From Darkness into Light–3

CHAPTER 13

Over the next six months the firm grew even larger as we picked up almost all of Petersen’s clients, as well as several new ones, all Fortune 500 companies. We interviewed and hired a number of Petersen’s clerical and technical staff—those we knew were good steady employees. We now had forty full-time people and we were busy…sometimes I thought too busy.

I took Marcie on every trip as I had promised. We traveled to Europe four times and even to South America for a new Brazilian company, a major real estate firm with offices in every Brazilian city of note. We loved Rio. The city was so alive…and the women, not that I even looked at any of them, but I did tell Stewart all about the trip just to get him jealous. We were back from that trip almost two weeks when Marcie ran into the office. “Jack! You need to go upstairs. It’s Bill!” I dropped the phone and ran as fast as I could. Bill’s door was open and his secretary knelt next to him as I ran in. “I already called 911,” Mary Lou told me.

“Hold on, Bill. They’ll be here soon. You’re going to make it.” I held his head in my lap as I tried to encourage him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at me, “I know some things you don’t, Jack,” he gasped. “This has been coming for a while. I’m not going to make it. I’ll be dead before I reach the hospital. Now, be quiet and listen. I’m leaving the firm to you, Jack. You’re the obvious choice. Don’t worry about Dorothy.” He rested for a minute before continuing, “She has more money than she can count. I know you’ll take good care of everybody. It’s a big responsibility, but I know you can….” He died in my arms just as the paramedics arrived. I backed away so they could work, but I knew he was gone. Mary Lou confided that he knew his heart was shot. He’d already had what he called “a minor heart attack” shortly before I had come to work with him, but she knew better. She had a tear in her eye as she walked back to her desk in shock. She sat down and broke down. She cried and cried. Seconds later I joined her. Bill had been like a second father to me. I loved the man and everything he stood for. Word tore through the company like a wild fire through dry grass. Marcie was crying by the time I got back.

We buried Bill three days later. I was feeling guilty about the company so I went to see Dorothy. “I’m so sorry about Bill,’ I told her for about the twentieth time. “I feel guilty about his giving the company to me.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Jack, but don’t be. It was my idea to give it to you—not his. We both knew he was going to die soon. His heart was holding on by a thread and a thin one at that. He was good at hiding it in public, but he suffered terribly here with me. It was merciful that he passed. Now, about the business—Jack, I know nothing about business—absolutely nothing. Owning a business is a big responsibility. There are so many employees to consider. I want you to take it and mold it as Bill would have. Don’t try to send me any money. I already have more than I could spend in two lifetimes. Now, go home to that beautiful bride of yours.” She rose and hugged me. She parted with a brief kiss on my cheek.

It was the start of an extremely difficult time for me. Not only was I expected to bring in hundreds of thousands in revenue, but now I had to run the company, too. After two harrowing weeks I remembered something Bill had told me several months earlier. He was helping me even after his death. I called Mary Lou to my office. “How much do you earn, Mary Lou?”

“You know I’m the executive secretary, right? My salary is $38,500, plus benefits. Why?”

“I need to know how much to offer your replacement.”

Her mouth dropped, “You’re firing me?”

“No, I’m promoting you. I remembered something Bill told me once. He said you knew more about running the company than he did. I’d like you to be…Chief Operating Officer or Vice President for Operations—you can pick your own title. Think a salary of $150,000 would be enough?

She sat there at my conference table in shock. It was several minutes before she was able to respond, “Uh, you know I never went to college?”

“So what? College doesn’t make one intelligent or even capable. You’re both. I assume you accept.” She nodded. “Good,” I continued, “now I want your opinion on this idea.” We met for almost an hour. When she left I called for a staff meeting at two that afternoon.

“Thanks for coming everybody. I have some news I want to share with you. I’ve decided to initiate a profit sharing plan. Last year the firm cleared $450,000. This year with all the expansion I anticipate we’ll clear a million seven conservatively, probably closer to two million. I’ll set aside a portion of that for capitalization of the company. We always need new equipment and we may need renovation if we continue to grow. After that I intend to keep thirty percent of the remaining profit. You will get to share sixty percent as follows: the clericals—all sixteen of you—will share thirty percent of the total. If the post-capitalization total is a million five that means you’ll share $270,000, or $16,875 each. The technical sales staff will share seventy percent of the sixty, or $630,000. That would come to $26,250 for each of you. Technical sales people earn more now, but it is their work that brings revenue to the company. I plan to distribute on December 10th, just in time for Christmas.”

