Pre-obituary
Barbara Goodman, a writer and artist, died (date and place here). The cause was heartbreak caused by the sad state of world affairs, coupled with an excess of empathy, a dollop of Jewish guilt, too much reading of serious literature and nonfiction, and a probable serotonin imbalance.
Barbara was born in 1956 to Seymour and Marian (Farash) Goodman, he a Buffalo, NY-based advertising salesman turned restaurateur; she a merchandiser turned guidance counselor. Educated at PS #81 and The Buffalo Seminary, in 1975 Barbara moved to Missouri where she studied graphic design and literature at Washington University in St. Louis, and after graduating, worked as an advertising copywriter. In 1979, she succumbed to the entreaties of her mother, who bought her a coveted electric typewriter with which to complete an application to Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management. Two years later, MBA in hand, she relocated to Racine, WI to work as a marketing manager shilling Raid insecticides.
In Racine, Barbara met William Shovers whom she married in 1983, and with whom she raised a daughter, Elisabeth Sarah Shovers, now a global language consultant in New York City.
Quick witted and good with words, Barbara won a 1986 contest sponsored by American Airlines and became a business humorist for the airline’s in-flight magazine. One of her more-often reprinted columns was written entirely in buzzwords and acronyms. Over the next 30 years, foregoing the business world, she published short stories, features and commentary; taught composition; started several small weekly papers; wrote grants for social service agencies; tutored students and professionals for whom English was not a first language; read and reviewed several hundred linear feet of books; and spent way too many hours being placed on hold by the alleged help lines at telecommunications, technology, and health care companies.
In addition to Racine, St. Louis and Buffalo, Barbara lived in MI, PA, OH, IL, TX, FL, Germany and England. She was an avid swimmer, cyclist, lilac thief and dog walker, and in her fifties she decided to pursue an MFA in narrative nonfiction at Goucher College in MD. This led to a memoir titled “Neither Fish nor Gefleugel,” in which she described her experiences as a Jewish-American living in Germany as the Bush Administration prepared for and waged war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Shortly after, she wrote and illustrated an online book called “Eventually It Starts to Make Sense,” a compendium of advice and commentary.
As a young and middle-aged person, Barbara traveled to over 30 countries and was known to make the comment that while cobblestones, cathedrals, castles and cafes are what travelers photograph, what they remember are the people. To this end, she was an excellent correspondent, keeping in touch with hundreds of people over dozens of years. In the late 1990s, she entered the docent training program at the Toledo Museum of Art, as another of her passions was introducing young people to art and culture.
After her 2010 divorce, Barbara delved into making art, specifically ceramic tiles and Christmas ornaments which she sold at art fairs and online. She favored a whimsical style that involved reflective colors and black and white stippling.
Barbara, whose ashes will be spread (probably illegally) around a redbud tree on the Maumee River, is survived by her parents and her daughter, as well as her brother Neil, and cousin, Karen Goodman.
In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to libraries, art museums, botanical gardens and schools. Barbara hopes she will be missed, but realizes Americans have short memories.
Barbara was born in 1956 to Seymour and Marian (Farash) Goodman, he a Buffalo, NY-based advertising salesman turned restaurateur; she a merchandiser turned guidance counselor. Educated at PS #81 and The Buffalo Seminary, in 1975 Barbara moved to Missouri where she studied graphic design and literature at Washington University in St. Louis, and after graduating, worked as an advertising copywriter. In 1979, she succumbed to the entreaties of her mother, who bought her a coveted electric typewriter with which to complete an application to Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management. Two years later, MBA in hand, she relocated to Racine, WI to work as a marketing manager shilling Raid insecticides.
In Racine, Barbara met William Shovers whom she married in 1983, and with whom she raised a daughter, Elisabeth Sarah Shovers, now a global language consultant in New York City.
