A Compensatory Gift of Unyielding Sturdiness: “The Harder I Work, the Better I Do, Straight Up”

By Michael A. Connelly

Ronnie Leigh is born with a disfigured face and a questionable gift of unusual intuition inherited from his mother. He gets off to a rocky start in life, with behavioral and personality problems compounded in that he knows, from an early age, that most people are immediately put off by his appearanceand that some even dislike him on sight.

With the help of his understanding and loving parents and a caring child psychologist, Ronnie learns to appreciate what he does have, and not dwell on what he does not. What he has innately are intelligence and athletic ability, and what he learns through early adversity are persistence, perspective, the value of hard work in the classroom and on the baseball fieldand, for him especially, the healing, calming, and strengthening power of vigorous exercise, beyond what most people are capable of.

Ronnie struggles to make close friends, even as strives to advance as a pitcher in the Boston Red Sox minor-league system. Meanwhile, he has a good heart, extraordinary fighting skills, and that gift/curse of special intuitionthe combination of which forces him to make some difficult decisions, and eventually to undertake some dangerous and extreme but ultimately necessary actions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491755730

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

ONE

Planning and Being Planned

Corporate Financial Analyst John Leigh walked into his boss Jim Wilkie’s small, very cluttered office, and said, "Damn, Jim, it’s nine o’clock. I’m freaking whipped."

Wilkie—sporting his usual chipmunk-cheeked, overly-sincere grin—replied, "Leaving early on Thursday night during budget-crunch risks working late on Friday night, and then all the later Saturday afternoon, as you know all too well by now. But, you’ve certainly seemed pre-occupied all evening, John. Anything you’d like to tell your ol’ Uncle Jim?"

John, at age twenty-seven, had now been dead-ended in his monotonous, detailed job as basic financial analyst for three years at the West Palm Beach, Florida, headquarters of privately-held furniture manufacturer Hatch Comfort Products, after having worked for a couple of years at the local office of international auditing and tax accounting firm KPMG to earn his CPA certificate.

But that was but a blink of an eye compared to the career stall that Financial Planning and Analysis Section Supervisor Wilkie had long been enduring, in overseeing preparation of the same reports, analyses, and projections for a mind-numbing ten years now, while seeming to hardly mind at all. Wilkie had taken a liking to Leigh and constantly credited himself for putting John under my wing and preparing him to go far in this company, acting as if John was doing just fine, and years passing stagnantly by were overrated as a serious problem for the human condition.

For his part, John credited Wilkie for generally meaning well, but John still couldn’t help being seriously irritated by the guy most of the time—although he always worked very hard to avoid showing that. Wilkie certainly had initially spent plenty of time with John, and been totally forthcoming about the intricacies of the job and the essentials of the business, as Wilkie had understood them…but Wilkie was notably limited, and after just a few months John started believing that he already understood both the job and the business better than his boss did. That wing Wilkie was so proud of taking John under turned out to be a bit short of muscle.

John also tried, as diplomatically and considerately as he could, to keep the relationship basically business-only, which hadn’t always been easy. John knew that most of his fellow white-collar workers at Hatch headquarters shared the overall opinion that, Sure, Jim means well…but man, the repetitive stories and platitudes, the constant unfunny one-liners, the goofy grins and uncomfortable stares, the too-frequent pats on shoulder and back…brother!

Ultimately, John considered his boss Jim a naturally very needy but decidedly uncharismatic fella who was always looking for friends, and John sympathized…but surely wished the poor guy would, as standard business etiquette suggested, look elsewhere than his subordinates for those friends.

On the other hand, at about the worst possible time here in the midst of this Annual Budget and Business Operating Plan final push of eighty-hour work-weeks, John had just this afternoon received some disturbing news—his wife of two years, Janice, had indeed turned out to be pregnant, despite that she’d been religiously using a diaphragm all along. True, John and Janice had known full well that there was an annual 5-percent chance of pregnancy even with proper use, they’d been together for three years now, and so this could hardly be considered an extremely unlikely calamity…but that didn’t make it any less of a calamity.

John’s career was in an indefinite holding pattern—it didn’t seem at all likely that Wilkie or Wilkie’s boss were going anywhere anytime soon—but Janice’s career as a paralegal had started to progress surprisingly well.