“Uh, Jack,” Stewart interrupted, “That’s only 90%.”

“Right you are, Stewart. The other ten percent will go to our new Chief Operating Officer…Mary Lou Bartlett. Mary Lou will supervise all the day-to-day functions of the company. That will free me to work and earn like I should. Payroll, I’ll send you a memo later today regarding her salary and benefits. She’ll move into Bill’s office and she’ll need a new secretary. Okay, everybody, let’s go make yourselves some money!” There was lots of cheering and jumping up and down. The entire group came over to congratulate Mary Lou. There was tremendous energy in the firm. Everyone had an extra spring in their step knowing that they were in reality working for themselves.

Marcie and I had moved into our new house a few months earlier. We hired a mover to do the job on a Saturday. It was simple and straightforward. We didn’t have much to move. It was done in three hours. Now we were in the market for some new furniture. I left that to Marcie. My idea of furniture was anything in any condition in any color so long as it was comfortable. That was the only condition I had for her—don’t buy anything unless it’s comfortable. She hired a decorator and had her meet with me one afternoon. “I hate ornate,” I told her. “So don’t get any wild ideas. If I see any ornate stuff in here I’ll can your butt and send it back. Other than that I leave it to Marcie. Oh yeah—it better be comfortable. Do we understand each other?” She nodded; I never saw any really fancy stuff in the house so I guess she really did.

CHAPTER 14

We took to eating in my office at my table every day for lunch. It was there that I showed Marcie my idea. It was just a simple line drawing. She looked at it, looked at me, back at the drawing and jumped into my arms. We invited Mom to visit the next weekend.

We sat in the kitchen at our new table. It was an oval with cushioned arm chairs on rollers which made it very convenient when I wanted a soda or beer from the fridge. I sat between them and showed Mom the drawing. I explained how her apartment would work. It would be built behind the garage with its own entrances—exterior and garage–and bathroom, and even a small kitchen although we would invite her to eat with us every day. There would be a hallway that would run into the mudroom behind the kitchen. The room was big enough to have several chairs and a TV as well as her bedroom furniture and it could be divided into two smaller rooms if she wanted. “Did Marcie show you the garage, Mom?” I pulled her to her feet and walked her out. I raised the doors to show her the three car garage. “The new Porsche is mine, and the BMW SUV is Marcie’s, so the Honda Civic must be…yours. We really want you to come and live with us and I won’t lie to you. We hope you’ll be willing to help out with the children, especially if I take Marcie on a work trip. Most of them are only for a few days and she’s a huge help to me.”

“You really want ME here with you…two honeymooners and the mother-in-law? Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. Our bedroom is on the other side of the house. The only change I see is that I won’t be able to walk around in my underwear any more.”

“Jack! You never walk around here in your underwear. Most of the time you’re not wearing anything!”
Marcie and Mom broke out laughing while I turned red. She was right; I was almost always naked or close to it around the house.

Mom agreed and we made the move in another two weeks. She left virtually all her old furniture there, donating what she could to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. She also donated her old clothes and her heavy winter snow wear. It got cold where we live, but not like it did in Salem and it rarely snowed more than an inch or two. I met with several contractors and gave the work to one—not the cheapest, but the one with the best references. One of our employees had used him for an addition and was totally satisfied. He began just before Mom drove down in her new Civic.

The job took more than a month and he made several key suggestions. He recommended having a small crawl space under the room rather than put it on a concrete slab. “It’ll be much easier to deal with any plumbing problems that pop up in the future. There shouldn’t be any, but who knows? We’ve had a few small earthquakes here and if the slab cracked you could have one hell of a bill fixing the plumbing.” He also suggested installing ramps from the garage and mud room in case she became more seriously disabled in the future. Mom moved in about a month after the work was completed. She and Marcie had bought new furniture and carpets. She also got new sheets, blankets, and towels. Her kitchen, in the larger living room, was a simple galley with the sink and dishwasher on an island with a breakfast bar, but was more than adequate for her needs. She had a full range and oven as well as a refrigerator and microwave. Her rooms were smaller than her prior apartment, but more comfortable and she was here with us where we knew she would be safe and well cared for.

