Investment Banking Opinions

April 2, 2015


Last Weds the SEC formally passed new REG A regulations. CEO SPACE exclusively suggests Lock Lord and Marlon Paz to under take capital offering documents, due to their expertise as a firm in entrepreneur development capital. Solo Practices in the Security law area, in our opinion, lack staff and currency on entrepreneur capital guidance, and all to often understate the capital required or the disclosure desired. In security law CEO SPACE educational guidance tells you to always follow your own attorney’s advice which is specific and individual to YOUR individual business. Our educational guidance is general in nature to accommodate all the various business categories that attend CEO SPACE. Our guidance errors on the mission to assure you have too much not too few capital follows to execute three year cost branding and marketing ramp ups for your next phase of development. The NEW REG A laws, are best executed by one of the law firms that helped these laws get enacted in the first place, due to special depth of experience knowledge and advice from these lakes and years of developing the new law, so that superior advice can be undertaken. All CEO space members are free to follow our guidance or not, but we caution members to choose “on the cheap” legal to realize looking backwards what such costs do to investors and your ventures may reset your GPS to hire only the best related to capital.

In 2015 we are so proud of Lock Lord and Marlon Paz for his instruction, expertise and guidance educationally to our membership. It costs nothing more to have the BEST of the BEST. Further, the new REG A laws open flood gates for capital issuers to approach the market with new wind beneith your sales.




The Gas Price is a fraud. Until regulators criminalize rampant market speculation, all commodities carry a tax to the super rich or over 100%. The average lifting price for Gas from top to bottom of cost is $ 18.50 and that is the super high estimate from oil firms themselves – the cost number they can’t wiggle away from. We think it is closer to $ 14.00.


At this level a 100% profit is $ 36.00 a barrel. Anything higher is legal theft to super rich speculators. Consider the tale of two dogs. In 1995 when the financial regulations were destroyed by the last unanimous vote of Congress – speculation or betting on WHICH WAY SOMETHING WOULD GO as to future pricing – was 800 billion a year. Stake Holder trading where you add value to the economy and actually buy a stock or bond – was at two trillion.


In 2015 stake holder trading has once again after the worst crash in 70 years, returned to two trillion – but is not the tail of the dog versus the dog it used to be in 1995. The new dog in 2015 is 440 trillion annual dollars in pure speculation trading – adding a hidden cost to Coffee to Oil – and pouring wealth into the already super rich. Is this the bubble that will cause world war III? We think so unless the G 100 act to enact common global legislation to outlaw rampant speculation. Gasoline at $ 1.25 at the American pump is still high – but fair. Anything over that price is criminal LEGAL THEFT of your annual dollars – the biggest theft of wealth in the worlds entire history. Without common global legislation as outlined in my best selling book REDEMPTION THE COOPERATION REVOLUTION we sink in my opinion into world war III.


Competitive capitalism, and competitive socialism and communism, always sink into this historical 5000 year old pattern from the old nobility systems – into historical repeating data:


1. 1% own more wealth than 99% unsustainably

2. Melt down as the world adjusts to the inequity and corruption

3. Trade war evidenced by tariffs and price control and currency manipulations – taking place now.

4. A contagion event spreads the market of trust and collaboration into the market of distrust and negotiation into the break down of all trust as financial contagion spreads global in weeks.

5. World War results – each and every time.


If you know this financial pattern exists why not fix the system? Super Rich make fortunes in war and retain their elite franchise from such wealth building. So many issues in global pollution and aging demographics plaguing economies from China to Greece resolve with WORLD WAR that profiteers are opting once again for World War. Putin to Obama fail to see the actual problem at source, its always the money SYSTEM not the items of moment – and without resolving the SYSTEMS the outcome is pretty historic and certain.

I recommend reading REDEMPTION THE COOPERATION REVOLUTION and Game Plan by CEO SPACE FACULTY Kevin Freeman for predicting what is coming and how YOU can personally get through it…if you lack a GAME PLAN you will never get through what is next and coming. May we show you the way? A better safer way?

Read the news with these details in mind, and it will help you.

ISIS is a bunch of gang members, crypts and bloods, having nothing to do with religious thought – mind washing young brains to engage them in their philosophy of torture and death. Seven billion of us – have them surrounded. There is no reason to fear them as the delete button on them is already pushed….the process of removing their buggy mental code takes some time. They are not the threat.

The threat is minds that lock into competition versus cooperation. The one virus on human thinking. Nothing holds us all back but that one virus. If you know you have it – you can remove it. If you think Competition is other than an eye dropper of pure evil. You reside with the pain and agony of Competition. Forever.

