Life’S a Bitch

By Gary B. Boyd

Trey Managuas and Polly Anne Dodgems dreams were not the same, but they were compatible.

Trey was unemployed at the age of sixty, the victim of a factory closure. He was too young to retire and too old to attract an employer. His dream was to work until he was sixty-six and retire with a comfortable nest egg for his golden years.

Polly Anne was an innovator and entrepreneur. After years of research, she had finally developed a process by which she could regenerate usable cotton fiber from textile scraps. By regenerating the fiber from scraps, her black box process would easily reduce the use of landfill space used for untold tons of textile waste. More importantly, her use of regenerated fiber would reduce the number of acres of land required to grow cotton, which in turn would reduce the volume of chemicals and amount of water used to make that cotton grow. Her dream was to make a difference in peoples lives. She only needed a manufacturing facility and skilled workers to commercialize her process.

Treys recently shuttered nonwovens factory offered the opportunity for Polly Anne to engage in manufacturing products using her regenerated cotton fiber. It was a match made in heaven.

Praise the Lord!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546213383

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

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© 2017 Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/18/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1339-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1338-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017916022

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgement and Dedication

Preface

Part I

Introduction to Salvaation

Chapter 1   August, Year One

Chapter 2   September – October, Year One

Chapter 3   October – November, Year One

Chapter 4   December, Year One

PART 2

Rising from the Ashes

Chapter 5   January – February, Year Two

Chapter 6   February – April, Year Two

Chapter 7   April – July, Year Two

Chapter 8   August – September, Year Two

Chapter 9   September, Year Two

Chapter 10   October – November, Year Two

Chapter 11   December, Year Two

Part 3

Rejuvenation

Chapter 12   January, Year Three

Chapter 13   February, Year Three

Chapter 14   March – Year Three

Chapter 15   April – May, Year Three

Chapter 16   June – July, Year Three

PART 4

Slide into Oblivion

Chapter 17   August, Year Three

Chapter 18   September, Year Three

Chapter 19   October, Year Three

Chapter 20   November - December, Year Three

Chapter 21   January – May, Year Four

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND DEDICATION

No journey of this nature can be completed alone. I would be remise if I did not acknowledge the assistance and support provided to me during this journey by my wife, Shirley, and my daughters, Angela and Tina. Thank you with all my heart.

Just as importantly, I feel compelled to dedicate the result of my journey to the men and women who struggle to survive in our modern world – working for The Man. Every day, those men and women go to work for companies led by executive managers who hold the fate of thousands of workers in their hands as decisions are made to increase the bottom-line. Executive decisions are not without consequences; lives are affected. To those working men and women, my heart is with you.

PREFACE

Companies go out of business. Factories close. That’s a cold, hard fact of life.

When factories close, lives are shattered … or, at the very least, once stable lives are disrupted. Human plans are dumped on the scrap heap of life and a mad scramble ensues to develop new plans.

Those factories don’t close themselves. People make the decisions to close them. Business executives make those decisions … decisions that affect every life in the factory. Protecting the bottom line is paramount to executives. Enhancing the bottom line is a fluid objective. That is the job of executives. All decisions are made in good faith by people unaffected by the human results of those decisions.

Job loss, the identity and relationships a job provides, is traumatic. People tend to identify themselves by what they do. When that goes away, a terminated employee struggles to maintain a sense of self-worth; the employee no longer feels viable, a contributing part of society. But, the loss is not felt equally by all affected employees.

Typically, the people affected most are those who have been with the company the longest; people whose lives are inexorably entwined with the company; people who have sacrificed important parts – and years - of their lives to the company; people who are in the twilight years of their careers; people who know nothing of the world outside the company. The younger employees have working years ahead of them; years that can be used to recover from the sudden loss of employment; time to recover self-worth and build new relationships. The loyal, aged employees are marked by their years of service and life. Their careers have been built upon expertise in a narrow segment of the business world; expertise that does not easily translate into other business segments. The aged employees are victims of their own loyalty to an entity, to a company that views them as numbers on a ledger. No amount of severance pay or job rehabilitation can fill the void created by job loss and income loss for those aged former employees.

Companies do not hire aged employees, employees who are over sixty years of age, not unless that person possesses a special skill largely unavailable in the general population. Technically, companies can hire forty-something people with similar backgrounds and be compliant with legal directives. The aged employees cannot be saved by a technicality. They are adrift, unable to retire and unable to find gainful employment commensurate with their past earnings. The aged employees’ only hopes are for individual miracles, Heaven-sent opportunities that will keep them whole.

Polly Anne Dodgem provided a miracle, a lifeline, to an entire factory of people – miracles for everyone. Her innovative business model offered an environmental advantage to the factory, and a leadership position in an untapped market segment. The people’s skills and knowledge were perfect - and necessary - to execute Polly’s revolutionary entry into the commodity market of baby wipes. Her black box patented process for regenerating cotton fibers from textile scraps, specifically white T-shirts and blue denim jean cuttings, promised to create a market force unlike anything ever seen.