Quick witted and good with words, Barbara won a 1986 contest sponsored by American Airlines and became a business humorist for the airline’s in-flight magazine. One of her more-often reprinted columns was written entirely in buzzwords and acronyms. Over the next 30 years, foregoing the business world, she published short stories, features and commentary; taught composition; started several small weekly papers; wrote grants for social service agencies; tutored students and professionals for whom English was not a first language; read and reviewed several hundred linear feet of books; and spent way too many hours being placed on hold by the alleged help lines at telecommunications, technology, and health care companies.
In addition to Racine, St. Louis and Buffalo, Barbara lived in MI, PA, OH, IL, TX, FL, Germany and England. She was an avid swimmer, cyclist, lilac thief and dog walker, and in her fifties she decided to pursue an MFA in narrative nonfiction at Goucher College in MD. This led to a memoir titled “Neither Fish nor Gefleugel,” in which she described her experiences as a Jewish-American living in Germany as the Bush Administration prepared for and waged war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Shortly after, she wrote and illustrated an online book called “Eventually It Starts to Make Sense,” a compendium of advice and commentary.
As a young and middle-aged person, Barbara traveled to over 30 countries and was known to make the comment that while cobblestones, cathedrals, castles and cafes are what travelers photograph, what they remember are the people. To this end, she was an excellent correspondent, keeping in touch with hundreds of people over dozens of years. In the late 1990s, she entered the docent training program at the Toledo Museum of Art, as another of her passions was introducing young people to art and culture.
After her 2010 divorce, Barbara delved into making art, specifically ceramic tiles and Christmas ornaments which she sold at art fairs and online. She favored a whimsical style that involved reflective colors and black and white stippling.
Barbara, whose ashes will be spread (probably illegally) around a redbud tree on the Maumee River, is survived by her parents and her daughter, as well as her brother Neil, and cousin, Karen Goodman.
In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to libraries, art museums, botanical gardens and schools. Barbara hopes she will be missed, but realizes Americans have short memories.
Obituary
Asha Mohammud Guled, 77, devoted wife, mother, grandmother, friend, author, hostess, and advocate for women’s entrepreneurship and advancement, passed away May 28 in Washington DC. The cause of death was complications from colon cancer and normal pressure hydrocephalus.
Ms. Guled was born in 1942 in Hobya, Somalia, the daughter of Mohamud Guled, a sea captain, and his wife Raquya Abu-Bakar. As the family’s fortunes took a turn for the better after her birth, she was nicknamed “cuud Barwaaqo” which translates to “fragrant prosperity.” The family moved frequently, finally settling in Mogadishu on Somalia’s east coast.
As a teenager, Asha met Abdullahi Addou, a promising young student. They married in 1957 and the couple’s first child was born in 1959. Many months of their early marriage were spent apart while Mr. Addou studied for a doctorate at La Sapienza University in Rome.
Throughout the 1960s, Ms. Guled observed and participated in the Somali independence movement. As with many Somalis of her generation, witnessing the country’s liberation from Italy and Britain shaped her sense of self and homeland. Like many Somalis, she was fluent in Italian, Somali and Arabic, though her formal education ended before she graduated high school; at the time, that was not an unusual situation for women.
In 1970, with four daughters and two sons accompanying, the growing family moved to Washington DC when Mr. Addou was appointed Somali ambassador to the US government. Ms. Guled learned English from speaking with other diplomatic wives and quickly became aware of the then-growing civil rights and women’s liberation movements. In DC, after giving birth to two additional daughters, she determined that education and hard work were the keys to success, and made up her mind that all eight of her children would attend top schools.
Ms. Guled had a gift for hospitality and a generous spirit that derived from her Muslim faith as well as her African identity: From 1976 to 1978, Ms. Galud led the Muslim Womens’ Association of Washington DC, and the tenet of Islam that most resonated with her was “zakat,” the giving of charity. Using her sharp, inquisitive mind, she parlayed a vast knowledge of Somali language, culture and history in the service of building bridges to the international community. Known by some as “the Julia Child of Somalia,” she authored the first Somali cookbook, “Habka-Cunto-Karinta Somaliyed: A Cookery of Somali Style.” Proceeds from the book went to support refugees of the Ogaden War, a conflict that predated the country’s later civil conflict.
