into which many a torn item had been placed and forgotten.
“If I had known this,” Maggie observed one Saturday, “I’d have peeled you off years ago and married John Robert.”
“If
“Of course you do,” she replied, patting his leg absently as she turned the page of the book she was reading.
But all of that was long ago and far away, and A.J. was thinking of none of it as he prepared to depart for work to meet the new owners. He told John Robert to brief Maggie on what was up when she arrived, gave J.J. a kiss, and headed out into the wild, bad world, which was licking its chops as it awaited his arrival.
As was his custom, A.J. was working up to an agitated state, although his calm exterior gave no hint. He did not like uncertainty or change. He was a pessimist by nature, so by the time he drove into the sawmill parking lot, he had succeeded in losing all objectivity concerning the upcoming meeting. As he left the truck, he considered taking the Slugger with him in case he encountered a snake or two at the meeting. But he rejected the notion in favor of going for that good first impression.
A.J. had an itchy spot between his shoulder blades when he entered the conference room. He noticed the rest of the staff members were already there, looking nervous. John McCord was sitting in the front of the room with three somber men wearing nice suits. John wore blue jeans, as did the remainder of the attendees. The most solemn of the three newcomers looked pointedly at his watch as A.J. sat down. He was on time, but arriving fashionably early had apparently become a new company standard during the last couple of hours, and no one had informed him.
He had a bad feeling about the man with the watch. He leaned over and whispered to Ellis Simpson, his counterpart over at the planer mill. “I bet you five he’s wearing red suspenders to match that tie.”
“Shut up, A.J.,” Ellis hissed back. “This shit is serious.” Ellis had the habit of squinting one eye when he spoke, like Popeye. He was a good supervisor, and he, his nine children, and his wife, Raynell, all liked to eat three times a day.
“Boys,” John McCord began, “I have sold the sawmill, and I am retiring. The man to my left is Mr. Ralph Hunter. He is vice president in charge of lumber operations for Alabama Southern. You now work at that corporation’s fifteenth sawmill. They also own four plywood factories, a particleboard mill, two paper mills, and three chip mills. They are the big dogs. I believe Mr. Hunter has a few words to say.”
As John McCord sat down, his gaze met A.J.’s, and in that instant, A.J. knew. John looked old, and he looked tired, but more than that, he looked guilty. McCord averted his eyes quickly, but the truth had been revealed. A.J. realized with certainty his saw-milling days were drawing to a close. He grasped that a long career with Alabama Southern was not ahead. What he did not yet know was how he felt about that.
Ralph Hunter removed his jacket before addressing the troops. His red suspenders gleamed, and the way A.J. saw it, Ellis Simpson now owed him five dollars, although collection might prove difficult.
“Gentlemen, I bid you a good afternoon, and welcome to Alabama Southern,” he began. His manner was brisk, his voice atonal. He was looking no one in the eye, which in A.J.’s opinion was a bad sign.
“As Mr. McCord has indicated,” Hunter continued, “Alabama Southern is a diversified corporation whose primary focus lies in the direction of responsible fiber usage. We are
A.J. believed that holding a man to his word was difficult if he spoke in code. He looked around the room. Half the boys were clearly lost, and John McCord was looking at the tops of his shoes. He looked up, and A.J. was staring at him with intensity. John looked back down at his brogans. He had started the mill from scratch forty years ago and had labored hard and long to make it fly. He expected hard work and loyalty, and he paid well for good employees. He had always favored A.J. because he got the job done. Actually, A.J. reminded McCord of himself in his younger days. And A.J. had always liked and respected John, but he didn’t like him all that much today.
“At Alabama Southern, we believe that management is a team concept,” Hunter droned on. “Some of you in this room have achieved exceptional results.” He was looking at A.J., who looked right back. “Others in this room seem to be struggling.” This time he was looking at Harry Ford, who looked like he wished he were elsewhere and who most likely would be before long. “Regardless of how each of you is currently performing, let me make myself clear about your status. You will be scheduled to meet with Mr. Kramer, our human resources manager.” He gestured to the pallid individual sitting to his left. “He will interview you, and based on the outcomes of those interviews, you may be offered employment.” A.J. took a long look at Mr. Kramer, who appeared to be a humorless soul. Ralph Hunter continued. “You will each be interviewed, and it is my hope you all will be offered continued employment at Alabama Southern Number Fifteen. Mr. McCord has spoken highly of you all and has recommended to me that you all be retained. I have noted his suggestion, and we shall see what we shall see. Are there any questions?” There were probably no more than five or six thousand potential queries, but anonymity had become suddenly attractive and no hands were raised.
This was a group of men who had made money for John McCord over the years by running his business well. They were all family men with many obligations and had paid their dues the hard way. To A.J., the current situation had an odor about it that made sitting in the room an effort. He took another long look at Kramer. Then A.J. shrugged. He wasn’t going to survive the purge anyway, so he raised his hand. He hated set pieces. They tended to get his dander up. He believed that people’s lives were more than file folders and numbers on balance sheets.
“For those of us who don’t get offers, what do we take with us?” A.J. asked quietly.
“All of this will be covered by Mr. Kramer in the interviews,” Mr. Hunter began, “but in general it will work like this. Whether you stay or move on, each of you will receive your vested retirement in the form of a lump sum settlement. For those of you who leave, Mr. McCord has insisted upon an additional ten-thousand-dollar settlement, which I have approved. I understand he intends to match that figure out of his own funds, for a total of twenty thousand dollars on top of the retirement settlement. Those of you hired by the company will be started at the pay rate paid for new hires at your particular job levels. Unfortunately, this will result in a substantial pay cut for any man who is hired, which may be offset somewhat by our excellent benefit package. Your current health and life insurance will remain in effect for a ninety-day period. This will allow any of you who might be leaving time to make other arrangements. Those who stay will be covered under the company plan. I think this addresses the basic points of your question.”
A.J. was a bit surprised. The severance package was awfully sweet and seemed to offer a healthy bonus to anyone with enough sense to simply walk away. In all probability, it would be getting a lot of use. He raised his hand again. Ellis kicked him under the table.
“What factors will you look at when deciding who will be employed?” Ellis kicked A.J. again, harder this time. He continued. “The mill has exceeded production goals five out of the last six years. Everyone in this room is a professional. What else could possibly matter?” Ellis didn’t kick A.J. this time, and all eyes were on Ralph Hunter. Hunter’s eyes were on A.J.
“You men certainly know how to make lumber, and plenty of it,” Hunter began. “This will be taken into account. In addition, we have other requirements with respect to our supervisory personnel. But we will leave all of this in the able hands of Mr. Kramer. For now, we will adjourn. Some of you have shifts in progress, and a supervisor’s first job is to supervise. So let’s get at ’em.” Hunter had tried to be one of the boys with his last statement, but he simply wasn’t up to the task. A.J. hoped he would hire one of the real boys to be hale and hearty for him, because the need would occasionally arise and most or all of the group would need the work.
“Mr. Simpson, I wonder if you would mind meeting me in the personnel office?” asked Mr. Kramer, although it wasn’t really a question at all. Ellis froze. Then he looked at A.J., who was a little surprised that the weeding process was beginning so soon.
“Welcome to the
“Mr. Longstreet, can I have a minute of your time?” Ralph Hunter asked, and again, it really wasn’t a question
