Mandate: a Man for the Times: The Presidency of George Herman “Ted” Williams

By Michael A. Connelly

The Federal Governmentnever good at long-term planning and recently coming up tragically short in near-term adaptive economic oversighthas also never been more gridlocked. Partisan politics, self interest, economic misinformation, and mindless slogans rule the dayat one of the most critical and transitional times in our history.

On the other hand, advances in technology continue, the United States has an incredibly powerful industrial engine and amazing productive capacity in place, and the potential is clearly there to address all the issues listed above.

The Novel Mandate: A Man for The Times is an optimistic, research-intensive, character-driven, humorous, and insightful fantasy of how the United States might reach its technology-fueled potential over the next twenty years.

Growing up, future president Williams gets an intense, hands-on education in business and economics working in his fathers turbulent GM auto dealership. Williams earns a PhD in economics from Yale and works with a charismatic professor, Dr. Lester Walden, who is leading an eminent team making groundbreaking advancements in global economic modeling, simulation, and analysis. Williams also pitches for the Boston Red Sox, and becomes head of the Players Union. (MLBPA)

Meanwhile, Internet marketing billionaire Don Reddy, who has earlier founded the Sanity Party, a progressive, bi-partisan, economically astute movement as an offset to the overly dogmatic and ideological Tea Party, is now making eye-opening progress in building a baseball fans union.

Williams will lead the MLBPA in complex and historic negotiations with the MLB Owners Committee and new MLBFA, and eventually become a successful Congressman and Governor of Massachusetts.

Governor Williams brings together Dr. Walden, Don Reddy, the Sanity Party, and a meticulously assembled team of the best and brightest senior advisors to build a uniquely capable coalition that wins the presidency with gridlock-breaking mandate, and then brings superbly informed adaptive economic oversight to bear to finally make accelerating technological advance and globalization truly benefit the average hardworking American.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469739663

Michael A. Connelly

Michael A. Connelly grew up in a blue-collar Boston neighborhood, graduated from Northeastern University with a Masters in Accounting, and enjoyed a successful business career. Retired to Florida, he remains a “Gym Rat,” and an avid Red Sox and Patriots fan. His other novels are: An Informal Boston Education; One Batter One Pitch; Mandate: A Man for The Times; Blue Collar Boston Cool; and The Schraft Street Historical Preservation Society.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Dad’s Dreams Change Radically

Edward ‘Ted’ Williams, twenty-eight-years-old and a late season minor league call-up for the AL East leading Boston Red Sox, tentatively motioned for his veteran catcher to come out to the mound.

The backstop had already been to three big league all-star games—but he was still a year younger than nervous rookie Ed-Ted.

Ed-Ted said, Sorry, Buck, but isn’t this ump really squeezing me on the inside corner? Can ya say something polite to him?

Ya watch the ump videos, Old Rook? Four-eyed prick always gives the hitter the inside corner. I think the blind bastard is too fat to see the inside strike.

I did notice that he is indeed disturbingly stout, especially to be out on this historic ballfield in front of thousands of people; but I missed the implications for the strike zone.

Rookie mistake. Anyway, I can’t say anything now that ya called me out here, Rook, ’cause he’ll just tell me you oughta shut the fuck up and go back to Pawtucket. Sharp curve down and away now… make the goddamn pitch; these Yanks are only one behind us. And don’t be nervous. It’s only Sox/Yanks in September; and the thirty-eight thousand Boston fans sitting quietly in their seats are famous for their patience and understanding.

With the count two-and-two, Ted got on top of about the sharpest curveball he was capable of, and was momentarily thrilled when it felt just right and headed perfectly down and away, just off the strike zone but close enough that the hitter would have to bite with two strikes, two outs, and two on in the eighth.

But the right-handed-hitting Yankee slugger seemed to know exactly what and where, and lined the aging rookie’s best off-speed paint over the Red Sox bullpen in right-center-field. In nine years in the minor leagues, Ed-Ted had never seen a right-handed hitter hit a ball that far to the opposite field—never mind on a two-strike curveball down and out of the zone.

When the veteran catcher got to the mound to wait for the manager to come take the ball, he said, "I was afraid the muscle-bound monster might guess right; he knows that dickhead ump as well as I do. But I never thought he’d hit it that fuckin’ far. You must be really embarrassed."

Ed-Ted—still vaguely gazing out towards the right-center-field stands—muttered, "Career minor leaguer, with a wife to boot. I’m far too broke to worry about embarrassed."

Back in the Sox dugout, the crusty old pitching coach—who had been just a few votes shy of being voted into ‘The Hall’ last year—said to Ed-Ted, Well, ya too old and too puny rook, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to get a couple inches taller, or start juicing to make it in this league. You’re a yard short on the heater and about ten points light on your pitching IQ. I don’t know what to tell ya, except I’m glad I’m not you.

Ted, an admittedly anxious and now resigned ex-pro but not an abject shrinking violet, chuckled and said, Yeah, my life sucks at the career-ending moment. And I sure wish I could stick in the bigs for a few minutes, never mind make The Hall like you will eventually. The only good news in all this is that I finally feel free to tell ya that you have the biggest belly I’ve ever seen in a major league uniform. Please, get the front office to spring for a roomier shirt, willya.

The personally dissolute but professionally demanding coach (an ironic but hardly aberrant combination in modern American sport) proudly stuck out his huge belly, and said, "I feel formidable, kid. I could easily lose weight, but then you stupid rooks would stand too close, and wouldn’t listen close enough. Plus, that would give my wife the misleading impression that I’ve started listening to her. Seriously, don’t have any regrets. You gave it your absolute all. It’s just that, if God really wanted you to be a major league hurler, he would have made you bigger, stronger, and smarter. So cheer up."