In 1980, the couple returned to Somalia when Mr. Addou was appointed Somalia’s Minister of Finance. Having spent ten year in the US, Ms. Guled recognized the need for housing appropriate to the diplomatic and expat communities: better amenities, more security. Thus began her second act as real estate developer. After returning to the US in 1986 when her husband was again assigned to the diplomatic corps, Ms. Guled continued her development venture, and in the 1990s, during the Somali Civil War, she wrote poems known as “buraanbur” that communicated the hardships of the period. Some of these were recited on Somali radio, where she admonished her countrymen to stand up to atrocities against women. She also collected Somali artifacts including weavings, tools, leatherwork, musical instruments and portraiture. Many of these articles have since been donated to museums and institutions including the Smithsonian.
Ms. Guled played critical, if quiet, roles during Mr. Addou’s diplomatic and political career, including two unsuccessful Somali presidential campaigns, in 2000 and 2004. According to many, Ms. Guled was the “strong woman behind the successful man.” The couple lived in Dubai for part of the 1990s, gained permanent US residency in 2001, and became American citizens in 2008.
As the mother of six daughters, Ms. Guled was a vocal advocate for women’s rights, encouraging all her children, as well as those of her siblings and extended family, to advance as high as possible: proceeds from her real estate venture financed many a college tuition, and her offspring, nieces and nephews, now hold leadership positions across the country and globe.
No stranger to the higher levels of diplomacy, Ms Guled was the guest of presidents Nixon, Ford, Carter, George H.W. Bush and Ronald Reagan, but she never lost her belief that hard work, higher education, and charitable deeds are the keys to successful lives. Hers was a life of both hardship and privilege, spirituality and entrepreneurship, a close-knit home and a wide world travelled.
In addition to her husband, Ms. Guled is survived by her children Marian, Hodan, Hanad, Habon, Mahad, Mussa, Ayan, and Ebyan, as well as 12 grandchildren and many cousins, nieces, nephews and other family members.
Ms. Guled was born in 1942 in Hobya, Somalia, the daughter of Mohamud Guled, a sea captain, and his wife Raquya Abu-Bakar. As the family’s fortunes took a turn for the better after her birth, she was nicknamed “cuud Barwaaqo” which translates to “fragrant prosperity.” The family moved frequently, finally settling in Mogadishu on Somalia’s east coast.
As a teenager, Asha met Abdullahi Addou, a promising young student. They married in 1957 and the couple’s first child was born in 1959. Many months of their early marriage were spent apart while Mr. Addou studied for a doctorate at La Sapienza University in Rome.
Throughout the 1960s, Ms. Guled observed and participated in the Somali independence movement. As with many Somalis of her generation, witnessing the country’s liberation from Italy and Britain shaped her sense of self and homeland. Like many Somalis, she was fluent in Italian, Somali and Arabic, though her formal education ended before she graduated high school; at the time, that was not an unusual situation for women.
In 1970, with four daughters and two sons accompanying, the growing family moved to Washington DC when Mr. Addou was appointed Somali ambassador to the US government. Ms. Guled learned English from speaking with other diplomatic wives and quickly became aware of the then-growing civil rights and women’s liberation movements. In DC, after giving birth to two additional daughters, she determined that education and hard work were the keys to success, and made up her mind that all eight of her children would attend top schools.
Ms. Guled had a gift for hospitality and a generous spirit that derived from her Muslim faith as well as her African identity: From 1976 to 1978, Ms. Galud led the Muslim Womens’ Association of Washington DC, and the tenet of Islam that most resonated with her was “zakat,” the giving of charity. Using her sharp, inquisitive mind, she parlayed a vast knowledge of Somali language, culture and history in the service of building bridges to the international community. Known by some as “the Julia Child of Somalia,” she authored the first Somali cookbook, “Habka-Cunto-Karinta Somaliyed: A Cookery of Somali Style.” Proceeds from the book went to support refugees of the Ogaden War, a conflict that predated the country’s later civil conflict.
