by Stan Mason
As he entered the office, he noted agitation in the face of his secretary. Her eyes played on a very expansive man wheezing noisily in a chair opposite his desk. ‘It’s Mr. Grover for you,’ she informed him quickly.
Rigby nodded understandingly as he hung his raincoat on the rack and sat down in his executive chair trying to shrug off the effects of the helicopter ride. ‘What can I do for you, Grover?’ he enquired.
The large man shifted in his chair with difficulty endeavouring to make himself more comfortable. ‘Very little now. That’s the trouble!’
‘Then why have you come to see me?’
‘I wanted to meet the man who replace Clement Davies!’
‘Well now you’ve seen him... so what?’
‘So what? I’ll tell you what! In all the years Davies held this appointment, he advised me on a dozen occasions at least. He was rarely wide of the mark and often hit it spot on. Do you get my meaning? The only advice you gave me ended in disaster! So I decided to come in person to take a good look at you... at the man who dishes out rotten advice to his colleagues. It‘s all a game to you, isn‘t it?.’
‘Sorry, Grover,’ snapped the senior executive sharply, ‘but I‘m not interested in your opinions! If only they were games! I now learn that the unions and the staff are no longer interested in talking to me... let alone negotiate. And we’ll soon have a strike on our hands.’
‘I really don’t see what this has to do with me!’
Unbelievable!’ spluttered Grover, looking towards Betty Brewer as though seeking her to recognise his claim. ‘He doesn’t see what it has to do with him! Let me ask you something, Rigby! Who kept giving me ideas! Who advised me on what should and could be done? You tell me that!’
‘Grover... you’re a grown man with the responsibility for Industrial Relations in the bank... one of the most important appointments because we’re in a labour-intensive profession. You should be a strong man with the wherewithal to discuss, negotiate, and conciliate on all matters affecting employees and unions. Are you that man or not?’
Grover stared at him in confusion. ‘I’ve been doing this job for seven years,’ he uttered dolefully.
‘That’s not what I’m saying. ‘What kind of relationship do you have with the heads of the unions? How do you really perform in your appointment? Have you ever asked yourself those questions?’
‘The unions defend their lines and I do the same for the bank. We give a little and take a little. It usually works out in the end.’
‘Have you ever considered that a constant war with the unions might not be in the best interests of the bank? That conciliation by all parties might work out better for all parties in the long run!’
‘You’re not suggesting that I should surrender to the rabble! Concede to those miserable greedy vermin. Not on your life!’
‘That’s where you go wrong, Grover. For seven years you’ve been at war with them. It’s time for you to give up the job or reconsider your attitude towards them.’
‘They took advantage of me when I first started... and they knew it. I swore I wouldn’t give them the edge again.’
‘So neither of you will give way on any issue and you have a strike on your hands.’
‘Which is entirely your fault!’
‘Grow up, Grover! I didn’t tell you to sabotage the whole thing!’
‘If Clement Davies was still here... ’
‘Clement Davies is dead!’ The senior executive was beginning to become bored by the constant whining of the other man and decided to tell him some home truths. ‘Let’s get a couple of things straight,’ he went on, with an edge to his voice that caused the other man to squirm a little in his seat. ‘I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention his name again. He’s gone and will soon be forgotten. Secondly, you’ve got to learn to act like a man. You’ve leaned on any willing soul for advice, information and any other kind of assistance. That’s all very well but don’t expect anyone else to do your job for you. The responsibility is entirely your own. Had you tackled your role properly years ago, you wouldn’t be faced with the problem you have today.’
‘You can’t talk to me like that!’ exploded Grover, his body convulsing with anger like a giant jelly.
‘Of course I can,’ returned Rigby coolly. ‘Of course I can talk to you like that! You and I both know the score. You’ve been riding on an easy meal ticket for seven years and it’s paid off nicely so far. Suddenly you’re caught wrong-footed. Do something about it yourself! Recognise the problems... analyse them! And for Heavens sake, don’t shout at those who try to help you!’
Grover found himself unable to speak for a few moments. His eyebrows rose and fell twice and his mouth gaped and closed before he found his voice. ‘It’s been hell at times,’ he confessed sadly. ‘I’ll admit it’s not really my cup of tea. Far from it. But it wasn’t my fault. Some of the union people are real bastards. They want a hundred per cent of everything all the time. Salaries, holidays, shorter working hours, more benefits, higher pensions, flexitime, extra bonuses, productivity schemes, seats ont eh Board. You name it... they want it! And they never give up. Year in, year out! They’ve worn me down by constant pressure. I feel that whatever they ask for, I have to defend it. It’s like an avalanche coming at you in slow motion. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night... ’ he tailed off almost in tears.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ consoled Rigby. ‘I know what it’s like.’
Grover’s head came up in amazement. ‘You know!’ he managed to say. ‘Then why do you attack me?’
‘There’s more than one way of killing a cat than banging its head against a wall. The pressure is constant but look at it from the other side. Without permission to pay higher salaries, reduce working hours and all that, the pressure is useless on you. Decision relating to the unions can be delayed for very long periods of time. That’s the winning feature... to stop the avalanche. You see there’s always ways of doing things. Method by method ... measure by measure.’
