We were lucky to catch up with Marcus Bruggom recently and have shared our conversation below.
Marcus, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.
May 1st, 2004 I turned 18. I was legally allowed to sign the loan papers for a wakeboard shop in Okoboji. Iowa. This is the story of Warped Incorporated.
Growing up, you couldn’t keep me on the ground. I climbed anything and everything since I could walk: trees, buildings, rocks, boulders, rope, no rope. The details didn’t matter, I just wanted to go up. Sitting still was never a strong suit of mine. I got my first skateboard when I was 6 and skinned half my face off on the first day. 30 years later, I still skate. The only difference; now my skateboard has a motor and goes 22 mph. Thankfully, my face has stayed, mostly, intact. (lol). Having a “go for it” mentality has been part of my personality for as long as I can remember.
Fast forward to 16. We had moved away from the town I was born in. The family was now much closer to a midwest vacation destination known as Okoboji. Okoboji is unique. Fields of corn and soybeans surround a paradise. There are feedlots for every kind of livestock you can imagine. Where I grew up they say, “Manure smells like money”. It does, indeed, provide an honest living for countless people. Not Okoboji, though. Okoboji is a chain of 8 lakes. 7 are connected. Combined, they cover a little over 12,000 acres (approx 19 sq miles), while providing a watershed for nearly 91,000 acres of farmland. The crown jewel of these lakes is West Lake Okoboji, covering nearly 4,000 acres. It is 136 deep at the aquifer that feeds it. It shines bright blue in stark contrast to the brownish green of the mud bottom lakes it is connected to. Few of the locals can afford the lavish multi-million dollar vacation homes that line its shores. The booming summer months provide an alternative living to the aforementioned, manure.
My high school town was only a 20 minute drive to the water. I was fortunate to have a friend whose parents had property on the lake; complete with dock, hoist, and boat. It was the early 2000’s and wakeboarding was still in its relative infancy. In the midwest, it was even more so. The first time I stood up, I felt the power of the boat pulling my arms straight and the resistance of the water against the broad flat face of the board. I experienced the change in pressure that happens as you stand up; no longer trying to fight the weight of an entire lake but instead standing on top of it. I embraced the feeling of my fins setting in, providing traction and setting an edge on my board so hard I was nearly parallel to the surface I was gliding across. I became a horizontal pendulum. I was pulling with all of my might, to get as close to perpendicular to the boat as possible; then relaxing just long enough to let the boat take over again. I’d reverse my edge and charge back at the wake like it slapped my momma. That’s when the real magic happened. When done properly, the pressure differential built on the edge of a board met a wall of water traveling opposite. The fiberglass and styrofoam of the board, I was strapped to buckles, snapped back and the water transferred all of its energy. I took flight. I didn’t stand a chance, I was hooked.
For the summers of my 16th & 17th years, if I wasn’t lifeguarding at the local swimming pool (16) or pouring concrete (17) I was on the water whenever possible. Despite living in an area saturated with marinas, it was still cheaper (in 2002) to drive from Okoboji, IA to Mankato, MN to purchase my wakeboard from Scheels. When I bought the board, the sales guys said “Hey, if you ever want to go ride with a pro, just hit me up and i’ll make it happen.” Though, I’m not sure he would have said it, had he known I was going to take him seriously. To be fair, at the time, I didn’t know either.
The summer of 2003 came to an end, heralding my senior year.
Despite my dyslexia and ADHD, I always did fairly well in school. Part of that was due to the fact that my dad was sick for most of his life, and all of mine. The medical debt that I was born into, meant there was never much “extra” growing up. My parents did the best they could with what they had, but there wasn’t extra money for brand new (at the time) ADHD medication (and to the best of my knowledge they still don’t make a pill for Dyslexia.) I was diagnosed in 3rd grade. By middle school, I was reading 700 page books. (Can you imagine the patience it must have taken to work with a 3rd grader who couldn’t sit still, reading?) I lived it, and I still have a hard time comprehending it. I was fortunate to have some outstanding teachers.