At sixty, Trey Managua was ready for a lifeline. He grabbed Polly’s lifeline and held on with all his might. He had no idea what lay in store, what that lifeline would drag him through, but he thanked his lucky stars every day for the lessons he had learned in his past.

PART I

INTRODUCTION TO SALVATION

ONE

AUGUST, YEAR ONE

Through the tinted window panes, he saw them crawling from their vehicles, no more than two per. They congregated and huddled before they advanced as a group toward the entrance. Trevor Managua was expecting them. What he wasn’t expecting was as many as there were. He was uncomfortable with their arrival as it was. The larger the group, the more uncomfortable he felt; as their greeter, he was expected to be more cordial than was his natural inclination.

A tall woman, stylishly dressed for business, tailored for effect - like in a fashion magazine - and beaming with enthusiasm, walked side by side with an equally well-dressed man a few years older than her. The woman’s maroon pantsuit suited her complexion – or makeup - and enhanced her presence, almost larger than life. She was accustomed to being in charge, an indefatigable extrovert; that much was clear. She was in her forties, slightly overweight but not heavy; attractively overweight with the height to carry it well. Her brown hair was barely shoulder length and cut for ease of care as well as stylish presentation. Her stride and bearing exuded confidence. Even through the window and across the parking lot, her engaging smile and sparkling eyes were easy to see – the first thing to see.

The man’s hair was stained with gray at the temples and a few mis-colored strands were scattered throughout his expertly groomed black mane. He looked scrubbed; like he had never been dirty. His clothes were not off the rack; that much was certain. He deferred to the confident woman, but he didn’t yield his power. He was barely taller than her. He opened the door and allowed her to enter before him, not so much out of courtesy as it was an indication that he chose the entry order.

A man wearing blue jeans and a work shirt grabbed the door before the pneumatic closer pulled it shut. There was no doubt all who followed were subservient to the first two. The blue-jeaned man smiled at a blonde-haired woman with a rosy smile. Two other work-dressed men were close behind her, apparently engaged in private conversation punctuated by laughs. They hurried to enter the door while the other man held the door for them.

Trevor couldn’t hear them through the double-paned, tinted office windows, but their repeated head and mouth movements made it clear that they were all involved in animated discussions of some sort. He thought he detected some nervous hesitation in the two men who brought up the rear. He knew they could not see him through the reflective glass, so he watched until he heard the second entry door open. That door always pulled a vacuum in the small lobby and caused ceiling tiles to rattle when it opened. It was like an air lock that kept the inside environment separate from the outside elements; even so, the lobby was either too warm in the summer or too cool in the winter.

Trey didn’t wait for the group to hail him through the lobby window. He opened the inner lobby door, a security door that required an electrical activation or a knob turn from the inside, and smiled welcome. He had on his best public-face. Come on in. He had paged the Plant Engineer the minute he saw the vehicles park in the front parking lot; Bob Clark was charged with the task of tour guide in the Plant Manager’s absence. The whole business made Trevor uneasy; but it was part of his job. My name is Trevor Managua, everyone calls me Trey.

The tall woman was giddily explaining all about the plant and the equipment to the business man, even though she had never seen it as far as Trey knew. He could only assume that the Plant Manager or someone from Corporate had toured the plant with her after hours when the plant and property was originally listed with Maxim Commercial Realty. The three men in jeans wandered around the office complex, peeking into every office, most unoccupied, and studying the ceiling tiles and wall paneling. Two of them rapidly made notes on clipboard pads. The blonde-haired woman talked with Trey’s assistant, Marsha, smiling and gushing with every breath, occasionally cutting her blue eyes toward Trey as she talked. The woman’s speech pattern was quick, every word more important than the next, jostling for its turn to be heard.

Jerrod Stockholm, with a ring of keys rattling from a belt loop, noisily entered the front office area in a controlled rush – his trademark. Always pleasant and a full-time extrovert, Jerrod went by the diminutive ‘Jerry’ even though it had the same number of syllables as his given name. Taller than average, Jerry grinned from ear to ear and offered up an explanation to Trey for his presence. Bob is on a conference call, so he asked me if I could lead these folks on a plant tour. Jerry’s title was Product System Resource, typically called a Production Supervisor in traditional manufacturing systems. As with most of the management team, he was a twenty-five-year-plus veteran of the company and had served in a variety of roles that challenged his skill sets.

Trey didn’t care who led the tour. Emotionally exhausted, he didn’t want to play any further part in the plant’s shutdown process than he’d already played. The woman, the Realtor - he assumed, was professional enough to do all the talking and answer the business man’s questions. Jerry could add flavor as needed; a self-confident extrovert, Jerry wasn’t afraid to share his years of accumulated knowledge. Trey sighed relief as the six visitors left the office area on Jerry’s eager-to-please heels. The sound of the two women’s voices didn’t stop chattering until two sets of doors closed behind them.

