No Relation (13 page)

“Dad, you were also a post-war baby,” I countered. “I have a sense of duty to my family. That’s actually why I’m here. But I have to balance it with duty to myself, and to my own dreams.” I laughed when I heard my own words. “Wow. I sound like a Hallmark greeting card.”

I stood up not because I wanted to add some drama to my next point but because the pain in my ass really gave me no other choice.

“Dad, let’s be practical for a moment. I think there’s a way to let this cup pass me by while preserving the family tradition you hold so dear. And I say that with great respect.”

“Impossible. That makes no sense, unless you’ve discovered a long-lost twin brother I knew nothing about.”

“No, Dad, but there is a first-born daughter.”

In one swift motion, he swivelled in his chair to put his back to me, folded his arms across his chest, and shook his head. His alacrity was impressive. He shut me down in half a breath without even saying a word.

“Hear me out, Dad, please,” I said in plaintive mode. “Just listen. Sarah finished first in her business undergrad. She finished first in her
MBA
class at Northwestern. I repeat, in case that didn’t register, she placed first at Northwestern! You may not have noticed, but she turned down the world so she could come back to work here. This is where she wants to be. This company is as important to her as it is to you, if you’d just take a moment to notice. She’s twice as smart and three times as tough as I am. She is driven to succeed, to make Hemmingwear succeed. She just needs you to give her a chance. Why not give her a shot in finance, let her spread her wings a bit. I think you’d be impressed with what she can do.”

“Hem, she’s got all she can handle in, in …”

“Marketing, Dad. She’s in marketing.”

“I know where she is. I put her there! And she’s being pushed to the edge of her capabilities already. She needs more time before she can tackle anything more challenging.”

“Come on, Dad. She’s a marketing expert. You know that. And she’s already developed a detailed analysis of the competitive landscape and mapped out a vision for the future of company.”

“How presumptuous. How precocious,” he said while gargling sarcasm. “I can only imagine what she’s come up with.”

“You shouldn’t have to imagine it. She gave you a copy. Have you not read it? It’s quite an impressive document.”

“Look, son, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, as you should know. I gave it to Henderson to review. That’s the more appropriate reporting line and a more effective allocation of resources.”

“You didn’t even read it?”

“Well, what did
you
think of it?” He hurled the question at me like it was a lawn dart.

Great. Pinioned by my own lawn dart. Of course I’d never seen the document. I do have my limits. But since he clearly hadn’t read it either, escape seemed possible.

“Well, I found it to be thoughtful, enlightening, informed, and very creative. It effectively balances respect for how we’ve always operated with the innovation these competitive times demand.”

Not bad, I thought.

Dad just sighed.

“She’s just so young!” he snapped, swivelling back to face me.

“She’s twenty-seven! You were already a
VP
by her age, according to family lore,” I said, getting a little heated. “Dad, is it the ‘young’ part or the ‘she’ part that sticks in your craw?”

I was getting close to the line, or perhaps had already crossed it.

“You have not presented a viable option. Sarah as a future
CEO
is not in the cards. That is not the plan. That has never been the plan!”

“Dad, please. Think about what I’ve said. Think about Sarah and what this means to her. Besides, testicles are overrated.”

Dad winced at the genital reference, but I just barrelled ahead.

“Not having them isn’t a good enough reason to pass over Sarah’s skills, brains, knowledge, and drive. Not nearly a good enough reason. I implore you to think this through. Not only is this a viable course, it’s a much better plan than yours,” I insisted. “I’m not
CEO
material, family tradition or not. So, Dad, if
your
plan includes me coming back here, then I’m sorry, you really don’t have a plan at all.”

My heart was pounding. With all the resolve I could muster, I kept my eyes fixed on his. He looked like he was about to say something. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but closed it again before any words escaped. He finally turned away. I stood up. My work there was done, for now.

“Um, I gotta go. I’ll see you at home later, Dad,” I said as I left the room. I wanted to discourage him from coming after me, so I closed his door on my way out.

A good-looking youngish guy, dressed in a dark blue suit with an open-neck light blue Oxford button-down, was heading into the office next to my father’s. I pegged him at mid-thirties. He stuck out his hand.

“EH4, I presume,” he said as he clenched my hand in a grip more suitable for dangling me from a helicopter.

“You must be the famous Henderson Watt,” I grunted, trying to bluff my way past the pain coursing through my right hand. “Does everybody around here use the annoying EH short form?”

He just chuckled. I’m not sure why, but that’s what he did. When I eventually repatriated my hand, it felt a half-size larger and throbbed like I’d hit it with a hammer in a cartoon.

“So,
COO
at such a young age. Congratulations,” I offered.

“Thanks. I’ve learned so much from your father. We seem to make a great team, and I really think we’re on the right track.”

“Good. I hear that MaxWorldCorp is giving us a run for our money these days,” I said.

“Not to worry. We’ve got them right where we want them,” he replied with a smile.

“That’s funny, Sarah tells me we’ve got them right where
they
want us.”

“Funny line. Don’t worry. Trust me, we’re in good shape. EH3 and I have been working on some big initiatives that we’ll be able to share with you when they’re a little closer to fruition. You understand, of course.”

“Of course, but I’ve already got a copy of Sarah’s strategy document. Is that what you mean?” I asked, knowing pretty well how he’d respond.