So Gas price is a fraud and they are stealing from you. Everyone receiving tribute – billions to packs in DC for 500 plus law makers all bought and sold for the majority – there is no way out of the legal theft really. Unless you vote in 2016 for change – for cooperation not competitive law makers – if you really change the belt ways of all the capitols your unborn children may break the historic pattern.

We continue to labor for THAT outcome.


Berny Dohrmann – Chairman CEO SPACE




Chapter Four


You know, growing up with a famous father isn’t all that you might think, as the oldest first born mail in a FAMILY rich with five girls and four boys. Grandfather, ABC Dohrmann, took what my great grandfather started, as an immigrant from Bohnert in Germany, to create the Dohrmann Hotel Supply firm, at the turn of this century and did a number of really great things. He grew DOHRMANN HOTEL SUPPLY into one of the world’s largest resort supply firms. Now owned by Holiday Inn as InKeeper Dohrmann. I grew up in that and our family retail business as Dad went into various forms of Training or business test phases. He in construction brought European Hydraulic dollies to America – and he imported the first go up with the building cranes from Germany which changed high rise construction. But mostly he was locked into the human potential industry from Michael Murphy and Estlan to Dr. Edward Demining and TQM process ending with his Course in Miracles modified to his own human potential class works…still going strong over 40 years later with PSI WORLD SEMINARS.


Grandfather was raising 12 children, two twins and some adopted children in his large San Francisco family. He helped rebuild the Saint Francis Hotel after the 1906 Earth Quake in San Francisco. He Contributed invested and served as Chairman for one of the larger department store chains in Western Markets the EMPOREUM STORES now merged and gone. He founded the Call Bulletin a larger Paper in San Francisco, that hired world famous Mark Twain until his death. They worked together with John Muir lobbying President Roosevelt to establish the NATIONAL PARK SERVICE and served on that board. He would later proudly usher Yosemite into the protection of the National Park service. He helped to build the Youwani Hotel in Yosemite Valley. In 2012 we hosted our family reunion in the Hotel with Grandfathers photo still hanging in that lobby with all the Dohrmann juniors of tomorrow’s generation getting to SEE the HISTORY.


Grandfather invested in cold storage, Western Airlines ( now merged ) and the growth of California in those days. It is to this prestigious wealthy family that went through the GREAT DEPRESSION as if it never even happened. It was in this family my famous father was born as a twin to his twin brother my uncle Jerry, who grew up and focused on his education truncated by the World War II and the United States Navy that he enlisted to.


Dad retired with honors and medals from the United States Navy to always retain his love of sailing and the SEA itself. He would race with my Uncle Joe, as far as Hawaii and south to Mexico and North to Alaska.


So Dad before World War II was the rich kid in the big car with the blanket over his legs, and home work on his lap, waiting for the driver to open the door, take the blanket, help him with his books, into Belmont the private school only the wealthy brats could afford. His twin Gerry too embarrassed by this routine would get out blocks away and walk himself to Belmont invisible and proud. Dad has a little Dohrmann chip on his shoulder Grandfather had put there.


This chip was washed away in the United States Navy and the action of World War II. Dad always wanted to be active in serving. Ultimately he earned his commander stripes, leaving the accelerated training camp at Treasure Island in San Francisco and leading a mine sweeper fleet. I always thought this duty was lame growing up so many years after the WAR. I was age 40 before others under Dad’s command met me, and told me, far from my Father, how Commander Dohrmann led the first vessels in to Okinawa and the one where those marines raised our flag, under the big r munitions rounds pounding and the Kamikaze planes diving directly into their vessels. Our troops could not support and come in until those mines were cleared. I then got real stories about why my Dad had all those medals, a fact he never ever talked about…not once not ever. Even when I asked he would start then tear up then put that box back on his shelf. Shacking his head. He said ..let it go B….just let it go for me.


So both the experience of accelerated training, and human potential forever changed Dad from WORLD WAR II but also the organizational theory of WAR ITESELF from the battle plan, to the execution where all battle plans fall completely apart and real leadership is born. He learned. He earned ( victory ) and he returned. Learn earn and return where his models for living life.


Piping his children to room inspection was not my favorite drill but there were so many from Navy discipline including KP that leaked over into our family of nine. My father loved the sea and even on his last journey he was gifted a last great sail vessel he would never board or sail, but just knowing he was CAPTAIN took him all across the wide sea to the Lord in style. His style. Navy Commander Dohrmann.


Anyway Grandfather, ABC Dohrmann was my father’s hero. He just loved him. His stories about his father were endless. The other uncles and aunts, there were 12 remember, made up the treasury of stories about Alpert Charles Bernhard Dohrmann, after whom I was named.


