Clearly, certain talents run in certain families.

The Wallendas were masters of the high wire. The Huxleys excelled in science, medicine and literature. Pierre and Marie Curie together won a Nobel Prize; Marie won another on her own, and most amazingly, her daughter also won one.

The Barrymores turned out generations of actors; Eric and Beth Heiden were world-class speed skaters; NC and Jamie Wyeth were great artists.

And my family are the Olympians of worry.

There’s no reason to bore you with the myriad examples — just take my word for it. And it’s not as if I don’t know how ridiculous and futile worrying is. Decades ago, Kookie gave me an article about how useless it was to worry. One point stuck with me all these years, namely almost all everything chronic worriers obsess over never comes to pass. At the time, I understood that perfectly, and I still do. But in reality it hasn’t changed a damned thing.

And so, given that, one would think putting together and pulling off Winter Carnival’s stellar first-time event, The Blue Buns Wheel-a-Palooza, would’ve had me gnawing my fingernails down to the quick But it didn’t. And for one good reason — namely all the people who pitched in to help me every step of the way. There are too many to mention in one column, so I’ll just focus on two: My Executive Officer, Bushwhack Jack Drury, and my Operations Officer, Liz Scammell-Murray.

–

Where do I start?

–

At the beginning, of course, which was listening to the Queen song “Bicycle,” and deciding on the spot I’d start a Winter Carnival fun bike ride — in bathing suits. I pitched it to the Winter Carnival Committee, the gave me the go-ahead, and then the work began.

–

Executive session with the Executive Officer

–

Something that’s always bugged me is when some successful person makes a big deal out of how they did it all by themselves. Not saying there haven’t been some peeps who got to the top all by their lonesome, but I’d bet rupees to rigatoni they’re as rare as black pearls. Certainly, anything I ever accomplished was due only to the kindness, encouragement and guidance of others.

So as soon as I got the Carnival Committee’s blessing, I got a hold of Bushwhack Jack. While Jack always helps me out with my projects, we have radically different styles. I like to peel off, pedal-to-the-metal, firing on all cylinders, seeing how many ideas I can come up with — good, bad or indifferent — and then play it as it lays. I guess you could label my approach “improvisational” (which sounds a lot better than “chaotic”).

Jack, on the other hand, loves to plan, organize, research systematically and take the time to actually think about what he’s doing. It strikes me as a boring approach to anything, but in spite of that, he gets things done. But till the final results are in, we tend to clash, as we did when I first piped him aboard the SS Blue Buns.

“All right, so this is now an official Carnival event,” he said. “But how much you gonna charge for the entry fee?”

“Nada,” I said.

“Nada?” he said.

“Si,” I said. “No hablas espanol?”

He shook his head in derision.

“Well, I think you should charge an entrance fee,” he said.

“Thanks for your valuable input,” I said. “But I’m gonna get sponsors and the money’ll go to Winter Carnival.”

“But if we charge an entry fee, we’ll have more money.”

“Ah yes, if,” I said. “And if bullfrogs had wings, they wouldn’t bump their a**es.”

“But –“ he started to say.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said. “They wouldn’t bump their butts.”

He said nothing, didn’t even crack a smile, serious lad that he is.

“And now that we’ve settled that issue,” I said, “let’s take care of some more business.”

That illustrates another big diff in our styles. Jack’s all about diplomacy, consensus and other fluff based on leadership studies made in California think tanks. I’m old school and my leadership style is most closely modeled after George S. Patton’s. But in spite of the differences (or for all I know, because of them), we get done what needs to get done, and often do it pretty darned well.

–

The chain of command, unbroken

–

After my skull session with Jack, I went to the Enterprise office, to chat with Liz.

Liz is a certified USDA go-getter who’s as civic-minded as they come and belongs to all sorts of community groups. She has her finger on the pulse of the community, is one step ahead of the ADE’s Breaking News. She’s also, if not a world-class, then a nationally-ranked yenta. But she’s one of those rare birds who’s a whirlwind of action, but who actually finishes everything she starts. In short, she’s a perfect Operations Officer … except for one thing: Sometimes she forgets the chain of command and who’s the Captain of the ship.

I’d talked to her about the Blue Buns as soon as I got the idea, so she was on the ground floor, so to speak. And since she’s on the Winter Carnival Committee, she was at the meeting when it got approved. All of which meant those many fine-toothed wheels in her head had done more than their share of spinning by the time we had our chat.

She started even before I’d sat down.

“What we first need to do,” she said, “is figure out how much you’ll charge for an entry fee.”

“Do you always channel Bushwhack Jack?” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

“When I talked to him about it, that’s what he said too,” I said.

“Hmmm …” she said, obviously pensive. “Great minds must think alike.”

“Just what I was thinking,” I said.

A wide smile lit up her face — clearly oblivious to my sarcasm.

“So,” she said, all business, “how much you gonna charge?”

“Nada,” I said.

“Nada?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “And if you need a translation, give Jack a call.”

Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she got that sarcasm.

“Well,” she huffed, “I think you should.”

“OK,” I said. “I’ll consider it.”

“When’ll you give me your answer?”

“Right now,” I said. “And it’s still no.”

Not only is my style different from Jack’s, but his is different from Liz’s. After our convo about the entry fee, he pretty much dropped the subject. Liz didn’t exactly worry it to death, but she didn’t let it go gentle into that good night either. No matter. She’d mention it, I’d ignore it, and we go on from there.

So reading about the differences between me and Jack and me and Liz, you might think we don’t work well together, or they get their feelings hurt, or I get frustrated when they don’t snap to at my commands. But if you thought that, you thought wrong. After all, we’re not just part-time coworkers; we’re also full-time friends.

And yeah, sure, if we were different people (or maybe just if I was a different person), things would run more smoothly and efficiently.

But even so, I can guarantee they’d never be as much fun, either.