Janice—slim and quite attractive in a somewhat prim and pixyish way—had always had unusually good people skills, along with a natural ability to read people, which she had subsequently worked hard to further develop. As a teenager, she’d seen a repeat of a 1980s TV special showcasing the talents of world-renowned and aptly-titled mentalist, The Amazing Kreskin, and the subject matter and spectacle had truly resonated. She’d been fascinated, and accordingly studied his book, Secrets of The Amazing Kreskin, on how to expand your powers of Extremely Sensitive Perception, and reading the true thoughts of others by becoming intensely attuned to the subtle clues of body language, facial expression, choice of words, and tone of voice. This unusual ability had been noticed at the large Boca Raton law firm—Fortuna, Croaker, and Kahn—where she worked, so she’d been assigned to the Jury Selection Team, wherein she’d also worked diligently on mastering the analytical techniques of Scientific Jury Selection. Despite that she was still a paralegal and the other members of the firm’s JST were attorneys, Janice had, at least unofficially, become a leading member of that team.

Consequently, since their marriage just two years ago, Janice had gone from making slightly less than John to earning significantly more. That had enabled the young couple to purchase, last month, a relatively new four-bedroom house in the gated Riverwalk development on Okeechobee Boulevard, about seven miles west of John’s downtown office; but, with minimal down payment and the resultant hefty mortgage, they now needed all of Janice’s salary as well as her considerable overtime earnings to get by.

John and Janice had, reluctantly but unavoidably, spent enough social time with Wilkie and his wife that Jim Wilkie knew all this, and that, although John and Janice definitely wanted children eventually, parenthood would of necessity have to wait a few years, until the young couple had built a passable financial safety net.

So John now decided tonight was as good a time as any to tell his boss the reason for his considerable distraction today, so problematic in these final throes of developing the much-ballyhooed Annual Budget and Business Operating Plan.

Instead of commiserating or even chastising, Wilkie jumped up, pumped John’s hand too vigorously, patted him on the back too forcefully, and looked him in the eye too closely, while sporting that goofy chipmunk-grin. "Congratulations, my boy, congratulations! You’ll absolutely love fatherhood, and you’ll surely make a fantastic dad. And, don’t you dare fret the unfortunate timing. These things always work out for the best. The Heavenly Father sees to that!"

John thought, Yeah, right, the ol’ Heavenly Father never, ever lets anyone suffer the least little bit. But, he just said, "I know, Boss, I know. Janice will make a great mother, anyway, and love this little gift from God just about to death, that much is sure. We’re just thrown for the moment. Anyway, Jim, I have had it for today."

Of course you have…and you certainly should have said something much sooner, son. You need to be with Janice now, so get your buns right on out of here!

John knew right well that Janice was still at work in Boca—her JST was in the midst of supporting a new client in a lawsuit well into in the tens of millions—but he just shook Jim’s hand again, suffered another bout of vigorous back-pounding, and skedaddled; while also knowing that it would be right back to intense business tomorrow, and then most of the damn weekend as well.

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Since Janice wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, John wasn’t heading directly home to Riverwalk; he was headed for a much-needed therapeutic hard and heavy session with the iron at The Powerhouse Gym, right across Okeechobee Boulevard from Riverwalk.

John had been a serious weight-trainer since his high-school-football-playing days, and had even entered a couple of both bodybuilding and powerlifting local competitions; not winning, but not embarrassing himself either, which meant that, at his height of 5’ 11 and weight of 215 pounds, he was indeed unusually strong and muscular compared to the average young man. And especially compared to the average young CPA/Financial Analyst. In fact, although John dressed conservatively and reasonably well —given his relatively meager clothing budget—in the standard Hatch Headquarters style of casual business attire, Supervisor Wilkie periodically did chastise him on his unusual physique, basically saying, I know you’re in great shape, John, but for a career in business, bursting at the seams isn’t the best form. You can be unusually fit, but you also need to look like you place your career well ahead of the damn gymnasium. Plus, even though you don’t take steroids, you sure look like you do. What most people around here think, anyway. Including the big brass."

John usually did promise to tone it down some, but, surprisingly, Janice genuinely liked the look, and John had a valued cadre of friends and training partners at Powerhouse who enthusiastically encouraged and competed with each other, so he never could bring himself to back off at all. And anyway, he always earned excellent performance appraisals, in three years he’d worked hard—and wisely—to make himself virtually indispensable to Wilkie; and then there was that troubling lack of advancement opportunity, seemingly no matter what he did.