In 1980, the couple returned to Somalia when Mr. Addou was appointed Somalia’s Minister of Finance. Having spent ten year in the US, Ms. Guled recognized the need for housing appropriate to the diplomatic and expat communities: better amenities, more security. Thus began her second act as real estate developer. After returning to the US in 1986 when her husband was again assigned to the diplomatic corps, Ms. Guled continued her development venture, and in the 1990s, during the Somali Civil War, she wrote poems known as “buraanbur” that communicated the hardships of the period. Some of these were recited on Somali radio, where she admonished her countrymen to stand up to atrocities against women. She also collected Somali artifacts including weavings, tools, leatherwork, musical instruments and portraiture. Many of these articles have since been donated to museums and institutions including the Smithsonian.
Ms. Guled played critical, if quiet, roles during Mr. Addou’s diplomatic and political career, including two unsuccessful Somali presidential campaigns, in 2000 and 2004. According to many, Ms. Guled was the “strong woman behind the successful man.” The couple lived in Dubai for part of the 1990s, gained permanent US residency in 2001, and became American citizens in 2008.
As the mother of six daughters, Ms. Guled was a vocal advocate for women’s rights, encouraging all her children, as well as those of her siblings and extended family, to advance as high as possible: proceeds from her real estate venture financed many a college tuition, and her offspring, nieces and nephews, now hold leadership positions across the country and globe.
No stranger to the higher levels of diplomacy, Ms Guled was the guest of presidents Nixon, Ford, Carter, George H.W. Bush and Ronald Reagan, but she never lost her belief that hard work, higher education, and charitable deeds are the keys to successful lives. Hers was a life of both hardship and privilege, spirituality and entrepreneurship, a close-knit home and a wide world travelled.
In addition to her husband, Ms. Guled is survived by her children Marian, Hodan, Hanad, Habon, Mahad, Mussa, Ayan, and Ebyan, as well as 12 grandchildren and many cousins, nieces, nephews and other family members.
Personal Profile
Joe O’Leary met his first wife when he went to Washington to volunteer for the Korean War. The Navy demurred, but his Congressman’s secretary suggested he take in the sights with her unmarried daughter.
He met his second wife in the chapel of Holland American cruise ship.
“I’ve had a marvelous life,” he says, remembering, but not lingering. “I can’t do a thing about yesterday. I get up in the morning, recognize myself in the mirror, and go on.”
That said, he’s happy to share stories of his marvelous life. “I’m Irish,” he says, with a strong New England accent. “I talk too much…but I’m curious about everything.”
Born on Christmas Day 1924, Joe and his five siblings grew up first in a tenement and then in a house outside Boston. “In 1931 my father won $500 betting and bought us the house in Winchester. Before that, we only had four rooms for all of us.”
But Timothy O’Leary died the next year and his wife, Amy, was forced to take in laundry. Joe got busy helping: along with his older brother, he delivered newspapers and magazines, set pins in a bowling alley, worked for a milk bottler and later for a newspaper distributor. “Anything to make a buck,” he laughs, remembering how the newspaper distributor let him drive his Packard convertible. “I was a teenager,” he chuckles. “Life didn’t get any better!”
An avowed patriot—“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this country”—Joe joined the Navy the day after his 18th birthday and was assigned to a light cruiser in the Pacific, a gunner first mate, responsible for manning a 5” cannon. In 1946, he returned to Massachusetts, and taking advantage of the GI Bill, enrolled at Bentley College; his enthusiasm caught the eye of instructor who worked for General Electric and offered him a job at the company’s Connecticut facility. He went on to spend 38 years at GE, working in the finance area, assisting manufacturing and engineering groups in the contractor market.
In 1951 Joe married Nancy Maloney, his tour guide on his unsuccessful DC re-enlistment trip, and the couple had six children, five of whom lived. “Family was everything,” he says recalling this time. “My father died young, I never knew him. I never wanted my kids to say, ‘I don’t remember him.’” The family took trips near and far: Cape Cod, Canada, Mexico City…the later he said, was a horror: traffic was crazy and he feared for his young family’s life; eventually he hired two policemen to escort them out of the city.