Trey went into his office only to be followed and besieged by Marsha with questions that he could not answer. He called the Plant Engineer to satisfy his curiosity. There was no conference call. Bob Clark was an irreparable introvert. If life could be lived via e-mails and posted memos, Bob would be a happy man … if he had a lackey to post the memo on the bulletin board. He preferred firing rather counseling … he assumed anyone hired into a job should know how to do it and when; and he relied on Trey, the HR Manager, to do the actual human-to-human contact required to dismiss an employee. Usually, Trey could convince him that counseling was the better option, and Trey orchestrated the counseling for Bob. Firing was nasty business; a sign of failure for both parties.

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In a surreal moment, Trey remembered that dark day, ten months earlier, when the Plant Manager came into his office, closed the door, and plopped heavily in a chair. Face drawn and pale, Art Fleming flatly stated, They’re going to shut down Batesville. Trey remembered staring at the stain on his carpet, a reminder of a maintenance man who had tracked in grease and stood on that spot. Up until that moment, getting that stain out of the carpet was important; he had tried several commercial cleaners and had successfully removed a trail of stains left across the HR area’s floor by the mechanic, all but that one stain that defiantly remained in the middle of his office floor.

There was only one question that required answer. When?

Art could not maintain eye contact. He shook his head with his eyes on the carpet, maybe staring at the same stain. Sometime next year. They are targeting mid-summer. It will take that long to transfer production to Brazil and China.

Bastards! We’re the only plant that makes money year after year.

I know, Art said softly. But Hale is an old Backstrom guy.

Trey knew what that meant. The company they worked for was an amalgamation of nonwovens factories bought by the company’s entrepreneurial founder, hence its name Amalgamated Nonwovens Industries. The founder died shortly after bringing all the companies under one umbrella, but he left behind a strong leadership team comprised of men and women who were ‘sold’ with their respective divisions; men and women who were executive level leaders in their former companies. Two of the major groups ruled equally at first, but over the span of a decade, the former Backstrom people had proven themselves to be more ruthless; they held all the power and wanted the new company to reflect their values rather than the values of the other entities. They refused to allow natural melding of diverse cultures. Trey had been through a plant closing in another company once before; it was not easy. There was a lot of work required to transition good people from gainful employment to the unemployment line without emotional breakdowns. Who’s handling it?

Art looked into Trey’s eyes with evident pain, and handed Trey a crumbled piece of paper with some penciled notations. We are.

Trey read the scribbles in Art’s handwriting, apparently given to him over the phone, barely legible scratching made by a shaking hand. Letters to Governor, Mayor, Chamber. Meet with Employment office. Prepare severance. Warn Act. Over 40. Hire security. A single, plaintive sentence was written in one margin of the paper, traced and retraced by Art’s pencil, obviously important to the Plant Manager, even if not to the person breaking the news via telephone. Tell the people. Who’s going to do all this? He knew the answer and didn’t like it.

Art paused before answering. He cleared his throat. The gray-haired man despised the words he had to say. Hale and Sarah Banks said that you would know what to do.

Trey smiled grimly. I do, if I have the guidelines they want me to follow; or do I get to do it however I want? His eyes twinkled mischievously as he asked the question. His conscious mind was separated from his body; keenly aware of Art’s pain and his own disbelief even as he tried to maintain his aura of calm. He and his co-workers were being pushed out the door and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Blood rushed in his ears but he tried to ignore it.

Art chuckled, relieved that Trey had not reacted angrily to the message. I wish. Sarah will send you an e-mail this afternoon with everything you need.

Trey nodded. I can handle it … all except one thing.

What’s that?

Telling the people.

Art sighed. I suppose that’ll be my job.

Bullshit!

What? Art jerked back, wide-eyed at the exclamation.

I call bullshit. You shouldn’t have to do it. The man who made the decision should have balls enough to say the words. Let Hale face these people and tell them he doesn’t think they deserve to work for Amalgamated Nonwovens anymore; that they don’t deserve to have a job. Trey knew his temper was getting the better of him; Art didn’t deserve the outburst.

Art nodded and watched the grease spot. He should, but…

But nothing! I’ll talk to Sarah. Trey had a good relationship with his dotted line Corporate HR boss. She would understand; maybe she could give him this one little victory.