I come alone I’m sure unexpected. I believe but could never proved Dad “had” to marry my mother Marjorie a Liz Taylor look alike, which was not so hard to do at the time. Mom on that Feb 7th 1948 had a back ache after playing tennis. It was bad enough they took her into the doctor. He was washing his hands with his back to my mom, now six months pregnant, when he heard the water break. I was on the way just over three months premature.


In those days one did not survive at a weight under four pounds. I think they put me in a shoe box with a light called an incubator back then. I’m not sure. They did baptize me in that shoe box, so I was always Bernhard Dohrmann as they had to name me, versus Alpert Charles Bernhard and not being ABC was ok with ME !


They baptized me again at Saint Rafael’s Catholic Church in the same christening gown my father was Baptized in as family tradition. I still have the photo with my famous family, looking quite like a little girl. Mother said I was her precious baby and always as the first male in the family, loved me. As all the kids were step kids and I was her first children and I was a boy, I got away with murder. At least my brothers and sisters at the Family reunion in the National Park, all tell it that way. In fact they tease me pretty good. That is how I know their my family.


At age Four I took walks with a walking stick, down the open field past the LATH HOUSE, where the Boulders are from the book PERFECTION CAN BAD and down across the road, and far far up the trail into the dark woods and cover of the giant redwood forest. I would take these walks, by myself, or with a brother or two but they all got scared and so it was generally just me. At age five precisely, I came as I went further and further into these woods, over 1.5 miles from my home, to a giant fence. The fence was 12 feet high with huge spreads in its square rectangle wire meshing. Giant Green Painted fence posts, all square, and huge, pounded so deep and still over 12 feet high above ground, held the fence. The fence went up and down valleys and spanned a hard and garden of ten acres of land.


As I put my face to the gate, the enormous green gate I could see almost all of it. The gingerbread house that I was sure the witch and Hansel and Gretel were prisoners inside of. Surrounded by semi circular terrace after terrace of rock garden walls. There where countless path ways with leaves dirt moss and grass and concrete stepping stones that went between the row upon row of terraces. These circled the house and rose row after row, in uneven patterns for what seemed like forever. Orchids in fresh spring bloom stood up as “markers” here and there along the pattern of endless scents and colors, as if an Elf had magically created a sacred fairy garden for the Elf King and Queen to use.


All the many hundreds of garden were populated by over 2000 rose bushes. The ground cover was impossible accents from Sweet Williams to flowing vines. The entire garden was drowning in colorful petals all along the walk ways and lifted by gentle breezes to swirl in the air. How magical is THAT for a five year old? I just could not believe it. I stood there and watched for an hour. I was far too scared to approach the witch throne by myself so I turned with my walking stick, and making very certain to touch only specific redwood trees to negate and cancel the witches’ protection spells I just knew in 1953 – where everywhere around her garden.


Anyway within a few days I had my search party organized. We called it a posse for the light. So off we went. The search party were older boys, Doug Tobin from the neighborhood, and the infamous RICKY BROWN. Larry Bresenon was with us from the Piambo House, and there were others. Even one girl, Dory my best friend, blonde, older, taller and my pillar in times of fear.


Which was every day, hey I was five. Blonde myself with blue eyes others told me had magic inside.


As I topped the little knoll and went on the downhill side back to the enormous Fence line that cut the Redwoods like a huge green knife, I saw the little soldiers all with tiny hand on the fence looking through into the ALICE IN WONDERLAND garden. No one could believe it. Still they also believed the witch was watching back.


This of course could not stop Ricky Brown. For he was first to see the TREE FORT. Lodged far above the small cottage with its green roof covered in moss, and anchored by the three giant Redwoods we would come to call the CATHEDRALS. The tree house was a complete cottage duplicate ( I would later learn was built for the Witch’s niece’s and nephews when they visited ) and which would later inspire our own tree house. We nagged Dad until he built it for us. Running water, electricity and a small fridge but that was way later in 1957. When Dad got the 1957 Chevy we got the 2057 Tree Fort.


So Ricky opens the gate and in a rising whisper to rival the wind in the Redwoods, he takes his command troops down the farthest path to the tree fort. I was last to climb up those rope stairs with wooden planks, like a ship would throw over the side, and come into the little world. The tea china service the little tables and chairs, and the windows to peak out of, which is where we all came to be.


I had to stand on tippy toes to look out the windows and they were positioned for children, but age seven up not age five down. I peaked over.