“No, I’m afraid not. Hers was a reasonable if rudimentary first effort, but it’s a long way from being much of a guide for actual corporate decision-making. She’s coming along very well in marketing. You know, getting her feet wet, testing out the training wheels, learning the ropes and all, but it’s a long road, right?”

“Seems even longer with mixed metaphors.”

He looked puzzled.

“Sorry, you lost me,” he said.

“Yes, I know.”

I popped into the huge Hemmingwear manufacturing facility on my way back to the car. I climbed up to the mezzanine that gave me a great view of both lines spitting out men’s underwear at the far end of the building and packaging it at an amazing rate. It was quite loud, so he didn’t hear me approaching. He looked lost in very unhappy thoughts, propping his head up with his left hand while holding on to the mezzanine railing with the other. I put my hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, startled, before lifting his eyes to mine.

Carlos Mendez broke into a grin and spread his arms wide open. I gave him a hug.

“Geez, you scared the crap out of me,” he said. “So you’ve come back to us, oh great EH4.”

“Good to see you, Carlos. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I replied. “Do you not age like the rest of us? You look good.”

Carlos pretty well grew up at Hemmingwear. His mother worked for most of her life in the plant. His father had died in a car accident not long after the family moved up to Chicago from Mexico. Hemmingwear became Carlos’s second home. His mother worked very hard, learned English, and insisted Carlos study hard so he wouldn’t have to work in a garment operation his whole life. There’s an irony. Carlos not only went to school, he excelled. Yet he’s never worked anywhere else. He did his
MBA
at Harvard, on a full scholarship. He didn’t top his class, as Sarah had. He placed third. Through it all, he worked at Hemmingwear, long after his mother retired and passed away. At fifty-eight, he’d been director of manufacturing operations for the last decade, with no signs of slowing down.

Carlos knew this place inside out. Hemmingwear was still a non-union shop, due largely to Carlos Mendez. He was the voice of the workers, and he had my father’s ear, at least he used to. The company’s history of success had been partly built on the premise that if you treated your employees fairly, and occasionally generously, they would reciprocate with hard work and loyalty. It was a simple formula. But following it was seldom simple at all. Somehow, Carlos had made it work for a very long time.

“I’m too damn busy to age,” he replied. “The competition
has got us hopping. We’re always trying to stay one step ahead. But every time I look over my shoulder, they’re right behind us and closing fast.”

“Can we stay ahead?”

“Well, your sister and I have been down on the lines searching from stem to stern for efficiencies that can help get our production time and costs down a bit. As well, we’re looking into ‘just-in-time’ delivery of some of our input materials so we don’t have to warehouse so much. It costs money to carry a big warehousing operation. If we could close Warehouse 2 and get along with Warehouse 1 alone, that would save some dough, too. There’s also a bunch of other smaller changes we could make. All of this will translate into better margins, or give us the room to lower prices, without affecting profit.”

“So, what’s EH3 saying about your changes?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. Ever since the whiz kid showed up as
COO
, I rarely get to see your father. Everything has to go through Watt.”

“Okay, so what’s he saying about your ideas?”

“Not too much. I get a lot of ‘leave it with me’ but very few green lights.”

“Hmmm.”

“If we can’t get approval on these small changes, we’re never going to be able to do some of the bigger stuff Sarah has been cooking up,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “You know, you’ve got one smart sister, Hem.”

“I know that. You know that. Why doesn’t anyone else around here know that?”

Carlos just shrugged.

“So what do you really think of this Henderson Watt dude?” I asked.

Carlos looked off into space for a few beats. His face clouded and he looked older all of sudden.

“All I can say is that I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, thinking through my options, you know?” Carlos said. Then he seemed to catch himself. “My mother always taught me to keep my yap shut if I had nothing good to say about somebody.”

Carlos mimed zipping his lips. Then he squeezed my shoulder and headed slowly down the metal stairs onto the floor of Line 1. That was odd. I’d never really seen him like that. He looked so … tired and sad.

Saturday morning, I awoke in the bedroom and in the bed of my childhood. Nothing had changed. The Chicago Blackhawks poster was a little more curled at the edges, but still it clung to the wall. My Hardy Boys books were still there lined up on the bookshelves above my desk. I knew if I opened the desk drawers, all the stuff I’d stashed growing up would still be there. I left them closed. It felt very strange to be in my old room. I had good memories of my childhood. I got three squares a day, and never wanted for anything. Dad wasn’t exactly Ward Cleaver in the
father department, but I just thought it was normal for him to be at the office all day every day, and exhausted when he finally made it home for dinner, usually after we’d eaten. In my mind, early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and largely absent from his son’s life. But I knew nothing else. And my mother was always there, always.

As an only child, at least until I was a teenager, my room was a sanctuary for me. I would listen to the Blackhawks games on the radio, read, make forts, build things, and assemble plane models until the glue made me dizzy. One afternoon, just for something to do, I took the back off my clock radio, detached the speaker, then ran wire under the carpet so I could put the speaker on the other side of the room, high up on top of the window frame. There was no good reason for this. I did it because I could. I just liked the idea of turning on the radio next to me on the nightstand, but hearing the sound coming from a completely different location. Okay, that does sound a little weird in retrospect. Back then, I thought it was cool.