It's 1975, and Misty Menard unexpectedly
inherits her father's business in Lake Placid, New York. It never occurred to
her that she could wind up as the CEO of a good old-fashioned manufacturing
company.
After years of working for lawyers, Misty
knows a few things about the law. Her favorite young attorney is making a name
for himself, helping traditionally owned companies become employee-owned, using
a little-known, newly-passed law. When he offers to help Misty convert
Adirondack Dowel into an ESOP, pro bono, Misty jumps at the chance.
The employees are stunned, the management
team becomes hostile, and the Board of Directors is concerned. Misfortune
quickly follows the business transformation. A big customer files for
bankruptcy. A catastrophic ice jam floods the business. Stagflation freezes the
economy. A mysterious shrouded foe plots revenge. Misty's family faces a
crisis. The Trustee is convinced something fishy is going on, the appraiser
keeps lowering the company's value, and the banker demands additional capital
infusions. Misty thought she had left her smoking addiction and alcoholism in
the past, but when a worker's finger is severed in an industrial accident, Misty
relapses.
Disasters threaten to doom the troubled
company. After surviving two world wars and the Great Depression, it breaks
Misty's heart to think that she has destroyed her father's company. All she
wants is to cement her father's legacy and take care of the people who built
the iconic local business. Can a quirky CEO and her loyal band of dedicated
employee-owners save an heirloom company from foreclosure, repossession, and
bankruptcy?
Get your copy of the thrilling If It's
the Last Thing I Do now... if it's the last thing you do!
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Excerpt
During my
first week at Adirondack Dowel and Spindle Company, I learned a lot about
Father's employees by greeting them in the morning and seeing them off each
day, to the chagrin of the general manager. I was determined not to let The
Three Stooges make me lose my cool. But Moe, Larry, and Curly must not be
permitted to have their way. Whether they liked it or not, I was the owner and
president of the Adirondack Dowel and Spindle Company, and that meant that I had
the right to do with the company as I deemed best. The sooner they came to
accept it, the better, as far as I was concerned. Despite my determination, I
dreaded the confrontation, and it rattled me all weekend, knowing that it was
coming. Comparing them to famous comedians amused me, but there was nothing
funny about my predicament.
After
everyone arrived, I asked Joanne to inform Stuart, Art, and Doyle that I wanted
to meet with them in my office at 10. Judging by the looks on their faces, they
didn't appreciate being sent for. Maybe they didn't like the idea of being
called to a meeting, or perhaps they took issue with the short notice. I had
set five chairs so that we could face one another.
Doyle
crossed his arms over his chest, sat back in his chair, and spread his legs
widely. His red cheeks and scowling face made him look angry, and there was no
mistaking his dark mood.
The
business manager's small frame squirmed on his seat, and he cast his gaze about
the room as if he were looking for a safe corner in which to hide. His fingers
tapped on his leg, one after the other in a repetitive loop. He never made eye
contact with me, and I couldn't help wondering why he had brought his briefcase
with him. I began to wonder what he carried that was so important to him that
he couldn't be apart from it.
Stuart had
a smirk on his face, and I couldn't tell whether he was amused by the novelty of
meeting with his colleagues, entertained by the predicament I had found myself
in, or eager to watch the sparks fly. Some people revel in drama at work to
help pass the time or lessen the dullness of their daily routines.
Joanne
looked surprised when I called her in and asked her to bring her stenographer's
notebook. "Would you take notes for our meeting? I'd like to keep a record
of the things we discuss and the decisions we make." Joanne crossed her
legs, set the notebook on her lap, and prepared to record the first meeting I
had ever conducted at work. At the law firm, I'd attended quite a few, but
running meetings was new territory for me.
I took a
deep breath and looked at Doyle. "We are the leaders of this company, and
I think it is important that we work together to make it better. Every Monday
morning, I'd like us to sit down together like we're doing now."
Doyle blew
air through his lips like a toddler in his high chair, rejecting unwanted baby
food. "Why on earth would we want to do that? Meetings are just a waste of
time. Every minute someone is talking is a minute they're not working. I've got
real work to do. There are two lathes out there that need fixing and dozens of
employees that need watching over. Employees slow down to half speed when
nobody's watching. You know that, don't you?"
I was
prepared for Doyle's arguments. "Communicating is crucial. When we know
what's important to one another, we can help each other out. And I'd like to
think you could place more faith and confidence in our workers, Doyle."
"Shows
what you know. If I don't ride herd on them, they'll take advantage, and before
you know it, nobody will get anything done. I went to business school, Missy,
and I spent a couple of years in the army. So I know a few things about
subordinates, and if I've learned one thing, it is that people need to be told
what to do."
I can't
help wondering whether Doyle recognizes that the general manager of a company
reports to its president. How could he not know that? Coolly, I said, "My
name is Misty, not Missy. You should be very proud of our workers, but I don't
want them to feel like soldiers."
I hoped to
move on to another subject, but Doyle wasn't willing to drop the matter yet. He
practically spat his words at me. "What's wrong with feeling like a
soldier? And since when do we care how they feel? They are paid to do a job. I
expect them to do it. I'm not going to burp and diaper them or wipe their
noses."