Back to 2003.
I was very much looking forward to coasting through my senior year. Our school had “block” scheduling and I was fairly certain I had figured out a class schedule that would mean 3 hours of school a day, instead of 6-8. Imagine my surprise when I was informed by my guidance counselor that I had enough credits to graduate a semester early, provided I took a full schedule the first semester. That’s all I needed to hear.
Mrs. Clark, and a class called “Career Transitions” changed everything. I will NEVER be able to say enough good things about Mrs. Clark. “Career Transitions” was a required class for all seniors. It was exactly what it sounds like. This woman went out into our community and arranged time with with several businesses. (Doctors offices, Vet Clinics, the local radio stations, the Pork Producers, Cattleman’s Association, production plants, the hospitality industry, logistics). The hours she must have spent behind the scenes making sure her students could check out career paths boggles my mind. Mrs. Clark is the reason I got to show up to school on a Thursday in September, sign into the office, turn around, walk back out to the parking lot, get in a truck, drive 3 hours to Lake Pryor, MN and spend the day wakeboarding with a professional. FOR SCHOOL CREDIT. Years later, I found out how hard she had to fight with the school’s administrators for that to happen. I will be forever grateful to her for understanding that just because a career path isn’t “traditional” it doesn’t mean it’s wrong or unattainable. Ultimately, her faith would motivate the events of the following spring.
January 21, 2004 arrived, and I became a high school graduate. NorthWest Iowa winters are brutal and all my friends were still in school for another 4 months. I went back to my previous work, pouring concrete.
By the end of March I knew 2 things:
1) I HATED concrete.
2) I needed a job that would facilitate my wakeboarding addiction.
Our family attended a church in the lakes area, so the first Sunday in April, after the service, I decided to cruise past the small board shop in the heart of Arnolds Park. I was hoping the owner might be there, so I could inquire about summer employment. This was not a marina, by any stretch of the imagination. The entire building was probably 500 sq ft, but only about 300 was usable retail space. The remaining 200 was occupied by the cashier seat and an insanely small bathroom. However, the location was perfect. It was perched in the middle of the “Strip”. All of the popular bars in the area were directly across the street. The local amusement park was within walking distance to the west. There were 2 resorts less than 100 yards away and the main shopping emporium was 100 yards past them. THIS was the summer I was looking for. If, I could land a job.
By sheer happenstance, the owner of the shop was there. When I asked if he was looking to hire summer help, his response was “…well actually, I think I have it sold. Sorry.” I was a brash 17 year old with the world by the tail. I, of course, had to ask what the price tag was. To this day, I’m still not sure how I was able to get him to tell me what the asking price was AND convince him to give me 7 days to raise the money. Keep in mind, I was 17 and my parents didn’t have the capital to just purchase a board shop, “all willie nillie”. The closest thing to a business I’d ever run was my 4th grade paper route for $50. per month. On top of all that, it was 2:30pm on a Sunday afternoon, and I’m expected at my concrete job at 5 AM Monday. Challenge accepted.
I called my boss, before I told my parents my plan. We did commercial jobs, but the real busy season wouldn’t be starting for another couple weeks, so he laughingly told me I “Could take the time off” but needed to be back at work the following Monday. (He didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the money together. He wasn’t the only one to hold that opinion). My parents had a similar reaction. They acknowledged that I was almost 18 and they weren’t going to be “on the hook” for any of the money. There would be “no co-signing” of the loan. The only support they would provide would be moral support.
Monday-Wednesday became a blur of business planning and getting laughed out of banks. On Wednesday there was a small glimmer of hope. The 3rd bank I visited said if I “could bring them $15,000 in collateral,” they would provide the loan. There was a catch, though. They needed the collateral by Monday. With the rapidly approaching summer season (Memorial Day), just 30 days away, I would be able to have access to the funds. IF I could raise the collateral.
