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A Brief History of Morris Introduction After some thought, I have decided to include this content now. I realize most people will not find the following very interesting, but my son and daughter may. Others may be curious as to who I am and a little bit of why I am.
My character is predefined I was born in Waco, Texas at 9:00 AM on a Sunday morning, May 25th, 1952 as Morris Albert Lang, Jr. It was a perfect time to begin a new life. I came into the world with a sister that was sixteen years older than me. She adored and loved me from the very beginning. I was blessed because my sister and parents loved me very much. My parents, Morris Albert Lang, Sr. and Reta Mae McKenzie had been having difficulties in their marriage. When they reconciled I was a result of their recommitted love and I was an accident. My mother was 42 when I was born. In 1952, having a baby at age 42 was very risky to both mother and child. I had always seemed to bring people together and I always seemed to have a wide variety of friends. Somehow bringing people together and making friends seemed natural. My nature was to solve conflicts, not participate in them. Later I would learn how much my friends, even very old friends who I had not seen in years, still remembered me and loved me. If I could make friends easily, my dad was a grand master at it. He could enter a room and by the time he left, everyone knew his name and was his friend. My childhood gifts Gift 1- A strong work ethic My father managed and owned gasoline service stations. In those days there was no self-service. Service stations only sold automobile products, no milk, and bread. Gas was cheap. An operator could not survive on gasoline sales alone. Other sales were made at the pump by checking oil, wiper blades and being friendly, prompt and cleaning windshields. The process of pumping gas was called “waiting on the front”. When I was 6 years old, I started cleaning restrooms at my Dad’s station. Clean restrooms were very important and I took my job seriously. Soon I was also waiting on the front. I was too short to reach the windshields, so I carried a stool to stand on when I cleaned a customer’s windshield. I got good at “waiting on the front”, I could have up to 4 cars all in progress at once and still provide good service. I would run from car to car. If I made auxiliary sales such as wiper blades, I would ask the customer to wait and they were usually happy to do so. Surprisingly most customers trusted me, even at such a young age. My dad was pleased and proud. In the beginning I just helped out at the station, but as I got older I was responsible for a shift. Other people working at the station depended on me to show up for work. I was responsible for a shift long before I was legal age to drive a car. I would ride my bike to and from work. Sometimes the distance was 10 miles or longer. If I worked the shift that closed the station at night, I would ride my bike to work and my Dad would stay with me until closing time. I would do my school homework at the station between waiting on customers. At closing time my Dad and I would drive home in his pick-up with my bike in the bed. Sometimes, my dad would let me drive home on the back streets. It was totally illegal, I could barely see over the steering wheel. I did have some driving experience as I was driving customer cars into and out of service bays around the station. My Dad trusted me and depended on me. The more he trusted me, the more responsible I became. Later in my life crisis, Jesus would define trust and courage to me in a profound way. My Dad had a habit of moving from one station to another. Even though I was born in Waco, Texas, I lived in quite a few cities as my Dad searched for the greenest pasture. On one occasion we moved from Waco, Texas, to Alexandria, Louisiana. I had to leave my childhood friends behind. I didn’t complain or whine. Actually, I never even considered complaining as an option. I understood my duty and I coped accordingly. My dad gave me a work ethic that would serve me well my entire life. He also taught me responsibility and duty. These gifts were significant in forming my character. I was a teenager in the era of peace and love, the 60s. Yet, duty and responsibility as taught by my Dad reigned over me. I was a hippie want-to-be with short hair and no beard. Many times I wanted to ride my bike somewhere other than my Dad’s service station. I wanted to drop out, but duty called, it always called and I always did the “right” thing. Jesus kept me safe on the bike and my dad and Jesus prepared me for the 70s and a productive, responsible life. Later in life I grew a beard as a sign of the free life style and rebellion I had thought about in the 60s. I never had really long hair, as that was too much of a rebellious sign for me. The beard was still conformance, and at the same time set me apart. Gift 2 - Love of the outdoors Not all of my free time was spent working at my dad’s service station. My dad loved the outdoors and took me at a very early age hunting and fishing. He told me one time he had given up hunting and fishing, but when I was born, he knew he had to get involved with hunting and fishing again for my sake. Maybe it was just an excuse for him to start hunting and fishing again. I don’t know. All I know is I loved it. When I was