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The shutdown and phase-out process went smoothly, much smoother than anyone could have predicted. Two hundred people lost their jobs. Two hundred people held their heads high and spent the last seven months of their careers with the company that was the only place of employment many of them had ever known by exceeding quality and quantity expectations. Even the all-knowing Hale didn’t realize that the phenomenon was typical of closing factories; people wanted to prove The Man wrong. Best of all, Hale came down from his ivory tower to make the announcement. He had to stand red-faced and sweating in front of the two hundred employees and see their shocked looks and hear their sobs. Trey was proud of the people; no one expressed anger in the meeting; no one gave Hale a straw to grasp to help him rationalize his flawed decision. If anything, the people of the plant unnerved Hale by being polite. More importantly to Trey, Hale’s face was forever burned into the memories of the people who lost their jobs rather than his or Art’s faces.

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From his office desk, Trey heard the business man return to the front office area. The man was alone. Trey felt obligated to entertain him; Marsha had wandered away to gossip with some of the few remaining people still working in other office areas; there wasn’t much else to do in the waning days of the plant. He wanted to ask why the man left the tour, but believed that would be meddling. Besides, he didn’t really care; if the man was astute, he would easily see it was feigned interest. Trey couldn’t even remember the names of the six people. They were scavengers as far as the HR Manager was concerned; there to hammer the final nail into the coffin that represented more than three decades of so many dedicated people’s lives. He did remember thinking that the man’s name had some connection or involvement in trucking. He was sure the man’s plan was to convert the once vibrant factory into another cheap warehouse and distribution center – just like many other boarded up factories across the United States. Trey shuddered as he thought about the foreign-made goods that were shipped to and through those warehouses. The man offered his own explanation without being asked.

They’re getting too technical out there. That engineer is answering all their questions with words that mean nothing to me.

Oh, did Bob finish his conference call?

I thought his name was Jerry.

Oh. Jerry is a production guy, not an engineer. Trey remembered the business man’s name. There was a small trucking company headquartered in Memphis with that name; warehouse made sense. He was pleased with himself for figuring it out.

Scott Armstrong laughed. I wouldn’t know one from the other. I’m in real estate development and investments; I don’t know anything about manufacturing. That’s Polly’s field of expertise.

Trey was confused. The names weren’t clear in his mind. Polly is the tall woman, right?

Yes.

I thought she was the real estate agent.

Scott laughed heartily as he pulled a chair into position to sit comfortably. We don’t need a real estate agent. That’s what I do. I don’t intend to pay someone to do what I can do. Polly Dodgem knows what she needs. Her team will get the information we need.

Trey’s interest was piqued. He wished he had paid attention to the names. Apparently, the plan was not to convert his factory into another warehouse. Maybe - just maybe - his people would have an opportunity. He was a licensed real estate agent as well, residential – not commercial. The listing agent would get his commission, no matter what Armstrong believed … but that was another subject. His interest was centered on Polly’s plans. What is she looking for?

We need a chemical free nonwovens line to produce an innovative product unlike anything the world has ever seen. We will only use recycled fiber made from old denims.

Really? I’ve been in the textile business for over forty years. I’ve never heard of anything like that.

Scott laughed again; a hearty laugh that was more than humor … it was a statement of his superiority. Polly does things that main stream manufacturing is incapable of doing; incapable of even thinking about.

How does the process work?

Assured of his audience of one, Scott answered, his enthusiasm growing with every word, Polly has a plant in Tennessee that regenerates cotton from blue jeans. It’s a sight to see, and we are the only ones who know how to do it; the only ones who have the rights to do it. Polly developed the process and holds patents on that and several other things - leather, wood, plastic. We’ll use this plant to change the world of disposable wipes … and other areas.

The blonde-haired woman returned to the office area with Polly. The three men and Jerry stayed out in the plant. In conversation and with a business card exchange that he orchestrated, Trey was able to capture the blonde’s name without revealing he had not paid attention earlier … before there was a reason to pay attention. According to her business card, Grace Lynn Pierson, SHRM was VP of Operations and Human Resources for Rip-Card, LLC, an odd combination of duties, somewhat in conflict. Polly extolled the coming new company, Con-Card, with confident enthusiasm. After a few minutes of excited conversation, open to anyone in earshot, Polly retreated to a vacant office that Trey offered as privacy to make a phone call on her cell phone. Scott wandered away to the bathroom, obviously distancing himself from the detailed conversations that were taking place. Grace asked Trey if she could talk with him in his office.

Grace was in her early forties, well maintained and flirty … cute and perky, a natural coquette, something ingrained in her character, almost like a teenager; something that apparently worked for her. Her behaviors were not aggressive but they were out of place for a person with Human Resources responsibilities. Her bra strap and skirt waistband required frequent adjustments. Unlike Polly’s professional and trendy attire, Grace’s loosely draped skirt was too short for squirming in an office chair; she bought her clothes from places like Dillard’s or Macy’s - off the rack, not tailored.

Trey’s office furniture was in an open arrangement; desk against the wall with a small circular table shoved into a corner with a couple of armed chairs facing the center of the room. He liked face-to-face meetings, no barriers to open discussion. He wanted to see and read body language; he trusted his own body language to show he was sincere.

