by Stan Mason
Young Meredith shook his head sadly and did as the guru suggested. What a wally! He had got it all wrong! However, there was a lesson to be learned if he absorbed all that Priestly had told him and he dwelt on the matter for some considerable time. This was not the kind of teaching he had received at Bennington Commercial College. When he had left there at the end of his studies, he believed he knew everything there was to know about corporate business. After a short time with Priestly, he came to the horrendous conclusion that he knew absolutely nothing at all. He discussed his feelings with his father who attempted to encourage him to take a broader view than that offered by the college. However, his words went unheeded by the younger man who became even more depressed as time went by.
‘You’ve got to look at the positive side,’ ventured his father. ‘Think how valuable John Priestly’s instruction has been. Go back to him and ask him for more. It’s bound to be of tremendous value to you in the long run. Believe me!’
The young man mulled over his father’s words. He was already having sleepless nights because his confidence had fallen to a low level. How things had changed in such a short time. When leaving Bennington he was on top of the world capable of anything required of him. Now he felt as though it had all been taken away from him. However, after a great deal of soul searching, he pulled himself together and went back to the guru.
‘I think I’ve overcome my failings at last,’ he began before being interrupted by his mentor.
‘You haven’t failed, Colin,’ cut in Priestly, with a tinge of criticism in his voice. ‘All that’s happened is that you’ve learned a lesson. At least I hope you have. You’ve done nothing you need to regret.’
‘You’ve certainly given me enough ammunition to play with,’ went on the young man. ‘Will you give me one more lesson?’
‘Very well,’ replied the guru willingly. ‘One more lesson. I hope your commitment is the same as before.’
‘I’m just getting my confidence back but I’m really as keen as ever. Give me your worst. I promise this time I’ll go much more cautiously.’
‘Very well,’ returned the guru. ‘I’d like you to sit in my chair as Chief Executive of my company in the City and give me your views. Will you do that? Come back to me after a week. As usual, I’d like a report.’
Once again, the young man looked confused but he had no option but to obey. The next morning, he entered the office of the Chief Executive and sat in the large chair behind a very broad desk. He was, in effect, the Chief Executive of the company for one week. He sat in the grand chair for a whole day becoming extremely bored, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches brought in by the secretary. On the second day, he ventured out of the room to talk to his secretary and a few of the secretarial staff. On the third day, he went down the stairs to the offices on the floor below and started watching the workers. He continued this practice the next day starting to talk to some of them. Then he went down to the next floor and the next one, eventually ending up in the mailing room. By the end of the week he had been in every department, every office, every cubby-hole. He had seen all members of the staff and had watched them at work. On his return to Priestly’s house, he faced the guru knowingly and offered his report.
‘At first I sat in your office but nothing happened so I went out to look, watch and hear what was going on in the company. I went everywhere... to every department, every section... sensing some bad feeling and a certain amount of animosity between the staff themselves and between them and some of the clients. I learned that they even call the first working day of the week Blue Monday. I could see that some members of staff were dedicated while others idled and simply passed the day carrying out their job until going home time arrived. I noticed also that a few workers were entirely unwilling to get involved deeply with the work. There was little interest and no commitment in what they did, let alone any dedication to the company. I also heard some of them making personal telephone calls during the work period, wasting time and money and some failed to concentrate on what they were doing, chatting to each other for a long time during the working day. When they were ready to go, I saw some of them stealing pens and paper pretending they were taking work home with them. But most of all, regardless of the staff, I realised that there was a sense of purpose in that business was being undertaken and money was being received from clients. I know that if the dross... the staff who are either inefficient or unwilling to work... were weeded out, you would need less employees. Subsequently, profitability would rise. I’ve written a great deal more down in this file but, in effect, that’s the general description of what I saw and heard.’
‘I’m glad you ventured out of the office,’ stated Priestly sharply. ‘It was the only thing to do. You see, you need to know exactly what’s going on in the company, who’s going to carry out the work efficiently, who you can trust, and who you can lose when it’s necessary to cut staff. If you don’t know those facts, the company could crumble under you while you sit alone in your ivory tower acting more badly than the worst of your staff. Having passed the three tests, and learned a great deal from them, I think you can now consider yourself to be an enlightened person, ready to become an executive in a major company.’
