terms of high school All-Americans.  What they did have was the experience of senior players who had “drilled together” for four years. 

This “four years” of drilling together gave the “underdog” teams a perceptible mental edge in the March Madness tournament pressure over the traditional power houses and their McDonald’s All-Americans.   Under “tournament pressure” the underdogs’ four years of practicing and playing together exceeded the raw talent of tradition bound teams consisting of short-term NBA focused individual stars.

In college, I saw a great many guys who were naturally smart.  They would barely crack a book and still pull good grades.  I also saw guys who had to study morning, noon and night just to make the same grades as the naturals.  Of course there was the third group—those who were naturally smart, but who also studied morning, noon and night—many of those have the initials MD beside their names today.

In the world of business, I see guys who are born salesmen. Some call them “people persons.”  They have a gift of creating energy around them. They seem to be the positive center of every party.  Many were rush chairmen of their fraternities and sororities They gravitate into sales where they enjoy success.

 Likewise, I know successful salesmen who are almost painfully shy, but through grit and determination have made themselves successful.

However, the most successful –the super stars of their profession- often have the natural talent, but add to that talent drive, determination, organization and dedication. They are the ones constantly practicing—i.e. “drilling” to make themselves better.  These champions are forever trying to improve their skills, regardless of how much talent they may possess.  (Think of the great professional golfers—they collectively take more lessons per capita than even the best country club champions.) 

Today a corporate “buzz word” popular with college counselors and career coaches is “passion”.  I am forever hearing young people talk about wanting to “follow their passion”.  Somehow their counselors have convinced them if they “just follow their passion” they will never have to deal with the drudgery of work and drill. 

I am well aware of the old adage “find something you love and you never have to work again.” I love banking, but I know that as part of that love I must do the “thousand and one” dreary tasks that are not much fun. This is the part of my job that constitutes “the drill’.  One cannot have success without being willing to drill.  

In many ways those young people who think the secret to success is simply following their passion are like the young Welch infantry private who wanted to stop drilling and just go “over the top” to fight the enemy.  The cemeteries of Flanders are full of such brave, passionate ~but undrilled young men.

In short, Captain Graves well captures a point lost on the “natural” but undrilled athletes, salesmen or professionals.  Regardless of your talent, passion or desire ---to succeed at the highest levels you must constantly drill your talents if you want to be effective.

I looked up the history of Captain Graves’ Royal Welch Fusilier Infantry Regiment.  The Regiment was known not only for its excellent marching, shiny brass button and strict military discipline, but also their tenacity and effectiveness in controlling the trenches and driving back the enemy.  As Captain Graves stated, not only did they have the spirit to fight, they channeled and positively organized this fighting spirit by constant drill and attention to detail.  It is a legacy for which we should all strive.

April 4, 2011

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~

 “The Length of the Journey and Pebble in the Shoe”

 Our family canine, “Riva,” is a Wayside Waif dog shelter alum.  She appears a cross between a Black Lab and what must have been a wild fox. Riva spends languid days reclined. Her energy level reminiscent of a Sunday morning fraternity house.

 Riva’s sloth like behavior instantaneously changes at sunset. With the moon’s rising, our normally docile dog suddenly becomes a “possessed beast.”  Riva literally starts bouncing off walls and madly sprinting figure eights throughout the house.  I’ve wondered if she’s secretly stashed amphetamine pills with her bones.  

 Riva does not return to normal until completion of her nightly walk.  Our walking ritual is a virtual cartoon. Riva strains on the leash manically dashing to and fro.   Her constant (but never captured) quarry includes numerous rabbits, wary foxes, oblivious possums, and fat raccoons.  Trailing and tethered behind the leash, I’m jerked and yanked with each new hot pursuit.

 Last week, a quarter mile into the walk I felt a stabbing pain in my foot.  Being an alpha male, I tried to just ignore the pain and continue our walking charade.  I managed just another 200 yards before convincing myself further steps would result in my toe surely being severed by whatever sharp foreign object was inflecting such pain. I managed to limp to the curb, tie the bounding and somewhat incoherent Riva to a fire hydrant and sat down to properly attend to my throbbing foot. 

 Feeling ridiculous, sitting on the curb in Fedora hat, blue cashmere overcoat, white silk scarf, and pinstriped dress suit- a chomped cigar dangling from my very clinched lips, I most urgently prayed no passing car or neighbor would witness my compromised position.

 Given the pain, I mentally prepared to discover a giant railroad spike protruding through my foot. I anticipated a blood river gushing from an open wound as soon as I removed my shoe.

 After taking off both shoe and sock, I was at once further humiliated. The source of my misery being no more than a tiny pin. It had worked itself into a toe nerve ending. No blood and barely a microscopic skin punctured.  The official medical term would be “a pin prick.”  Physical damage was nonexistent. Corresponding damage to male psychic and ego- massive and irreversible.    

 I shuddered to think what Mrs. Bolen would’ve said about my pain tolerance if she saw me sitting one shoed on the curb-- her 6’2” 220 pound husband brought to his knees by a wayward pin prick.   I hung on to that damn pin throughout the rest of our walk. Once home and in my study, I stuck the pin into my leather desk blotter.

 I thought the miscreant pin could serve both as a constant ego check and a reminder of the Chinese proverb ~“Failure results not from the length of the journey or the height of the mountain but the pebble in one’s shoe.” 

 The following evening’s serendipity made this confounded pin even more symbolic. It included a young local author, her grandmother’s story and a very unique book reading experience.

 Phoebe Unterman is a recent Shawnee Mission East graduate, neighbor and friend of the bank.  Phoebe wrote and personally illustrated a children’s book entitled, Through Eva’s Eyes. It tells her grandmother’s first person account of being sentenced as a child to Auschwitz, preserving through the nightmare and ultimately surviving the Holocaust.

 Still recovering from my prior night’s imagined pin prick, I learned Phoebe and her grandmother, Eva, were scheduled that evening to discuss the book together at the library. 

 It proved to be one of the most singularly inspiring events I’ve experienced since returning to Kansas City. There on the library auditorium stage was Phoebe willing herself not to portray stage fright.  Sitting beside Phoebe and exuding calming confidence was her adoring Grandmother Eva, the real life little girl character in the book. 

