08/31/2026
To My Family, Now and Forever —
Forty years ago we started something in a headend the size of a shed, with mice in the wires and an air conditioner that quit whenever it felt like it. Nobody would have bet on us. We were number 89 going up against the 13th largest cable company in the country, and somehow — some way — we made it a fair fight, and then we made it our fight to win.
I think about all of it. The pallet jack races in the warehouse. The Urban Assault Vehicle and her heat-shrink gear shift, gone but never forgotten in that Brooklyn alley. Painting converter dials back on with white-out because that's what we had. Winning the court case against the bank that tried to fund our competition into killing us. The propane generator that finally let us sleep at night. Field-Day, when everyone learned everyone else's job because we were all in it together. My sales meetings always came with pizza and beer, and nobody ever needed to be asked twice to show up.
And then the war. Eleven of us soaked to the bone on Thanksgiving Eve, keeping a promise to the Ace of Clubs because our word was the only currency that mattered. The Buck Deal and briefcases handcuffed to wrists. Newcut Farms, where we took 52 of Jones' 53 customers and dared them to try to take them back. The $1,000,000 HBO fine we handed Jones like a gift. Driving their own converters back to their front door. Mailing Glenn Jones a list of 5,300 names himself, just so he'd know exactly what we'd done to him. David and Goliath, and we were never the ones who was supposed to win.
We did win. Not because we had more money — we never did. We won because of every single one of you.
So here it is — my highest PERSONAL commendation, to each of you, by name, because you all earned it and I never want it to go unsaid. Some of you have already gone ahead of the rest of us. I carry you in this too, even though you won't get to read it yourselves — you're not forgotten, not for one day:
Alice "Alice in Wonderland" Webb — our dispatcher, who kept every truck and every promise moving on time, and earned that nickname because every day with her was a new adventure.
Angie Holmes — for that unmistakable trademark of walking around the office barefoot, and for giving everything anyway.
Debbie Brunetti — for holding it together when it mattered most.
Joe Brunetti — for the sweat and the hours nobody saw.
Karen Davis — my secretary, who kept me straight every single day.
Trish Archibald — our office manager, who kept the whole operation running when nobody else could have.
Elaine Archibald (in loving memory) — who stood right there alongside Trish, giving just as much, and who I still think of often.
Brian Boerner — our sales manager, who drove the team harder than anyone thought possible.
Lynn Lyman — for grace under pressure, over and over.
Lynda Penner — for showing up and giving everything this crew needed.
Ed Seibold — for being someone people could count on.
Rob Jensen (in loving memory) — whose hustle nobody ever had to ask for twice, and who is deeply missed.
Phil Crist — for showing up when it counted, every time.
Craig Malang — our corporate engineer, who kept the system alive against every odd.
Al Via (in loving memory) — whose loyalty never wavered, and never will in how I remember him.
Dennis Gahan — for being rock-solid when things got shaky.
Shawn "Spike" Hare — for the fire and the fight in him.
Dave Hook — for quiet dependability, day in and day out.
JoAnn Lane — for keeping the wheels turning behind the scenes.
Mel Merson — for showing up ready, always.
Jimmy Pfeiffer — for giving it everything he had.
Rick Oldenburg — our General Manager, who led us into every fight and walked in with a certified check for $3 million to nearly finish the job outright. Almost, Rick O. Almost.
Tony Razauskas — our best salesman, plain and simple, and everyone knew it.
George Sewell (in loving memory) — who walked around looking just like President Reagan and never once let us forget it. Still makes me smile.
Ray Beebe — for steady hands through every crisis.
Larry Simms — for never letting the team down.
Mark Mueller — our warehouse manager, who kept the parts and the chaos both under control.
Allen Whitwood (in loving memory) — whose engineering office in Severna Park, wall fish, fridge shovel and all, kept the whole system alive when it had no business staying alive. I still think about him every time I picture that place.
John McCann — for standing in the rain with me at the Ace of Clubs, soaked to the bone, making sure we kept our word.
Shelly Plews — for keeping things running with a smile.
Michele Cavegn — our receptionist, who was the first friendly voice every customer and every one of us heard.
Julie "Jules" Frank-Clark — for everything you gave to this crew, and for being exactly who we all called you.
Mike Morea — for grit in the trenches with the rest of us and all my crazy ideas.
Mike Berenzne — for showing up and giving everything this crew needed.
Paul Jansen — in the corporate office, holding down the work nobody else saw.
John Garrison — for carrying weight without being asked.
Wendell Thornhill — for steady work and a steady heart.
Renae Allen — our CSR, who was on the phones every day keeping our promises to the customers who called in.
And to everyone I forgot to name — you know who you are, and you know I haven't forgotten what you gave. Forty years is a long time to remember everything, but I haven't forgotten you.
I'm getting older now. Old soldiers never die — they just fade away. Before mine does, I wanted every one of you to hear this straight from me: you have my highest personal commendation, my deepest respect, and my love. Not for beating Jones. Not for the money or the customers or the numbers. For staying faithful to each other for forty years after the fight was already won. And to those of you who went ahead of us — I'll see you again, and I'll have plenty to tell you.
The webpage will keep our story. This chat has kept us. But I wanted you to have this from me, in my own words, while I still can say it.
I love you all. It was the honor of my life to go to war beside you and call every one of you my family.
Fading, but never gone —
Rick Kelser
Marketing Director, 1984–1990
I have passed our torch to Ed, Alice, and Betty. May it always burn bright.