Joe stayed with GE until 1986 and afterward he and Nancy travelled extensively. “Fifteen times we went to Europe,” he says. “I’ve been everywhere from Poland to Portugal.” But he got tired of “broken down ruins” and what he jokes of as ABC: “another blasted cathedral.” He decided instead to see more of the USA—“so many natural wonders”--and ultimately visited every National Park and Civil War battleground. “But not in an RV,” he says twisting his face. “My idea of roughing it is a Holiday Inn with a black and white TV.”
Along the highways of North America—down the Mississippi, across the Rio Grande, along the Trans-Canada Highway--Joe stopped anywhere that piqued his fancy. “I’ve got some strange interests,” he says, recounting random visits to the headquarters of a trucking company and the field of an independent crop duster. “I love to talk to people.”
When Nancy died in 2002, Joe mourned her loss but kept up his schedule. “Our wives and husbands die,” he says philosophically, “but we’re still living.” In 2005 he booked a 62-day cruise across the Pacific and it was on this voyage that he met Ellis Olczak, a widow from Temperance. Six months later, he moved from Connecticut to Michigan to marry her, and they continued to travel until Ellis suffered a stroke and the couple relocated to The Woodlands at Sunset House. Ellis died in 2016 and Joe, by then needing a walker himself, stayed in the elegant Toledo independent living facility.
“They have nine different options for dinner,” he says in amazement. But I like simple things. I grew up on mashed potato sandwiches.”
A voracious reader, Joe recently finished books by Bill O’ Reilly and Tucker Carlson and he loves writers James Lee Burke and Daniel Silva. His iPad is programmed to Pandora’s “Roger Williams” station--“the piano is the greatest instrument”--though he has a soft spot for Rogers and Hart and Lerner and Lowe.
Several years ago, he attended a family gathering on Kiawah Island—he now has nine grandchildren—but it was the last time he travelled. He points to his walker, raises his eyes, and shrugs.
Asked what he’s most proud of, Joe simply says, “family.” Asked to describe himself in five words, he shakes his head.” I never analyze anything. I don’t look over my shoulder. I try to get through today.
“I’ve had a marvelous life,” he repeats. “I don’t regret anything.”
He met his second wife in the chapel of Holland American cruise ship.
“I’ve had a marvelous life,” he says, remembering, but not lingering. “I can’t do a thing about yesterday. I get up in the morning, recognize myself in the mirror, and go on.”
That said, he’s happy to share stories of his marvelous life. “I’m Irish,” he says, with a strong New England accent. “I talk too much…but I’m curious about everything.”
Born on Christmas Day 1924, Joe and his five siblings grew up first in a tenement and then in a house outside Boston. “In 1931 my father won $500 betting and bought us the house in Winchester. Before that, we only had four rooms for all of us.”
But Timothy O’Leary died the next year and his wife, Amy, was forced to take in laundry. Joe got busy helping: along with his older brother, he delivered newspapers and magazines, set pins in a bowling alley, worked for a milk bottler and later for a newspaper distributor. “Anything to make a buck,” he laughs, remembering how the newspaper distributor let him drive his Packard convertible. “I was a teenager,” he chuckles. “Life didn’t get any better!”
An avowed patriot—“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this country”—Joe joined the Navy the day after his 18th birthday and was assigned to a light cruiser in the Pacific, a gunner first mate, responsible for manning a 5” cannon. In 1946, he returned to Massachusetts, and taking advantage of the GI Bill, enrolled at Bentley College; his enthusiasm caught the eye of instructor who worked for General Electric and offered him a job at the company’s Connecticut facility. He went on to spend 38 years at GE, working in the finance area, assisting manufacturing and engineering groups in the contractor market.
In 1951 Joe married Nancy Maloney, his tour guide on his unsuccessful DC re-enlistment trip, and the couple had six children, five of whom lived. “Family was everything,” he says recalling this time. “My father died young, I never knew him. I never wanted my kids to say, ‘I don’t remember him.’” The family took trips near and far: Cape Cod, Canada, Mexico City…the later he said, was a horror: traffic was crazy and he feared for his young family’s life; eventually he hired two policemen to escort them out of the city.