 On the stage, situated next to each other in big easy chairs, granddaughter and grandmother were clearly content in the visible delight of being in each other’s company. 

 This content grandparent/grandchild scene is one I often see at Winstead’s on the Plaza -particularly around the holidays. It is a scene I always love.  Typically an out of town grandparent or grandchild reunite in a Winstead’s booth. They share “steakburgers” and memories.   The unspoken bond being that each is simply glad to be reunited and in each other’s company -even if their visit may be ever so brief (I’ve often wondered if it is not the steakburgers but the memories that go with the burgers that makes Winstead’s such a unique craving).

 My Winstead’s day dreaming abruptly ended when Grandmother Eva began telling her story. Her stage presence and story could not have been more incongruent. On stage sat this almost picture perfect grandmother. She could’ve been easily pictured in a Ladies Home Journal pie baking advertisement.  Yet, her story is one of unimaginable cruelty and unfathomable evil.

 In many ways Eva’s childhood experience is typical of all Holocaust survivors.  Nevertheless, hers is unique.  Eva is but one of only a handful of sentenced children actually to have survived the Poland concentration camps.  As Eva explained, the Nazis could find no use for children. Almost immediately on arrival, children were separated from parents, marched away and terminated. 

 Somehow, Eva’s mother convinced the Nazi camp commandant Eva should be spared to work as slave laborer.  She argued Eva’s small hands could prove useful in the delicate task of bullet sorting.  What appeared to be an uncommon stroke of concentration camp survival luck nearly proved fatal when Eva found herself being fire bombed in a German munitions plant the night of the now infamous Dresden British bomber raid.

 A young person in the audience asked Eva about her physical pain, wretched accommodations, malnourishment and shaved head.  Eva explained her most painful physical experience occurred when she and her mother were force marched 20 miles one snowy night to another camp. Like all prisoners Eva had nothing but shoddy wooden shoes. During the forced march, a nail pushed through Eva’s shoe and into her foot.  Eva said the pain was unbearable. Eva’s mother, however, would not let her stop. She warned that if Eva even so much as hesitated their Nazi guards would bayonet her immediately.  You could almost see Eva twitching in suppressed pain recounting how she clung to her mother’s hand marching miles with a nail protruding into her foot.

 As you can imagine, Eva’s story intensely resonated against my prior evening’s experience.  Less than 24 hours earlier, I was straddled on a Mission Hill’s curb languishing in my self-perceived pin prick agony.

 By contrast here sat this demure grandmother calmly relating how she marched miles half starved through the Polish snow with a nail in her foot.

  Following the presentation I gave Grandmother Eva a hug. I noted Grandmother Eva’s head barely came to the middle of my chest.  I could have wrapped my arms around her twice with room to spare.  To an outsider, it must have appeared as if a grizzly was holding a lamb. The opposite was true. In terms of character strength the lamb was holding the grizzly.

 As I looked into her smiling face and twinkling eyes I saw in those eyes an iron will radiating both strength and courage. Eva had beaten the Nazis and escaped the Dresden fire bombing. Now she stoically and yet serenely sat with her granddaughter telling her story to honor and remember those who did not.

 That evening I sat in my study.  I once again stared at the nefarious pin. Yes it still represented the Chinese proverb that even the smallest reoccurring irritant can fester in one’s shoe. Yielding to such festering can prematurely end one’s loftiest goals. But now this tiny pin also symbolizes Eva’s story. Eva’s lesson being that even a nail in one’s foot can be conquered with an iron will and faith to complete the journey.

 As we enjoy this Spring Season and our outdoor walks in the warm weather, let’s recognize pebbles from the nails. Both can be overcome with determined persistence. The ultimately victory over Nazis, fire bombs or whatever evils society spews forth-is to persevere.  Our goal should be to someday sit contentedly with grandchildren, sharing memories --and perhaps eating Winstead’s steakburgers.

   If you call or write, we’ll see if we can’t send you a complimentary copy of Phoebe’s book.  All our best --and thank you for letting us be your bankers. ~

           January 20, 2011

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~ 

I received a call from a very bright and recent KU graduate returning to Kansas City.

 Since he had just started his new Kansas City employment, I told him to stop by after work.  I marked the appointment book ~ but made a mental note not to hold my breath.

  For good or bad, I’ve found appointments scheduled by recent graduates often are no shows.  As every college coach or military leader will tell you, if you base your life assuming teenagers and 20 year olds will always do what is expected - you will find yourself frequently frustrated.  Perhaps this is why so many college coaches are prematurely grey.

 To my pleasant surprise the young man was most prompt. Clearly this is someone going to be successful.

 As he sat down in front of my bankers’ desk, I told him how pleased I was he was now careering in Kansas City.  I knew he had opportunities in much larger cities such as Chicago, Dallas, Washington DC and New York.  Nevertheless, I saw him having the biggest impact here. 

 While talking I realized he was in sharp contrast to many Kansas City area graduates leaving en masse to start careering in Chicago and New York.  I understand their innate desire to “get away for awhile and experience a different metropolitan area.”  Most Kansas City area graduates leave with the anticipation they will return, permanently settle and continue their careers in Kansas City so as to be near to their folks and families once they finally decide to have children.”   

 Unfortunately, this “get away for a while” impulse is generally pursued without forethought or contemplation as to long term consequences or probabilities.  Many find themselves permanently living in distant lobster traps.

 Let me explain. A lobster trap is easily entered.  However, as the lobster crawls forward, it moves ever further into a narrowing funnel. Eventually the lobster becomes entrapped.  Too late, the lobster realizes it is unable to maneuver enough to turn around.  

  Leaving Kansas City after graduation to start a Chicago or New York career often proves a similar “lobster trap like” one way experience. Young graduates leave intending to be gone “just a couple of years” before returning home.  

 Frequently these young professionals are encouraged by their Kansas City parents who envision a couple of years visiting and shopping with their children in exciting new metropolises. Once away, our graduates meet people, start dating, get involved with work and suddenly realize returning home and continuing their careers in Kansas City proves problematic.  Often East and West Coast industries, professional practices and salary structures are not easily transferred back to Kansas City.