That very same momentous night, back in his small but tastefully appointed condo off Daniel Webster Highway in his hometown of Nashua, New Hampshire, Ted’s wife, Ellie, plopped into his lap, kissed him tenderly on the cheek, and said, Bad news all around, Dear. You may not have been able to slip enough pitches by those nasty major league hitters, but doc says one of your little fishies did swim past my goaltender. It’s my fault. You’re such a lusty lover I should have known to use both a diaphragm and a sponge.

Ted kissed her back, deeply, and said with a catch in his voice, "I knew it. I knew it! There was even a funny looking little kid in my dreams last night. Done deal then. Hell, I’m not sure they were even gonna let me have another year in the minors anyway… hey, maybe fatherhood is something I’ll actually be good at."

"We both know you’ll make a great dad. And by all accounts you’re a pretty good car salesman, too, despite yourself."

Yeah. What a thing to be good at.

Genuine, honest, likeable guy giving people a fair deal; and his employer an honest day’s work. Nothing wrong with that, My Love.

"Yeah, I could be worse off. Odds of pitching even an inning in the bigs are about one in a hundred thousand… so who the hell am I to feel cheated… and, I best remember to add at this point in the conversation, I certainly did marry well. Very well, indeed, Mother."

Yeah, I love you too, Dear. But how ’bout at least waiting until the baby is born and can say mama before you start calling me mother, please.

Ed-Ted, while struggling mightily the last few summers in the high minors, had been working winters at a family friend’s nearby Cadillac dealership for the last seven years, starting as a salesman, and then, since he was bright, responsible, hardworking, and well-liked, as an assistant manager.

Naturally outgoing anyway, Ed’s southern-New Hampshire baseball celebrity culminating in at least that brief stint with the Sox had, over the years, garnered him an impressive accumulation of both friends and acquaintances. His easygoing warm nature and ready wit allowed him to bring State Line Cadillac into the conversation without seeming to impose on the friendship; the finishing touch to his effectiveness as a salesman was that he always took the time to be a genuine expert on all the new and used cars in inventory or available for sale.

Chapter Two

The Youth of GHT—Baseball; Brilliance; Cadillacs; and The Harder I Work

The Better I Do

Six months later, Ellie said to Ed-Ted, Quirky doesn’t work with kid’s names. My dad’s name was John. Nobody ever got into any fistfights because their name was John Williams.

Ed replied, "Well, but if they ever did, they’d lose for sure. John Williams was a very famous conductor and composer—Jaws and Jurassic Park. Name’s now both too bland and too recognizable. Our imminent little fella put the final kibosh on my baseball fantasy; but he’s sure gonna have every opportunity to make his own. George Herman Williams has some ball-playin’ style . . . and anyway, if he doesn’t become a ballplayer, people will just call him George."

Ed-Ted, naturally ambitious and in truth deeply stung by his baseball disappointment, compensated by now working long and hard at the dealership, soon becoming full-time manager; and then, as the owner neared retirement age, by gradually buying into it.

He said to Ellie, "Sure, I’m nervous about putting so much of our little nest egg into this one thing. But I know this business now, and at least this is something I have some control over. I’m actually gonna really enjoy running the place, more than I ever thought I would. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work out for us, so please bear with me."

Ellie replied, smiling sweetly, Are you kidding? Compared to being the wife of a minor league ballplayer for six years, being married to a good auto man is a piece of cake—even if you are working seventy hours a week.

Ed still found plenty of time to work diligently with young ‘G-H-Ted’ on baseball, and is delighted that GHT is a natural, both hitting and pitching.

(Even more encouraging is that young GHT will ultimately grow into the size of a pro and then some: six-five, raw-boned, big strong hands, rangy, coordinated, with unusually large and powerful legs. Ed certainly knew that his own relatively ordinary size—six-one and a little too frail by MLB standards—had contributed significantly to the ultimate disappointment of his own long, essentially just-missed baseball career.)

Late one summer afternoon on his way home from work, Ed stopped to briefly watch ten-year-old GHT play unsupervised ‘pick-up’ ball with his friends. At supper Ed said, You fellas are getting old enough and good enough to step past that ‘lobbing it in.’ You’re not gonna improve at hitting real pitching that way.

"I know that, Dad, but the knuckleheads like trying to reach the fence, now that some of us finally can. And they don’t like chasing the foul balls when studly young hurlers like me put some real zip on it… they sure do like it when you come out and pitch half-speed to both teams, though. Hint, hint, Pop."

Once in a while, but you know I got a business to run and a wife to humor, kid. Time to start showing some leadership out on that ballfield, son.

So precociously determined GHT became the young group’s passionate advocate of balancing the fun of blasting away at ‘lob’ pitching versus the challenge of trying to improve against ‘real’ pitching, garnering an early lesson in leadership in the somewhat painful process.

Ed eventually bought the Cadillac dealership outright, and did well enough to send young GHT to numerous state-of-the-art baseball summer camps, on Cape Cod, and later even down in Florida. As an adjunct to his southern New Hampshire marketing strategy for the dealership, the genial, generally well-known ex-pro-ballplayer also became active in local politics, eventually enjoying it far beyond the business benefits.

Ed soon expanded the dealership to include Buick and Chevrolet, in addition to Cadillacs; and also, over the years, built a substantial used car business.

GHT, aided by the expert instruction from a very young age, excelled in Little League. He is smart enough, and aware enough, to wonder, and actually even worry about, how much better he is than everybody else.

Hey, Pop, I read that it’s the sleepers, not the young superstars, that actually make it in the long run.

Come on, son, I’m working hard to teach you common sense. You just do the best you can at all times. Enjoy it! Stop thinking so much, and stay in the moment—and stop being embarrassed by how good you are.

GHT brightened, grinned, and said, "Yeah. Anyway, it’s just the sheer numbers that get us young superstars in the end. There are so few of us and so freakin’ many nobodies."