There were many traffic lights on the seven-mile trek west on Okeechobee to Powerhouse/Riverwalk, so the drive took about fifteen minutes, even at nine-thirty at night. John spent the entire time thinking about Janice, so engrossed that when he arrived at the U-turn for the gym, he couldn’t remember the drive at all.

John didn’t love his job or his boss, but he sure did love his wife. She was smart and unusually energetic, upbeat, good-natured, sweet, and loving. She also had that innocent, cute, pixyish look, as well as that slim but shapely figure, all of which he found both lovable and incredibly sexy, especially since she genuinely liked sex as much as he did; which was a lot—or, in other words, right about in line with the average healthy, vigorous, fit twenty-seven-year-old male.

All of John’s regular workout partners were long gone by nine-forty-five, but one of the owners, Fred—a huge young German—was just starting an upper-body workout. John didn’t know Fred particularly well, and Fred was huge, a fit 275 pounds, and significantly stronger than John, but there was almost no one else in the gym, so it made perfect sense for the two to work together. John did know that Fred had an adorable five-year-old daughter that he was—naturally—absolutely crazy about, since John had seen Fred with the little girl in the gym daycare often. When Fred asked him what was up, John laid his big news—big surprise, actually—on his huge training partner. Then the more Fred lifted and the faster the endorphins flowed through his cable-like veins, the more enthusiastically and even poetically the powerful young Aryan waxed about the abundant joys of fatherhood.

John left the gym thoroughly rejuvenated, a full hundred-and-eighty turn from how he’d felt leaving the office. Great workout, great partner, great conversation (although admittedly not a conversation necessarily conducive to a fully intense session with the heavy iron)—and now he knew Janice would be home and waiting. And, assuredly, as ready as he was for some serious—maybe even frenzied—diaphragm-free unwinding.

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Saturday morning, John found Wilkie in a minor panic, because the owner of the business—Entrepreneur Ben Hatch—had decided, here very late in the game, to tweak several of the key projected business assumptions—on the general economy, overall furniture market, and specific competitive conditions—that were the foundation of the Business Operating Plan for the coming year. Hatch Comfort Products had efficient, up-to-date computer technology for compiling the financial aspects of the Business Plan, technology which had been installed just last year at considerable cost in both money and time. Consequently, owner Hatch would now brook no protestations that unavoidable last-minute changes should necessitate any change in Budget deadlines. There were critical meetings scheduled in a week and a half—early December—with investors and lenders to review complete, fully polished presentations of all aspects of the planning for next year, and those meetings could not be rescheduled. And those presentations had best be top-notch. Successful entrepreneur Hatch was a not-uncommon combination of charismatic, inspiring, generally fair, tough-minded, and very demanding.

Wilkie was agitated, but it was actually John who would bear the brunt of the incremental detail work to adjust a multitude of inputs, rerun all the reports, and analyze, tie-out, and reconcile all the changes. Wilkie didn’t ask how Janice was taking the big news, or how John’s night had been, he just sat John down, and started frenetically going over the changes, too hurriedly and disorganized for John to fully follow.

John had no choice but to immediately step past his own frustration, calm and reassure Wilkie, and gently guide him into getting organized; and then call Janice, and tell her to push their reservation at Okeechobee Steakhouse back from six o’clock to the latest possible, which would probably be nine o’clock.

Janice chuckled, and said, Why am I not surprised. Anyway, I have plenty to do here at the office myself. Besides, now I can’t drink at all, so it’s not like you needed time for your usual Saturday night bunch of beer. I’ll meet you at the bar at eight-forty-five.

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The bar at Okeechobee Steakhouse was large, rectangular, and just the right amount of dark, in both lighting and tasteful appointments. At quarter of nine, even on a Saturday night, the bar was comfortably uncrowded, because the faithful clientele of The Okeechobee (since 1947) tended towards the senior citizen, who, as hilariously exemplified by Morty and Helen Seinfeld, ate early, even on weekends. So John and Janice ate at the bar, he having an excellent Kansas City Steak, she the catch of the day, which turned out to be swordfish.

Janice’s considerable ability to read John didn’t make him love her any less—it probably even made him love her a little more—but it did unsettle him at certain times. And this was one of those times.