From here I could see the entire Garden. I could see it swept past the Green Gingerbread House, stained dark red, with its green shudders and roof. The cottage was actually, one could see with telescope eyes from up here – surrounded by gardens in 360 degrees- going down down down over a half mile to the dirt road that led to the Boy Scout Camp far far away. Little wooden bridges cross deep ravines as the paths’ wound down below the Cabin and even outside the Giant Green Fence where the formal flowers all stopped and the wild nature of a theme park for God began.


But that was when things went wrong. As I remember it now, I was at the side window in the tree house. I was looking at the vegetable gardens. Dad had vegetable gardens and orchids in bloom, so that looked more like home to me. We all wondered where the children for whom this tree house was guilt where. Ricky kept staying they were Hansel and Gradual and they were locked inside the Cottage in a cage, which was not helping our mood. I was so small next to the larger two year older team mates even Dory who was 7.


That’s when the door to the cottage swung open. The huge panda like Spaniel some cross breed white and black and larger than most spaniels, as if a Newfoundland had been bred with a Spaniel leaped out parking in the green green pool of grass from the lawn in front of the cottage. Clearly the spaniel could see us.


When out came in a flowing Mumu dress, with a big broad brim hate, and an upturned broom , the Witch who stood in the warm sun on the porch at age 75 looking up as us with her long flowing gray hair falling out of her huge broad brim hat. She pounded that broom on the wooden wide porch, and I’ll never forget as if by magic the dog laid down and just stared as the barking stopped. She had said FLOWER STOP THAT YOU WILL SCARE THE CHILDREN.


She then put all her witchy spells and attention on us. I could feel the power of it as my skin shrank back and my eye sockets began to receive my eye balls for real. The entire command structure was breaking down for Ricky Brown. All the children gave a collective gasp.


The Witch, Alice Mahoney, sang to the children in her musical voice, Children you will hurt yourselves now come down from that tree house, its too dangerous to play in without adult supervision. She only pounded one time on the porch and I knew it to be a powerful spell from the witch in command of the sacred grounds between the fence. We are trapped. We would all die. I just knew it. She said, COME DOWN FROM THERE ARE ONCE NOW CHILDREN…band as the broom stick hit the porch deck BANG !


Well a gun firing could never have matched speed for Ricky Brown sliding down those rope stairs and running off the far trail to the gate with hits clang and clang as it spring loaded hinge shut closed behind Ricky’s butt fast retreating. I was surprised keeping my eyes on the Witch to prevent her from mounting the Broom though she seemed far to over weight and heavy to fly all the way up here – I was not going to be deceived as the magic here was powerful. My eyes were keeping her grounded.
When Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, and as I turned for support, all my team, had vanished. They had followed Ricky Brown like a conga line in heat. I was on my own rapped by the most powerful Witch of Rosewood Gardens, cut off from the world, where Redwood leaves and tree’s would block out all my screams inside a never ending vortex of magic. Although such words were not used in 1953 my feeling was that I not following my tribe out the Clanging gate, knowing they would not stop until they got all the way home, or even know I was left behind, I KNEW that I was totally screwed.


Then it got so much worse. As I turned my little 5 year old eyes, back to the porch, the WITCH WAS GONE AND THE DOOR TO THE COTTAGE WAS INVITING AND OPEN. My heart started to beat so fast as I just knew, once inside that cottage I would be cooking on her huge Witch Kettle I could imagine was steaming inside with other Children long gone and turned into SOUP. I was next.


I started to shake. That’s when she came back out with a plateful of cookies. Warm and streaming. I could see the steam. She Held them high, CHILD ( Alice Mahoney sung her song of magic and spells ) I know your IN THERE. You’re the one with the walking stick. Keep that with you as it will always keep you safe. Now come down and get some cookies and I’ll get some cold milk to dip them in. Here CHILD WATCH they are not POISON, see and she SPUN ONE in the air like a Freezbie which was far from invented yet, and it sailed into the mouth of a giant Panda Dog, in mid air all legs off the ground snatching the cookie from the wind. After a doggie time to savor, there was the ruff ruff for more and another sailed in the air and FLOWER Grabbed another from the air.
The witch then said – I’ll let you throw the next ones Child now come down while I get the Milk. I give you my word you will be safe and I will walk you to a short cut home after we have our cookie time together. Cookie Time, that sounded so un-witch like thing to say, but I could fin no trick inside it , and she had made Witch Promise and witches I knew hated to promise as they could not under witch law break such a promise ever. Walt Disney told me this and I knew it was true if Uncle Walt had told me so….Dad always said Uncle Walt had a lifetime witches spell when he was my age and that he could never tell a lie. I believed my father from Age 4 to age 70 never wavering on that axiom of truth.