Easy young fella. I’ve really always been one of those nobodies myself; and at age eleven you’re far from out of the woods yet yourself.

When GHT was twelve and absolutely dominating in Little League, influential local politician Ed soon arranged for him to play most of his baseball—and do all of his pitching—in the 13—to 15-year-old Babe Ruth League, on full size ballfields. (None of even the best twelve-year-old hitters claimed to miss the challenge of trying to hit his seventy-eight mile an hour fastball from only forty-six-feet away.)

At age twelve, GHT is bigger than most thirteen year olds, and close to the size of an average fourteen year old. He enjoys modest success pitching in the 13—to 15-year-old league, from the standard 60 feet 6 inches. Of course, he’d have done somewhat better if his father hadn’t absolutely forbidden him from throwing any breaking balls until he turned thirteen.

When he had his first-ever bad game—knocked out in the third inning by the top team in the league—Ed came down to the bench and said, "Don’t ever let me see you throw that glove again. I sprang for an expensive glove befitting a serious teenage ballplayer, so act accordingly. Now get your chin up for the rest of the night, or we’ll go right the hell home after the game and skip Friendlies."

When GHT was returned to the game out in right field for the last inning, he made a hustling, diving catch of a sinking line drive, then jumping up to make a strong throw to double the runner off first, helping to seal the comeback win against a stronger team.

Coming off the field he said to his dad with a wry grin, Pop, I had an inspirational vision of a traditional post-game hot fudge sundae fueling my mad dash to that liner.

At Friendlies, Ed said, That’s an essential lesson, son. Learn from it—and then put it aside.

What I’m learning, Pop, is that being ordinary sucks, at any age. I only pitched two innings tonight, and I’m supposed to play short tomorrow in the little kid league. Maybe I could pitch my other four innings there, to make sure I still got it.

"You know the answer to that—that’s not the deal. Why step back now? Push back at your disappointment by hitting a few home runs tomorrow; and then by pitching better your next time out in this league. Still no curves, but keep working hard on that straight change—and especially on hitting your spots."

Yeah, right; I bet I do both, Dad. (And he later would. Including hitting a legendary home run at the Little League field, high over the 225-foot fence and surrounding bushes, across the busy bordering street on the fly, well into the adjoining parking lot, and bouncing right up to the door of that very same Friendlies.)

And that night he also spent a little extra time and care oiling his beloved new mitt, then taking it to his father, and saying, Feel how soft he is, Pop. And clean as new, with a better pocket than ever. He’s over his hurt feelings now. Best glove any twelve year old ever had.

In fifth grade, GHT garnered some early academic attention by turning an assignment to write a brief essay about someone in his family into a lengthy paper on his paternal grandfather’s experience fighting in the Pacific in World War 2 and then returning to post-war American society, eventually opening a neighborhood hardware store, contrasted with his father’s baseball career ending and transitioning into life as a car salesman—and as a father. These are stories that young GHT had previously heard just bits and pieces of, with his curiosity then whetted by always being told that he was too young to really understand.

He’s still only provided sanitized highlights of his grandfather’s intense experiences in World War 2—but he’s fascinated by the stories and the history anyway, presses the issue with relentless questions, and enthusiastically works many late nights writing a startlingly insightful paper for a fifth grader.

The teacher, Mrs. Brooks, said to young GHT, Absolutely great job, and A++, easily the best fifth grade paper I’ve seen yet. But Teddy, these days we don’t refer to the Japanese as the ‘Damn Japs.’ They’re our friends now.

My granddad was wounded and almost died in that war, and now my dad sells GM cars. The ‘Damn Japs’ aren’t any friends of mine.

Mrs. Brooks laughed, and said, I see your point quite clearly, young Mr. Williams. But you know right well that you’ll be best served soft peddling that kind of talk in the future.

Later Ed said to his father and to his wife, with a notable catch in his voice, "Wow, did you read that thing? I thought I was close to the bouncy little maniac, and I heard all the questions and saw the time spent, but I still had no idea all that was going on in his head. We just might have something special here."

His father said, even more emotionally, "Might? Aren’t ya seein’ him?"

Not clear enough, I guess. Early on, Ellie was always on me about not pushing him too hard, not trying to live through him. Forget pushing him—I’m worn out just watching him.

The school principal has previously talked to Ed and Ellie about possibly advancing GHT a grade—and this performance prompts her to do so again. But Ed—perhaps even considering GHT’s future opportunities to play middle- and high school baseball, even if he’d never admit that—just opines firmly that the social training in school is almost as important as the academics, and that GHT would be best served if he wasn’t rushed ahead in everything.

Eleven-year-old GHT said to his father on the subject, "I like to do some of my own reading, writing, and thinking, Dad. If I stay in my own grade, not only am I with my friends, but I can also get my schoolwork done quick so I have time to work on what I want to work on and think about. It’s not like I’m wasting my time watching TV or playing video games, is it?"

"No, son, it certainly is not. I might be the only father in America worried that his eleven-year-old son doesn’t goof off enough. I noticed you’ve been going to bed later and getting up earlier, too. You feeling okay?"

I feel great, Dad. Always have. I was waking up too early and just lying there, so I decided to try going to bed only when I was tired and getting out of the boring son of a bitch as soon as I was fully awake. It’s usually only about seven hours, and Web MD says I need more at this age, but my body says screw Web MD and my head says my age is just a dumb number. I may only be eleven, but I still have big things to do, interesting places to go, and important people to see.

Ed takes him to the pediatrician anyway, who finally says, He’s better than fine. His only problem, if you could call it that, is that he’s eleven going on twenty-one, and he’s got more energy than that stupid ever-ready rabbit. I’d say it’s safe to leave the precocious little rascal to his own devices.