Grace’s constant leg movements were disconcerting, if not a distraction to focused conversation. How many of your people do you think will be interested in staying here? she asked once she shut the door and settled into a chair.

Trey tried to maintain his calm exterior. He didn’t want to overplay his enthusiasm; he didn’t want to sell the laid-off employees short. Some have moved on during the last nine months or so, but most of them have only been out of here about a month. They’re still looking. There’s not much in the way of manufacturing jobs left in the area.

So, how many do you think would come work for us? Grace opened a zippered note book and twisted in her chair to lay it on the round table, a motion that pushed her skirt further up her thighs.

Trey considered the question. He didn’t want to promise more than could be delivered. Probably seventy-five percent, depending on the pay and benefits; maybe more.

Really? That’s good. Are they key people?

A lot of the maintenance men and the line operators have been here for twenty-five or more years – a few since the plant opened in the mid seventies; they were among the very last to leave. These machines and these processes are all that many of them know. If you offer decent pay, they are yours. This is home, familiar to them.

Grace’s eyes reflected her excitement. Her hair bounced when she spoke. That’s wonderful! What do you think we would have to pay? She poised her pen to write.

Trey considered how to present the best case for his people; they were his people in the sense that he cared for them, that he tried to help them in every way possible, that he was experiencing the same life changing job loss as them. I can give you a list of names, job skills and current pay – if that will help. He handed her a spiral bound nine-by-eleven booklet. This is something I put together and mailed out to all area employers. I wrote a resume for every one of our employees and put it in this booklet to help them find a job. It was the least I could do.

Grace thumbed through the book, sectioned by general skill sets. Her eyes reflected her amazement at what she observed. This is wonderful. God bless you for what you did for these people.

Trey blinked, his mind flooded with the cathartic nature of the task; creating the book of resumes helped him deal with the loss of his job, and the pain felt by his friends. He had not let anyone help him with the task, not even Marsha. He handed Grace a sheet of paper. You can cross reference this pay list with those resumes. Each job title has a pay rate.

That’s fantastic! What about benefits?

I can give you the plan summary of our medical insurance and what part of employee coverage the company pays. We have a couple of life insurance options as well. We have a standard 401(k) with a match for the first three percent. I also have a list of holidays and our vacation program.

Once the details were settled on what Trey would provide in an e-mail, Grace walked into the outer office area where an unused reception desk was positioned near the lobby window. She adjusted her skirt waist one more time, then sat at the desk and re-opened her notebook. Her skirt was less of a distraction behind the desk. Trey’s assistant returned to the office about that time leading a few curious employees, all salaried with final shutdown responsibilities. Marsha had made it her duty to inform everyone who would listen about the visitors. They parked themselves in front of the reception desk and began an interrogation of the perpetually smiling … and pleasantly tolerant … blonde-haired woman. Art returned from his doctor’s appointment and encountered Scott, who followed him to his office after a brief introduction to Grace.

Polly soon joined Grace and the small gathering of employees. They engaged in excited discussions about the plans Polly had for the plant once she closed the deal. The word ‘if’ was not in play. Trey watched Polly’s enthusiasm fill the room, spreading like an infection among the small crowd, while Grace served as her cheerleader. He was happy … and worried … about the excitement in his people’s eyes and voices. Both women commented on, and laughed about, Jerry’s intensity during the tour. A team of contractors was in the process of removing expensive and hard to find components of the hydro-entangling production line. When Jerry heard what Polly’s plan was, he vainly tried to stop the removal of those components.

Polly requested a private meeting with Art before her entourage left.

As soon as Polly and her team left, Art walked into Trey’s office and shut the door, blocking away the still curious plant employees who were hungrily discussing what they had heard. What do you think?

Trey exhaled heavily and shook his head, Not sure. It sounds awfully good, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Our people don’t need false hope, so I would just as soon keep this low key.

Art nodded and smiled wryly, Me too. Did you hear what all they are planning? The Plant Manager’s own enthusiasm was hard to disguise. Even though the man’s hair was fully gray, he was eight years younger than Trey. Unlike Trey, his work career was nowhere close to ending.

I don’t know if I heard all but I heard some. The biggest thing I heard was about recycling old blue jeans to make fiber and then card it into web for baby wipes. What did you hear?

Pretty much the same thing, plus something about leather scraps. Polly and Scott both said that StayClean Wipes was going to buy everything her company could produce; that they have a ten-year exclusive contract with StayClean and financial support from them.

Really? Trey was incredulous. Financial support? That doesn’t sound like the StayClean that we did business with for years.

Art chuckled, That’s what I was thinking. Scott was also telling me about a silver antiseptic cleaner that he bought the rights to. He said he wants to produce it here as well.

Silver? Is that the name of it?

No, he said it’s a formula that uses the antibiotic properties of silver to combat contamination and infection … supposedly kills MRSA on contact.