So seeing that the witch was inside getting Milk, I came down the tree fort stairs and began to wonder down the winding path ways, between rows and rows of thousands of roses, in full bloom, enshrined by wind swept rose petals, circling all around me as I walked. It was like I was magic here. Real magic. I put my hands out to touch those exotic petals and it was like they were telling me this was my real home.


I paused a block higher than the Ginger Bread house as the Witch returned with the tray of two glasses of ice cold milk. She said in the chairs and put the milk on the table in between, sinking in to the floral cushions with a whose of air from her own mouth. She pounded her sandaled feet down on the porch to quite the barking dog focused exclusively on eating me – as I got very small on the landing of concrete so the Flower could no longer see me.


Flower LIE DOWN or NO MORE COOKIES FOR YOU and the dog as if shot by an elephant gun, plopped down staring at me and his mommy, back and forth very rapidly, but in abject silence. Alice turned her hat up toward the landing and said,


Boy come down here this minute and sit in that chair. Your Milk will get warm and your cookies will get COLD, as she pulled the paper towel off the fresh plate of cookies laid out in patterns I could just see my tiny hands interrupting. HERE come throw this one to Flower and then another until she takes it from your hands and trusts you then loves you and Flower will protect you like she protects me. You’ll see. You will learn to ride on her back.


Flower raised her head which scared me but as she kept silent, helped by her moms clicking noises ( I assume meant no way Flower ) – one stair at a time until I was down at the porch and walking wide around the witch, as to her credit she never moved or looked at me, fixing her eyes on Flower, where I pulled myself up onto the adult chair and looked at the cookies.


Have on yourself boy. Which I did without further invitation and used the cold freezing milk chaser on that hot spring afternoon, to wash it all down with. Then I said my first words.


My name is Bernhard but my family calls me B. May I throw flower a cookie. Then came her large denture smile, and she just nodded. I took that cookie walked to the edge of the porch through it way high in the air and Flower leapt to catch it. I did two more. Then I walked off the porch with my arm out and the timid spaniel waddled over and slowly and gently took the cookie from my hand. I just stood very still. Then the spaniel came up and sniffed me 360 degrees, and then moved my idle hand to pet itself, which I did and I could see a glow in its look as Flower adopted a little 5 year old boy.


Now come back here you two and eat YOUR COOKIES. Which I did.


As I chowed down one after another ( my mother would not be amused ) she talked like we were the oldest of Friends.


Well B my name is Alice Mahoney and I’ve spent years building one of the most famous collector gardens of rare roses on earth. I chose this place for its magic. ( I Knew it of course ). My husband Bill Mahoney keeps the vegetables and the orchids up as his job. I keep all 2000 roses up by myself. In fact I need some help.


Would you like to earn some extra money helping me garden?


I was nodding my head as my milk lips confirmed my cookie mouth was too full to reply.


Do you have one of these new gadgets called a Tele Phone?


Again I nodded my head?


Ok, I’ll write my number down. You keep it in your room. You have your mother phone me and we will fix it all up. Then you can walk back up using the short cut and it will take you only ten minutes to reach me versus over an hour the way you and your friends came through the forest.


Now they can’t come back B only you are approved by the garden. The Roses decide who can be around them and who can not.


And B I always wanted a little boy like you as I have no children so I’m going to raise you as if you were my own and I will teach you the meaning of life if you will pay attention to my lessons.


Alice walked me down the very winding path way, down down and far below her cottage. Through the lower giant green gates, and down the dirt leaf covered path ways that crunched beneath our feet. Eventually we got to the dirt road. With her walking stick she walked me to the five minutes to where the road met the concrete and low and behold I was in site of my house a quarter mile away. I was so glad to discover this short cut. In fact I was not home much longer than the others, all camped out at the BOULDERS waiting to see if I would ever return. They had not told the grown ups I was eaten and turned into soup because of the spankings they would have all gotten for walking so far from home without permission, or for running off and leaving me. The word cowards came to mind.


As I came up the long field Ricky Brown who was in the worst trouble ran off the top Boulder and led the line of youngers directly to me. I was still walking with my magical walking stick. I paused to receive the flock of young eyes.


The questions all came at once. They kept coming. They were touching me to see it if I was real or an illusion from the Witch. Dory hugged and hugged me. We were best friends and in love. We just didn’t know what love meant.


Finally I shook my head as a reply, and said THE WITCH FLEW ME BACK ON HER BROOM STICK and covered me in a spell of protection. She said she could only help the BRAVE ONE who stayed and the Rose GARDEN HAD SELECTED ME. I told them you were not all cowards. And she said yes you were accept for the girl. She said Dory had turned back to get me but Ricky Brown older and ever jealous, had grabbed her arm and led her away protesting. Dory cried at this memory.