Joe stayed with GE until 1986 and afterward he and Nancy travelled extensively. “Fifteen times we went to Europe,” he says. “I’ve been everywhere from Poland to Portugal.” But he got tired of “broken down ruins” and what he jokes of as ABC: “another blasted cathedral.” He decided instead to see more of the USA—“so many natural wonders”--and ultimately visited every National Park and Civil War battleground. “But not in an RV,” he says twisting his face. “My idea of roughing it is a Holiday Inn with a black and white TV.”
Along the highways of North America—down the Mississippi, across the Rio Grande, along the Trans-Canada Highway--Joe stopped anywhere that piqued his fancy. “I’ve got some strange interests,” he says, recounting random visits to the headquarters of a trucking company and the field of an independent crop duster. “I love to talk to people.”
When Nancy died in 2002, Joe mourned her loss but kept up his schedule. “Our wives and husbands die,” he says philosophically, “but we’re still living.” In 2005 he booked a 62-day cruise across the Pacific and it was on this voyage that he met Ellis Olczak, a widow from Temperance. Six months later, he moved from Connecticut to Michigan to marry her, and they continued to travel until Ellis suffered a stroke and the couple relocated to The Woodlands at Sunset House. Ellis died in 2016 and Joe, by then needing a walker himself, stayed in the elegant Toledo independent living facility.
“They have nine different options for dinner,” he says in amazement. But I like simple things. I grew up on mashed potato sandwiches.”
A voracious reader, Joe recently finished books by Bill O’ Reilly and Tucker Carlson and he loves writers James Lee Burke and Daniel Silva. His iPad is programmed to Pandora’s “Roger Williams” station--“the piano is the greatest instrument”--though he has a soft spot for Rogers and Hart and Lerner and Lowe.
Several years ago, he attended a family gathering on Kiawah Island—he now has nine grandchildren—but it was the last time he travelled. He points to his walker, raises his eyes, and shrugs.
Asked what he’s most proud of, Joe simply says, “family.” Asked to describe himself in five words, he shakes his head.” I never analyze anything. I don’t look over my shoulder. I try to get through today.
“I’ve had a marvelous life,” he repeats. “I don’t regret anything.”
Business Profile
Secluded at an FAA weather observatory in Albany, Ian Franzen had plenty of time to read the New York Times online and commiserate with the plight of young and not-so-young Americans unable or unwilling to be part of the corporate world. Recently graduated from Hampshire College with a degree in philosophy, he disliked being stuck at a desk adjusting wind monitors and precipitation gauges, over qualified and underutilized, frustrated and wondering what to do next.
Why not teach myself HTML, he thought.
Though he’d purposely chosen Hampshire because it didn’t have a math requirement, he found the logic of coding compelling, and he was drawn to the idea of designing websites to help people like him find their own inner-entrepreneur.
He resigned his job and Couchsurfed Europe and Asia for a few months before landing in Olympia, Washington. Borrowing key words and concepts from College Pro Painters—“they have the reputation of being smart people doing a good job for a reasonable price,” he named his one-man start-up College Web Pro, threw a few ads onto Craigslist, YouTubed several user-friendly tutorials, and was up and running.
Blessed with the ability not to simply write code, but to understand graphic design and story telling--his mother is a cartoonist and his father a writer--his sites reflect aesthetic sophistication and top shelf writing and editing. They also reveal a keen understanding of the art of persuasion, the business of selling and the black magic of search engine optimization
Working with templates from the Weebly platform, Franzen personalizes each site to reflect the temperament and nature of the individual and business he’s promoting. A site for a barber shop boasts a striped canopy and a site for a nature sanctuary pops with the image of an orange butterfly pollinating a deep purple flower. Right now he’s looking for an idealistic ambassador who might want a web site, because he’d like to take a stab at the embassy market.