She said, "Beyond the obvious financial issues, you’re seriously worried that daycare from an early age will affect our baby. Don’t be. We have about eight good months to select the best possible, and you know that I can do that, and then monitor the heck out of it as we go. And, yup, I sure can’t afford to quit work, but I just as surely am now in a position wherein I can dictate a very healthy paid maternity leave, and then cut my weekly hours back to a normal forty-five or so, as a very concerned and involved new mother. So, it is what it is, we did the very best we could, and now we will make it work; for ourselves, and for our little bundle of joy…you do have to cut back on the weekend beer, though, in sympathy. On that I insist. And, maybe just a little on the gym time, when said gift arrives."

John shook his head, sighed, and said, Those last two are the least of my worries. I knew I was gonna have to do all that sooner or later, no matter what, since we’ve always been committed to a couple kids. You are a magician—but even you can’t make it better for our baby without you all day versus with you all day, for the first couple of years. But, you’re right, it is what it is, and I know you’ll do all that is humanly possible—and then some, because we both know you’ve got a dash of superhuman about ya.

TWO

Exactly Eight Pounds—and a Tentative Ten

Eight and a half months later, settling into bed at ten o’clock on Baby Ron’s second Friday night of existence, John said, Of course I’ll get up with him tonight, all night as needed. I don’t have to be at work any particular time tomorrow. Use those ear plugs, and get yourself a full night’s sleep for a change. Same thing tomorrow night, and every weekend until you go back to work. Then we’ll just alternate nights. And stop worrying. Eight pounds, and a perfect ten out of ten, Doc O’Brien said.

Ronnie just seems anxious to me. Doc also said that he should be getting a total of around sixteen hours of sleep per day, and only be awake for about two hours at a time. He’s lucky if he gets twelve a day so far, and today he was awake for a five-hour stretch. He’s just so much more alert than the other babies.

Probably ’cause he’s much smarter. Give it a couple more weeks, and then we’ll take him in for a checkup.

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Three weeks later, Janice showed Pediatrician O’Brien the detailed log she’d been keeping of Infant Ron Leigh’s sleeping habits, and overall behavior.

O’Brien studied the log, and then said, My physical exam shows he’s just fine. Only ten hours a day is quite unusual—but, you’re right, he doesn’t seem tired at all now. And I agree, he does seem unusually alert for a five-week-old baby. He’s grown over an inch since birth, and he’s gone from ten to twelve pounds, all perfectly normal. Are you sure you’ve followed the overall sleep strategies I gave you?

John said, She’s a fanatic about stuff like that, Doc. One of the reasons she’s the top paralegal in Florida.

Janice said, That log tells it all, and there’s not a lie on it, Dr. O’Brien. Look at my bright baby boy. He’s looking at us as if he understands every word we say…and is about to chime in with his own opinion on the issue!

O’Brien chuckled. His sleep and his wakefulness are quite unusual. But he is fine, and thriving. And, although he is unusually alert, no, I do not find him particularly anxious. Although, he eventually might be if you continue to be, Janice. So, please, be assured, and relax. Young Ron is perfectly fine.

While John was driving the family home, Janice said, "Dr. O’Brien is more concerned than he let on. He didn’t actually lie, he did find Ronnie okay physically, and his growth is normal. And, he probably did convince himself that our little five-week-old isn’t anxious. But he does find the wakefulness and alertness troubling; he just has no explanation or recommendation beyond what he’s already told us and that I’m religiously following, and there’s no benefit in getting us—me—more worried than I already am. So, I will work hard on the not worrying, and I will not be anxious around my precious little baby…and you should not be, either."

John chuckled softly. "Well, I had been reassured by the good doc, oblivious moron that I am; compared to you, anyway. But, we agreed no secrets…not that I can have any anyway, with your ESP…so, yeah, sure, now I’m a little concerned, too. I just keep hoping that all this just means that we have one very smart little bugger on our hands!"

John turned and smiled at his tiny son, snug in his top-of-the-line car seat and seemingly sleeping…who opened his eyes, cooed adorably, and then smiled brightly back.

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At Ron’s first annual examination, Dr. O’Brien said, He’s grown slightly more than average. I expected his weight to be around thirty pounds now, and it’s thirty-six. But he shows no signs of being overweight. Yes, his head is slightly larger than normal, and his brain scan is within normal ranges. He’s not autistic. Overall, though, he is physically within range, and his coordination is notably advanced for his age. He does tend to fixate, and this report from the daycare is of some concern. That he sometimes ignores the other babies and at other times is unusually aggressive for a one-year-old warrants extra attention and follow-up.