very young, my mother would go as well. I suspect she was more concerned about my safety at first. Later, I think she really enjoyed it, especially fishing. It was truly family time. Mom and Dad would fight quite a bit at home, always just an exchange of words. Their verbal fights would upset me greatly because I loved both of them so much. However if we were on a hunting or fishing trip they never argued harshly. I do not remember my first dove hunt, but I remember being 6 years old sitting beside my Dad and Mom on the backside of a tank. A tank is a southern word for a pond. Up North they are called dugouts. A tank usually has one side that resembles a dam. Sometimes we would sit on the dam, and sometimes behind the dam. The doves would come to the tank for water in the late afternoon. My Dad shot a double barrel 12 gauge with two triggers and no recoil pad. The shotgun shells were cardboard (paper) case. No plastic cases for shells back then. My Dad missed a lot, but when he hit one it was my job to retrieve the game. If the dove fell in the water I used a fishing rod-n-reel to snag it and pull it to shore. On occasion, Dad would get excited and pull the front trigger on the double barrel shotgun too hard, in which case both barrels would go off at once and knock him off his stool. He would cuss for a few moments and then ask if he hit the dove. Most likely the first time it happened my Mom was worried he maybe hurt. I only remember all of three of us laughing. One day my Dad announced I could start shooting as well. I was 6 years old. My Mom was a nervous wreck. My shotgun was a 410 gauge single shot handed down by my grandfather. The lower the gauge the smaller the shotgun shell. Shotgun gauges are 410, 20, 16 and 12. While we sitting on the stools I could have my gun loaded. When a single dove came my Dad always gave me the first shot. Rarely did I connect. For a long while, before and after each hunt my Dad would give me instructions in gun safety. I was a good kid and I never got in trouble. However, I knew if I violated one of the gun safety rules I would lose the privilege to handle a gun or worse. One day a dove flew by and lit in a tree out of gun range. I asked
my Dad if I could walk the dove up. He told me I could have one shell
and when I got close enough to shoot, then and only then, could I load
the gun. If I did not shoot, I was to unload the gun before I walked
back. My Mom was reluctant, but agreed. Of course my Dad knew there
was no way the dove would remain in the tree as I walked toward it.
And sure enough the dove flew long before I was close enough. One day
I asked my Dad if I could walk around and look for doves under the
same agreement where I only had one shell, and only loaded the shotgun
before I was ready to shoot. Seemed reasonable to him. My Mom even
agreed. Thinking back now, they must have really trusted me to do what
I agreed to do. As I got older my Mom may or may not go hunting with Dad and me. When I was 12 years old, my Dad invited a guy he had met to go with us. His name was Harold. Harold was about my Dad’s age. The three of us went hunting and fishing a lot together over the next few years. Harold was a little nervous about hunting with a 12 year old until my Dad explained I had been hunting since I was six and had been fully taught about gun safety. There were times in the field when Harold would do something I considered unsafe and I would call him on it. Harold would just grunt. I liked Harold. He shot a Browning 12 gauge automatic three shots. Wow. I lusted after Harold’s gun. At the beginning of one particular dove season, my Dad took me to a sporting goods store. We bought boots, hunting vests and all kinds of hunting related equipment. In a surprise move, he also bought himself a Browning 16 gauge automatic, and me a double barrel 20 gauge. My double barrel only had one trigger. I suppose Dad did not want me having the same problem he had with his double barrel where both barrels went off at once. With my new gun came more trust and responsibility. I could now wear a hunting vest and carry as many shells as I wanted. I could also load the gun and carry a loaded gun as I roamed around looking for doves. I was deadly. Sometimes it did not take me too long to have a limit of 12 doves. I would find my Dad sitting by the tank and give him some of my doves, so I could go kill more doves. This practice was illegal, but it was the only game law we fudged on. We never killed more doves than the legal limits we had. Sometimes Dad and I would have two limits, where I had shot most of the doves, while Harold would have quite a few less than a limit. I always wondered why my Dad bought a 16-gauge instead of a 12-gauge Browning automatic. Later I found out why. When I was 15 my Dad gave me the 16-gauge Browning automatic and bought himself a 12-gauge Browning automatic. He was buying guns to eventually give me. At one point Dad and I were both shooting the same gun as Harold, a 12-gauge Browning automatic. One particular Sunday, my Mom and Dad and I went to my aunt’s house in a small town not too far from Waco. We took our dove hunting equipment. My aunt believed hunting on Sunday was a sin. I knew this and I was confused why we had taken the hunting equipment. My Mom and my aunt went to church. When we got back from church, my Dad announced he was going to visit a friend and he