Franzen says he particularly enjoys creating sites for quirky small businesses and service providers offering new and innovative products. This may relate to his penchant for travel, his belief that “everything is interesting,” and the fact that he was raised in a chaotic but wildly creative household….his father was famous for putting on Connecticut’s most extensive Halloween display, and when asked to cite life influencers, he mentions his family, his girlfriend, a best buddy and a half dozen parrots and macaws with whom he shared his formative years.
“I’ve picked up a lot of skills just observing,” he says, mentioning casually that while we talk he’s hunting for his roommate’s pet python who escaped his cage several hours earlier. “Stuff lots of times seems random, but then you realize, ‘hey, that’s totally relevant to what I’m doing now.’
“I don’t really like snakes,” he adds, though he admits that now he knows more about them than many people.
As if to demonstrate his free-wheeling thirst for…well, pretty much anything… Franzen was recently accepted into an MFA program in narrative non-fiction at New York University, and to him this seems like a logical next step in building his business. “I’ll hear lots of peoples' stories and I’ll become a better writer.” He coyly adds he might also turn some of his fellow students into clients. “Creative people aren’t always great at business,” he says. “Maybe I can help get their stuff out there.”
To this end, he and his girlfriend will soon be moving back East, but he plans not to let grad school interfere with his business building. Finding an apartment in New York might be tough, he expects, but at least there won’t be snakes. And he’ll be able to read the Times in hard copy; maybe one day, a story about himself.
Why not teach myself HTML, he thought.
Though he’d purposely chosen Hampshire because it didn’t have a math requirement, he found the logic of coding compelling, and he was drawn to the idea of designing websites to help people like him find their own inner-entrepreneur.
He resigned his job and Couchsurfed Europe and Asia for a few months before landing in Olympia, Washington. Borrowing key words and concepts from College Pro Painters—“they have the reputation of being smart people doing a good job for a reasonable price,” he named his one-man start-up College Web Pro, threw a few ads onto Craigslist, YouTubed several user-friendly tutorials, and was up and running.
Blessed with the ability not to simply write code, but to understand graphic design and story telling--his mother is a cartoonist and his father a writer--his sites reflect aesthetic sophistication and top shelf writing and editing. They also reveal a keen understanding of the art of persuasion, the business of selling and the black magic of search engine optimization
Working with templates from the Weebly platform, Franzen personalizes each site to reflect the temperament and nature of the individual and business he’s promoting. A site for a barber shop boasts a striped canopy and a site for a nature sanctuary pops with the image of an orange butterfly pollinating a deep purple flower. Right now he’s looking for an idealistic ambassador who might want a web site, because he’d like to take a stab at the embassy market.
Franzen says he particularly enjoys creating sites for quirky small businesses and service providers offering new and innovative products. This may relate to his penchant for travel, his belief that “everything is interesting,” and the fact that he was raised in a chaotic but wildly creative household….his father was famous for putting on Connecticut’s most extensive Halloween display, and when asked to cite life influencers, he mentions his family, his girlfriend, a best buddy and a half dozen parrots and macaws with whom he shared his formative years.
“I’ve picked up a lot of skills just observing,” he says, mentioning casually that while we talk he’s hunting for his roommate’s pet python who escaped his cage several hours earlier. “Stuff lots of times seems random, but then you realize, ‘hey, that’s totally relevant to what I’m doing now.’
“I don’t really like snakes,” he adds, though he admits that now he knows more about them than many people.
As if to demonstrate his free-wheeling thirst for…well, pretty much anything… Franzen was recently accepted into an MFA program in narrative non-fiction at New York University, and to him this seems like a logical next step in building his business. “I’ll hear lots of peoples' stories and I’ll become a better writer.” He coyly adds he might also turn some of his fellow students into clients. “Creative people aren’t always great at business,” he says. “Maybe I can help get their stuff out there.”
To this end, he and his girlfriend will soon be moving back East, but he plans not to let grad school interfere with his business building. Finding an apartment in New York might be tough, he expects, but at least there won’t be snakes. And he’ll be able to read the Times in hard copy; maybe one day, a story about himself.