Janice said, in wavering voice, "As I say in my log, with me he also varies from clingy to distant. A one-year-old distant from his own mother. And then an hour later I can’t put him down. I talk to the daycare ladies, and to the other mothers. They do their best to say it nicely…but I can tell with crystal clarity that they all think we have a serious problem…and they’re obviously too polite to say he’s funny looking, but no one ever says he’s cute, either. Me, I think he’s the most adorable thing in the world, even his quirks are cute, and I love him to death. He just worries me sometimes…and wears me out other times."

John said, "He’s clearly special. It’s up to us…with your help, Doc…to see that he turns out special in a good way."

I’m a general pediatrician, although the thirty-years-experience means I pretty much have seen it all, and know at least a little bit about most everything. Ron’s case is somewhat different, though, so I’m now strongly recommending that we have an infant psychologist examine him. It is critical at this juncture that we insure that his early developmental processes and the parent-child relationships are properly managed all along, on an integrated basis, as we carefully watch his development. And, adjust and adapt accordingly.

Absolutely, said John softly. See that he does turn out special in that good way.

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Three months later, when Ron was a year and three months old, the Infant Psychologist, Dr. LaMarr, said, His brain scan does show slight abnormality, with the potential for borderline autism. But his behavioral variations—from intense, narrow focus to energetic, mildly aggressive interaction, are not consistent with autism. The daycare personnel generally say the same thing you do, Mrs. Leigh: that he seems to have an unusual ability to ‘sense’ the feelings and mood of his caregivers, then has an unusually strong reaction to that. This, of course, results in a destructive cycle of increasing frustration on both his part and theirs. Naturally, the adult, supposedly well-trained caregivers should resist that, and rise above it…but it is also natural and inevitable that they cannot always do so. To be blunt, Mrs. Leigh, the caregivers are also somewhat perplexed and even intimidated by your seeming ability to read their minds regarding their frustration with poor little Ron…and your perfectly understandable frustration with them.

"He’s just a little baby…and, as you said, they’re supposedly trained…but I can tell that they just don’t like my precious little Ronnie. Naturally, I’m upset."

Me too, growled John. Janice won’t let me near them, even just to drop Ronnie off, or pick him up. Even though I actually have never said a harsh word to them.

Janice said, Yeah, but I know how you feel, Dear. And you know you can be quite intimidating without saying a word.

The parent-child relationship is critical now, Mrs. Leigh. So much so that I think fifty hours a week of daycare is way too much. I’d recommend that you switch to part-time work, and no more than four hours a day of care—and of interaction with other youngsters. That would reduce the stress on Ron, the caregivers, and the other children, to manageable levels. But this reduced level of interaction is also critical. I can instruct the caregivers regarding how best to work with Ron—and reducing the time to just four hours a day will make it much easier for them to comply with my guidelines.

I’m not sure I can arrange with my employer for just three hours a day in the office, after the commute. And I still get paid by the hour, and we need my income. And Ronnie would never let me work productively from home…but I guess I could work some in the evenings, John, if you don’t mind taking over when you get home…you’d have to forego the gym totally, though, I guess.

That’s too much stress on everyone, said Dr. LaMarr. John would still be working…CPA, Financial Analyst, that must pay reasonably well…I don’t know your financial circumstances…but I strongly believe that you, Janice, need to spend more close and as stress-free time with Ron as possible…even if it does mean significant financial belt-tightening.

John said, I know we’re hardly unique in this, Doc…but Ron was unplanned, and we are now very, very house-poor. But we’ll make it work if we have to.

"John, Janice…my sincere professional opinion at this critical time is that you have to."

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Adding to John’s (and Janice’s) significant stress was that John’s supervisor Wilkie had been out of the office for a month for stomach surgery and recovery, and John had been temporarily doing much of Wilkie’s job, as well as most of his own.

Early the morning after the troubling, even somewhat life-altering consultation with Dr. LaMarr, the CFO of Hatch Comfort Products, Ray Collins, called John into his office. The headquarters of HCP comprised the entire 13th-floor—tough-minded and relentlessly rational entrepreneur Hatch had actually negotiated a meaningful discount in leasing the unlucky 13th, and all HCP employees knew much better than to voice any nonsensical superstitious discomfort regarding something as insignificant as the number of the floor they worked on—of a downtown West Palm high-rise office building. CFO Collins had garnered an expansive corner office, with wall-sized, east-facing windows providing a gorgeous view across the Inland Waterway, the five-star Breakers Hotel and the lush Island of Palm Beach, and on to the sparklingly blue Atlantic Ocean. By contrast, Supervisor Wilkie had merited a tiny (and generally absurdly cluttered) window-less inner office…and John worked in a cubicle, which he struggled mightily to always keep productively well-organized.