I took her hand we walked off ahead of the others, the cowards, back to where the smells of the hamburger barbecue which meant Dad was finally home, wafted into our orbits and we all began to run.


That was how the Rose Garden and a 5 year old boy, in Marin County California, in a time of innocence and rainbows, became united in 1953. I of course think all this is boring in the 2020 period, but if you are hankering for more about the story, I’ll unfold my life as best I know how. One rose petal at a time for you to savor. I wish you a return to innocence and your childhood as you read. If your child hood was less than perfect, adopt mine and heal up, as I can’t think of any place I really wish to go back to but I would like to graduate this life and return to Alice Mahoney, Flower, and her lessons and of course the ROSES all 2000 plus each and every one.






Teen Class
So our philosophy for business is LEARN EARN and then give back and RETURN at CEO SPACE. So this teen Josh Adams goes through our FEAST ( Free Enterprise Accelerated Systems Training ) and he graduates and goes into his own IT business. Now in his 20’s he returns and addresses the TEENS where it all started and shares he just signed his first 35 million dollar contract. How inspiring is that of the moms and dads with their children in our present TEEN PROGRAM this week. We are most proud of our teen program to the world.
Berny Dohrmann

PS: Cooperative business systems always out perform competitive business modeling CEO’s of every size business including BILLIONAIRES are here and are reforming their work space to COOPERATION vs. competition. Is it your turn to accelerate your processes?




Talking to Pilots, the multiple AIRBUS crashes lead us to believe there is a fatal deign flaw in AIRBUS. But hey thats my opinion. I fly BOEING. Period.  Airbus has a problem. How many crashes before some expert begins to discuss there is a DESIGN FLAW in this air modeling that is causing unexplained, consistent, multiple, loss of planes and life.

When you fly, why not ask for Boeing – you have not heard of their aircraft failing and hey – its made in AMERICA why not be proud.

I am having learned to fly at Boeing Field and growing up with Bill Boeing – my hats off to their family on quality.

I’m so sorry for the families.

Berny Dohrmann


Chapter Three


Withing the strick family protocols one must have a sense of lay out. If you had read my work of these times entitled PERFECTION CAN BE HAD ( on Amazon buy ten copies as you will wish to give them away as gifts ) you will come to know the lay out a bit. The home, now burned to the ground, was an estate home then, sitting all by itself. The home rose three stories amoung the giant bay trees and orchids, on a slope that was almost two acres in scope. Guests were brought to visit my famous father, through the lower entrance. They would be driven from the electric train end of the line in those days, which passed from Tiburon, through the windy ways along the townships of Mill Valley, Ross, San Anselmo and finallty to the end of the line in Fairfax. Forest of our household staff would usually be the driver picking up the guests, for their several block journey around the majestic tree line roads, with the 1930’s concrete street lamps, to 555 Olema Drive.


The guests would park in the old stables now garages at the lower entrance. The family parked on the high ground over looking the property, in an area known as THE FLATS one can not even see from the lower entrance ways. You drove up one side to a flat and larger parking area outside the garage and by the gates leading up the concete paths and stairs to the Green and White residence. You passed oceans of Hydrangia flowers on the left side, with enourmous Redwoods piercing the skye and forever shadding the sun away, walking silver slippers of needles along the stair ways. Flowering orchids of Dad’s favorite pear apple and related tree’s adorned the right side adding their skirting to the foot falls along the stairs for color. Turning at the landings, while the stairs continued forever up toward the front of the enormous building, guests took the wooden stairs from the landing, to the APRARTMENTS. The stairs continued to the main house and living room areas, but rising up to the family area was reserved for all but a precious few. All nine children were “not allowed” to venture to the apartments unless accompanied by a parent. I don’t recall this rule ever being broken not even once.


The Apartments we all thought as we grew up were just way cool. Like a Ritz Hotel room in the early 1950’s the guest opened to a full kitchen and bright view with huge windows over the kitchen eating area. Mother always had boquets of fabulous fresh cut flowers. The household staff would stock the refridgerator with the guests favorite beverage and eating items as well as the cuboards. The guests were always discussing “how did they know” as every detail was managed. Each guest passed by a hall way of famous prior guests photographs framed signed and lining both sides until you entered an enormous bed room, with king sized beds, and large couches and coffee tables – rocking chairs and sitting areas, easy chairs and all the wonderful appointments. Walk in closets with full bathrooms which themselves were super sized and fully appointed. All with enormous windows upon the gardens. Walk Ways circled the house with sitting areas, in flower bound nooks, with bird baths or sun dials or some appointment made for reading meditation and rest.