wanted me to come along. My aunt said no way; I needed a nap. She put me in a bedroom, watched as I lay down on the bed, then left closing the door behind her. Soon there was a small tap at the window. It was my Dad, I opened the window, and Dad said “Let’s go”. Out the window I went and dove hunting we went. I know there were repercussions for Dad, but he must have deemed them worth it. Several times a year while I was in elementary school, an announcement would come over the PA system requesting Morris Lang come to the office. When I would arrive at the office there would be Dad explaining to everyone we had to hurry or otherwise be late for my dental appointment. I had no dental appointment, we would go dove hunting. Dove season only lasted from September through October. The rest of the year my Dad, my Mom and I would go fishing. My Mom loved it. I loved fishing as well. We did not bass fish. In those days, bass fishing was not high tech. I don’t think there was even the concept of a bass boat. We fished for crappie (white perch) using rod-n-reels with live minnows. At first we would fish off a fresh water pier. Usually we would start on a Saturday evening and fish all night to Sunday morning. Fishing all night took a lot of dedication. If the fish were biting, the time moved fast. If the fish were not biting, my Dad was the eternal optimist, claiming at any moment, the fish would “turn on”. We fished with crappie rigs. A crappie rig was a rig that provided for two live minnows. When the fish were biting, it was not uncommon to catch two crappie at one time. I do not recall being bored at all. I actually viewed staying awake and helping Mom and Dad as a duty. Not a duty I dreaded, but one I liked and later cherished. Eventually my Dad bought an outboard motor. It was a Johnson 10 hp. After we got the outboard, we rented flat bottom boats and started fishing out of a flat bottom boat. Just as my Dad started me driving very young, he started me driving the outboard very young as well. At first he would sit beside me and just let me steer. Later, I began steering by myself. Dad would get the boat out of the marina and back into the marina, but as soon as we were in open water he would turn the outboard over to me. My Mom was a nervous wreck at first, but just as with the dove hunting and shotguns she got more and more comfortable. I learned the finer outboard maneuvering skills by pulling up to a tree or brush that we were planning to fish. It was very important to pull up to the intended fishing hole very quietly and precisely in order to not scare away the fish. The practice I got positioning the flat bottom boat with the 10 hp outboard on a crappie hole prepared me for exiting and reentering the marina. In fact the marina was much easier. Before long (I was 9) I was in total charge of the outboard motor. On occasion we would fish at night in the boat. We really never fished all night as we did on the piers because sitting in the boat all night was a bit tiring. However, on occasion we would leave at midnight and fish until dawn. It was a great adventure. I loved it. When we were preparing to go fishing, it was my job to load all the gear in the truck; this included loading the 10 HP Johnson outboard motor. The outboard out weighed me. I can remember dragging it to the tailgate of the truck, somehow balancing it upright, climbing into the truckbed and struggling to drag the outboard into the bed. I can recall my Dad supervising this process once or twice while my Mom complained about child abuse. Soon I was loading the outboard unsupervised. My Dad loved me very much and gave me the gift of love for the outdoors. He also taught me I could do anything I put my mind to; loading an outboard motor twice my weight into the bed of a pickup truck or waiting on customers at the station. I like to think the service station and the outdoors molded my character. Even though research today indicates early exposure to petroleum products may cause brain tumors later in life, I would not give up my experiences in my Dad’s service station. One of my life’s regrets is I never had the chance to give my son, Russell, and I never pursued the effort to pass on the love of the outdoors to my daughter, Katherine the same gift of love of the outdoors that my Dad gave me. In this regard life checkmated me. I had options, but none of them were good. Gift 3 - Avoiding conflict I avoid confrontation, a character trait that I always viewed as a liability. My character requires I bring people together and solve conflicts; not participate in conflicts. Even though there were good times with my parents, there were also bad times. My parents fought verbally. Words were exchanged, never blows. They never said a cross word to me. The cops never responded to a domestic disturbance at my house. Even so, when my parents fought, I died on the inside. I simply could not stand it. Perhaps I was too sensitive. During a battle, I would go outside and walk around to avoid hearing the verbal battle. My Dad would usually leave and go to a bar, only to come back late at night to rekindle the battle. Exposure to these verbal battles probably molded this aspect of my character. Later in life, I would struggle with my inability to engage in conflict and beat myself up for this obvious character flaw. Today, I am glad I avoid conflict. I finally realized that