The CFO said, You’ve done a commendable job filling in for Jim this last month, John. I know it hasn’t been easy, what with a new baby at home and all. How’re things going for you and your wife…Janice, is it?

It is. Little Ronnie’s fine, but he sure is a handful. Harder on the wife than it is on me, I guess. She’s still working full time, too…but the doc recommended that she cut back to part time, spend more time with the baby. We’re hanging in.

Yeah, Jim told me you and Janice have had it kind of rough. But, anyway, John, Ben and I have been particularly impressed with the job you’ve done stepping in for Jim. That presentation you put together for the new investors last week was, to be brutally honest, better than anything Jim has ever done…or, really, is even capable of. We’ve known for some time that you were the brains of the Financial Planning Section. Actually, we’ve been worried that you might leave us…and we told Jim to do his best not to let that happen. I know your raises haven’t been great…but they have been significantly better than most. Frankly, why haven’t you left us by now?

I’ve been distracted and pressed for time, as we just discussed…and I’m not the best interviewer, either. Plus, except for the lack of advancement opportunities, I genuinely enjoy it here. I like really knowing what I’m doing…and you just gave me credit for that, as has Jim all along, too.

Good. And speaking of advancement opportunity, what I’m getting to, John, is that Ben and I have decided to transfer Jim over to General Accounting, and to promote you to Supervisor of the Financial Planning and Analysis Section. You’ll be able to replace yourself, either by promoting one of the junior analysts and replacing him, or, if you don’t have anyone strong enough already on board—which I honestly doubt that you do—then by bringing in someone very good from outside. You can take a day to analyze the department, and then you and I will sit down to discuss it…but, John, we think you have real potential, and can take the planning and analysis process to a higher level, be a significantly bigger help in the overall running of the business, as it should be. Do not hamstring yourself now, John, by letting your loyalty to a marginally qualified subordinate keep you too involved in your old job.

Wow. That’s a lot to absorb. I mean, I sure am grateful…but I can’t help feeling bad for Jim. He’s been good to me…best he could be, anyway. And the timing…

Yeah, John, but we all know that, even after all these years, Jim was in a little over his head. And the stress of that finally got to him. We should have moved him years ago, I guess. Anyway, it’s not like we’re firing him, his pay won’t be cut, nor will his job security be jeopardized. We may be rationalizing, but Ben and I honestly believe we’re doing the poor guy a favor. I appreciate your understandable concern, John, but in the end Jim Wilkie is my and Ben’s concern; and we will do right by him, I assure you.

Well, I’m thrilled, of course. And, if I may say so, pretty darn confident that I will do an outstanding job…ah, with the wife having to cut back to part time…

Twenty-five percent now…with a six-month evaluation, and the potential for up to another twenty-percent then. Who knows after that. So keep working hard, smart, and tough…including making the right personnel decisions.

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John called Janice at work, and said, Did you tell them about cutting back your hours?

They didn’t like it one bit…but under the circumstances, with the welfare of a baby at stake…they could hardly refuse, could they? The longer-term implications, though…I don’t know.

As expected, then. Can you get Mrs. Moranty to watch the troublesome little rascal tonight? We need to go out.

"Why is that? Not to celebrate them begrudgingly agreeing to cut my hours by 67-percent, pay cut totally commensurate, I hope?"

Not totally, no. I have something else to tell ya.

Janice thought for just a few seconds. Sooo…you got Jim’s job! Fantastic, you hardworking genius, you! Appropriate raise, I surely do hope, I hope?

Man, oh man, there is just no surprising you, My Love.

THREE

Irreversible Choices

On a September Monday morning five years later, the alarm in John and Janice’s bedroom—on the night table right next to John and turned down to the lowest volume that was sure to wake him but hopefully only him—went off at four-thirty AM. John slipped groggily out of bed as quietly as he could, but Janice woke nonetheless…and then suddenly six-year-old Ronnie came bursting in at full speed, yelling, "It’s dark, it’s dark-dark, I looked out my window…why is everyone waking up at night? And I’m not going to school today, Mommy!"

