Super Awesome Bear

Editing copy for my dad’s website. People would always ask what my dad does for a living, and i can never give a clear answer, purely because i don’t know, or rather, i’m too stupid to explain it.

Here’s a short profile of my dad and his experiences, i know I’m biased, but you’ve got to admit, it’s pretty impressive – i have a long way to go before measuring dicks with this chap.

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In his 32 years as a business consultant, Jan de Coning has opted for “radical and dramatic change” in all the work he’s undertaken. Not surprisingly he’s been taken hostage in a mineshaft for 11 hours, brokered peace between feuding political movements and helped turn “loss makers” into “best of breed” companies.

He cut his teeth with the former South African Defence Force when he was contracted to facilitate the formation of the South African Medical Core as a fourth arm of the Defence Force. South Africa was the second country in the world, after Belgium, to adopt this system. From there he moved to Anglo-American to assist in the rationalisation of Amcoal from 28 collieries throughout RSA into 13 internationally competitive operations.

Having developed a taste for high conflict work where fast change was required, Jan turned to transformation of a different sort. He became involved in the implementation of the United Nations Resolution 435 prior to Namibian independence where his job was to resolve conflict in the Eastern Caprivi Strip between the Mafwe and Basubia tribes, SWAPO and the administration of the time. At the same time, Jan was training Sasol group members in influencing and negotiation skills.

This “political” experience honed his sense of timing, of knowing the right moment to roll-out change. After independence, Jan saw the need to help companies reposition themselves for the new Namibia. He worked with organisations such as the Namibian Broadcasting Corporation (then SWABC), AGRA, the agricultural co-operative, the Academy of Namibia (a tertiary education institution), the Municipality of Windhoek’s integration after independence, and the First National Development Corporation of Namibia.

Back in South Africa in 1986, Jan was employed as an organisational development specialist for Finansbank and his projects included the privatisation of Iscor. When Nedcor bought out Finansbank it “laid the table” for Jan to become more involved in the repositioning of commercial companies, such as Reumech, which switched from making armoured personnel carriers to trailers and tractors amongst other things.

Jan feels his seven years in merchant banking gave him the opportunity to become more integrated in his approach. In 1992 he joined Barry Venter and formed Organisation Development International (ODI) and took it from a two-man company to 12 senior consultants. When the focus changed towards a greater concentration on right-sizing approaches, Jan opted out and formed IBFN (International Business Facilitation Network). His introduction to the aerospace industry came in the mid nineties, and he helped Kentron (now DAS) with their strategy. One of biggest success stories of that time was when he and Mike Crause took Kentron UAV’s from a department on the verge of closing to a vibrant business with an order-book of over R500 million. The other was with AMS where he assisted in the management buy-out and assisted with the marketing strategy to ensure a very favourable exit strategy for the then management through the take-over of AMS (Aerospace Monitoring Systems) by SAAB Grintech.

Jan has also been involved in AngloGold Ashanti South Africa, and the turnaround of the Mponeng mine. His relationship with Anglo’s Gold mining operations started in 1995 and is still going strong with AngloGold Ashanti to this day.

He assisted Anglo Platinum initially with the establishment of the Modikwa Platinum mine and then with the implementation of their “Fit-For-Future” strategy and is still involved in assisting individual mines with strategy and roll-out processes.

He had a strong association and love for the mining industry as his clients also included Alexkor, Xstrata, Lonmin, and others.

Some of his projects in the tertiary education industry included the strategic repositioning of Technikon SA as well as the preparation of Vista University for absorption into the new tertiary education landscape of South Africa.

The Klein Karoo Agricultural Co-op’s repositioning into a commercial group structure was the highlight of his work in the Agricultural industry.

Jan assisted in developing globalisation strategies for Italtile and Ceramic Industries as well as the turn-around of Betta Sanitary Ware and the strategy and potential optimisation of the new state of the art Pegasus tile factory

In 2005, I went to the New Orleans Mardi Gras, mere months before Katrina fucked it up for everyone. I was there for a week, and trust me when I say that I have enough stories from that week to entertain you for an entire evening, but there is one story in particular that I am going to share with you today; The story of Seth and Jinny on Fat Tuesday. I don’t particularly *WANT* to tell this story because my dad and my uncle both read my blog, and they will most likely lift a brow in concern. Then again, I only have one person to answer to, and I already told Jesus I’m sorry back in 2005.

Let’s kick off by learning something, shall we? If memory serves, Mardi Gras is the French for “Fat Tuesday” and it signifies the end of the carnival season. Fat Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday, Ash Wednesday (for all you heathens)is the first day of Lent, and Lent, of course, is the 40-day period you have to give up a vice or indulgence, like cigarettes, red meat or porn.

The Mardi Gras is effectively a suip* session of note, folks overindulging like mofos because come Ash Wednesday, yo’ ass has to keep itself pious for 40 days (46 including Sundays). We were there for seven days, arrived on a Friday, left on a Friday. A one week period is 168 hours long. Of the 168 hours spent in ‘Merica, we were sober for about 90 minutes. I can assure you that that is by no means a boast, but you try staying sober with over a million drunk, randy idiots around you, it’s annoying, and we could only take about 90 minutes of it.