The young man nodded, shaking the guru’s hand firmly. It was all so much clearer to him now. The spiritual side of corporate business was far more important than the theory although both together were required to establish a cohesive knowledge of the subject. All he needed now was some practical experience to complete his education. However, he had no need to concern himself too much because a week later he received a letter to present himself to the Assistant Chief Executive in Priestly’s company in London. He went there on the due date and found himself guided to an office on the eighteenth floor.
‘I’m Gordon McKay,’ stated the executive fingering the pages of a file on his desk. ‘I understand you’re looking for employment as a junior executive. How would you like to join this company on a permanent basis?’
Young Meredith stared at him in disbelief. ‘Would I like to join?’ he repeated in bewilderment. ‘I’d give my right arm for the chance. But how come you’ve invited me here for an interview today. I mean, I hadn’t applied.’
A brief smile touched McKay’s lips and he picked up a fax message on his desk. ‘I have a note here from our Chairman, Mr. Priestly. I understand you’ve already met him. I’ll read it to you. “Invite Colin Meredith to an interview for the appointment of a junior executive in the company. Pay him whatever he wants within reason. I have full faith in the young man and I know he’ll be an asset to the company. However, one condition is that he continues his education under my command. In my opinion, in time, he might be sufficiently orientated to fill my position in the company. There’s every hope.”
‘Wow!’ exclaimed the young man flabbergasted. ‘He really is some guy, isn’t he?’
‘You must have struck a chord in him somewhere,’ returned the Assistant Chief Executive. ‘He’s usually very austere in his criticism of other people, but not with you.’ He paused for a moment to stare at the young man’s face. ‘So do I take it you accept the appointment... at a reasonable salary of course?’
‘Yes, I accept,’ replied the young man eagerly. ‘At any salary. Any salary!’
‘I don’t think that would suit Mr. Priestly,’ countered the other man conversely.
‘But I though he wanted me to join the company?’
‘I don’t mean that,’ retorted McKay. ‘You have the advantage of me in this situation with regard to amount of your salary yet, in your euphoria, you carelessly lose the chance to stake your claim. Mr. Priestly would be most disappointed to hear that.’
Young Meredith nodded slowly. ‘It seems to me that one has to be on his toes twenty-four hours a day regardless of actions, prospects or emotions in order to become a good executive.’
‘Well that’s a l
esson you’ve learned from me today,’ smiled McKay easily. ‘Now, about this salary?’
The young man returned home to Cornwall to tell his father the good news. It would mean giving up country life to live in the capital but he was well able to cope with that. He related the words of the guru to his parent telling him about the fax message... that he might be sufficiently orientated to fill Priestly’s position in the company in time. And twenty-one years later, his dream was fulfilled. He did!
All Systems Go!
At nine-thirty on the evening of the 6th June, 1987, the President of the United States suffered an apoplectic stroke which rendered him unconscious. He had been the principal speaker at a banquet held in New York and was about to get to his feet to deliver one of his rousing speeches when he keeled over sideways and fell into a coma. The effect was catastrophic. After a few moments silence, as the guests realised what had happened, pandemonium broke loose. The great dining hall was filled with over a thousand people watched carefully by a large team of security men who consistently tried to remain inconspicuous. However, when the President collapsed, one of the presidential bodyguards charged into action. Unfortunately, his inexperience quickly proved it was the wrong thing to do. He ran past the spurs of dining tables, pushed aside the rump of one of the three television crews, accidentally knocked down two of the domestic staff serving food and wine, and produced a revolver which he waved wildly. In his wisdom, he fired a shot at the ceiling, believing that everyone would fall silent at the explosion whereafter he would explain to them the correct procedure, thereby avoiding panic. But his action had the reverse effect. The guests believed incorrectly that an assassin was within their midst. Clearly, he had already dealt with the President and now it was their turn. Within seconds, there was a surging crowd of screaming guests stampeding towards the exits in an attempt to escape from the room at the same time. In their panic, they knocked over tables, smashed glasses, plates and bottles, jostled, fought, hustled, and pushed people violently to the floor causing them to be trodden on by the fleeing mob. The mayhem continued until the police arrived on the scene to control the situation. An assembly of ambulances raced to the building and a number of paramedics managed to get through to the stricken President, rushing him to hospital without delay. The Chief of Security watched the debacle helplessly, but he had more important tasks to attend to than crowd control. If the President ever became totally incapable of dealing with matters of State, and this was a typical example where it might happen, it was imperative for the Chief of Security to communicate immediately with the Vice-President. The sad chronicle of events was not easily resolved so simply however, because it was known that in the absence of anything serious in the world of politics at this time of the year the second-in-command had departed on a two-day fishing trip to Lake Tahoe. He had made it clear before he left it was his twenty-third wedding anniversary and he would slip away from his security men at every opportunity. It was the policy with regard to security in the United States for continuity of office to be maintained at all times in case of national emergency but, in view of the unusual situation, the process was likely to take a few hours. In the interim period, the United States was extremely vulnerable although the probability of an emergency arising in that time was extremely remote. Yet, if it were to happen, what better time than now during the void. After all, the collapse of the President was no secret. There had been three television crews at the banquet. The news would be broadcast by radio and television without delay. Within minutes the whole world would know!