Not too long after raising academic eyebrows with his precocious paper, early one morning before school Ted heard his father call the dealership to say that he had a plumber coming to the house, and would be working from home that morning. So the next morning, after his parents went off to the family business, Ted called his teacher to report that he would be working at home for the morning, and come in right after lunch.

Mrs. Brooks, also the assistant principal, well versed in expecting the unexpected especially from GHT, said, And just what will we be working on at home this morning, Mr. Williams?

I got interested in the surface level stuff you were saying about the American presidency the last couple days. The White House has a neat web site, with links to all the cabinet departments, and to the departments within the EOP. I was studying it last night, but because it was a school night my parents made me go to bed when they went, right after Leno’s goofy monologue as usual. So that. You ever looked at it, Mrs. B? Got the Internet at home, have you?

Yes, Teddy, I’m hip. Goes with the job, you know. You better not try this more than once a month. And of course, as far as the other students are concerned, you were sick this morning.

I’d never get you into any hot water, Mrs. B. I know the ropes. The classmates will remain, as ever, decidedly none the wiser. Specifically and in general.

Mrs. Brooks chuckled. Don’t ever lose that love of learning and especially for thinking and really understanding, Teddy.

Curious and preternaturally energetic young GHT also loved being at the dealership from a very early age, learning about cars, business, money, and people, watching the managers and the mechanics, and especially getting to know the charismatic salespeople. It helped considerably that his unusual baseball prowess and attendant local celebrity, along with his precocious interest in the business, made him that much more interesting to the dealership employees… and even to selected customers who recognized him, and wondered what such a young fella was doing there. GHT’s usual response would be to—tongue fully in cheek—launch into a passionate sales spiel for a fully equipped, top of the line new Cadillac.

Mother Ellie became bookkeeper and office manager at the dealership, as soon as her rapidly maturing son was old enough to—happily—fend for himself afternoons and early evenings. Eventually, realizing that some female customers were far more comfortable dealing with a relatively unassuming motherly type, Ed had his top salesman—’Smiling Sam’ Harrison—take Ellie under his wing, teaching her the basics of selling everything from new Cadillacs to used Buicks, while still encouraging her to allow her low key, engaging personality to shine through.

One day at the dealership Ellie said to GHT, Why in the wide world have you started calling me ‘Margaret’?

"Gramps talked me into watching a couple ‘Father Knows Best’ reruns with him. You remind me of Jane Wyatt, Mom. Sweet to look at, and even sweeter to listen to."

Why, thank you, Ted. Stop calling me ‘Margaret’ anyway, though, or maybe I won’t stay so sweet.

On the other hand, Mom, you don’t wanna know what I thought when I saw Elinor Donahue prancing around in those old-timey tight jeans. I did tell Gramps, though. He said, ‘Me too. Even now.’

At age thirteen, GHT starred as pitcher/shortstop on both his middle school team, and in the local Babe Ruth League. Once that baseball season was over, he began to work religiously—after homework—on boxing and mixed martial arts training in the well-equipped basement gym that his father set up in the new four bedroom colonial that had been purchased with earnings from the prospering dealership.

(Ed always regretted not having had access to adequate strength training facilities while growing up, so he does the home gym up right, including ‘finishing’ the basement, and purchasing a solid array of basic equipment: Olympic free weights, dumbbells, benches, squat stand, chin-up bar, and professional-grade heavy bag and stand. Nothing fancy, but everything a hale and hearty young athlete would need. GHT adorns the walls with pictures of his favorite ballplayers that he frames himself, and keeps the gym neat, organized, and immaculately clean, without having to be told even once.)

Ellie soon said to rapidly growing son and to hardworking husband, "A full hour every night banging on those punching bags is a bit much; on my ears, on your bloody hands, and probably on your adolescent psyche. I’m afraid you might hurt someone with all that, sooner or later. Somehow you’re getting your homework and self-study done in a couple hours in the afternoon, and still getting straight A’s.

"So, My Bright Young Teddy, I propose that now I teach you a little business finance, and you spend a couple scheduled hours officially helping me with the bookkeeping at the dealership. You’re already smart enough; and lately I can surely use the help. What with the business growing nicely, and me spending more and more time out on the sales floor."

"Sounds fine to me, Mom, as long as you finally agree to stop calling me Teddy; there, here, and everywhere. I like hanging at the dealership; and soon enough I’ll enjoy bossing you around for a change. ‘You call this piece of crap a bank reconciliation, Mrs. Williams?’ So, what’s the pay, Ma?"

"Minimum wage directly into the college fund, Dear. And this will be your first structured work; no more just hanging with the shady salesmen and overly macho mechanics. Anyway, you owe us for outfitting that gym; and for all that expensive indoor winter practice at Baseball World."

Despite that new part-time job at the dealership, young GHT, during the long, cold southern New Hampshire high school winters, still always found time to work out religiously, especially in boxing and mixed-martial arts, supplemented with relatively light upper-body weight-training, and much heavier lower-body work, for that long, extra-strong pitching stride. Ed started GHT off with the baseball fitness and strengthening routines he learned many years ago in the Red Sox organization, and both Ed and GHT refined those routines by reading several modern books on the subject.

Even in high school, GHT clearly began to look like a professional pitcher. (Always a huge plus with major league scouts and college recruiters.)

Late one May while playing a fast-paced, hard throwing, almost professional-looking game of backyard catch, Ed said to now fourteen-year-old GHT, "Unfortunately, New Hampshire is not exactly the nation’s top breeding ground for pro ballplayers, even with the new indoor facilities. I’ve signed you up for this three-week baseball camp in Florida this summer, where, ya oversized young galoot, some ex-pros who not only made but also stayed in the bigs can help you get to the next level. Actually, these fellas are not only proven pros… they’re also proven teachers."