 Those parents who encouraged their graduates to start their careers elsewhere frequently find their holidays spent traveling across the country to see their grandchildren. (Perhaps web cameras will someday substitute for regular grandparent hugs ~ but I doubt it.)

 My point is not to suggest starting a Chicago or New York career as necessarily a bad thing.  Nor is it an inevitable mistake for graduates to want to leave Kansas City and permanently make their careers elsewhere. 

 Rather, my observation is that far too often graduates find it fashionable “just to get away for awhile because a new city might be fun.” They do not consider whether they really want to leave Kansas City permanently.  They awake in 10 years and realize returning is simply not economically or socially feasible.

 Today, our business leaders do not significantly encourage graduates to stay and career in Kansas City. The importance of retaining local graduating talent is rarely discussed in business circles or universities.  When have you heard the Chamber of Commerce President or University Chancellor discuss keeping our graduating talent in Kansas City?  More often they boast about attracting professionals from out of state or placing their top graduates on Wall Street. Likewise in many circles it is far more debonair to smugly encourage graduates to “get away for awhile.”

  In constantly suggesting our brightest graduates “go away to start your career” we decapitate our community’s intellectual base. We must continually attract and retain the best and brightest of our young graduates if our economy is to remain robust.

  Telling young graduates we want them to career in Kansas City might not immediately resonate. Nevertheless, like recruiting a nationally ranked local prep basketball player to stay and play for KU, Mizzou or KSU, telling our graduates we really want them to make their careers in our community should be consistently encouraged.

 If nothing else, such encouragement should correctly stimulate our graduates’ ultimate career and relocation contemplations. Without such contemplations, many will become inadvertently and permanently entangled in the “bright lights and glitter” of distant sky scraper laden lobster traps.  

  My very best for what I know will be a great year for you and your family in 2011.  Thank you for giving us the opportunity to be your bank and bankers~

December 1, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Shareholders and Clients ~

 During one of the recent extended family dinners leading into this Holiday season, my 8^th grade niece, Marie Claire, leaned over the table and asked “Uncle Dan, what do you have on your bucket list?”

 Having Irish genes, I’m rarely left speechless.  However, the incongruity of seeing my smiling young niece looking at me over the soup bowl with wide-eyed curiosity as to my remaining life goals more than knocked me for a loop. 

 My racing mind’s first thought was, “What in the world is a teenager doing thinking about ‘bucket lists’~ and why would she think I had the foresight to make one?”

 The earnest look on her face conveyed that I couldn’t simply say “I haven’t a clue.”  Uncles are supposed to be wiser and more knowing than parents. 

 In my quick mental calculations, I knew I’d be knocked down a peg in the uncle department admitting I lacked a personal bucket list~ particularly if her parents had already revealed theirs.

As I mentally ran through all the various safe, standard, chic and even suave answers guys my age normally give, I instinctively realized she knew me too well to accept a trite response.  Adding to my chagrin, the entire table overheard her question and all were staring at me in anticipation. 

 I’ve learned the hard way that when the old family dinner table pressure is really on~ it is best to just be truthful.

 Trying hard to convey the impression it was something I had long contemplated, I leaned back across the table and said,

 “Marie Claire, the one and only thing on my bucket list is to be as smart as I thought I was at age 28 on Capitol Hill.”

 She nodded assent appearing pleased I had given a real, if not obtuse, answer. For a moment I relaxed thinking I had dodged a potentially awkward bullet.

 Unfortunately, an instant later, Marie Claire scrunched her eyebrows and asked,  “Does that mean Uncle Dan that you are not as smart now as you used to be?"

There is a reason inquisitive teenagers consistently give me headaches. In a moment of candor that generally happens only at family gatherings, I had to admit,  

 “No, Marie Claire, it means I figured out I am not as smart as I once thought I was.  Somewhere along the line, I realized there is a great deal more I need to learn.”

 In this statement, I know I’m not alone.  I remember Mark Twain once commented that he left home at 18 thinking his father an utter fool~ returning home at 21 only to be amazed at how much his father had learned in three short years.

 My personal contemplation when driving home that night centered on why I spontaneously and randomly picked age 28 and Capitol Hill as being the high water peak of my perceived worldly knowledge. 

 A week later the answer came with clarity.  It was at age 28 that I changed my first diaper.  It was also that year I reluctantly accepted the cold fact senatorial legislation alone can not precipitously eliminate societal ills.

  It is amazing how just changing your own children’s’ diapers, (as Mrs. Bolen would say, “you only changed a very, very few”) and suffering through one too many US Senate investigations can deflate one’s perception of worldly knowledge.

  The same is true in business and banking.  Everyday, it seems we learn just a little bit more about how much we do not know.

  If you ever meet someone that confidently claims to have vanquished life’s vagaries~ assume you are talking to a fool. Banking is the business of people. People (like life itself) are generally too individually unique to be understood en mass or assigned to categorized generalities.

 It’s like the kids’ video games. Just when you think you’ve mastered one level, the game always moves you to a higher and slightly more difficult playing field.

 It seems like every “life lesson learned,” in turn, generates only more unanswered questions ~which can only be answered through yet another series of life experiences.

   Each emerging new question teasingly implies that just solving its riddle will be the last necessary hurdle in completing life’s never ending knowledge puzzle.

 As we go into this great festive Season and the New Year, let’s mutually pursue this endless quest of discovering how much we do not yet know. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to be your bank and partner~

September 1, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Clients and Shareholders~

 The youthful exuberance and kinetic energy of a warm Spring evening on a college campus is something to behold. It was well past midnight one such Thursday evening of my junior year that I managed to find my way back to my room. 

Thrown on top of laundry piled on what served as my study desk was a hastily scribbled note stating, “Your KC grandfather wants you to go fishing at the Hunting Club tomorrow at 8 am”.

 In a fraternity house Spring semester after the pledges have been initiated and before cell phones, someone actually taking and delivering a telephone message was a bit miraculous.

My first reaction was that fishing on Friday morning meant 4 hours sleep and missing my final economics class.

  I did a quick mental calculation. My econ professor was an aging hippie and leftwing ideologue.  (Today he’d be considered “politically correct.”). Such ideologues are easily placated.  I knew, even missing class, by adding trite verbiage on his Final decrying “the bourgeois’ exploitation of the proletariat” he’d give me an A ~mistakenly thinking he had a new convert to his misguided cause. 