Trey laughed. Hey, whatever they want to do; but I’m not sure they really want to get into the medical business. This plant is a long way from that kind of facility. That stuff will be knee deep in the FDA and CFR 21 with accompanying intense Government inspection; things that will make our ISO Quality System look like child’s play. They’ll need to build a clean room, among other things.

Art winced and smiled wryly. Big dreams. They both said Grace was supposed to talk to you about people. His words were intoned more like a question than a statement.

Yeah. I gave her what I could that was legal; employee names, skill sets, pay, insurance and benefits information. She asked me how many would come back to work. I told her at least seventy-five percent if the pay was right.

You gave her that stuff? Is that wise?

Nothing that violates HIPAA or confidentiality of employees or Amalgamated. Everything I gave her is published on documents available to all our employees without restriction and are probably scattered around town already. Besides, I’m scrambling to find jobs for as many as I can before I leave.

Even salaried?

She didn’t ask about salaried, other than if any would come work for them. I gave her everyone’s resume, just in case.

Did she ask about Jerry?

Not specifically. Why?

Art laughed. Polly and Scott both think he’s an engineer. They want him because he’s an engineer. I tried to tell them that he’s an operator who became a supervisor; that he’s not educated as an engineer.

He knows a lot about the place. He’s been around long enough. He can talk a good talk.

He created a stir is all I know. He told the contractors to leave and quit taking parts off the machines. Hale’s bitch called me at the doctor’s office and wanted to know why I was stopping the contractors.

Rick called? How in Hell did it get back to Corporate so fast? Is that why you got back in here so early? Trey saw humor in the comment.

Yeah. Apparently, the contractor called Corporate as soon as Jerry started his BS. Rick called me on my cell. I told Bob to get off his computer and go straighten it out with the contractors and to tell Jerry to shut his mouth.

Trey laughed, I bet that caused Bob to hyperventilate.

I don’t give a damn. I told him to do the tour for a reason. He knew I was out of the plant, so he shoved it off onto Jerry because he knew Jerry would do it without question.

So, Trey changed to a sincerer tone, did they talk to you about joining them?

Art chuckled nervously. They won’t want someone like me. They have their own plant management strategy. Did they offer you anything?

No. I guess they won’t need an old HR Manager either. It would appear that Jerry is the only salaried person they expressed interest in.

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Trey and Art opened the door and walked into the outer office which was buzzing with excited conversation led by Jerry Stockholm. It was a larger group of salaried people, as well as the few remaining hourly people – almost everyone who was left in the plant. Even one of the contractors was listening near the doorway.

They’re going to open all three lines and put in an antibiotic line. They want me to be the plant manager, Jerry was extolling Polly’s plans for the factory, ignoring the fact that the current Plant Manager was standing in the group. Polly said she needs someone like me who knows all the lines and the processes as well as the plant layout. This is going to be big for all of us, and I intend to hire everyone who wants to keep working here.

Art’s presence affected the listeners more than it affected the speaker. Nervous shuffles and smirks toward Jerry replaced the attentiveness.

Marius Kendal, the plain-spoken Maintenance Manager, walked away shaking his head and muttered just loud enough for Trey to hear him, If they think he’s plant manager material, they’re dumber than they look.

Art went into his office and closed the door. He wanted to make a call to his boss, Rick Marlin, to find out what Amalgamated Nonwovens knew about Polly Dodgem and Con-Card or Rip-Card. Trey sat at the fringe of the group and listened to Jerry until the group gradually repositioned so that Trey was the center of attention.

What do you and Art think about this, Trey? asked the Quality Manager, a frank-spoken woman with a shortage of tact.

I think it’s in its infancy. They’re just checking the plant to see if it meets their needs. This is their first visit here. They didn’t realize the sale is actually for the property and not the equipment.

Jerry interrupted; dissatisfied he had lost his primary position in the conversation. But they do want the equipment. I’ll stop the contractors.

Trey shook his head, Jerry, you can’t stop the contractors. Amalgamated is cannibalizing these lines for parts they need in the other plants. Amalgamated owns the equipment; we have nothing to say about what they take. They’re only offering the property for sale. Sometimes Jerry’s eager-to-please attitude was aggravating, especially when he ignored the reality that was in his face.

But Polly needs those parts; they can’t take them.

Trey exhaled, smiled calmly, and slowly said, Amalgamated doesn’t care what Polly needs. They’re selling the building and property, not the equipment. The way it’s priced, the equipment will be removed for salvage. Art has already toured a couple of scrap dealers.

They can’t do that. Polly wants to run this plant, especially my hydro-entangling line.

The Quality Manager laughed and said, Jerry, don’t you get it? It’s not about what Polly wants. She grinned at the rest of the group and tilted her head to indicate Jerry, Polly wants a cracker. She got the round of derisive laughter she was seeking.

But she’s going to open the plant and she wants me to run it for her.