GHT stepped up the speed of his return tosses, while calling back, "Whoa, Dad. I doubt they can teach me any better than you have, Pop… or better than what I’ve learned from watching and doing. I think I’ve really gotten the feel for pitching this year. Throwing harder and harder all the time now; and hitting my spots better and better. I’m worried I’ll get messed up trying a whole bunch of new technical stuff. Hey, I’m a pretty smart young fella m’self, in case you haven’t noticed."

Still able to virtually match the pace of his strapping son’s throws, although starting to breath a little heavily, Ed replied, "I’m betting that you are smart enough to really listen to these proven pros, and use what works for you, and ignore what doesn’t. Good practice for learning in general, actually. You’ve already started doing that with all the studying you’ve done on fitness and strength training, and developing your own routines; but we need a professional sanity check on that, too. So, you are going to Florida, with a positive attitude, and you’re gonna work hard to get as much out of the whole experience as you can. Do you good to get off on your own for a little while, too. By the way, smart guy, I suppose you think you can already run the dealership better than mom and me too, don’t you?"

Well, yeah, if wasn’t for homework, baseball practice, having to ride my bike to work, and your close-minded employees’ prejudice against taking orders from a fourteen year old, I’d say I probably could run the dealership about as good as you. Not as good as mom, though.

The summer baseball camp—in Fort Myers, Florida—used the outstanding spring training facilities of the Boston Red Sox, and was for promising fourteen-to-eighteen year-olds who were already playing varsity high school baseball.

The main stadium wherein the Boston Sox played about fifteen spring training games in front of perpetually sold-out crowds of 8,000 was similar to a top-of-the-line minor league stadium, and was surrounded by eight immaculately groomed practice fields, lined with chain link fence, also at major-league dimensions. The high potential young participants worked hard on fundamentals on the practice fields, and were periodically rewarded with very serious ballgames in the main stadium.

For many, the real highlight was dressing in a major league clubhouse in front of a big-league locker temporarily bearing their name; later followed by a sumptuous post-game clubhouse buffet.

GHT was one of the truly dedicated few who barely noticed anything but the professional instruction; and especially how his game was responding to it.

By then, fourteen-year-old GHT was a gangly six-footer, weighing one-seventy. Early on at the camp he was nastily bullied by a sixteen year old who was quite a bit bigger—and young GHT put his boxing and MMA training to effective and proper use.

One of the coaches who quickly separated the two—neither seriously hurt, the younger and smaller GHT clearly getting the best of the brief scrap—pulled GHT aside later and said, "I knew your dad a bit, son, many years ago when we were both in the minors. Unusually nice guy, I’m happy to tell you; great sense of humor. Sorry it didn’t work out for him. I’ve been watching you real close for a few days now. He’s taught you well—and more importantly you’re a natural. Plus you’re both a scrapper and a thinker."

The coach continued, "You’ve got something kid; and I called your dad last night and told him that. Really just confirming what he already knew. Man, do I love making unusual phone calls like that one. Anyway, it’s a rare gift, Ted—do yourself and your dad a favor, and bust your butt to make the most of it. And remember, becoming a real ballplayer—especially a pitcher—is a marathon, not a sprint."

On the hour drive from Boston’s Logan Airport home to Nashua, GHT said to his father, I actually think those good guys down in Fort Myers helped me some with my stride; getting my big butt and legs into it more. They showed me a lot of slow motion video of Roger Clemens and his powerful push-off and smooth straight-over-the-top follow-through; they think I’m eventually gonna be sort of built like him. They gave me his steroid regimen, too, and the phone number of his dealer. I’m gonna need a loan; pay ya back out of my signing bonus.

Ed replied, surprisingly sternly, "Show some respect, knucklehead! Clemens was getting old, so he developed a top-of-the-line splitter, and improved his command and his overall fitness. That’s the Clemensian lesson to take to heart, not all the other nonsense. Anyway, he was pitching to younger studs who were also on the juice. What was any one guy to do?"

GHT thought for a few seconds, and replied, Strangle that do-nothing bum Bud Selig, I guess. They also worked with me on keeping my lower body tight and strong, and my upper body and arm looser. I think I got it, too. Felt like I was throwing a little harder. They didn’t want to overemphasize the radar, but they timed me at eighty-four when I first got there, and I hit eighty-six once in the last session. I could pretty much tell which pitches were the fastest from the feel, before they called out the speed.

He continued, Hey, Pop, that kid Danny Amonte dominated the Little League World Series when he was fourteen by throwing only seventy-nine. I’d be hell-on-wheels throwing eighty-six at Williamsport; and already famous for it. You knew you were gonna make me a ballplayer. You should have had the foresight to phony up my birth certificate right from the get-go, Dad.

Ballplayers are a cynical, wisecracking lot. Something else you picked up, I see.

Well, yeah, those coaches sometimes could be gruff and cleverly sarcastic, kick ya good in the butt, at least verbally. But other times they’d be pretty encouraging and sympathetic, depending. I definitely did learn some new stuff about baseball and about training—and, I guess, about how men of significant accomplishment go about things. Thanks for giving me the opportunity despite myself, dear ol’ Dad.

You’re welcome. And I’m proud you made the most of it, savvy young Ted.

Chapter Three

Talent, Hard Work, Aspirations,

and Redirections

His parents worked hard to insure that, although the dealership is a relatively small family business, young GHT was thoroughly exposed to solid business basics—especially in terms of finding, training, motivating, evaluating, and rewarding the best people possible. And in making sure that people are put in the right jobs.

Eventually, Ted will acquire via intense firsthand experience at his Dad’s increasingly successful business a true appreciation of the power of a well-integrated combination of information, organization, motivated people, teamwork, training, metrics, incentives, ethics, and overall business process.