looking for resolution and avoiding conflict has gotten me much further in life than being contentious ever would have. Today, I see avoiding conflict as gift my parents unintentionally gave me. Gift 4 - My introduction to Jesus Christ My mother loved me, but more than that she was concerned about my soul. Perhaps she knew there would be times in my life where I would be alone, scared and out of options. She knew I would need help. Perhaps this is why she dragged me to church. I suspect most kids are dragged to church. It must have been difficult for her to get up every Sunday, dress herself and me and somehow get us to church, with me complaining all the way. In those days my mother did not drive. I remember riding the bus to church. At church I did not learn much, but I heard over and over “Jesus loves you.” Somewhere along the way, I got the message. During the worst times in my life, I turned to Jesus and He was always there for me. He did not always give me what I wanted, but He always gave me what I needed. How do I thank my mother for introducing me to Jesus Christ? Recently, after my brain tumor surgery, my sister brought my 87-year-old mother for a visit. I tried to explain how grateful I was for the introduction to Jesus. I thought my thanks might have fallen short until I looked into her eyes. Her eyes sparkled. She was so pleased; I could tell she knew how important it was to me. I said, “Don’t worry about me. Jesus is with me. I’ll be fine.” She said, “Yes, I know. I am not worried”. My biggest regret thus far in my life’s journey is I have failed to pass this gift on to my daughter and son. Gift 5 - My sister “Thank GOD for my sister” sums up gift 5. Surely GOD placed me with my parents, because of my sister. My sister is 16 years older than me. As I was growing up I could always ask her for advice. When I was a kid and my world got crazy, I could ask her advice and she would always know just what to do. She was always there for me. She was my ace in the hole, someone to lean on. Later in life, my sister was always there at the worst times in my life when I needed her most. During my divorce, I was sitting on her couch soaking in her love and advice. During brain surgery, she was there making sure I had the best, solving problems. When the best brain surgeon in Houston was dragging his feet making an appointment for me, it was my sister who called and got the appointment. On a Friday, after surgery, when I needed desperately to be moved from acute care to hospital rehabilitation, and the hospital refused to process the paper work until Monday, it was my sister who called the CEO of the hospital and secured a private room in rehabilitation. I was in the room Friday evening. Even my wife, Audrey, remarks “They better listen to us or we will get Margaret after them.” After my surgery, it was my sister that saw to it I had a big screen TV. And somehow, I was never there for Margaret. When she had hip surgery, where was I? Not by her side. What was wrong with me? I suppose I was too accustomed to being the little brother that only takes. Yep, another life regret, I wish I had been there more for my big sister. Today my sister and I have two relationships: sister/brother and business partners. The business partner relationship was a divine gift as it rekindled the sister/brother relationship. There will be more on these relationships later.
Plain and simple, I came to SFA because Karen decided SFA was a good school. I followed Karen to SFA. Karen was my high school sweetheart. We were eventually married while we were going to SFA. I loved SFA and Nacogdoches, and Karen. My life was perfect. It was 1970. My draft number for the Vietnam War was 12;lower numbers are drafted first. I would have been on my way to Vietnam, except I had a student deferment, one of the last ones issued. I know now Jesus was looking out for me back then. As long as I maintained a GPA of at least a 3.0 I could stay in school and not be drafted. My freshman year I took harder classes than was required. My freshman year I had A 4.0 GPA. I wanted to be a veterinarian until I took my first Computer Science (CSC) course. I liked CSC because it was high tech. I was fascinated how machines could process information so fast and accurately. Then it got even better when I realized I could control how machines processed data by programming. At this point CSC became an art more than a science. An art using a very unique medium for expression. Now at this point in my life, I realize, I have always been an artist want to be. Although I have no drawing talent, no painting skills, no sculpturing talent; but I could mold, shape and work in programming code. My four years at SFA were wonderful. I studied; I made reasonably good grades (usually B’s with some A’s; more than good enough to escape the draft. I hunted. I fished. I went to a few parties and learned to drink beer. However, I was more interested in chasing ducks and fish. I wrote programs for the University Computer Center. The local lakes were huge, close to SFA, new and unexplored. I controlled my schedule and my life. Even though I had many things to be responsible for, my life was in balance. Karen allowed me to be happy. She was independent enough to seek her own way. I suspect this was the root cause of our divorce later on; we did not share our lives, like Audrey and I do. Karen and I