Back to the drawing board.
In 3 days and 20 in-person meetings, I had 6 investors (4 of which were complete strangers). If you ever want to see a banker pick his jaw up off the floor, try walking in as a 17 year old with 6 investor checks. Priceless.
May 1st 2004, I turned 18. It’s the day I became President of an S Corp. I signed my first loan papers and started a different kind of “school”.
Warped Incorporated is the best, “worst choice” I have ever made. The company folded after the second summer. Which was 2 summers more than most people thought it would be around. Looking back on it, 18 years later, it really was a trial by fire. There were areas I succeeded, but many more that I failed. Which, is maybe the most important lesson of all: failure is part of success. That is a lesson that can only be heard when you take ego out of the equation.
I’m a little older, and a little wiser than I was then.
Some will argue that the security of “playing it safe”, is its own reward.
(Robert Frost would probably agree with those folks)
As for me, I’m going to continue to take the road less traveled.
It’s the only way I know how “to not become complacent” in my perspective.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
Bruglife Perspectives. Yes, I’m aware that it’s a mouthful. For the purpose of this interview, we’ll shorten it to “BLP”. BLP is, at it’s core, a photography company. The brand originated in 2019 (more on that later). However, the story of “Brug Life” started many years prior.
My last name is Bruggom. No, you didn’t read that wrong. Yes, those 7 letters have absolutely zero business getting together to form a word. If “Bruggom” were to appear as a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune, no English speaker would guess it correctly. The best way to get people to pronounce my name: Emulate a frog. “BRug-um, BRRRRug-um” it’s a thing.
So how does a person with dyslexia end up with possibly the worst name ever?
My great grandparents immigrated from the Netherlands in the early 1900s on a boat. Their last name was “Bruidegom”. In English, it means bride groom. The language barrier and low literacy rate in Ellis Island precipitated the need for phonetic spelling. ‘Bruggom’ was born. Simultaneously, my mom’s family was making their way across the pond. However, “Vander Stoep” really doesn’t have the same word play swagger.
1948- Glenda Beth Vander Stoep is born to Andy and Margaret Vander Stoep.
1953- Mark William Bruggom is born to Bill and Francis Bruggom
These 2 would eventually marry and have 3 children.
I don’t know much about how young Andy and Margaret Vander Stoep met. Their first child was conceived right before Andy was sent to the South Pacific. During his tenure, he fought in several historic battles. His time in the South Pacific concluded with a “clean up” effort in Hiroshima. Yes, THAT, Hiroshima. When he returned to the midwest at 21, he came home with radiation burns on his back and no teeth. In 1946 they believed radiation was stored in hard tissue and complete extraction, post war, was common. A wife and an almost 2 year old, my mom, welcomed him home. Margret would go on to have 3 more daughters, and a son. Andy’s time in the service had made him yearn for more than Iowa corn fields had to offer, so he eventually moved the family to California. Although the rest of the family returned to the midwest, my mom stayed in CA until she was 26. However, Andy convinced her it would be more cost effective for her to live in Iowa, at home, and work for the local church. She agreed.
I don’t know much about how Bill and Frances Bruggom met. Bill worked the family farm during the war effort. Frances was mostly Norwegian, and swore she would never marry a Dutch person. (Clearly, that didn’t work out.) The Bruggoms had 2 children. My aunt was first, and my father in 1953. Bill was the quintessential “1950’s Great Depression surviving” male farmer. This man could hold a pot of boiling water with his bare hands. He was a textbook “Man’s Man”. His greatest wish was to have a son who would carry on that legacy. My dad, Mark, wasn’t that man. This one fact would shape the way Mark saw the world, and by extension, the way I see the world. Bill wanted a strong “salt of the earth” son. What he got was a pale, red haired, mildly autistic (Aspergers wasn’t exactly a thing in the 50’s) child who wanted nothing more than to live in books and figure out what made radio work. Mark’s childhood was uncomfortable, at best. It bordered on abuse, at its worst.