On the other hand, my Kansas City grandfather, actually he was my great grandfather, was a bear like force of nature. A former turn of the century prize weight lifter in Bavaria he came over in 1912 after serving in Kaiser Wilhelm’s Imperial Artillery Corps. In America he founded what was then considered a substantial meatpacking company.  At age 91 he remained intimidating. He retained his full Bavarian mustache, broad shoulders, massive chest and meat hook hands. His bulldog carriage and formal mannerisms gave the impression of a cross between Teddy Roosevelt and Prussian Field Marshall von Hindenburg.

I decided I’d better go fishing.

Friday morning found me bleary eyed waiting on the club’s fishing dock bench contemplating the dragon flies’ crazy asymmetrical flight patterns. 

I was jolted from these mindless contemplations by the distinct staccato of his stomping footsteps on the long dock. (Apparently the unique marching cadence drilled by Prussian officers into young Bavarian recruits is retained for life.)  “Oh Danny…Guten Tag…I am so pleased you can make it…This will give us a chance to talk.” 

Settling down he pulled a submerged tackle line from the cold water with a Hamms’ Beer six pack attached. (Clearly this seemingly impromptu fishing meeting had been carefully planned.)

I silently moaned at the sight of the beer.  My moan almost became audible when he then pulled two cigars from his front pocket.

Even in my best collegiate prime, 8 am beers and cigars were a bit aggressive. This intergenerational fishing was going to be a hard day’s work.

Having fired his cigar and popped the flip top, he saluted me with, “Die alten Deutschen getranken immer ein anderes” (The old German always drinks another.)

 I watched as he drained his can in four smooth gulps, clinched the cigar firmly in his lips and opened another.

Now situated he turned, took my measure and asked, “Danny you are what… twenty… I want to know what you plan on doing with yourself?”

To this, I mentioned law school. 

 Shaking his head, he said, “Danny you don’t have the calmness to fish and you can’t sit still in a duck blind. Moreover, Danny, you have that stubborn Irish streak.”  (I wanted to tell him my Irish grandfather repeatedly attributed Germanic genes to my obstinate nature- but figured the point moot.) 

 After reflecting he said, “I’m sure Danny law school won’t do you any harm…but I can’t see you having the patience to build a law practice.”

 After another pause, he groused, “Son, eventually you’re going to end up a businessman just like me—and that is what I want to talk you about.”

 Before continuing he leaned back and blew a heavy, long smoke plume calculated to ensure my full attention.

 “In Germany there is an old saying.  Shirttails to Shirttails in three generations.  Danny, do you know what that means?”

 Of course I hadn’t a clue.

  My absent response was apparently the moment for which he had so meticulously planned. Snapping forward and squaring his shoulders, he leaned round looking me fully and squarely in the face. Cigar jabs punctuate his comments.

 “We’ll Danny, the short version is that the first generation makes the money, the second generation enjoys it and the third generation often loses it.

 Now let me explain.  In Germany the workmen did back breaking labor always ending the day with their shirttails out from all the lifting, pulling, digging and stacking. 

 Among every couple hundred workers one person with uncommon drive starts as a laborer, gains some useful skills, saves his money and eventually starts his own business—hiring, and organizing associates to do the hard labor.  At day’s end that business owner’s shirttail remains tucked.

 The second generation sees the hard work and sacrifice endured to build and run the business. They usually keep the business going.

 The problem is that between the second and third generation, the business gets taken for granted. The family starts thinking about ownership, inheritance rights, and other pursuits rather than the daily focus, work and commitment to really run the business.

 Focus and commitment lost, the company is sold. The third generation tries to maintain a leisurely lifestyle off idle investments from the sale proceeds.”

 Here the Old Bavarian shook his head in resignation and filled the air with another jettison of cigar smoke. 

 “Now I’ve watched the markets both in Europe and here. I can tell you Danny unless your are born of Old World nobility there are no idle investments that can keep a young family in leisure when the next business panic comes- and it always does.

The investments are lost in the panic, so somewhere between the third and fourth generation the family must give up the leisure and go back to really working—meaning their shirttails will be hanging out at days’ end.

Danny, you are my fourth generation.  If you are without a work ethic and commitment, I am telling you, there is no amount of idle investments that will keep your leisurely shirttail tucked.

I suggest you find something you like- or at least learn to like, be glad for the work, and make sure you focus on the sacrifice and commitment to really run it.  If you do…then maybe someday you too can take your great grandson fishing and explain to him the meaning of shirttails.”

With that, he finished his fourth beer, and handed me my second.  He stood, gave me a crushing bear hug, and a formal “auf wiedersehen”.

 Turning he marched from the dock ~leaving me in a swirl of cigar smoke, empty Hamms beer cans, dancing dragon flies -and a very great deal to think about.

          Since returning from Washington and the Capitol Hill nonsense, I annually return for an early Spring morning on the old fishing dock.

There in the warming sunshine, I chew on a cigar and stare at the still crazed dragon flies.

 Inevitably, I end up thinking of work, commitment, focus, that old Bavarian -- and the meaning of shirttails.

~Dan Bolen

 July 2, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Clients and Shareholders~

 As we feel the first hot breezes of what will undoubtedly be the coming dog days of summer, we wanted to check in.  It hardly seems like six months since we were sending our New Year’s Greetings.

 In trying to remember the time flash since that cold New Year’s Eve, one conjures recollections and quickly identifies memories of a long grey winter punctuated by a tumultuous basketball season, Valentine’s Day, Spring Break, an abbreviated spring season (which included a healthy dose of rain), a beautiful blossoming of flowering trees, graduations, a long Memorial Day weekend, and the opening of the pool season.

 The apparent blur and speed of these past months makes the July half year mark a good time to recalibrate and reflect.

  Although optimistic the recent financial reform legislation will address the greed and malfeasance perpetuated by the Wall Street oligarchies, my gut says that the miscreants have insinuated themselves too deep into the Capitol Hill campaign coffers to risk meaningful oversight. 

Commercial banking should be a ground-up, community based and locally-driven enterprise ~closely supervised for safety and soundness. Unfortunately, under bi-partisan deregulation, many operated the banking industry from a top down pyramid to harvest almost predatory short-term profits and unsustainable growth.