Doyle was
pushing my patience to the limit, but I reminded myself that I wasn't going to
lose my temper. I placed my hands on my knees, leaned forward, and said,
"We're not at war, Doyle. People deserve to be treated with respect and
decency. Yes, they should do a fair day's work for their pay, but they should
also know why they're doing the things they're doing. I believe any task can be
performed with dignity as long as one knows why that task is important and how
it contributes to the reason we're all here."
The retort
came hot and fast. "If I want them to do something, I'll tell them what to
do, and they'll do it without a fuss, by God, or they'll find themselves in the
unemployment line so fast their heads will spin. As long as I'm the general
manager here, I run the factory, and we'll do it my way."
That's
when I lost it. I could feel my face twist with rage. I was so angry, I didn't
know exactly what I was saying, but Joanne wrote it all down. Spittle flew from
my lips as I screamed at the man. "This is my company. You work for me. If
I want you to sit in a meeting all day, that's what you're going to do. I'll
treat you with respect, but if you can't do the same for me, it will be your
head spinning in the unemployment line." I could feel the daggers shooting
from my eyes into his perpetually worried-looking forehead. My hands balled
into fists, and I pounded my knees with each word as I finished, "Is that
clear, Mr. Polk?"
He
answered firmly with one word, "Yes." But I heard, "Yes,
sir." It was clear to me that he understood and was deferring to me
because I was his superior officer and for no other reason. That would have to
do.
I looked
at the clock and was surprised to see how little time had passed. I wished that
I could have a few minutes by myself to collect my wits before continuing. In
my imagination, a smoke break provided a brief interlude. Instead, I swallowed
hard and looked from person to person. "The next thing I want to talk
about is our profits. Friday afternoon, I met with our accountant, Vernon
Crawford. He has finished the company's taxes for last year. We just barely
squeaked out a surplus. The good news is that we will not have to pay a lot of
taxes, but Mr. Crawford said that a successful business needs to generate
income in order to grow and prosper. If it loses money, it cannot survive, and
we came close to losing money last year. I know everyone is working hard, but
we're not making money. If you have any thoughts about that, I'd like to hear
them. If you want to think about it, we'll talk about it again next week.
Perhaps we should discuss it every week."
Doyle
found his voice again. "Hey, my job is to get the product made and
delivered on time. The rest is up to Art and Stuart. Maybe you should get up in
their business instead of mine."
Trying to
regain my composure, I said, "I don't want to get up in anybody's
business. I want to work together so that the company can make a profit."
I looked
from Doyle to Art, but Stuart spoke instead. He said, "I thought you cared
how the people felt, not about how much money you make."
"If
we all work hard, we should all expect to make more money, shouldn't we, Stuart?"
The sales
manager grinned, shrugged, and nodded.
"That's
why I'd like to put in a profit-sharing program. When we make a profit, we
should distribute a portion of it as a bonus, and everyone in the company will
share it. Most of the profits have to go back into the company, but I think if
we're successful, we should be able to give ten percent of it back to the
employees."
Art's
eyebrows twitched frightfully. "Oh, no, no. That will never do. What if
the customers find out? They'll demand we drop our prices. There won't be any
money in the checkbook by the time we're through."
"I
think it will be alright, Art. As long as we charge a fair price, it is up to
our company to decide how to split the profits. Anyway, think about the bonus
idea, and also think about how we can make a fair profit. We'll talk again
about it next week."
We'd covered
a lot of ground, but we still hadn't filled an hour yet. I asked Stuart what he
could tell us about his visits with our customers. He sat up and talked about
his plans to visit hardware stores downstate, but it was clear that Doyle and
Art weren't listening. Warning bells went off in my head, but I stopped Stuart
anyway. I said, "I'm sorry, why isn't anybody paying attention to
Stuart?"
Doyle
said, "That's just sales talk. I don't want to hear about all the time
Stuart spends skiing, golfing with customers, and plying customers with
martinis during two-hour-long lunches at the country club. I'll pay attention
to the orders when they come in. Getting the orders is Stuart's problem.
Figuring out how much to charge is Art's job. What's it to me?"
I held my
head in my hands, frustrated, and said, "Don't you numbskulls get it?
We're all in this together. If we succeed, we succeed together. If we flounder,
we all suffer. If the ship goes down, we're all sunk. That's what I'm trying to
tell you."
Art said,
"It's eleven o'clock. Time's up. I have to get to the post office and pick
up the mail and then the bank." His bony fingers grabbed the briefcase
handle as he stood and backed away from the group as if fearful of turning his
back to us.
I shook my
head and looked up at the ceiling just as a spider dropped from a long strand
of web and landed on my face. I jumped to my feet, slapped my face, and knocked
over my chair. My management team was gone, but Joanne hurried to my side.
Thank heavens for Joanne.
David Fitz-Gerald writes historical
fiction in his spare time with the hope of transporting readers to another
time and place.
If It's the Last Thing I Do is his
7th novel.
Dave has worked for more
than 30 years as an accountant, employee-owner, and member of the management team
at a "silver" ESOP (employee-owned) company. He has championed the
cause in national, non-profit association leadership roles.
Dave’s family roots run deep
in the Adirondacks, going back generations. He attended college and worked at a
deli in Saranac Lake during the 1980s. He spent two summers as an elf at
Santa’s Workshop on Whiteface Mountain in the 1970s and is an Adirondack 46-er,
which means he has hiked all of New York’s highest peaks.
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