After high school, Mark attended NorthWestern College in Orange City, IA. Following college he pursued a Masters degree in Religious Education from Grand Rapids Theological Seminary. During that time he worked for “The Church Herald”, a weekly publication serving the Reformed Church of America, as well as working part time at a local radio station. His love of radio spanned his entire life.
Glenda had been back in the midwest for a few years, at this point, and she was the Church Secretary where “The Herald” was published.
The thing about the midwest, which often remains true today, people tend to come home from college either engaged or already married. (It’s not a rebuke or slight.) This sense of family is especially true in rural communities. The farm IS the family. The family IS the farm. Everyone helps. I have an Aunt who has 11 kids. Her reasoning, I shit you not, “Because kids are cheap labor”. I understand how horrible that sounds. However, it is extremely practical. Work ethic, integrity, problem solving and fierce independence are grown in fields that feel endless. People marry young, children are born to young adult parents (23-25), and are pretty well settled into their forever homes by 30. That’s just how it is.
When my parents met, my mom was 30, and my dad was 26. They started dating, and would marry less than a year later. My mom has told me several times that she “felt a lot of pressure” to marry my dad but “once the vows were made”, she would abide by them.
My dad got sick, like sick-sick, shortly after they were wed. At first, doctors couldn’t provide many answers. At his lowest weight, he was 98 lbs. He was 6’1″. After months of doctors, tests, and studies he was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. A chronic auto-immune disorder that targets the digestive system. He underwent several surgeries. In total, he had 2 feet of necrotic intestine removed. He also began courses of medications; including a steroid regime, and several pain medications. All in the first 2 years of marriage.
Year 3 began with a miscarriage. It was also the year Mark decided he wanted to go back to school. All the time he had spent in the hospital had impressed the importance of nurses on him. He graduated from nursing school shortly after my sister was born.
2 years later my brother and I would be born.
My brother and I are mistaken for “Irish Twins’. However, we’re identical mirror image twins (monozygotic twins). We split late, resulting in mirrored physical attributes. I’m left handed. He’s right handed. Our teeth came in on opposite sides. Our hair swirls in opposite directions, it’s a thing. Keep in mind, prenatal care in the 80’s. My mom didn’t know she was having twins until month 7. She only questioned the doctor when her arms could “no longer reach” past her baby bump. Sure enough, there were 2 of us. We weren’t small. After 13 hours of labor I came screaming into the world at 7lb 9oz. My brother decided he was gonna hang out a little longer. If you know a twin, ask them whose “older” and by how much. Really, we love this. The answer will almost always be under 5 minutes. In my brother’s case, 5 minutes turned into 10 minutes..20…30 min…45…50…55…My mom went into shock and her blood pressure took a nosedive. Between minutes 58 and 60, the doctors performed an emergency c-section. My brother was alive, but extremely hypoxic. He spent the next 10 days in the N-ICU, recovering. The doctors were able to repair the bleeds and my mom made a full recovery.
My childhood was pretty unremarkable. We moved from the town I was born in, to a town closer to my dad’s job in Sioux Falls. When I was 6 we got a phone call that changed everything.
My mom returned to college when my brother and I entered kindergarten. My dad was working full time in the ICU at the hospital and we were actively involved in our church. My dad worked with his best friend. They were deacons on the church board and hung out in their free time. This man was a family friend. 6 year old me received the call to inform us that David had climbed up a tree, shot 2 vials of morphine, and fallen to his death. Apparently, he had implicated my dad in his suicide note. My dad never fully recovered from how fully he was broken that day. Life at home became very unpredictable. Anger was the armor my dad chose to wear. The irony, he only put it on at home. His anger seeded and shaped mine.