     One would have hoped that banking regulators would have held the industry to higher standards and that banking consumers would have been more conscientious in selecting their banking relationships. 

 Many banking customers simply allowed their accounts and banks to be bought and sold like prized cattle at the regional stockyard, blindly staying with the successive institutions like lemmings lock stepping into the Arctic Ocean. For many such lock stepping lemmings the presumed “distraction” of switching automatic debits from the big bank is perceived as too great of hassle. Like any abusive relationship victim, they stay trapped in the malignant jaws of their big bank rather than taking the liberating action necessary to seek consumer appreciation.

 Given all the bank consolidation, assets today continue to concentrate further into the cadre ownership of politically connected Wall Street and foreign investment houses~ i.e. the parochially myopic  New York types who recognize small businesses and visit Main Street Middle America only by watching their Madison Avenue created bank television commercials.

 Whether the financial reform bill accomplishes its purpose is open to doubt and suspicion. In the end, our capitalistic economic system will survive only if anti-trust laws are enforced, regulations equally applied and the Wall Street monopoly on capital allocation and cronyism neutralized.

Accordingly, we think of our community bank and our beloved clients as doing just that. Specifically, we think of ourselves as serving as a small but critical bulwark against a Wall Street monopoly that concentrates capital with impunity and allocates it with disastrous consequences—often at the taxpayers’ expense.

  In this fashion you should feel that as our client you are taking back your economic power from the Wall Street oligarchies and returning it to Main Street-where common sense and honesty are far more prevalent. 

  My best~ and as always~ thank you for giving us the opportunity to be your bank and bankers.

June 2, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Clients and Shareholders~

Thirty some years ago I remember a beautiful late Autumn Sunday morning, sitting on the front porch of my fraternity house nursing a rather large cup of coffee.  I vaguely recollect thinking that if I stared at the coffee cup long enough it would reveal the mystery of where I had left my car the night before.

Up the fraternity circular driveway came one of those enormously long luxury cars of the late 1970’s. It was of the old Detroit variety –the type that had both a hood and trunk roughly equal to the size of a formal dinning room table. I can’t remember if it was a Cadillac El Dorado or a Lincoln Continental —but I did know it was not the type of car a college student could afford.

 I was surprised as the driver stepped out.  Instead of the expected sports coat or business suit, the 50s something hard looking man was wearing a cowboy hat, western cut coat, and boots.  The face was wind burned and weather lined.  Even with a pounding brain, I summoned the manners (reinforced by the prior year’s pledge training) to stand up and welcome him.

 The visitor looked at me and my coffee cup.  Nodding in my direction, he simultaneously pulled a cigarette and Zippo flip-top lighter from his pockets, lit up and repocketed the lighter in one swift, practiced motion. 

 He took a long drag and while exhaling said, “Son, you can sit there all day staring at the coffee cup. I suggest you find some of the dog that bit you, take a long slug and start doing something useful.”  With that he turned, looked at the front door of the fraternity and requested I “go rouse up” his son and “bring him out to daylight.”

 I found his son buried deep under the covers of his third floor rack.  With much shaking and cajoling, I managed to convey that his dad was on the front porch. 

 It was then that I witnessed one of the fastest adrenaline fused sobriety recoveries of my collegiate career. In an instant the previously prone young man jumped from the bunk bed, grabbed his clothes and managed to completely dress himself while rushing down three flights of stairs. 

 By the time I stumbled back down to the front porch for my coffee, the cowboy dad and his son had more or less finished their conversation.   Placing his arm on his boy’s shoulder and in a deep tobacco cured voice, the cowboy dad commented loud enough for me to hear, “Now remember son, don’t let your schooling get in the way of your education.” 

 I spent the rest of the morning sipping my coffee, contemplating the cowboy dad’s remark, (and still trying to remember where I left my car).  I later learned the cowboy dad was one of the largest ranchers and among the most astute businessmen in the state of Kansas.

 Thirty years later I can not tell you what classes I took that Fall semester or whether I have ever utilized anything from them in my professional career.  However, I do know the rancher’s admonishment to recognize the difference between schooling and education has both stuck to and served me well. 

Through college, law school and beyond, I realized one can learn as much in the hallways as in the classroom.  Although I had many fine professors at the University of Kansas, the University of Virginia and Georgetown—I have benefited equally, if not more, from the common sense observations and insights of various barbers, shoe shinemen, doormen, cabbies, and others of all trades and backgrounds which serendipity has brought into my parochial orbit. Each has passed on their nuggets of wisdom and life perceptions.

As a banker, one of the great job benefits is to interact with various business owners, busy parents, entrepreneurs, professionals and retirees- all who share their insights, experiences and advice~ which I try to record in my nightly journal. Collectively, it is as if I am experiencing the opportunity to take a daily ongoing continuing education course.

It is with this in mind that we came across a terrific book, Lunchmeat and Life Lessons, by Mary Lucas, the sister of one of our clients. Mary details the philosophies and hard earned observations of her father, John Bichelmeyer –the butcher who founded the famous Bichelmeyer meat market in Kansas City, Kansas.  Rarely have I found so much “education” complied into one small book. If you are interest in the book, write me and we’ll see if we can’t send you a copy.

Now that we are in the Summer Season, we wish for cool, but sunny days.  My best and as always, thank you for giving us the opportunity to be your bank and Bankers.

March 1, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Clients and Shareholders~

One of the reasons I love being a community banker is the fact that you live and work within your community. The other reason is that you do not have some distant corporate “planning” officer dictating how your bank lobby is going to look and how it must be decorated.

Since I spend more time in our bank lobby than waking hours in my own home, I want for our bank lobby to have the same feel as my home study. Both of these points came alive last Fall during a most unusual course of events.

Driving to the bank one morning and cutting through a Mission Hills side street, I noticed an unadvertised estate sale.

The estate sale had a great large gilded antique mirror, which I thought would look good in the bank lobby.

Unfortunately, I had no cash.  My only negotiable asset was an old, well-worn blank check that I’d kept tucked in my wallet for emergencies (Yes, it is true ~ the cobbler’s children never have shoes).