Both Ed and Ellie believed that early exposure to the ‘real world’ and its frustrations and quagmires was an important counterbalance to school and athletics, especially given Ted’s ready and extraordinary successes in those areas, as well as his overall inquisitiveness, energy, maturity, and natural self-confidence.

GHT worked with some remarkable and inspiring people at the dealership, in management, sales, and even a couple of mechanics, and began to develop people skills that would serve him throughout his life of significant and varied accomplishment.

The Cadillac/Buick/Chevrolet dealership is essentially haggle-free, with highly-product-knowledgeable salespeople that are trained to focus on honestly matching people with the right car based on linking Needs and Features. Ed stressed getting a fair price and profit for the car, without ever taking advantage of anyone—no matter how naïve and vulnerable.

He painstakingly built an excellent reputation for having low pressure, knowledgeable sales people and excellent service and repair at a fair price, and developed a most valuable list of repeat customers. He implemented a well advertised online appointment system that enabled him to do plenty of customer scheduling, so he didn’t need to have as many salespeople standing around waiting to pressure unsuspecting walk-ups.

The dealership assiduously tracked customer traffic by day and time, and Ed worked with his sales team to stratify that traffic—male, female, age, knowledge, interest and needs and features, repeat customers, financial means, likelihood to buy, number of visits, consummation of sale—to help with sales team training, procedures, scheduling, and assignments.

Precocious young GHT enjoyed helping with the tracking and especially with the analysis, and purely loved working—and bantering—with the sales team. ("Talk about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. I could have made that sale standing on my head—and I’m only twelve!")

Talented, knowledgeable, personable, honest sales people liked to work there, because they could make more money in fewer hours, using both their product knowledge and low key sales skills, and most importantly, without having to pressure or take advantage of customers.

Ed constantly emphasized to his managers and sales team the importance of the right balance between price, service, relationships, and short and long term volume; and between reasonable profit, fair commissions, and a good value for the customer. He treated all employees fairly, while still making the hard decisions when necessary.

Commissions were of necessity based on an escalating percentage of gross margin on the car—except that not only was there a minimum price for each car, of course—there was also a maximum price, generally about 12 percent over the total cost to the dealership, above which the salesman was not allowed to sell the car for. Again, the policy was never to take advantage of any customer; no matter how eager, compliant, uninformed—or wealthy. Ed was most interested in security for both the dealership and the family over the long haul, so the reputation of the business—and his reputation personally—were always of maximum importance.

Precocious young GHT is constantly watching, considering, analyzing, thinking, asking questions, and learning.

"Virtually every one of these people seems really smart and worthwhile. How come my dad is so in charge of them all?"

One night at dinner, GHT said, Hey, Dad, I overheard a salesman who shall remain nameless complaining that Old Man Walker has so much beer money from his Budweiser Distributorship that he could care less about the price of his new specially equipped Caddy; and yet you gave him an unusually good deal, even for us.

"Son, Mr. Walker is a self-made man who takes great pride in being an honest but shrewd businessman. If he’s gonna give away any of his hard-earned money, and he certainly does, it’s gonna be to a deserving charity of his own careful choosing—not to any slick-talking automobile salesman. We’re not gonna cheat anyone anyway—but if we were, an influential old shrewdy and loyal customer like Mr. Walker would be the last victim we’d choose."

When GHT went back to diplomatically tweak the complaining salesman, the guy grinned, and said, Yeah, I know all that, kid, and I appreciate it. Sometimes I just like to hear myself whine. And thanks for not ratting me out.

Young GHT got to know most of the employees well, and Ed involved him in preparing the regular employee evaluations; first to teach him the all-important process—and then eventually for his increasingly insightful input. Ed is a gifted judge and recruiter of talented people, and there are some very special men and women working at the dealership that GHT will remember for the rest of his life.

There was a long-serving, unusually dedicated Parts Manager who was almost magical in his ability to have the right number of repair parts in inventory at all times, despite the fact that there are 8,000 different items for him to worry about; and strict limits on how much the business could afford to invest in parts inventory.

One of GHT’s jobs is to regularly perform cycle counts of the repair parts to insure that the systems are working properly, and to run the reports that track usage and recommend new purchases—recommendations that are often adjusted by the magical manager.

GHT asked, Those reports automatically take into account our recent usage, the cars we’ve sold, national averages on rate of replacement, all kinds of stuff—how can you know what to order and stock better than the system does?

"The system is a good starting point, but that’s all it is, kid. I can’t explain it, really. I just know what I know from having done this for a long time, really paying attention to what I’m doing, learning from my mistakes, and then trusting my good gut. And taking pride in my work. How do you get all A’s in school, be a pretty big help to your mom and dad here at the store, and still find time to be the best young baseball player in the state?"

"Yeah, sometimes I scare myself, if I make the mistake of thinking too much about it. I just really like doing all of it. I guess you do too."

One time the irascible parts manager was, in his normal gruff manner, roughly correcting Ted on a mistake he’d made, when Ed walked by. The manager paused, and Ed called over with a wink, "Hey, don’t let me interrupt. Give that arrogant young punk an extra tweak for me. Kid’s gotta learn just like everybody else."

There was the veteran salesman, ‘Smiling Sam’ Harrison, who is almost like a kindly psychologist as he interviews prospective customers on the car and options they want and need; why; and how it fits into their budget. It is not unusual for him to talk a customer into a lower-priced car—or for that satisfied purchaser to then become a customer for life, as well as another contributor to the favorable local word-of-mouth.

(Ted has also watched a few old reruns of ‘My Three Sons’ with his grandfather. Ted and Gramps agree that ‘Smiling Sam’ reminds them of a miniature Steve Douglas, not only in facial features, but also in facial expressions and overall uber-reasonable, reassuring demeanor. Ted told Sam, "If Fred MacMurray had played a swindler on TV every week, you’d have never sold a car.")