In the years following David, my dad bounced around nursing jobs. His Crohn’s was prone to flare ups the more he was on the floor. He moved to administration; which he hated. My mom graduated with honors. She agreed to let my father apply for his dream job; being the weatherman at KICD in Spencer, Iowa. He got the job. We moved to Everly; a small town outside of Spencer. This is how Okoboji, IA came to be in such close proximity.
For 10 days in August, the Okoboji Missionary Bible Conference took place. Daytime classes, evening sermons, fellowship and pie, plus reduced admission to Okoboji’s most popular attractions filled our summers. Here’s the catch; the Tabernacle shares a parking lot with a strip club. That “real world” was on the peripheral. I joined it when I bought a board shop. Which, brought a world of sex, drugs and rock & roll. I was ill prepared.
It was the first radical shift in my perspective.
After the board shop came to an end I went to work as a welder. I am grateful for the time I got to spend in that industry. Welding opened a lot of doors and provided unique experiences. I learned to see the whole, as well as the parts that made it. I will never NOT be a welder. I love the way metal smells when it burns and the hum when you have your machine dialed just right (your arc length and transfer rate are perfect) Watching metal turn liquid, almost instantly, and being able to control everything about that puddle of metal. What’s not to like?
Welding was never more than a job, for me. I love to fabricate with metal. That will be something I will continue to do. But, it will be for me.
The second radical shift in my perspective came during my divorce. More specifically, the months leading up to my divorce.
I was married to the wrong person. We got married for the wrong reasons. I was working waaaaaaay to much and self medicating pretty hard. I was angry all the time. The separation was drawn out, and as were the divorce proceedings. Thankfully, there were no children involved. I received the finalized papers as I was walking into my dad’s funeral.
The perspective shift came when I realized I was angry, because I was hurt. Once I made that realization, I was able to work through the actual problems. I spent hours wandering around downtown Des Moines, with nothing but a backpack and a cell phone camera. I quickly figured out if I shot against double-lit glass, a unique layered reflection could be captured. Everything behind me was reflected in front of me. My silhouette created a hole in the reflection, allowing the viewer to see through the window clearly. Bruglife Perspectives was born.
There are a myriad of events that have had an effect on my perspective. Those first “Hollow Man” shots are very personal self portraits. I felt empty, but I found something to hold on to; a new challenge. My continued hope, is to show others there is a way forward. Even if all you can see is a wall of your past. you get to design your path. My goal is to ask people to consider looking at things a little differently. It’s why I focus heavily on reflections, in general. The world around us is amazing, we only need to look up, every now and then, to see it.
Photography has brought me down a road, I wasn’t expecting to travel. I have had the honor of capturing memories for families. I have been fortunate to shoot the Dew Tour from the deck, both years in Des Moines. I spent 6 days fully immersed in the George Floyd Protests. I capture rock climbing trips. I ride my electric skateboard as fast and as often as possible, and bring my camera everywhere. BLP has grown into a brand extension: BLP Apparel Co.
What is the Bruglife Perspective? It’s to continue challenging my own perspective. And maybe, just maybe, make you think about your own perspective.
What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?
For me the most rewarding part is having a picture i took hanging on your wall, printed on canvas and stretched by me. that’s the best part for me.
Can you tell us about a time you’ve had to pivot?
During my divorce i walked away from a 12 year career as a welder. I was at the top of a skilled trade, i was getting paid well, i had benefits, but i was miserable. I was angry, over worked and really really sad. I am very fortunate to have the group of friends i do. there are days i miss the smell of burning metal, and i will return to the fire someday, but for now, a camera is my tool of choice, you are seeing through my eyes when you look at my photography, i hope you enjoy it, or at the very least it makes you think.
Contact Info:
- Website: http://bruglife-perspectives.myshopify.com
- Instagram: @bruglifeperspectives
- Facebook: facebook.com/bruglifeperspectives
- Twitter: @BLperspectives
- Other: www.bruglife.com
Image Credits
“Hollow Man” Images – Marcus Bruggom (Photos 1 & 8) Zion Wright – Image 7 Rayssa Leal – Image 5