I approached the guy running the estate sale and offered him full price for the mirror if he would only take my check.  Dubiously, the gentleman looked down at my proffered but crinkled blank check.  With a wary smile he said, “I have lived in this area for a long time. How come I’ve never heard of your bank?”  I promptly responded, “Clearly all of our bank advertising must be of questionable effectiveness.”

I then gave him my business card and assured him the bank on which the check was drawn would honor it.

During our conversation, I realized that the gentleman running the estate sale was the son of the recently deceased homeowner.  I remembered her obituary from the paper. I told him his mother was a most accomplished woman to be admired.

 In visiting with him I learned that he was equally accomplished. He served as a United States Air Force pilot flying Special Forces drops into Laos and piloting an AC-130 Spectre Gunship on the Ho Chi Minh trail.  I thanked him for his service to our country. I then took the antique mirror to the bank lobby.  Yes, we do shop at estate sales for our bank lobby’s furnishings.  Being frugal is part of being a good banker.

I had forgotten the incident until later that next week when my new friend came to the lobby wanting to open an account.  I was thrilled at the serendipity of meeting someone at a local estate sale and then having him as a new bank client.  This is exactly why community banking is so much fun.

Only months later when my friend wrote a book and obliquely referenced the incident did I learn, as Paul Harvey made famous, “the rest of the story.”

Apparently, my friend took the proceeds of his mother’s estate sale to the Prairie Village branch of what used to be a real local community bank. Now, alas, it is only the scrubbed corporate front for a faceless national banking organization.

They accepted his big bills which he carried in an old cigar box.  However, with regard to the cigar box coins, they told him he would have to take his coinage to another location.

Incredulous, he sputtered, “Are you telling me as a bank client you will not accept my coins?”  In typical big bank Orwellian fashion, the teller mindlessly referenced a new corporate-wide “coinage policy”  (Undoubtedly, some newly-minted MBA genius in the big bank’s corporate headquarters must have suffered a flash of inspiration in mandating that loose coins are a bad thing for their local branches to accept - hence their new national “coinage policy”).

Incensed, my friend found my business card in the bottom of his cigar box and came to our bank.  In his book (yes, he is an author too), he noted the contrast between his previous banking experience and his Bank of Prairie Village experience – my jumping up from my desk when he entered our lobby, shaking his hand, and following through with a handwritten note telling him how much I looked forward to being his new bank and banker.

  He contrasted our community bank experience with his attempt to get the Big Bank teller to pull herself away from her internet surfing for just long enough to robotically recite their “new coinage” policy.

 My friend and author ended his book with the admonishment to his readers that cute national television ads repeatedly aired to the point of nausea throughout the Winter Olympics coverage (probably paid for with TARP money) do not overcome robotic tellers, coinage policies, and “human free” client “assistance” numbers.

 Among the lessons learned from this story that I relate to our young bankers are that ~  1) a warm firm handshake, 2) the good manners to stand when someone approaches your bank desk, and 3) the use of actual people to answer telephone customer service inquires ~ should be mandatory in your habits and thought processes.

 These simple lessons are no more than common business sense and good social practices.  However, they seem to have been eliminated from today’s business school and MBA curriculums.

I can assure you that the day our bank says that we are not interested in taking your coins is the day we will have a management change and I start looking for an alternative career.

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to be your bank and bankers.

~Dan Bolen

January 20, 2010

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Clients and Shareholders,

                Just prior to this past Thanksgiving Day, I made the comment to my mother that I was going to have to get up early and return to Kansas City the Friday after Thanksgiving because the bank would be short staffed without me.

Assuming I would receive motherly consolation and a compliment on my work ethic, I was surprised when Mom immediately replied, “Dan, do you know how many unemployed bankers would like to get up and have a bank where they can go to work this Friday?”  

Mom’s comment struck like a battering ram’s blow.  Suddenly just having a bank to which I could return generated a new sense of meaning and purpose.  Every bank client I thought of during the three hour early morning drive became that much more cherished.

Often with continued success, one forgets and starts viewing as “dreary” those daily tasks which are in fact hard-earned blessings. As someone said, if you don’t think everyday is a “great” day to be alive, try skipping one.

This insight brings to mind a conversation I had with my grandfather and namesake, Dan Bolen, in Salina, Kansas during my last year in law school.  I was visiting him for what we both knew would be the last time.  My grandfather was in bed and I was leaned over him, doing most of the talking.

 Suddenly my grandfather reached up and grabbed my overcoat lapel, pulling me down close to his face.  

There was a spark in his eyes and his recently slurred diction became very clear. In a low whisper, he said he wanted me “every day to wear a suit and tie to the office.” Without hesitating, he then whispered, “This family worked for generations on railroad gangs so you can wear a suit and tie. Don’t screw it up and don’t ever forget it.”  

From that perspective, wearing a suit and tie becomes not a burden, but rather a privilege. As you can imagine, our young officers are swiftly instructed as to why suit and ties are both expected and required for our profession-- at least as it is practiced at the Bank of Prairie Village.

We could not continue achieving our performance without your support. I have attached a client letter that I enclosed with our year end clients’ statements that underscores this point. We are most pleased to be your Bank and Bankers.  Thank you for giving us this opportunity.

~Dan Bolen           

October 5, 2009

 Recently while watching television I noticed an advertisement by a large bank showing the announcer dressed for a golf trip, suggesting that their bank made home equity loans so “easy” that borrowers can enjoy the “more important things in life.” This “cute” advertisement essentially encourages borrowers to take the equity from their homes and spend it on vacations and golf.

 This humorous advertisement shot a surge of anger through me. I wasn’t sure why it invoked such a strong negative reaction.  To “get in touch with my feelings,” I followed my tried and true routine of putting the dog on her leash and heading out for a long evening walk.

 The more I thought about the home equity ad, the more I understood why it infuriated me. First and foremost, we have all spent the last year listening to Congressional debates- and paying for federal bailouts associated with the housing debacle. Every week—today was no exception - the newspapers carry front page stories about home foreclosures and the attendant heartbreaks.

 Given this backdrop of foreclosures and bailouts, my first thought was of the poor taste and ill timing of a media campaign suggesting that one’s home equity be used for vacation spending money.

