Old Friends - Good Jobs - Crazy Goofs

Things I Think About Now And Then

The Race I Wish I Had Never Won

     In 1949. I was in the counting room of the linen service company I then worked for. I began work there to help pay for the shiny, black Harley Davidson® that leaned on it's parking stand near me, pulled into the open area out of the weather. Counting smelly used linen wasn't the best of jobs but the GI Bill paying for my college tuition didn't cover new motorcycles. However, the 1941 I had purchased to have transportation had become a burden from upkeep.
My boss was a friend of the Harley Davidson® dealer and helped arrange my purchase of the new cycle having assured me of a job if I did purchase the unit. He would later be a part of a scheme I would regret to being a part of.

     Business was generally slow in the fall months and the linen company would send in outside sales units from the big city to increase sales in the area. Two of the "hot-shot" salesmen had admired the Harley earlier in the day with questions about the top speed and if I thought it was the fastest cycle in the city. Not one to brag, however, I had more than once seen the speedometer needle well past the 100mph mark on a long straight-away and I quickly confirmed that I thought it was.
The subject was dropped and they went on their way to do their sales pitches of the day. Lunchtime had come and gone before they returned. I sensed mischief afoot when they came back to my counting table with sheepish looks on their faces.

     "We got a guy who says his cycle is the fastest in the City," they informed me. "We've got a hundred bucks for you if you will race him and win."

     The hundred dollars clouded my mind - in 1949 that was a fortune to a hungry guy on the GI Bill - would easily pay four payments on the Harley. There was no way that I could turn this offer down and without thought I accepted.
 
     When I asked who it was and where they had found him I was told to just get my Harley ready for the race. These guys were pro's - they had the time, the place and and proper witness's to the event.
When I was informed of the "where" it turned out to be a newly paved road that I was familiar with. The "who" was a mystery until I arrived at the designated place and saw an old childhood friend.

     My heart in my throat, no way to back out, the race was called with a flip of the coin as to how long it would be. I, losing the flip, my childhood friend designated a one mile race. I knew in my heart he had made the wrong decision - - for a shorter distance I would have been in his dust. The Harley was not quick off the line, however, given distance to build it's speed the overhead engine of the hog would be hard to beat.

     My predictions were correct and the race was over in a matter of minutes. Back at the start the bets were paid - my childhood friend and I shook hands if I remember, but, I saw the disappointment in his eyes. I only hope he saw the embarrassment and regret in mine. We both had been duped by so-called friends and two hot-shot out-of-towner's. I never spent the prize money on payments.

      I was fortunate to meet, admire and become friends with a few of the older employees that were close to retirement when I joined the company I worked for as a cub. They had been fortunate enough to meet some of the actual, original founders.. How lucky I was to have gotten experience from them – for without that experience I might not have been around for my 38 years?

     One of those was a gentleman by the name of Stewart Allen. He was a stern, self disciplined Administrator in the Area office? He always gained control of any conversation from the outset by quick, first remarks – actually catching you off guard - which I finally figured out years later – like the village idiot – bumbling, stumbling onto the trick! Our first conversation was not a conventional one!! In fact – It could have ended my short career with the company. Well! Let me just tell you - “THE REST OF THE STORY”

       

    “Line two Howard,” a co-worker spoke from across the room.

     In my usual manner, I picked up the phone punched the flashing light of button number two!

     “This is Howard speaking”, I said in a business like manner – hoping that it was one of my collection calls I had placed with the operator. “You could do that in the 50's. Just let the operator reach out and touch someone?

     There was only a slight pause on the other end of the line before the voice boomed over the receiver!

     “Well – this is Stew Allen speaking– plant your feet on the ground, open your mouth because I am going to jump down your throat!”

     Momentarily, I was stunned – then infuriated at being spoken to that way! In the Navy, yeah - but in the business world? I simply replaced the receiver back in its cradle, hanging up!!! I leaned back to recover my composure – my hands gripping the arms of the office chair tightly – I took a deep breath – then it hit me - “My God what have I done”, I said to myself? I had just hung up on a top superior In the middle of his conversation!

     The sweat beaded up on my forehead, my hands turned clammy as I debated whether or not to start cleaning out my desk or go tell the Manager what I had just done?

      “Line two Howard”, “its Stew Allen”, the same co-worker said!

     That was quick! How am I going to explain this to my wife – I thought – what a stupid way to get fired – nobody hangs up on his or her superiors during a phone conversation? A thousand other thoughts crowded my mind before I was able to push my hand toward the telephone receiver and pick it up!!  My hand squeezed around the receiver - I simply said – “HELLO!” - and awaited the inevitable!

     This time the voice was calm, smooth and courteous?

     “Howard”, “I apologize”, “I shouldn’t have spoken in that manner, but I just reviewed a contract from one of your dealers that is an obvious loss to the company.” “What were you thinking when you approved the deal?”

     To discuss the transaction I had to pull the folder and it quickly become apparent what the deal was all about. It had been approved by someone else. I explained this as best my trembling body would allow and he accepted my explanation. To my surprise he began to ask me how I liked being a Unit Manager and discussed good credit standards/skills that would assure me a long-term position with the company.