TWO

SEPTEMBER – OCTOBER, YEAR ONE

Trey fielded questions from the dwindling staff and displaced former workers until the day he filled out his own severance papers and signed them with Marsha as his witness. He witnessed hers on the same day as well. Jerry and his Manager were assigned the duty of transitioning some products to a plant in Pennsylvania with a resin bond line. Trey was offered the option to move to Pennsylvania as HR Manager for the same plant. He had held that responsibility for three years as remote HR Manager with an Assistant on site there; in fact, he was HR Manager for three separate sites. He had no desire to relocate at his age. Early retirement made more sense. He was burned out; he didn’t want to ever have to tell another person that they were fired, that they no longer had a job. He also didn’t want to deal with complaints from the Pennsylvania plant about perceived wrongs perpetrated by Amalgamated Nonwovens. He had more to complain about than they did.

A man in his early sixties can’t find a job in manufacturing in an area that has lost more than half of its manufacturing plants and nearly two thirds of its manufacturing jobs. Even as a ‘protected class’, hiring companies could easily opt for a forty-something applicant with more potential years of service without violating the Civil Rights Act, rather than hire a man whose work life was limited to less than a decade. Trey considered his options. Relocating was not one he was willing to entertain; his wife owned a small business in the area; they were both born and raised there. Their grandchildren were in the area. His original retirement plans did not involve early retirement, but unemployment benefits would not extend until he turned sixty-six. He only had six months of severance, plus a lump sum settlement called a retention bonus – a bribe to get him to stay long enough to do all the shutdown dirty work for Amalgamated Nonwovens. Truth be known, he would have stayed without the bribe; he didn’t want unknown faces dealing with the people of the plant, many of whom he had known for almost three decades. But he was glad to take Amalgamated’s money. At his age, his options were severely limited. The availability of insurance was his greatest concern; medical insurance was the one thing that might make early retirement impossible.

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Hello, Trey? The woman’s voice was tentative, unsure.

Yes. The caller ID did not recognize the number but it was a Tennessee area code, so he answered a call that he would have normally let go to voicemail – just in case. This is Trey.

Grace laughed with relief. Oh good. I wasn’t sure if I had the right number. I had to ask Jerry because you gave me everyone’s number except your own.

Trey replied bemusedly, I guess I was more concerned about the people than I was about myself. Sorry about that. He honestly had not believed Polly’s company would be a reality; nor did he believe Polly would be interested in him because Grace was her HR person. The main reason he didn’t believe in the dream was that he knew baby wipes manufacturers wanted white material for their wipes; mothers wanted white wipes that looked sterile and sanitary for their babies, not old denim blue.

That’s okay, Grace laughed. God has a way of making things right. The reason I called; Polly asked me to see if you could contact all the salaried people who might be interested in working for us. See if they will come to the plant for interviews.

Trey’s heart beat a little faster. Oh, did Polly already close on the property?

No, but she got permission from the company to use the offices. Do you have a key?

Actually, I have a key to the outer door of the front offices, but not the inner security door. I know how to access the employee security door though … if they haven’t changed the code. I can come in from behind and open the doors.

Good. Have everyone show up early Tuesday. How are you doing?

Trey smiled at his phone. Her HR side had kicked in; she understood; he appreciated the concern. I’m decompressing. That’s about all I can say.

I imagine. I’ve handled a few isolated terminations and what I thought was a huge layoff at the company I used to work for, but I can’t imagine how I could handle the anguish of terminating an entire factory of two hundred people. I’ve been praying for you.

Thank you. I wish I could say I had never done it before, but I had to do something similar about thirty years ago and I’ve had to handle more downsizings than I care to remember. I hope I learned from my past mistakes and did this one better. No one went postal and most of the people stayed until the last minute; that’s a win as far as I’m concerned.

Grace apparently liked to laugh and giggle. She laughed, There is that. See you Tuesday. This is going to be fantastic. We are all going to have so much fun and God will help erase those bad memories.

Trey placed the calls she requested and again was embroiled in answering questions that he had no clue how to answer other than, Be there Tuesday if you’re interested.

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Tuesday should have been simple and without drama, filled only with hopeful anticipation. Trey should have known better; a factory provides drama, even when it’s shut down. Trey arrived before the announced time so he could have the doors open before everyone arrived. He was late. A few former salaried employees were waiting, nervously pacing around outside the entry door. Jerry met him more than half way from his parking spot.

Jerry’s words were butting against themselves, barely coherent. Do you have a key? You took all my keys. We can’t get in. Polly will be here at any time.