‘Smiling Sam’ is also the dealership expert on valuing used cars, and regularly travels to auctions, buying and selling, as well as usually evaluating customer trade-ins.

Sam tells GHT, I always know how to get and give a fair deal; and I’m passionate about it. I’d feel almost as bad taking advantage as being taken. Almost.

Ed tells GHT, "We have an attractive showroom, good location, excellent mechanics, a solid reputation, fine salesmen, an outstanding inventory—and especially ‘Smiling Sam.’ That’s why our used car business is working out so well."

GHT replied, Sammy told me you keep giving him raises he didn’t even ask for.

Yeah, well, the dirty little secret that makes me feel guilty is that I’m still not paying Sam close to what he’s worth.

GHT watches all of this intently, wonders, ponders, marvels—and keeps learning.

‘Smiling Sam’ said to GHT, I can never understand why someone who doesn’t genuinely like people could stand to be a salesman. I love to talk to new customers about their jobs and families and hobbies, even beyond what I need to know to sell them the right car. I just find real life and regular people fascinating. And I learn something from everyone I deal with; even those who don’t stay long or buy a car.

Sam continued, You seem pretty interested in the people that work here, kid. People always want to hear how your school and ball are going—but you turn it around pretty quick, and soon enough you have them telling you how they’re doing. That’s unusual for a teenager; especially a young hot shot like yourself.

Hey, I already know how I’m doing, so talking about that’s pretty boring. I’d prefer to hear something I don’t know.

"Well, kid, you are learning a lot here—about business and hard work and responsibility, about people, about integrity, about life, I’d say. I think it’s a fine opportunity for a young fella—and good to see that you’re smart enough to take full advantage of it."

GHT replied with a big grin, "You know, Sammy, it’s my dad, and his loyal and funny cohorts like your damn self, and eventually my inheritance. ‘Lifestyle on the line,’ in Pop’s words. My finding it all quite fascinating shouldn’t be that surprising, even to a condescending old geezer like you."

Also fascinating for curious, energetic young GHT are the spirited group meetings to plan and manage the inventories of both new and used cars, and to develop the strategies for adjusting planned purchases, target prices, promotions, and advertising. Even placement on the expansive lot is given much thought, and continually adjusted. Overall, Ed himself is the best at this critical part of the business, and wife Ellie has also become a considerable help. (Initially GHT loved physically rearranging the beautiful, aromatic new cars—but he got over that quickly. He still usually volunteers to do it anyway.)

GHT also learned to prepare and analyze the financial statements and what’s behind them, and the business drivers that make for a successful month.

A burgeoning young expert in Microsoft Excel, GHT soon builds automated models to track, analyze, and plan all aspects of the dealership business. To aid in planning, forecasting, and managing, he built what he called an ‘Assumptions and Decisions Page,’ linked to forecasts of Unit Sales, Unit Purchases, New and Used Car Inventory, Prices and Costs, Total Revenue, Salesmen Commissions, Profit and Loss Statement, Balance Sheet, Cash Flow, and Changes in Bank Borrowings.

The family and key dealership managers begin to meet every few weeks to update Assumptions about the national and local economy, auto industry, local competitors, GM advertising campaigns, GM promotions and deals, inflation, and interest rates; and to make key Decisions about pricing, their own local advertising and promotions, new and used car purchases, employee incentive plans, bank borrowings or loan payback, changes in commission rates or employee pay, new hires, and telemarketing to the long list of repeat customers.

His parents are amazed at GHT’s computer skills, growing comprehension of all aspects of the business, unswerving interest and energy, and overall intelligence and analytical ability. Dinner conversation invariably involves the family business and its employees—and that is fine with the fascinated young GHT, who eventually participates on virtually an equal footing with his hardworking parents.

GHT said, Heck, why not talk business? There’s not all that much to say about baseball. We won six-zip, I struck out thirteen, and hit a single, double, and home run. And it should come as no surprise that I hope and expect to do even better the next game. The end.

Ed said, All this business analysis and spreadsheet development you’re doing lately—is that because you actually find it fun, you like the challenge and sense of accomplishment, or you just want to help your deserving parents?

"I think you know it’s all three, Dad; maybe accent on meeting the challenge. And then, the fact that winning is literally family money in the bank can’t help but make it pretty damn interesting. Perhaps fourth is wanting to feel more of a contributing member of the worthy team."

Ed thought for a few seconds, and then said, All that analytical work is great, but also well within your natural comfort zone. Might do ya good to try a little telemarketing to carefully selected repeat customers, under Sammy’s expert tutelage.

GHT made an exaggerated face, and his father said, "That dumb look clinches it. Life is no bed of roses, Ted. You’re gonna do it, take it seriously, get better at it, and learn from it. Liking it’s got nothing to do with it. And, hey, speaking of feeling like a worthy member of the team, there’s nothing better than sharing funny and painful rejection stories."

GHT quickly got back to grinning, and said, "Actually, Pop, I think Sammy is soon gonna be inviting me to join him and the fellas when they go to the Nashau Ninety-Nine for a bunch of beer on Friday nights. Now that I’m fifteen, it’s high time I bellied up to that fantastic long, winding bar everyone’s always caterwauling about."

Sure, be good experience for ya. And the chances of Sammy or Joe The Bartender letting you have a beer are about as good as both Nashau Toyota and Southern New Hampshire Nissan going out of business next week.

Oh. Maybe I won’t go then.

‘Smiling Sam’ talked Ed into hiring a smart, sexy, funny, energetic, wise-cracking thirty-five-year-old experienced saleswomen—who had tired of the high pressure, slick and somewhat ruthless sales tactics of the nearby Toyota dealership where she had been working for several years—to specialize in selling Cadillacs to relatively young but well-heeled guys. She soon proves a delightful and profitable addition.