 Every real banker understands that providing credit is a serious business. In many respects, a banker is like a doctor prescribing pain medication after a surgery. Yes, the patient loves you when you “prescribe the medication” (or make the loan), but when it comes time to take the patient off of the medication, or in our case, request that the credit be paid down, the patient’s good will immediately turns to animosity.

 Like doctors, we learn not to take such animosity personally.  In such cases, the doctor and the banker knows their directive to end the pain medication to avoid addiction or request credit reduction to avoid overwhelming debt is for the patient’s well being.  Nevertheless, it does not make the job any easier.

 I remember well my freshman year in college.  I was on the swimming team.  The team doctor prescribed some pain medication for an inflamed shoulder. I could have hugged the man when I received my little bottle of pain pills.   I found that on the pain mediation, the long winter workouts went much better.  The heavy arms and cramped muscles during the distant swims no longer bothered me.  In fact, I almost enjoyed the workouts for one blissful week.

 Unfortunately, at week’s end I found my precious medication bottle empty. I went back to my favorite doctor to ask for just one more refill. The doctor smiled but firmly refused my request.  Being eighteen, somewhat exhausted, and naturally belligerent, I promptly inflicted on the once friendly doctor some choice collegiate discord, slamming the door on my way out.  Workouts went back to being pain-filled ordeals. I directed all of my resentment against that once likable team doctor. Only with age and reflection do I realize that the doctor had my best interests at heart. He was not the Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde I had conjured –he was a professional with my best interests at heart.

 We all love witty and memorable advertisements.  Who can forget those great Benson and Hedges cigarette ads “just a silly millimeter longer,” the Camels “I’d Walk a Mile,” and of course the legendary “Marlboro” man with the guitar music always strumming in the background as he rode that never ending prairie.  Nevertheless, purveying cigarettes with humor and wit is no longer socially acceptable –or for that matter legal. This is probably for good measure. Serious products such as cigarettes, pain medication and yes consumer credit should not be marketed in an arbitrary and capricious manner.

 One has to begin to wonder if the time has not come to end credit card advertisements highlighting crazy looking Vikings and home equity loans being championed by gaudily dressed golfers (I won’t even begin to comment about insurance products peddled by green lizards).

 Pain medication and credit—particularly home equity credit- if used appropriately, can be most useful for very limited and specific purposes.  However, like everything else, if taken or given without forethought of purpose –these useful tools can become most corrupting resulting inevitability in abuse and ruin.

 The banker or banking institution that trivializes the extension of home equity credit through funny media campaigns does a disservice to society and insults a thinking person’s intelligence. In the long run, such banking institutions will reap what they sow—and most likely find themselves at the federal bailout window asking for taxpayer assistance. They are like the cigarette executives of old, pushing a potentially dangerous product with catchy jingles and seductive wit, only to eventually suffer the subsequent backlash when the butcher’s bill comes due.

 Prudence was once a word associated with commercial bankers. Unfortunately, in the rush for short term profits and fast growth, many fellow bankers shed their prudent temperament (along with their suit jackets in the lobby and white handkerchiefs in the breast pockets). Sound lending principles were replaced by catchy media campaigns and easy credit extensions directed toward the uninformed and desperate.

 Our bank maintains our 5 Star Safety and Soundness Rating from the Bauer Rating service. In addition to the 5 Star rating, we received the two highest designations for Kansas City banks by two other rating agencies Bankrate.com and TheStreet.com.  We could not continue achieving our performance without your support. We are most pleased to be your Bank and Bankers.

~Dan Bolen

September 9, 2009

Recently, I noticed several newspaper and television ads by larger banks offering cash checking rewards for opening new accounts.  As I read the fine print I am struck that the cash value “rewards” are really points toward banking services that most banks used to give for free.

 My reaction is that making a big deal giving client checking “rewards” for what used to be complimentary services is kind of like asking guy to remove his hat in church—you are glad that he does it—but kind of makes you wonder why you had to ask him in the first place. 

 We are pleased to welcome new private banker, Brooke Myers, a KU Business School graduate, former KU cheerleader and member of the Pi Beta Phi Sorority.  When away from the bank Brooke is also the assistant varsity cheerleading coach at Shawnee Mission East.  In addition to Brooke, we would also like to welcome our new SME after school intern, Mary Kate McCandless. Mary Kate carries a strong GPA at East, is interested in business and when not studying or working at the bank is a SME varsity cheerleader.  

 It is also with great pleasure that we would like to recognize our client, Mady and Me located in the Prairie Village Shopping Center for being named best Children’s Boutique by Kansas City Magazine.

             I would be remiss if I failed to mention that 1) we now offer Safety Deposit Boxes, 2) we have updated our Website, 3) we are looking forward to Amanda’s Dog Festival on Sunday September 13^th in Prairie Village’s Porter Park and 4) we miss all our student clients and summer interns who have headed back to college.

~Dan Bolen

                                                                      August 16, 2009

Re: Our Summer Interns, Facebook, and "Old Dogs"

Having sharp college interns reminds me of how I inevitably feel after speaking to MBA classes.  To the surprise of both students and lecturer, we tend to learn something from each other.

 You can imagine one intern’s surprise when we told him to cut his hair and raise his sideburns.  Likewise, we detected bewilderment when explaining to another intern that suit jackets with white handkerchief were always to be worn in our bank lobby.

 That being said, you can visualize my agitation when the interns came en masse to my desk suggesting the bank create its own “FaceBook Webpage.”   Just as I was about to cut off this nonsense --they shot an arrow straight to my heart. One commented, “Mr. Bolen you are always stressing the importance of staying in touch with clients.  Why don’t you view this as one more way of staying in touch?” 

 At that moment—I realized both interns and Chairman had learned something from each other.  They grasped the concept of always staying in touch ~and I grasped that there are always new ways to do so.   

 Accordingly, the second surprise of this Summer Season, besides the cool weather, is that we now have a Bank Facebook page. Yes, I guess you can teach an old dog new ways to chew a bone.

~Dan Bolen

July 9, 2009

I recently noticed that the nation’s largest retail bank carried ads at two ballparks, calling itself the “Official Bank” of both the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox.

I am not sure how much the bank paid for what must have been these incredibly expensive advertisements, but I could not help but think of such advertising as a giant waste.