Trey withheld his true feelings. He wanted to tell Jerry to take a deep breath and calm down. The man was too eager, setting himself up for a disappointment if the property sale didn’t materialize; if Polly’s great plans were not exactly as advertised. Trey’s wife was a Realtor, a serious Realtor – not just a license holder like he was; he knew how real estate deals can turn sour at the last minute if either side refuses to budge on a minor point. Polly’s insistence on reopening the factory as a nonwovens plant might cause Amalgamated Nonwovens to balk; added competition in a commodity business was not a good thing. I have a key to the outer door. I’ll walk around to the employee door and come in that way so I can open the inner door.

Oh? It’s open?

It has a cipher code. I didn’t change it. Did you? Trey, Jerry and the Electronic Techs were the only people who knew, or cared to know, how to change the code. The ETs were gone before Trey left, so that meant only Jerry could have changed it … if it was changed.

Jerry’s eyes lit with excitement. No. I can go around and open it, he offered enthusiastically. He wanted to be in the power position of opening the doors when Polly arrived; to show her that he had everything under control.

Trey’s age-related knee issues made it easy for him to not argue. He was not interested in making the trek around the building through dew dampened grass that was over due for cutting. He smiled and motioned for Jerry to make the trek.

Trey walked to the front door and unlocked it. The former Quality Manager laughed and asked, How come you still have a key? She had listened to Jerry’s grousing about keys prior to Trey’s arrival.

Trey chuckled as he unlocked the outer door and watched Jerry hurry across the front lawn toward the side of the plant. I forgot I had a spare in my truck console. I wasn’t going to waste my unemployed gas to return it. I almost tossed it in the trash. Guess it’s a good thing I kept it, huh?

Here they come, said Barry Whitmore. The hyper, former Process Engineer eagerly pointed to indicate that he had seen Polly’s sports car enter the parking lot, followed by two other cars and a pickup truck.

Trey used the end of his key to press a pin that would keep the outer door unlocked. Good. Just in time. Maybe we can hear something positive today. He knew Barry was in worse shape than most; Barry was a young family man, a relatively new hire who didn’t have but two months of severance pay … and that was almost gone. He had a family to support. As a Process Engineer, Barry suffered the indignities always afforded the position, but after the announcement, the old timers felt compassion for their younger colleagues and wished them well.

Jerry met Polly and Grace as soon as they exited their cars and immediately became engaged in a conversation, laughing and gesticulating as he spoke. His mission to unlock the inside door changed as soon as he heard the vehicles enter the parking lot.

Suck up, muttered Marius Kendal. He was not inclined to feel compassion for anyone who didn’t meet his standards of excellence.

Trey realized that the indefatigable former Product System Resource was not going to leave his self-appointed role as one-man welcome committee to unlock the employee door as promised. Trey trudged around the building, high stepping as if by so doing he would keep the moisture from wetting his shoes and socks. No one was getting in until the inner lobby door was opened. As an exit door, it could not be locked from the inside but it was always locked to anyone trying to enter.

The cipher lock on the employee entry door still worked, much to Trey’s relief. An inner door that allowed access to the hallway was locked. Fortunately, the door was keyed the same as the front door. Very few people were aware of that fact because the employee inner door was never locked except when the plant was shut down for holidays, which seldom happened. The boiler operators - who stayed on duty alone - locked it so no one could enter the plant unannounced. It was just as well that Jerry had not gone to use the employee door … he still didn’t have a key of any kind.

Half way down a long hallway that made two opposing ninety degree turns to wind its way from one side of the building to the other – with side doors into manufacturing areas - Marius Kendal guffawed and called out, You’re too slow, Old Man. Jerry couldn’t wait for your slow ass.

How the Hell did they get in? Break the door?

Polly needed to pee, so Jerry had to be the hero and remove the lobby window. Grace’s husband, Paul, is small enough that he climbed through and opened the door from the inside. Whatever Polly wants, Jerry will do. Marius laughed again.

The window was a service window, a piece of Plexiglas with an opening at the bottom to allow small packages and speech to pass. How did they get it out?

Jerry ran to his truck and got a hammer and screwdriver to pry off the trim. They’re up there trying to tear the key box open. Jerry’s not going to be happy until he has his big key ring back on his belt.

Trey, as HR Manager for the Amalgamated Nonwoven’s Batesville and Pennsylvania plants, was accountable for all keys issued to employees and for the safe keeping of spares and returned keys. He was not the last person to leave the Batesville plant, but he was almost last. He confiscated all keys from all salaried employees except Art before he left. The boiler operators would remain until the final day of closing to keep one boiler running for heat. They had keys to everything because they were also charged with security during off hours. Art locked all keys inside a wall mounted key box out of sight inside an HR storeroom when he left. The listing Realtor had necessary plant keys as well as a key to the storeroom and to the key box for obvious reasons. I took his keys before I left. He didn’t need them since Amalgamated was sending him to Pennsylvania for the remainder of his time. I thought he was going to cry. Where are you going?

To see if I can find something to punch the lock out of the key box before they tear it up; that way we only have to replace the lock. They already screwed up the storeroom door by breaking into it.

"Art may have left a set