The wisecracking new saleswoman—a striking, voluptuous Italian, who reminded GHT of Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny—soon enjoys bantering with the precocious GHT; and he is fascinated and enthralled.

One day when she is bending over a desk in unintentional very provocative pose, GHT used his athlete’s reflexes and quick thinking to immediately take a couple rear view pics with his handy cell phone camera.

What did you just do? Erase those right now!

"Can’t do it, ma’am. Dad confiscated my Playboy last night."

Listen, kid. You’re a local young hotshot. Why don’t you have a girlfriend your own damn age?

Because being around your extreme Mediterranean womanliness these wonderful last few months has ruined me for innocent little balls of fluff. You and only you haunt my dreams and my fantasies.

Go away and stay away before you get me fired—or arrested. But then she laughed… and most important, did not confiscate the camera, complain to Ed, or stop good-naturedly joking around with GHT.

She added, Why can’t you be sweet and affable like you’re lovable father? And by the way, kid, for future reference, you’re too smart, too intense, and too sarcastic to ever be a good salesman.

Not cut out to be a salesman, huh? Oooh, that one hurts.

Despite his unusually busy schedule, high energy, witty, personable GHT still manages to have plenty of friends in high school; mostly fellow ballplayers, and his weight training and mixed martial arts workout partners.

But, most of them do refer to him as ‘Big Pop,’ saying that he is seventeen going on thirty-five, given the seriousness with which he approaches both his studies and his work at the dealership.

One cold winter day when high school senior GHT is walking out of his advanced algebra class, a pretty blond girl named Ermelyn Anderson—whose family moved from Sweden to the US when Ermelyn was twelve—came up to him and said, You seem to really understand this madness; far better than anyone else in the class. I’m falling behind, and I really need a decent grade in this subject. I could pay you to tutor me for an hour a day. How do you know this stuff so darn well, anyway?

GHT is amazed and delighted, because he has definitely decided that Ermelyn is, to him, hands down the most attractive girl in the school.

He recovers quickly, chuckles, and says, "You see the size of my skull? I gotta have a bigger brain than everyone else. What, did you fall way behind in spatial geometry too? Anyway, you’re way too blond, Swedish, and pretty to be any good in math. And, to make matters worse, you’ve got that petite cranium, which seems to be the style with beautiful young girls these days."

Yeah, tell all that to my dad. And please don’t make any dumb chauvinistic jokes about taking the math lessons out in trade.

"Well, I really don’t need your money, because I work all the time at my dad’s Cadillac store. And, as a gentleman, I’ll drop the ‘take-out-in-trade’ brainstorm; which was no joke to me, by the way. But, hey, I could use the practice just talking to beautiful young girls, because I’ve never had occasion to do even that much before; and accordingly don’t have a clue."

GHT did tutor her, was genuinely delighted that she caught up very quickly, and then he did have a few dates with her; but he was soon dismayed to find that she has no interest in baseball, boxing, exercise, business, or selling cars. For her part, she was amazed that he had very little interest in music or dancing—and didn’t even know what the most popular shows on TV were, never mind watching them. He also had an annoying abject inability to prevent his active mind from wandering and his eyes from going totally blank whenever she dished on the other girls.

Even when the subject was one of the most popular girls, his usual response would be, Which one is she again?

And, Believe me, I have nothing against high school girls. It’s just that I find the most notable of them to be more interesting when they turn around to leave than they are when they’re blathering in my direction… present company excluded, of course. You’re interesting from any direction; especially in those new jeans.

Ermelyn told him, I’m not gonna feign false modesty, and pretend I don’t know I’m reasonably attractive. But I know I’m not the most attractive girl in the school, because the other guys surely don’t treat me that way. Why do you?

"You remind me of Joe Jackson’s wife in ‘Eight Men Out.’ Heart-wrenchingly sweet-looking, and groin-tinglingly sexy at the same time. Fortunately for me, I’m the only fella in the school smart and sophisticated enough to see it at this age."

Oh. Based on a stupid baseball movie and your delusional perception of your own superior sophistication. Shucks, not much to hang my hat on there.

Mark my words, ya gorgeous young immigrant. Eventually worthwhile guys will come running.

Ermelyn is plenty smart, however; and, despite being Swedish, very conservative in matters sexual. She did give him his first kiss, at least.

Overall, at seventeen, GHT was both too busy and too immature in such matters to do the brief, early courtship justice. But, later he is surprised to find himself dreaming of Ermelyn often, and unable to keep from wondering what might have been.

Eventually, Ermelyn—far more gifted in things verbal than mathematical—will become a high-powered lawyer, then judge, and finally President George Herman ‘Ted’ Williams will learn of her accomplishments and recruit her into his administration. But, by then, Ermelyn will be long since happily married with children; and GHT will be thoroughly committed to long time girlfriend, journalist Heidi Hartley.

Ermelyn will later confide to Heidi, In high school, Ted always made fun of his big face and head, but I thought he was very attractive in a rugged sort of way—not to mention that intellect, work ethic, sense of humor, and good heart. I really, really liked him; but then it wasn’t exactly the height of teenage charm for him to always be saying things like, ‘Well, if we’re too young to have sex, what the hell else do high school boys and girls have in common? You don’t care about baseball, boxing, or selling cars, and I don’t care about squealing and giggling and gossiping.’

Heidi will reply, Yeah, sometimes I think that when he’s being serious, his I.Q. really is that rumored 170; but when he starts joking it somehow reduces by half, to about 85.

But, of course, in high school GHT can’t help but wonder whether, had he been much closer to classically handsome, things might have gone differently with the delectable Ermelyn. On the other hand, when he looks at the delicate ‘pretty boys’ who are getting most of the attention from the sexiest young things, he thinks, "Not in a thousand years. Lord, if ‘big head and bad face’ are