At the Control Systems Centre in Washington, Colonel Baker lay fully-dressed on his bed in a small room with his eyes closed. The six-month assignment was almost at an end and he felt relieved it was nearly over. His impeccable service career now spanned thirty years and, shortly, he would be terminating his service as Controller-in-Chief at the Centre, known colloquially as the Keeper of the Keys. He patted his top right-hand breast pocket breathing calmly as he felt the large bulge of keys which had been entrusted to him by the President himself. For a while he lay there quietly, musing on all the leisure activities he would enjoy on retirement, until the sound of footsteps echoed along the flag-stoned corridor and approached the room. They stopped outside and the caller knocked sharply on the door before entering. The giant figure of Captain Taggart could be seen framed in the doorway. The subordinate adjusted his vision to locate the senior officer in the dark room.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Colonel Baker, but it looks like we have a serious problem on our hands. I think you’d better come and look for yourself, sir.’
Baker opened his eyes and sat up sharply. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, Taggart. Give me the details.’
Taggart paused for a moment and then explained the problem. ‘We’ve sighted a number of unidentified flying objects on the radar screen. I’ve declared a Yellow Alert until we receive clarification.’
The Colonel lifted himself from the bed and reached for his peaked cap. ‘O.K., Taggart,’ he replied, trying not to show any alarm. He pressed out the light creases in his uniform with the flat of his hand. ‘I’ll come back with you. How long have they been on the screen?’
‘Two minutes, sir. Two minutes!’
They walked swiftly along the flag-stoned corridor to the Control Room and entered. There was the buzz of noise from the equipment and the comments made by the radar personnel, as well as an air of tenseness arising from the new development. Baker moved to the radar section and stared at one of the screens intently with a puzzled expression on his face. Taggart was right. A number of unidentified objects could be seen on the screen and they were moving towards the eastern coast of the United States. Tension built up inside him as he felt a knot forming in his stomach at the prospect of danger. ‘They wouldn’t dare!’ he muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly. ‘They wouldn’t dare!’
‘Taking the worst view, Colonel,’ commented the Radar Controller, staring up at the senior officer, ‘it’s possible we’re looking at a number of intercontinental ballistic missiles headed for targets here.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Baker, fearing that the man was probably correct in his assumption.
‘They’re heading directly from east to west. The present location of these... objects... whatever they are... is over western Europe. Who knows, the Russians, the Iraqis or the Iranians, in their wisdom, may have decided this is the right time to attack. It’s very political out there, sir.’
Baker chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. ‘That’s crazy! I know how some of those people feel about us, and many Americans feel the same way about them. But escalating those feelings to the extent of a nuclear holocaust... that’s sheer stupidity! Is there any chance they may be UFOs? I wouldn’t mind having that as a problem right now. A number of UFOs.’
‘No, sir. Their flight is too regulated... too slow... and too steady. They’re definitely not UFOs.’
‘It could be there’s something wrong with the electronic system,’ suggested Baker. ‘These might be blips caused by some electrical interference. Check it out before we take any kind of action.’
‘We’ve already done that, sir,’ responded the Radar Controller. ‘Sacramento Control Systems Centre say it’s one hundred per cent authentic.’
The Colonel screwed up his face as if in pain and dwelt deeply on the matter for a while. Then he moved to a red telephone located in a recess at the other side of the room. He removed the ring of keys from his right-hand breast pocket, selected one of them carefully, and inserted it into the lock at the base of the telephone. Raising the receiver carefully, he waited for a reply. ‘Mr. President,’ he began, as he heard a voice at the other end of the line. ‘This is Colonel Baker at Control Systems Centre. We seem to have a problem here, sir. We’ve sighted a number of unidentified flying objects on our radar screens... ’