     What I didn’t know was - that day I took from him his mode of controlling the conversation! From that day forward I had many      conversations – but – neither ever mentioned the first conversation between us again! But – there were other memorable contacts with this man that stood out beyond this one - - - - - -

     
     Picture a 1950’s hotel in Big Spring, Texas – the dining room – three company men sitting at a clothed covered table about to have dinner – Stew Allen, a close company friend and myself (invited because Stew had become a friend as well as a superior.)

     The order had been placed and the salads had been brought to begin the meal. I was about to pour the “ ‘thousand island"® dressing over my salad when I swore I saw a lettuce leaf move????? I stared – suddenly it moved again?? Cautiously, I moved my fork to the edge of the lettuce leaf and turned it over! To my astonishment there was a hefty “tomato worm”, bright green, little horn and all enjoying his meal!

At first I decided I would say nothing and just not eat my salad. But – if I did that my two co harts would probably wonder what was wrong. Hesitantly, I first showed my friend – he looked and gasped then pushed it over toward Stew! Stew immediately saw the humor in the whole situation and laughed heartily and called the waitress over. As was his nature – wanting to savor the moment of surprise to an unsuspecting individual -

     “Do you normally serve the meat with the salad”, he asked the waitress – turning over the lettuce leaf to reveal the worm?

     “Eeeeeeeeeeek”, the waitress screamed, her screech echoing off the room walls – people turned – one stood up as if to defend her as though we might have said something to offend her! Stew’s face whitened – his moment of control lost again – my friend and I said nothing -

     The waitress left quickly leaving the three of us in half shock, especially Stew who had only wanted to have a little fun out of the whole situation. She returned just as quick, however, with the manager who quickly apologized and promised our meal would be free that night. “The Little Green Worm” sort of cemented a small bond between the three of us.

     Move to Odessa, TX in the year 1958. The weather was cold that day – not very much going on – a holiday was coming and the mood had already set in. At an office meeting that day, the Manager had suggested that we become a little more modern in our everyday operations. He felt that we could better serve our customers by phone if we asked who was calling so that we could better direct their call.

          

      I had just returned from a coffee break when one of the co-workers told me –

     “Howard”, “there is someone on the line that says he is Santa Claus!”
Confident that it was the sales manager at the local Buick dealership – who rarely called without some sort of a joke to the person answering his call – unless he was upset at something and then he always said who he was – I leaned forward, picked up the receiver and in my best “Bullwinkle Voice” said - -

     “This is Rudolph speaking!”, then waited for some other smart statement from the Sales Manager!
There was a long pause – silence – I thought he might have hung up – then – out of the earpiece –

     ”Uh – mmm – Uh” - “Ha” – “Ha ha ha ha ha” the voice bursting into a belly laugh!

     I recognized the hearty laugh – it was Stew Allen. He had been irritated that someone had challenged his call and he intended to make that plainly known. However, again, the young man that had taken that moment of control away from him years ago had done it once more!

     In the Navy in 1944, I was shipped to Guam Island. It took us 31 days to get there via a ship called the U. S. S. Heritage. On Guam I was assigned to the communications section of CINCPAC/CINCPOA - Admiral Nimitz headquarters.
    
     Arriving there, I was assigned to the Landline Teletype section. Although NPN was the Navy's largest and strongest radio network, the island also contained the Army (Including the Air Force) Marines and Navy forces. It was necessary that each headquartered military unit have access to the latest communications.

     The teletype was the the 40's version of today's computer terminal - of course - slow, cumbersome, and in need of constant repair. There were 21 terminals to connect the various headquarters on the 21x6 mile island. The traffic was tremendous and you sat for eight hours only being allowed to leave for the Head (bathroom to you landlubbers.) There was always an attendant that kept your coffee cup full and your ashtray emptied and brought an occasional snack of freshly baked bread with grape or apple jelly.

     The midnight watch was the easiest, however, for the traffic slowed to almost nothing. You still were not allowed to leave your terminal. To pass the time away you usually chatted with the person on the other end of the line. I got to know David on the other end of my line. His shift seemed to always coincide with mine and we both became friends with the expectation of being able to talk with the other many times.

     I got to know his mother and father, his older sister and his younger brother. I knew his girlfriends name, his dogs name and just about everything we could talk about. There was perhaps not but a few topics that we did not talk about during those wee hours of the morning. We even came up with nicknames for the other, we knew each other so well in the nine months that we connected in this section. We became best of friends. His and my location was a mere 13 miles apart on this 21 mile long island. I never traveled that thirteen miles to see my best friend. I wish I had.

      It has been almost fifty seven years ago this coming February since I first heard the name Commercial Credit Corp. Actually, I wasn’t all that impressed, I was on my third Harley Davidson cruising the country, blue jeans, dirt boots and all. “Steady work was the last thing on my mind.”

     It was the landlady that clipped the ad from the local paper - when cleaning the room, placed it on the dresser-top where loose change was kept. That was probably a hint for the rent had not always been paid on time. Surprisingly, that landlady later turned out to be a great mother-in-law. That attests to the fact that she didn’t know everything going on in that house. “But – that’s another story.”