 Even the most obtuse politician knows that one cannot legitimately claim support for both the Yankees and the Red Sox, given the animosity between these two teams and their respective fan bases.  Such waste of advertising money is probably why their “Official Bank” totters and lives on government bailout assistance.

Such grandiose expenditures were silly and sad when the money came from the bank’s shareholder base.  They become disheartening now that they come from the American taxpayer and small banks such as us that must pay higher FDIC assessments for such folly.

Our bank maintains our 5 Star Safety and Soundness Rating from the Bauer Rating service. We could not continue achieving our performance without your support.  We are most pleased to be your Bank and Bankers.

~Dan Bolen

             June 1, 2009

Dear Bank of Prairie Village Friends,

           Recently my sister sent me an email she received “Detailing 8 Safety Points for Women to Remember” shortly after learning of the tragic disappearance of the Overland Park coed, Kelsey Smith.  

          I took the time to read it.  It made several good points.  Many of these points have been conveyed to our staff during our required bank security training sessions.

          It struck me that we often include various “stuffers” in our bank statements regarding new bank products and events.  I am never sure what is and is not appropriate to include in statements regarding non-bank information.  Nevertheless, in light of the recent tragedy here in Kansas City, I thought it would be appropriate to include this information to our clients.  Again, several of the points have been made to our bank staff during security training so I believe these 8 simple points are both of value and demonstrate common sense.    

          These points aside, remember buckling your seatbelt everyday is the single most important action you can take to keep yourself safe from what is the highest risk you constantly and daily confront.

           All my best for a terrific summer

~Dan Bolen

       February 3, 2009

With our current manic/depressant stock and mutual fund markets~ we have encouraged our clients to think of our Bank as a “Giant Safety Box” for protecting their money.   

            To follow through on this mindset, and accommodate several client requests that we “liberate” them from the last vestiges of their big banks~ we added Safety Deposit Boxes.  Yes~ you can rent your own Safety Deposit Box here at the Bank of Prairie Village.    Simply call Leibie or Denise at 913~713~0300 and they will arrange your own Safety Deposit Box. 

           Speaking of Big Banks—one of our clients commented he wanted his Bank President to know more clients than lobbyists.  I agreed most heartily.  Perhaps if Bank Presidents knew more clients than lobbyists –they would not have to prevail on their lobbyists to secure government bailout assistance—or as many now call the program~ bank welfare.

          Our Best to you and your family for this Valentines Day Season

~Dan Bolen       

January 14, 2009 

During the past year, Bank of Prairie Village was one of three Kansas City banks rated 5 Stars for “Safety and Soundness” by both Bankrate.com and the Bauer Financial Report.

 As we focus on 2009, we must remember that the poison of success is hubris.  As Cicero bemoaned, “Vanity my old foe, in the end you defeat me.” 

It would be easy to simply rely on the success we achieved in 2008 as a harbinger of 2009.  Unfortunately, the financial markets dictate that we will have to work twice as hard in 2009 to even remotely emulate our 2008 performance.

 During the last quarter of 2008, a number of non- banking institutions successfully applied for and received Bank Holding Company status.  Many did so to qualify for a draw from the taxpayer bailout.  Many found they needed this government assistance because of ill- advised leverage and strategic miscalculations. 

 It can be disheartening to a banker to watch entities be given bank charters after engaging in less than prudent lending activities.  Overnight, the number of banking competitors seems to have doubled.

 That being said, I am reminded of the Battle of Waterloo.  At the battle’s climax, Napoleons’ Old Guard Brigade marched up the hill through fire and cannon to break what they believed to be the thin red line of British resistance.  Upon reaching the crest, the Old Guard realized that British resistance, although still thin, was greater than expected. This unexpected variable caused the Old Guard to panic and then flee down the very hill from which they valiantly marched. The battle and Napoleon were forever lost.

 The irony was that had the Old Guard simply kept their heads down and continued marching forward, they would have easily crushed the Duke of Wellington’s last defenses.  

The lesson of Waterloo to today’s banking environment is that rather than fretting over unexpected competitive variables, it is probably better to keep one’s head down and continue marching to the tune that has repeatedly brought us success.  As Rudyard Kipling observed, the key is to “Keep one’s head when everyone around you is losing theirs.”

 The tune that has brought us competitive success is remaining close and in contact with our client base.  On a daily basis, we are asked about plans to build another branch location.  Our response has been that we prefer to have our competitors reviewing carpet samples for their new branches while we review our client lists. As my mother repeatedly reminded me—“one should make new friends—but keep the old—one is silver the other gold.”

 My father and grandfather owned a successful real estate and insurance agency in Salina, Kansas for over 50 years.  Having read a best selling marketing book, I asked my dad about his thoughts on “Cold Calling.”  Dad replied that over the 50 years he and my grandfather owned the agency, they were so busy taking care of clients and friends that they never had time to get around to “Cold Calling.”  At that instant I realized their success formula. 

 My father-in-law ran the Griffith Family bank in Manhattan, Kansas.  I asked one of the former bank employees about working for my father-in-law.  He told the story of my father-in-law walking into the office of a business development officer and telling him the phone repairman would be coming in that afternoon.  When the bank officer replied that his phone was not broken, my father-in-law responded that it must be broken since the officer was sitting in the office and not using it to talk with his clients.

 Like a cold beer on a hot summer afternoon—our client-focused approach may be simple—but it sure is effective.  

 Being simple should not be confused with being easy.  Every business person knows that staying in touch with clients is critical, just like every basketball coach knows that making free throws will often determine a close game.  The problem is that practicing free throws requires persistent repetition and consistent focus well before, during, and after the scrimmages and organized workouts.  As college basketball coach Rick Pitino observed, the championships in March are determined in sweaty gyms and rank weight rooms the preceding summer.   

 Andrew Carnegie once commented that “you can take or destroy all my plants, inventory, and real estate –but so long as you leave my associates and client lists I can rebuild it all in five years.”

 Too often bankers focus exclusively on hard assets.  They talk in terms of buildings, technology, franchises, trademarks, branches, business lines –almost everything but clients and associates.  Let us not make that mistake.  We have two successful attributes—our clients and our associates. 

~Dan Bolen