John groaned. Damn family ESP, and Ronnie’s super-ears. I was looking forward to a quiet morning, after getting about three freaking hours of sleep last night. And not a chance of napping on the plane, either. That haughty bastard Ben Hatch will be all fired up, expounding on the joy of early to bed and early to rise, and looking to bust my balls throughout the entire two-hour flight.

"You said bastard and balls, Daddy…so I get to say Mrs. Dempsey is a great big bitch! I don’t like her, Mommy! ’Cause she doesn’t like me!"

Janice picked Ronnie up, kissed him tenderly on the head, and lovingly placed him in their bed, saying, "No, you can’t. And yes, she does, especially when you behave. Now, Daddy has to go to work, and you need to get a few more hours of sleep, Ronnie, before you are going to kindergarten today …John, do you want me to fix you something?" (Six-year-old Ronnie had started school a year late—or actually, half a year late—certainly not because of any issues with his intelligence or ability to learn, but because of continuing problematically inconsistent behavior.)

Yeah, like he’d let you do that. Go back to sleep with Ronnie, and I’ll send you a text when I get to the plant; and then call you around eight, on the way to dinner. Eight if I’m lucky, that is.

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Hatch Comfort Products was doing reasonably well, and so was John. His title had been upgraded to Manager of Financial Planning and Analysis, and, as the company grew, the department he’d been competently managing had as well. (He’d also finally been upgraded to a slightly larger outer office, with a ½ wall-sized window looking west over—markedly less-than-gorgeous, generally clogged I-95. But, John didn’t particularly mind that I-95 view…it reminded him to appreciate that, with his daily commute due east-west, he didn’t have to drive the infamously frustrating north-south interstate. Not to mention that Manager John still had a more-than-full plate of complex hands-on work, and a gorgeous, distracting view like that which executive-level, hands-off CFO Collins enjoyed was definitely a luxury John could not yet afford.)

For the last several years, Hatch and his industrial engineers and production managers had been relentlessly automating the production and assembly processes at the company’s eight furniture manufacturing plants scattered through the Southeast and Pennsylvania and Ohio; and John had managed the complex ROI (return on investment) projections and other financial analysis to support that substantial investment in new and much more sophisticated, computer-controlled equipment, and the subsequent conversion of the plants.

This morning, Owner Hatch, CFO Ray Collins, Vice President of Engineering Ralph Hilka, Vice President of Manufacturing Operations Jerry Kelly, and John were flying at 6 AM—on Ben Hatch’s new Challenger 300 private business jet—to Tupelo, Mississippi, to visit the company’s largest plant, which manufactured Hatch’s highest-end line of upholstered furniture…couches, love seats, sectionals, and recliners.

Here at the beginning of the latest Annual Business Planning and Budgeting cycle, Hatch, Hilka, and Kelly would be meeting with the plant manager and his operational team on the latest plant results—in terms of production output, on-time delivery, productivity and cost, and overall product quality—with the new equipment, and on any lingering issues with the equipment, and with the overall conversion. The automation project at the Mississippi plant—which had been accomplished over the last three years at a total cost of seventy-five million dollars—had, in the end, enabled the company to reduce plant headcount from 2,000 employees to 1,300, while production was increased by twenty-percent, and defect rates reduced by an overall thirty-percent.

That the new high-tech equipment and plant conversion were a rousing bottom-line success for Hatch Comfort Products was indisputable. Equally beyond dispute was that the 700 jobs eliminated had had a noticeably negative effect on the community as a whole—not to mention the at-least short-term devastation of the 700 families directly affected.

CFO Collins and John were along on the trip to review the new production and cost standards and goals, and employee performance incentives that had been implemented in concert with the new productivity-enhancing equipment, as well as to kick-off the Annual Financial Planning Cycle with the Tupelo plant controller and his financial supervisors.

Additionally, in an effort to showcase a significant element of fairness along with his tough-minded business sense, Hatch had directed CFO Collins—who had in turn directed Financial Planning and Analysis Manager John Leigh—to implement a formal, company-wide Shadow Equity Plan. The Shadow Equity Plan granted Shadow Shares in the privately held company to employees at all levels based on both position and tenure, and these shares would increase in value as company profits and cash flow improved, and as the overall value of the privately held business increased. John had worked diligently with an independent financial record-keeping company to iron out all the considerable details, and, over the next several days, would, among many other things,