All the birds in the world seem to hang out in the flower lined spaced which included rose gardens and flower beds that consumed my father’s home time. His passion for gardening bordered on the obsession where his nine children were the conscripted slaves to the perfection of it all. I think our first words were always – “weed dady weed” proudly holding up one of his prize flowers. He never corrected us and always replied – yes honey weed and then good girl or good boy. Always with praise. Although he would be the one with the belt if the real rules were broken.


Given the out door menagerie of play and duties, with our chore list always posted, it was required we wash and clean for dinner. We sat in our evenings at family meals with our hands folded and bringing our remarks to a close as Father came in for the blessing and to serve. Meals were formal and always family inclusive of every detail of our lives to which our parents where in on all our child conspiraries. It was kind of like perfection in that child hood. In its own magical way. We considered all this was normal. We thought every child in our neighbor hood lived this way and we pretty much knew them all. Ray Bresnan and the Piombo family. The Tobins. And always my nemsis Ricky Brown way up on Bothine Road.


The front of the house had a path way that wove its concrete pattens to what we called the LATH HOUSE. The Lath House was at the far side of the property, to the left as you exited the kitchen and breakfast eating area. The Kitchen was like a Commercial kitchen from the Dohrmann Hotel Supply Family, with what would pass for Hotel Grade Sub Zero double refridgerators today. The Full Freezers for the sides of beef and lamb our household required were down stairs with the canning rooms and all the fresh preserves. The gardens provide fresh vegitables of every kind every single day.


Above the kitcheb windows were terraced areas of lawns and play grounds so mom could watch. These were framed with sloping lawns, vegitable gardens off the Lath House, and beyond sereral rising terraces of all this greenery and tree’s where the FLATS for parking and our famous base ball diamond. Still it was the Lath House we spent the most time in.


Dad held court in the Lath House. This area was self contained with bars, refridgerators and built in barbecue pits. Dad loved as in LOVED to barbecue. There were two giant picnic tables always with table clothes and formally adorned more or less with table wear, and surround these were easy chairs, sitting areas and coffee tables. The Lathe House was built of redwood slats with a corrugated concrete roof that made rain magic sounding and kept us all high and dry in any weather. In fact my favorite times were eating wih my nine brothers and sisters, just us in the rain.


Dad was mostly when home, holding court with the never ending stream of those who came to see him. The Lathe House may serve fifty or 15 but there were almost always guests. Guests of children. Guests of the Parents. Family with uncles cousins and nieces and nephews – Dad was one of 12. There was always family. When family came often with food but not announced it mattered not who the guest was as the family always came first in my dad’s world. He was amazing and so old school in his traditions. He was famous for his parties which where theamed and amazing to the eye. I had to get much older until I realized how much drinking was going on the 1950’s and 1960’s. On my chrome schwin bike I disregarded how happy every one always seemed to be at night. Bed time always came too soon.


Everyone always wants to get into the “how did you meet Clement Stone, or Bucky Fuller, or Michael Murphy of Estlan, or Walt Disney, or say Napoleon Hill. It just wasn’t like that when your four and five. It was more like uncles and aunties came into your life, and they just ate with the family in the Lathe house and then you went and played and did your home work and went to bed. Television was just coming in.


Phones were dial with a party line. There were not many calls. Mostly out going. Not everyone had a phone yet.


Dad wrote his first concerto when he was 12. He played in Carnagie Hall when he was 16 and had his own band by age 20. When grandfather explained to young Alan before he went into the war effort and Naval Academy, “so we hire musicians we do not marry musicians” I think it broke Dad’s heart. He repaired it in his beloved Navy retirning as a commander. His action in World War II secured a good many medals he never spoke of. I was forty before he told me anything about the way and then only because others in his command had asked I’ve I KNEW “WHO” MY FATHER WAS….but hey that is another story entirely.


During the War years Dad worked as a young officer under command of leading thought leaders in accelerated education. The team trained 90 day wonders to operate COMBAT LIBERTY SHIPS, who came in from Midwest farms without any sailing experience of any kind. They also deployed a top secret multi media training known as SNAP SHOTS that trained spotters to reside on islands with short wave radio’s to report in ordinance as it flewq or sailed by. Evidentally both programs presented break through achievements in accelerated human learning. A field dad would remain inside for the remainder of his life time.