‘Where do you suggest I go from here?’
Rigby gave him a rueful look. ‘No Grover! You’re in control of Industrial Relations not me. You make the decisions. I can only offer an opinion on the way I would handle the situation. Are we clear on that point?’
The other man nodded his head solemnly. ‘You’re a hard man, Rigby, did you know that? A hard man. You have a total lack of compassion but... on the other hand... you’re more direct and truthful than anyone else I know in this damned mausoleum of a bank!’
‘You’re the man in control... remember that! The unions can really do little without you. Get that fact fixed firmly in your head. Now go back and tell them you’re willing to offer them more money and better working conditions. They’ll listen to you then.’
‘But I’ve already down that. They turned me down!’
‘Because you didn’t negotiate with them correctly. You fought them off, didn’t you. Be sincere... stop the fighting and they’ll listen to you.’
‘They claimed my concessions weren’t attractive enough so discussions terminated. It was pointless to go on because we were so far apart.’
‘The secret is to never close the door behind you. Keep talking to them. Invite them to enter into further discussions.’
‘They’ve already told me what they want. It’s tantamount to take over the whole bank... lock, stock and barrel!’
‘Forget what they’re asking. What will they really accept in the end?’
‘They know their claims will be moderated. That’s why they go so high. It’s a way of life at the negotiating table. Keep the discussion on the boil. Tell them you have to take their proposals away for senior executives to review. Cool everything by delaying tactics. It’s all ploy and counter-ploy... plot and counter-plot.’
Grover puffed out is cheeks even more
reluctantly on reflection of his role. ‘I wish they would put me somewhere else in the bank,’ he groaned. ‘Even a sideways move! It would be a mercy, I tell you.’
‘Grover!’ declared Rigby with an earnest tone in his voice. ‘In a large organisation such as the Imperial Bank, with many thousands of staff, there’s bound to be people who don’t fit in. They may show spirit or charisma for which the bank cannot cater. These eccentrics, for want of a word, are pushed into non-banking sections... areas such as Functional Control and Industrial Relations. We are technically exiles in banking. And, as long as the bank operates smoothly, we embarrass no one.’
‘That’s an awful thought! What you’re saying is that I’ve wasted all my life in this bank.’
‘Come on, man! You haven’t done too badly. A high salary, a bank car, a large house with a low-interest mortgage, cheap loans and an expense account. What more do you want?’
‘You have an uncanny outlook in life, Rigby. What’s the point of ambition then?’
‘I’m afraid ambition’s not for the likes of us, Grover, Ambition needs to be worked on year on year. The only truly ambitious person in this bank is a man called Sam Elliott. He really works at it.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ related the Industrial Relations Manager dryly. ‘He’s the one who caused the union to decide to strike.’
A wry look appeared on Rigby’s face. ‘Can you prove that?’
‘Can I hell1 One day I’ll get my claws into that man and he won’t escape. Until then I shall watch him like a hawk. He informed the union that I’d written a confidential memo to say that there was no intention to pay any increases and that I was only delaying them to avoid a strike. Why did he poke his nose into my business? He’s supposed to be on our side!’
‘I think you’ll find Sam Elliott’s on his own side. But if he’s the one causing all this trouble, why do you come to me?’
Grover appeared extremely sheepish at the question. He glanced nervously at Betty Brewer and then back to the senior executive. ‘I had to talk to someone and you were the only one I could think of.’
A wave of sympathy flooded through Rigby as he listened. The man was so friendless in the bank that he had to come to a stranger on a trumped-up argument simply to give vent to his frustration. ‘Forget about the Elliotts of this world, Grover.,’ he imparted without allowing the conversation to lapse. It’s all a game with the unions and you have to treat it as such. Play it how you know best and don’t try too hard to win.’
The other man was impressed by the words of his colleague. ‘I’ll go back to the negotiating table and play the game as you say.’
‘That’s the spirit! Try to be fair.’
Grover eased his large body out of the chair and trod heavily towards the door with a series of short steps. ‘It’s all a game,’ he repeated. ‘All a game!’
Rigby heaved a sigh of relief after the man had gone shaking his head slowly. ‘Haven’t I got enough trouble without people in key executive positions coming to me with their problems!’ he complained bitterly to his secretary ‘I wonder how they would feel if I kept hounding them. ‘I’d soon get short shrift, I’m sure.’
The telephone rang and Betty Brewer answered it. ‘It’s Premises Department for you,’ she told him shortly. ‘They wish to inform you that after extreme consultation, they’ve proved that the roof of Head Office is strong enough to bear the weight of a helicopter for landing and taking off. But before you can do so, they want written authorisation from the Chairman’s office.’
The banker sat quite still for a few moments snorting like an angry bull. He had worked all day for a short answer to a simple request stressing the need for urgency. Now, when it was far too late, an affirmative reply was far too hard for him to swallow. ‘Bloody incompetents!’ he raved. ‘The lives of three men could have depended on their answer... and it took them all day to find out!’