     At her insistence the ad was answered - never realizing that three by half inch piece of type would alter a lifestyle for the next thirty eight years. All it took was three interviews a hiring session and a move to another town to put it in motion. It started, progressed, and challenged the best of the soap operas – joys – tears – struggles, and an ending as surprising as the best Hitchcock movie at the local theatre. “I think many would recognize this scenario.”

     Anyway, the young’uns in a thriving company usually got the nice, easy jobs - you know, the one that provides one with all the knowledge one will need to succeed and be knowledgeable in the organization. Yeah, with a title of Adjuster. Of course, that was a fancy word for a young guy in a suit – tie - a black company car and a receipt book in his hand. To those who saw him coming, “Bill Collector.”

     You ride with an experienced adjuster for training in the art of coercing - or encouraging (a better word) people to pay their payments on time. I’m sure the routine is familiar - “if you don’t pay these two back payments I have to take your car.” And, the shock of reality when he says - “take it” - when you didn’t really want it - And - another twist - helped you hook the tow bar up. “This job is too easy.”

     There were other important things an adjuster did. Hunt for skips when the last days of the 90-day redelivery date with the dealer was about to expire. Sometimes the hunts led the hunter many miles from home. In the west - through country you had never seen before - inquiring at each ranch or farm house hoping for a lead that would end it all. “It will be hell to pay back at the office if you don’t find him.”

     Sometimes the smell of home cooking met you as you drove up to a house. Later, unable to convince them you weren’t FBI because you wore a suit and drove a black car - you accepted graciously a couple of fresh fried apple pies with a glass of cold milk and hoped you made the FBI proud. “At least they didn’t come after you for impersonating and officer of the law.”

     The hunt hopefully ended successfully. Sometimes you found your mark at one of those old ranch houses miles from anywhere - but he wouldn’t be back for several hours. The lady of the house offers a cup of hot coffee. Thanking her, you sip on it and patiently wait as the time passes slowly - eying a cot conveniently placed between two trees you finally succumb to the temptation and sit down on it. “What a great view of nothing but nothing - for miles out here.”

You didn’t intend to lay down on it much less fall asleep, but the warm summer breeze and the shade of the trees - the solitude - messed with your mind and you close your eyes. Suddenly, a rough hand shakes you bringing you back to life - loud exclamations of “why are you on my bed and who are you?” The embarrassing explanation and finally - “how the hell did you find me?” “He isn’t a skip anymore.”

     Back at the office you are a hero for a couple of days. The feeling is good and the job seems to get easier. Maybe just more used to it. At least you are a pro now - that is until the next one comes along and you don’t find this one. “Not from this twin slung, receipt book dude and his trusty steed – a black 49 Plymouth.”



     You Could Hear The Roar Of This Spring A Block Away - Dry Now From Deep Drilling
There will be other good days. When you see the dealer - who knew where the skip was but wouldn’t tell - watch aghast as you tow a repossession on his lot without motor, transmission, radio - only tires and wheels that you purchased to bring it home. Otherwise, it would still be sitting on the blocks where the customer left it - in a meadow surrounded by cedar trees where he last worked. “The office didn’t want to reimburse you for paying a rancher to cut his newly strung fence to get that one.”

     It wasn’t all about skips and repossessing, however. You meet many interesting and good people. You pass through places and see things you’ve never seen. You take a drink from a spring in the middle of nowhere that had been described as “water coming from the earth like a sea monster,” 1900 liters a second. Oil rigs lighting up the sky as far as you can see at night, “pump jacks” dippin’ their heads like Gooney birds drinking water from a South Pacific pond - Arroyos running full of water when its so dry you can’t even find a horny toad but the nearby hills are soaked and release the excess onto the dry desert floor. “Barely got stopped for that one.”

      You hunt skips and collect during the week and the weekends are reserved for bringing home repossessions made in far-off cities. Some you tow and spend a good bit of time explaining to a couple of State troopers why you are jackknifed - crosswise in a newly graveled Oklahoma highway. Others you fly to and drive back, some so fancy you don your baseball cap and T-shirt and cruise down the highway like a Hollywood star. “Those low-slung Hudson’s really drive nice.”

     As the years pass you look at the young man just hired and sort of wish that were you again. You know what he is going to experience, the people he is going to meet, and the long hours he will spend in the field. You watch as he goes out the door, free of the hustle and bustle of the office and the constant ring of phones. And you think - “He will never be as good as you were – but – he’s ok.”

     A couple of months later you are at coffee with the boss when you see a wrecker towing one of the company cars. That’s not so bad - but seconds later another wrecker passes by towing the other company car. The company rule book never specified that when two adjusters meet in a distant city you weren’t allowed to tow the second company car while you enjoyed each others company in the other company car - on the way back home. “The reason some never made it.”

It’s only a memory now - but a sweet and cherished one. Who would have ever thought that the young - sometimes brash - and in his own mind (not so long ago kid) would last thirty eight years in that business. Yeah! Adjuster! “That might have been the best damn job you ever had.”