Some of Dad’s guests stayed with you more than others. For me, Napoleon Hill was a mentor that mattered as was Clement Stone and William Penn Patrick. Alexander Everate was another as was Warner Earhardt and John Hanely of Life Spring. Wally Minto was amazing and taught at my CEO SPACE classes until he passed. Walt Disney was seriously amazing as was Thomas Wilhite whom I got to spend more time with of PSI WORLD SEMINAR fame. But there are so many thought leaders who mentored me along the way thanking them all would be impossible. George Witter of Dean Witter. Arthur Lachman of Lachman Furniture far more forever notal=ble than his brothers ever would be. In fact my Father Alan became by far more legendary than all his brothers who envied him so…the late brother Bob’s last comment to me on Angel Island was – Bernhard you know your father was such a pompus ass. I said to 80 something uncle attorney Bob – you know Bob your going to be able to tell him in person so soon yourself..but always know uncle Bob he just thought you were his hero and he loved you so unconditionally. He didn’t have much to say after that – used to getting the last word in – while his son I just adore was watching his children and mine play together down below at our Dohrmann family reunion. Such are families. Are they not?


Dad never cared about fame. Dad never cared about stage or lime light. Dad always sought what came next in human potential. He was always engaged in the movement of human potential never really appreciating he was inside a movement he was himself leading. He just led. In his humble elf like way. He was so funny everyone loved him. He was so intuitive every sought him out. He was so innately wise the leaders accumulate his counsel which he selfless gave. He was always the commander the supporter to the Admirals.


After Dad had graduated, years and years later, I was in Alaska. It was snowing. It was more than 20 below zero in that Anchorage coffee shop. I had ordered breakfast and I still remember the smells. Our table was busy talking when in walks this giant man, covered with snow in his parka, with the most enormous Newfoundland Dog, at least 180 pounds covered in snow as well. The dog warming to the coffee shop shook like it was water and the snow flew everywhere on everyone’s food which in Alaska is like a blessing. The giant took his hoodie down to show his full beard with a beaming smile as he patted snow in layers off his parka’s and disrobed and sat right now.


He started saying – which one is Dohrman?


They all pointed to me.


Do you remember me?
I said no sir looking more closely with a fork full of eggs’, I’m trying though.


He smiled that infectious smile and put his hand across the table and said, I’m Bill Bacon and I first met you when you were five. Then he explained how he was Walt Disney’s many time Academy Award winning Animal Photographer. He spun a manillia envelope as he ordered his coffee across the table to me. In that envelope were one photo after another of his shot day, in the wild, with younger Roy and Walt Disney. And children playing in the grass.


He said I made the mistake of my life that day son. That was the day Walt Disney said, Bill I want you to meet MY MENTOR – Alan Dohrmann – and I was so taken to meet your Father we had all heard so much about, I simply forgot to spin that camera around and take the century shot of Walt and your Dad together and hey even you. Do you recognize those pictures and I did remember that day. I said but you didn’t have a beard then…..and he beamed over his coffee ….see son you remember old uncle Bill. I’ve come all this way to find you. The table chatter stopped others over hearing joined in Alaska style and we “talked story” until they threw us out. Later I would help Bill on his last big project. He was taking his camera with Sherpa’s into Tibet in the early 1990’s – Bill was in his late seventies then and I was so worried about him. He wanted to shoot the way the Chinese were exploiting the people of Tibet. During his many month donkey ride into those great mountains, folks traveled a month to reach his camp. Just to ask if the DAHLI LAMA was still ALIVE so shut off are those people. Bill’s film aired on various cable channels and you can still find it on National Geographic or Netflicks. As you see the credit role you see the credit for BERNARD DOHRMANN for the honor to name his film at his first showing – TIBET A MATTER OF TIME. Now that was a long way from a five year old with his Dad on a nature shoot with famous Walt Disney. But the film credits don’t lie and the story is all true ask Ray Wickstrom in Las Vegas he ad his son Rob where there live. Bill said before he graduated you know – CEO SPACE is a highlight for me I just wish I had enough left to make your movie …now that’s the entire history of the human potential movement. But time ran out. At least for Bill and I.


Sometimes Dad’s clients came into my life because I sat on their lap as they brought the children presents. Others were more mindful mentoring. Others were accidents. Or a surprise when John F Kennedy pitched my little leaque game ball and I was the Catcher. He was that evening at the LATHE HOUSE BARBECUE. I thought he was funny and a good pitcher.


Others had more lingering times in my life, as with Warner or Thomas Wilhite, and so any who have left us like Bucky Fuller and Clement Stone, Leland Val VanderWal and he led me to my great lifetime friendship with Thought Pope Bob Proctor. I can’t remember when I met Jack Canfield he had a pony tale and wore tie dye shirts and inhaled. He says he still does all that save the pony tale. The journey is not disribable but the childhood stories are. Do you wish to continue then?