Another telephone rang and Betty Brewer answered it with concern that he boss’s blood-pressure would climb to a much higher level. ‘It’s Mr. Fender of London South Local District Office,’ she told him.
Rigby delved back into his mind. ‘Fender... Fender... ah yes! I spoke with him this morning.’ He picked up the receiver with a swift movement of his right hand. ‘Yes, Fender!’
‘I don’t wish to press you, Mr. Rigby, but could you advise me what’s happened to our two young friends. They haven’t returned and I thought I’d better check with you.’
The senior executive closed his eyes in horror, placing the palm of his free hand on his forehead. ‘They’re still here, Fender,’ he replied, trying to keep an even tone in his voice. ‘They’ll be back with you tomorrow morning.’
Before the man could ask any further questions, Rigby replaced the receiver and stared dolefully at his secretary. ‘You know what we’ve done,’ he groaned, getting to his feet quickly. ‘We’ve forgotten about those two young people in the Boardroom.’
His secretary screwed up her face. ‘Oh, crikey!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry. What with all that was going on I forgot to remind you. I doubt whether they’ll still be in there after all this time.’
‘What do I say to them?’
She shrugged her shoulders aimlessly. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ she said slowly. ‘You always do.’
He walked along the corridor to the Boardroom filled with shame. It was so uncharacteristic of him to forget the personal needs of subordinates. Yet he had done so! They had probably tired of waiting for him and had left in which case he would have failed in his duty. His hopes rose a little as he heard voices echoing in the great room.
‘My sincerest apologies to both of you,’ he began as he closed the door behind him. ‘You’ll think it wretched of me to have left you but it was unavoidable.’ He noticed the anger in their faces but chose deliberately to ignore it. ‘Sit down, Robert.. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.’
The young man found it impossible to contain himself any longer. ‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted. ‘You keep us locked in here all day long and then you can’t remember our names. For your information, my name’s Roger not Robert!’
‘I’m sorry,’countered Rigby, ‘but you were not locked in here.’
‘Well you try to open the bloody door!’ continued Roger filled with venom.
The senior executive tested the door to which the young man pointed and shook his head. ‘That’s not the door to the Boardroom,’
‘We thought you locked us in here,’ intervened the young woman sadly.
‘It; s just too much to have to wait here all day long,’ complained Roger unable to suppress his feelings, deflated that he had chosen the wrong door. ‘You took advantage of us!’
‘In what way?’ asked the senior executive with a puzzled expression on his face.
‘We became your least priority, didn’t we? And that’s not on!’
‘You’re right,’ admitted Rigby capitulating.
‘You see!’ Roger said to the young woman as though proving his point. ‘He admits it!’
‘What he’s trying to say,’ ventured Valerie, hoping to pour oil over troubled water, ‘is that the staff should have top priority. It’s people that count!’
‘Is that your view too,’ asked the senior executive bluntly.
Her eyes stared down at the floor and she left the main argument to her male consort.
‘We’ve had nothing to eat... nothing to drink... not for hours! And remember, this woman is pregnant!’
Rigby’s ears shot up at the remark and he entered the fray with a vengeance. ‘I’m glad you recognised that fact after all the trouble you created. If it wasn’t for you, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. You’re the father of this unborn child.’
Roger retracted his fangs at the surprise attack but he refused to be defeated. ‘It w
ould have worked out all right if Mr. Fender wouldn’t have interfered!’
‘Really Roger? Then refresh my memory concerning the conversation that took place this morning before I left you!’
‘Please don’t upset him, Mr. Rigby,,’ pleased the young woman. ‘He’s only doing his best for me.’
‘I’ll tell you one thin,’ remonstrated the young man, ‘your attitude stinks to high Heaven! You ponce around in your high executive office treating junior staff like dirt. Well let me tell you, I’m resigning from this lousy bank and in my resignation letter I’m going to explain the reason for leaving. It won’t improve your chances of promotion I can assure you of that!’
‘Lets’ try to redress the balance, Roger, but let’s do it calmly, shall we,’ countered Rigby unperturbed by the tirade. ‘I can’t apologise enough for leaving you here all day. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to invite the two of you to a splendid lunch at an expensive restaurant of your choice. No expenses spared. Will you accept?’
The immaturity of the young man caused him to sulk for a short while and then it fell to the young woman to make up his mind for him. ‘That’s very nice of you, Mr. Rigby,’ she replied. ‘We accept your offer, don’t we, Roger!’
The young man shrugged his shoulders aimlessly as though he had been bribed and he muttered something incoherently which was taken to be an affirmative answer.
‘All right,’ continued the senior executive, content at winning them over. ‘My advice to you, Roger, is to pause until you see things more clearly. You’ll do yourself no good to resign because of one single incident in the bank. No good at all.’
‘I refuse to stay in an organisation where staff gets the least priority!’ he burbled.
‘Come on, boy! You know that’s not the cause!’
‘It’s what you told him... told us,’ challenged Valerie, defending her lover valiantly.
