It wasn’t until early 2020 that I finally saw Dave Bahrman look relaxed, comfortable and in his element.
Dave represented the entire Upper Peninsula on MFB’s Board of Directors for longer than I’ve worked here, so our paths crossed countless times — but always at orchestrated Farm Bureau events, from State Annual Meeting and other cold-season conferences to county Farm Bureau functions north of the bridge and every home-office board meeting.
Every single time, Dave was in a suit and tie. And he hated it. Shocking, right?
Early in my career, home office was a very buttoned-up workplace. For men that meant a shirt and tie most days, although an FB logo relieved you of the neckwear obligation.
But whenever the board of directors convened in Lansing, you wore a full suit in case you were called into the board room to report or advise them on the topic du jour. It didn’t happen often but it did happen, and you wanted to be prepared just in case.
Of course the ONE time I forgot was the one time I was unexpectedly summoned into the board room to speak. No jacket, no tie — just an FB logo standing between me and yet another transgression of the then-unwritten and still rather cryptic MFB dress code.
From the intimidating podium at the front of the room I immediately apologized for my inappropriately casual attire. There were some mumbles and chuckles but no major blow-back. After my presentation the board took a break, so various directors and staff were milling about as I made for the door. Dave was facing me as I headed out, so instead of an evasive maneuver I addressed the issue head-on:
“Sorry again about my attire, Mr. Bahrman,” I said. “I didn’t expect to be called in here today.”
His response began with an amused “Pfft!” that clearly meant he didn’t give a hoot what I was wearing.
“I hate these things,” he said, yanking at his necktie. “I can’t wait to get out of this stuff when I get home,” then words to the effect of, “You know we don’t normally dress like this, right?”
His laid-back, just-relax demeanor not only set me at ease that day, but permanently checked my nerves around him and his peers. Suddenly these important suits at the top of our organizational food chain went from intimidating stiffs to relatable, everyday people who didn’t care for business attire any more than I did.
Again, that was 15, maybe 20 years ago. It wasn’t until late winter of 2020 when I finally set foot on the Bahrman place. Technically I was there to visit with Dave’s twin brother Dan, who’d been reinstalled as county president for Hiawathaland Farm Bureau. But especially on the farm, Dan and Dave were a package deal; you couldn’t really chat with just one of them.
March 3, 2020 was a brilliantly clear day in Rumely and the sun was blinding off the still-deep snow, making it hard to take photos. Dan squinted to preserve his retina; Dave’s face was backlit and deeply shadowed.
Our conversation meandered far and wide in the best possible way, and at one point I reminded him of my previous dress-code violation, so many years ago and way down in Lansing.
He chuckled again.
“You put a tie on me and it’s a choker,” Dave said bluntly. “This is the way we are.”
My other favorite fragments from that conversation were about passing traffic on M-94. I wrote these next few lines five years ago in my original working document, but they haven’t made it to your eyes until now:
A muscular-sounding truck gives a sustained honk as it hurtles by through the cold, headed west. Dan gives a wave.
“That’s our farm mechanic. We trade him hay for work and he is a good, good mechanic.”
A few minutes later there’s another long honk from another truck hurtling westward. Dave chuckles.
“There goes another friend!”
Funny how words from the past can sneak up on you like that, years later, with entirely new meanings:
This is how we are…
and
There goes another friend…
Share Story
Article Tags