The obvious problem was that she had left all her friends behind. We encouraged her to join some clubs or participate in some activities, but she was reluctant. Finally, Marcie and I decided to take matters into our own hands. My mother-in-law was 48, having given birth to Marcie when only 23. She was still a young and vibrant woman. We had an employee, Ben, who ran our mail room. He was a shy and introverted bachelor of 50. I asked him to see me in my office one morning.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Anderson,” he asked nervously.

“Ben…how many times have I asked you to call me ‘Jack’? I need a favor, but don’t feel you have to agree to it. It’s personal, not business. You probably heard that Marcie’s mother now lives with us. She knows nobody in the area. She’s good looking and only 48—think of an older Marcie. I’d like to invite you to dinner Saturday night. Maybe you’ll be able to talk with her about some of the things a single person can do around here.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Anderson…er, Jack. I’m kind of shy, especially around women. I think I’d be nervous around you and Mrs. Anderson.”

“Ben, you’ll be fine. You interact with all the people here without a problem. I’d really appreciate it if you can find your way to come.”

“Uh…OK…what time?”

“We’ll have dinner at seven, but why don’t you come at six? Informal…I’ll be wearing a golf shirt and slacks…probably sneakers or sandals if it’s warm enough, and, thank you, Ben.” He left and I followed him out the door to speak with Marcie. She looked up at me as I approached. “We’re half-way there. Now all we need is your mother.”

“No, Jack…we’re ten percent of the way. Convincing her will be ninety percent…trust me.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” I grinned and walked back reminding her about lunch. I had the rare opportunity to take her out for lunch today and I was going to make the most of it. We went back to the Northern Italian restaurant, but I did not order garlic and oil. I had a grilled chicken breast on focaccia bread. It came with a huge salad with a light Italian dressing. Marcie had the same thing. When it arrived she gave it one look before telling me it was enough to last for a week. We ate what we could and carried the rest home in a box.

Mom was waiting for us after work. I had told her I would grill some burgers for dinner. While I made the burgers, compressing them tightly and dousing them liberally with salt and pepper I began my spiel. “Mom, I invited a friend to dinner with us Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he works with us…managing the mail room. His name is Ben. He’s 50 and a bachelor.”

“WHAT? You think you’re fixing me up?”

“No, Mom, I’m not fixing you up. Ben has been here a long time and he has a pretty active social life. Marcie and I thought he might have some ideas for you. There’s only one problem—he’s really shy around strangers and especially with women. You might have to pull it out of him.”

“Next thing you’ll be telling me he has a great personality, which will mean he’s a fat ugly brute.”

Marcie jumped in right on cue, “No, Mom, he’s not a dog. He’s a bit taller than me and slender. I’m pretty sure he’s a runner—a serious one. If I remember correctly he ran in the half-marathon last year. I think I remember seeing his name among the leaders…not bad for a guy his age. He’s fairly good looking, too. I think you should give him a chance.”

“I’ll be honest, Mom,” I continued, “I’m pretty sure he’s submissive. That’s why he’s never married. He needs someone who’s strong…someone who will give him some direction.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“Who’s stronger than someone who had to struggle as a single parent all those years?” I could see her thinking so I shut my mouth and went outside to turn on the grill.

Saturday came, but slowly. I spent most of the day doing some left over work, finishing around three. Marcie and I had agreed to hire a cleaning service so only some minor tidying was needed. She prepared some appetizers. We showered and dressed; I put some soft music on the stereo. Even Mom had primped for her date with Ben. Not surprisingly, Ben was punctual, ringing the bell at exactly 6:00.

I led him into the living room and made the introductions. “Mom, this is Ben Randolph; Ben, this is Marcie’s mother, Sheila Wayne.” Ben extended his hand, technically a social faux pas, but Sheila accepted it.