Incidentally, I discovered the best remedy for Gout – keep on drinking. Seriously. I went into a drug store and asked the bird behind the counter for Gout medicine. The attendant, who (in retrospect) probably had no pharmacology training of any sort, was perplexed by my condition, “Gout?” she queried. Absolutely smashed out of my fucking mind at 5am on the morning of day 2, I eloquently responded, “Yes, Gout. When the acidity level in your bloodstream is so high that it results in severe joint pain, typically brought on by high acid intake – in my case too much wine and beer”. “Aisle 7” she said. Aisle 7 it is. There was no Gout remedy in Aisle 7. Apparently, she only took one thing from what I said, probably ‘high acid intake’ and sent me to the heart-burn products. And that’s exactly what I bought, acid indigestion medicine, stuff that would do absolutely NOTHING for my Gout, but if you’re going to eat and drink kak for a week, Pepto Bismol and Zantac 75 could come in quite handy at some stage.

Sorry, I’m getting side-tracked. Still don’t know what the Americanese is for “Gout”. Where was I? Oh ja, Fat Tuesday. In New Orleans, Fat Tuesday is a city wide costume party. I bought a pimp outfit, had the hat, coat and cane and I looked hawt! Think about it this way, beauty is in the eye of the beerholder – 90 minutes sober? That’s more than anybody else in New Orleans in the same time period. It’s a place where even a Rosie O’Donnell would have some sort of appeal. Lol, Rosie O’Donnell… Appeal… (Pienaar is probably the only chap that’ll get that)

Shit, I completely forgot to introduce my friends from Austin Texas! Ok, put Fat Tuesday on the backburner for now.

As guests of Southern Comfort (A big shout out to Joffy Senekal and Ken Rose – two of the awesomest gentlemen in the history of the universe. Hey Joffy, DJVIJPI) we had access to the SoCo balcony. Now balconies are the place to be. They’re open for 24 hours, the food and booze is free, its two meters above the screaming, horny, drunken crowd, and this is where you chuck beads to the judgement-impaired beauties in the street. Balcony tickets can’t be bought, you have to be invited. Having access to the balcony, as well as the power to invite anyone up at any time, automatically makes your Johnson three-inches longer.

It was on the SoCo balcony that I met Seth and Jinny over the course of the first weekend, a beautiful young married couple from Austin Texas. They were great people with wonderful accents, I mean, you’ve heard it in movies, but a real life southern accent (especially when inebriated) rocks the Kasbah. Being the heterosexual stud that I am (ladies) I spent more time with Jinny than with Seth – he was stuck to the railing, tossing beads to the flashers down below, and I got kinda bored with that. Yes, men, you can get bored with boobs, I never thought it possible, but anyone who spends an evening on a balcony in New Orleans during the Mardi Gras can probably back me up on this point. So ja, Jinny (who was probably also gatvol of the ocean of breasts just outside the door) and I had a lekker kuier inside – I can assure you that my motivations and intentions were pure, but I can’t say the same for Jinny…

Cue Fat Tuesday. What an absolute fucking debauchery. You know those images you see on the internet that make your jaw drop? Yeah? Well, let me tell you one thing my brother, them pictures are tame in comparison to the shit that was happening right next to us all day. This is by no means a complaint, I loved it, what a surreal experience! My jaw dropped in awe on quite a few occasions as we were walking through the dorp**. Picture the uncensored version of the parties Maryann hosted in the second season of True Blood. Rof en onbeskof. Lekker!

The crazy afternoon was followed up with a crazy evening, the millions below trying to go as mad as possible before going to mass the next morning. The town was alive. Mad. Depraved. Awesome.

Seth and Jinny were on the balcony again. My Margarita-swilling ass just had to say hello to my new friends – they were drunk and pleasant as usual. Jinny and I started comparing costumes, she was dressed like a slutty-something, I was dressed as A-Pimp-Named-Slickback (you have to say the whole thing), with my purple suit with zebra print fur finishing. Fancy. For some obscure reason, Jinny and I decided to trade hats. Now, for the life of me, I can’t remember what I said, but when Jinny put my hat on, I paid her a not-so-innocuous compliment, which is roughly about the time she lunged at me, sucking my face off, just as Seth turned the corner. I was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget that she was married to the chap looking at us. I pushed her away in a bit of a panic, gasped for air, turned to Seth and exasperatedly, yet politely, asked him not to beat the shit out of me for kissing his bride, raising my hands ever so slightly to fend off any potential attacks, actively searching the room with my peripherals to find any one of my three South African comrades to come and save me from a fatal beating. Without missing a beat, Seth just said, “Don’t worry about it” stepped closer and kissed me.

I pushed him off, stood there frozen for a second, just glaring at the two of them. Without a word, I bolted. I went to my room, my bathroom and splashed cold water in my face. “Did that just happen?” I asked the Alex in the mirror. I had no idea what to do, but I was definitely not drunk enough to participate in whatever those two had in mind. But it’s Fat Tuesday, the maddest day of the entire year, even crazier than New Years. There’s no reason for me to hide in my room, I’m a grown-ass man with back-up, I’ll go back down to the balcony and suss out the situation, no reason I shouldn’t enjoy the festivities at the very least. When I got to back to the balcony the bartender called me over and said “If you want your hat back, they’re in room XXX” and gave me the Royal Sonesta keycard for room XXX.

There I was, on the balcony, my friends with their own agendas, either tossing beads to the eager flasher-gatherers below, or chatting up anyone who’d care to listen (and on Fat Tuesday, everyone will listen). I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only rational thing any man would, I ordered another drink.

I look back on my short life, and I can’t fault any of the learned men who stated, in no uncertain terms, that you regret the things you don’t do more than the things you do. I can happily say that I have very few regrets, but every Halloween, when I decide what costume to wear for the party, I regret that I don’t have a hat to go with my awesome pimp suit.

* Suip – To imbibe copious amounts of alcohol.

** Dorp – Small town, in this case, the French quarter of New Orleans.