Chapter Sixteen
New Kid In Town
So why am I here? How did I wind up going from a happy-go-lucky semi-successful transplanted Yankee southern bachelor that was free as a bird to a happy-go-lucky semi-successful transplanted Yankee southern bachelor stuck in a ball of tape on the floor of an abandoned room that smelled like an old barbeque pit? Life was going so good until about four years ago. That’s when somebody had this great idea…
“You want to do what?”
“Look, Mick, things are going pretty well but this is 2009. The economy is down. Although we still have a highly sought after unique product, demand for electronics has fallen which reduces demand for X-400 as well as our other coatings. We need to think about some ways to bring our cost structure down so we can weather this storm.”
Chuck had aged relatively well. He was probably into his mid fifties but kept himself in good shape. His hair had thinned and grayed and his waist line had expanded a bit, but the steel in his eyes and spine showed no signs of rust. I had earned his respect with my dedication and in-depth knowledge of the plant. I also consistently let him beat me at golf (not too hard with my game). Secretly, I think he appreciated my sarcastic wit. He hid it well, but I know (hope) he was grinning on the inside. We were friends, but there was no doubt that he was still the boss. I never forgot Rhonda’s comment about him thinking of me as the son he never had, but I never came anywhere near that subject in his presence. I could mouth off and challenge and push, but I knew there was a limit. There were always lots of “buts” with Chuck.
“I thought Earl was doing a great job with our finances. Our margins are the best in the industry, we run pretty lean and mean and we had a record year in 2008.”
“I know. But The Shareholder is more worried about the future.”
Ah, the mysterious Shareholder pops up again. Chuck had mentioned him (her?) numerous times over the last twenty plus years. He never referenced him (her?) by name only by the title “The Shareholder.” From what little I was able to gather, this was the person that first funded Woodland Enterprises, owned fifty-one percent of it and had continued to silently invest in our search for the Holy Grail. The Shareholder also provided most of the capital to build the production plant once our quest was fulfilled. In recent years, I assume he (she?) sat back and reaped the benefits of our success. Whenever Chuck wanted to shutdown a discussion in The Circle, he played the powerful Shareholder card.
“But why do we need a high powered MBA at our little plant?”
“First of all, I never said the MBA would be high powered. Second, some new blood and ways of thinking might do us some good. Remember when I took a chance bringing you in as a know nothing greener than the Jolly Giant ass clown? I think that has worked out OK.”
“OK? You know how many times I have saved your ass? If I hadn’t changed the raw material mix and temperature on Reactor Three, we’d still be dicking around in that pilot plant.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Third, MBA’s are cheap labor right now. It isn’t exactly a rosy job market for them.”
“So what? Is this someone that is going to work for Earl? You know Earl doesn’t suffer fools lightly. He might not take too kindly to having an assistant.”
“Well, actually, he will be Earl’s supervisor. The Shareholder was rather insistent on that point.”
“Oh my God! Warn me before you tell Earl. I will wear my hard hat and Kevlar underwear that day.”
“Oh, I’m not telling him.”
“Ah, crap. Go ahead and say it on the count of three. One, two, three…”
And we both said in unison, “You are!” That actually got a smile and small chuckle out of Chuck. However, I was smart enough to realize that if “Chuck” didn’t go over so big, a comment about “Chuckles” was certainly out of the question.
“But, seriously Charles…”
“Stop the presses! Did Mick really use the word ‘seriously?’ Run for the hills! It’s the end times.”
Man, Chuck was in rare form today. “Very funny. Are we going to add this guy to The Circle?”
The leadership team, a.k.a. The Circle, was composed of five of us. Most of them had been there from the beginning. I was actually the newest addition. We all had some ownership stake. However, I suspected that Chuck had more than any of us second only to The Shareholder. Mine was up to one percent. We were proud of our plant and our team. Decision making was relatively democratic unless The Shareholder was insistent upon something. That was rare. However, when, through Chuck, The Shareholder’s will was imposed, it was usually the right decision. Diversity was the one area where we had a glaring failure in our Circle team. We were all white males. I was the youngest member by at least fifteen years. Succession planning was also a thorny issue facing us.
“Probably. We have never had a need for a finance presence on the team before which is why we never added Earl. But, with perhaps some rocky times ahead, The Shareholder is asking for more and more financial information. He wants each of us to become more deeply involved. That means someone has to give monthly financial status presentations. I love Earl to death, but can you see him making presentations each month?”
Frankly, I could not. While Earl was great with numbers, public speaking was not his forte. He could tell a fart joke in the bar with the best of them. When it came to being in front of an audience using Power Point slides and a laser pointer, Earl tended more toward the idiot than the savant side. Years ago, when Earl first got his new position as the plant’s financial head, Chuck thought he would gather the staff and let Earl talk about the good fortunes we were having.
“Ah, Mick. You know I’m not good at this. There must be at least fifty people out there all looking at me waiting for me to mess up. I’m sweating like a frog in heat. I know what I’m saying, but sometimes the words get sidetracked on the way from my brain to my mouth.”
“All of those people have heard you mess up numerous times. They’ll only think you’re weird if you don’t mess up.”
“Real comforting, Mick.”
“Take a few deep breaths. Talk slowly. Stick to the facts. And, Earl, try not to use any analogies or stories that you might get a bit jumbled. And for God’s sake, no jokes. OK? Go get ‘em buddy!”
Earl ignored most of my advice. He decided to open with the old stupid joke about the constipated accountant that worked it out with a pencil. But, Earl, being Earl, told it something like, “Did you know about the accountant with diarrhea that stirred it with his pencil?” Crickets. It went downhill from there. He called our margins our “margarine,” showed slides of our revenues while trying to explain our costs, and somehow got a picture of our softball team in the locker room mixed into the slide deck (that’s how our catcher got the nickname “Shorty”). Those were some of the saner things he did. About half way through, Chuck got up and unplugged the overhead projector. He told everyone that, in the future, the financials would be presented in the monthly newsletter. If Earl wasn’t such a great guy and really good with numbers, he might have done himself some real career harm.
“Ok, Charles. If it means keeping Earl off stage and it makes The Shareholder happy, I guess I can get behind it. I’ll tell Earl.”
“Thanks, Mick. The guy’s name is Elwood. He shows up tomorrow. I want you to show him around and make him feel welcome. And don’t look so morose. Maybe he’s a good softball player. Or maybe he’s somebody that can keep you company in the woods when you’re searching for your Titleist.”
That Chuck is a million laughs a minute. Some days you get Eddie Murphy. Other days, it’s Eddie Munster.
MBA - Moron$ Ba$ and A$$ Page 17