were, at best, compatible roommates. The Computer Programmer Eventually, I made the mistake of graduating in May of 1974. My first job, was a programmer for Texaco in Houston Texas, that paid $11,000 a year, a salary which everyone thought was a huge salary for a new CS graduate. I worked on IBM mainframes in COBOL. I managed to outperform my peers by doing my work on-line using IBM's Time Sharing Option (TSO). I learned TSO on my own in off hours. Management was impressed. I got a promotion and a $3,000/year salary increase. Soon I was being assigned to mission critical projects where I learned to use state-of-the-art Datapoint mini-computers and I coded in Datashare instead of COBOL. I was a star application programmer/analyst for Texaco. It was fun; more fun than pumping gas. At this point in my life, my Dad developed colon cancer and died within two years of being diagnosed. He never complained. He was not spiritual; but he managed to be a powerful example of human optimism and courage to all who knew him. I loved being a programmer at Texaco, but I hated Houston. I missed SFA, Nacogdoches, the freedom to set my schedule, hunting, and fishing. I woke up every morning looking forward to going to work at Texaco, but my life was empty. I tried to fill my emptiness with a new bass boat I bought at the Houston Boat show. She knew what I needed to be happy and she also knew it did not exist in Houston. Eventually, I decided to look for a new job. Texaco was downtown. I was weary of the traffic and fighting people for my little space. I managed to get a full time job at SFA when I simply called Billy Click for a reference, Billy was my supervisor when I worked at SFA as a student. Billy Click, had just been placed in charge of the Computer Center. Billy created a position for me. I was good and he needed good. Again, it is obvious now that Jesus was taking good care of me back then, perhaps grooming me for what was to come. The SFA job paid $3,000 /year less. A substantial pay cut from Texaco. The president of the Houston office took me to lunch and tried to talk me out of a "lousy career move" as he put it. I left a great job with Texaco for a job at SFA that paid much less. SFA did not even use IBM computers anymore. SFA used Xerox computers and an operating system called CP6. Working in this environment would not provide very marketable experience; but I did not care; I was following my heart . It felt great to chase a better life and not worry about money or career. Twenty-six years later, it is still the best move I ever made. It gave a set of very close friends, my son, Russell, my soul mate, Audrey. No doubt the grace and love of Jesus Christ was with me. A Father After a few years of living in Nacogdoches, Karen and I had a son, Russell B. Lang, named after his grandfather. When Russell was 2, Karen went back to school at SFA to work on a masters degree. I usually kept Russell at night while Karen studied in the library with her classmates. Russell and I bonded. A closeness we still have today. One day Karen informed me she was happier by herself than when I was around and she wanted a divorce. At first, I tried to talk her out of it, even offering to move back to Houston, but her mind was made up and I decided to just go along with whatever she wanted. We shared the same attorney. There was no fighting over stuff or money. I knew I would someday get new stuff and money comes and goes. The hardest part was one night driving off in my truck with all my worldly possessions while my 2-year son pounded on his bedroom window screaming " daddy don't go". But I complied with Karen's wishes and I left. Within a few months, I met Audrey, my soul mate, and we were married. The day Audrey and I married was the happiest day in my life, and remains so 21 years later. Within a few years Audrey gave me a little girl, Katherine. Katherine was the better version of both of us. I promised myself, this time I would be a better daddy and husband such that she would never have to scream "daddy don't go". I was steadfast determined to see her grown up and be on her own. Now this GBM challenges me to keep my promise. The GBM is relentless, but so am I. The Entrepreneur After 17 years at SFA there was a change in University presidents. The new president hired a gunslinger. Vice presidents were fired. There was to be a paradigm shift in computing that called for reverting back to legacy technology. I couldn’t stand the march backward so I quit and decided to struggle on my own as an independent, self-employed programmer. Like at Texaco, everyone thought I was nuts and that I would surely starve myself and my family to death. Everyone except Audrey; she trusted and loved me completely. She never faltered. Without Audrey I would not be here. God provided work to the point I had more work than I could do. Soon I hired a gifted CS student, Mike Coffee, to help me. Mike and I shared the love of the outdoors and Mike was a very good programmer to boot. Our core values matched. Mike and I had one customer who took an interest in us, Olen Splawn. Olen helped us with financial advice. Soon Olen, Mike and I were partners and LCS Development Group was born. Today, LCS is an on-going identity with 3 programmers in addition to Mike working on high tech projects including biometric applications.
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