The Takeover Diaries: A Novel Inspired by the Truth

By Rock Svensson

The Takeover Diaries is a fictional account of the events leading up to the sale of the largest independent in the UK minerals sector. Rock provides a background to the growth of this fictional company and the truth behind the takeover battle that inspired this novel. Some sound business advice arising from these fictional experiences is provided as an added bonus, just in case youre interested.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546217701

Rock Svensson

Rock Svensson is the pen name of a mining engineer from Upper Michigan who came to the United Kingdom in the early 1980s to work for the largest independent company in the minerals sector. His real experiences have been translated into this fictional account of a takeover battle he was involved in. Rock still lives on the West Coast of Scotland where the mountains meet the sea.

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© 2017 Rock Svensson. 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.

Even though this book was inspired by real events, it is purely a work of fiction and must be treated as such in any context at any time. Any reference to persons, companies, organizations, places and people, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/15/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1771-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1770-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

To my determined daughters: I want to let you know I tried really hard to keep the business, for both of you. Things just didn’t work out and now we’re dealing with the changes. I’ve moved on but feel it is important to tell this story now, even if it has to be in a novel. If it looks like I’m trying to hurt anybody, I’m not.

I also want to thank Torts and Bassenthwaite (not their real names either) for putting up with me through this process. Just think, there are more stories to come!

CONTENTS

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter 1     The Vision Thing

Short Stories

The Longshot

Last Thing I’ll Do

Chapter 2     The Winds Of War

Chapter 3     The Vultures From Within.

Short Story

‘The Shooting Parties’

Chapter 4     Trade Sale Time

Chapter 5     The Business Plan

Chapter 6     Finding Funding

Short Story

Yooper In The Strand

Chapter 7     The Offer

Chapter 8     The Drama Of It All

Short Story

Boys In The Boardroom

Chapter 9     The Beginning Or The End?

Short Story

Dunny Money

Chapter 10   Lessons Learned, Navel Gazing, Advice And All That

Short Story

Studying Shakespeare

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

I have always been an outsider. Some people might think I have the inside track on things, but I don’t. I just work away and cause trouble and try to figure out a solution to a problem.

Ever since the takeover, I cringe when I have to meet my relations. That category includes my UK-based brothers-in-law and their entourages. That’s not because I don’t like them nor that I wish to blame them for what happened. I tolerate their company and let them speak. When a family business is sold someone wins and inevitably someone loses.

I don’t classify myself as a loser in that event. Losing my job after the takeover was probably the best thing that ever happened to me (well, maybe after sex, marriage, children and skiing). You can gather from the ambiguity that I have been able to move on but still miss it.

After the most recent somewhat random meeting with relations at Westhill House in Mendipset, England, here’s what I wrote in my diary:

14 June 2010 Westhill/Mendipset

‘At 4.30 Violet [ex sister-in-law] and all the other hangers on came by for tea. This was a waste of time as I had better things to do (I was in the middle of designing 10 hydro-electric projects). But I agreed with Ellie [the mother - in – law] that I would help her out as she had another visitor coming later. Sitting there, listening to them all talking about how they were spending their wealth made me feel uncomfortable. I felt like I had to bite my tongue a few times and not say what I felt:

That none of us, self included – ‘earned’ all this money.

I guess I’m the odd one out as I didn’t want the business to be sold in the first place. It is nearly four years now since that situation came to a climax (on 20th June 2006). I still have all the files and diaries and after this session with those money grabbing hangers on I feel even more determined to get my act together and write that book about it all. I had better get on with it.’

INTRODUCTION

S o there you have it. I decided a long time ago that I would write a book about the sale of Wingers Limited. Not only would it be an interesting business case study but it just might influence all the folks with family businesses still out there. It took a long time to complete this but I had lots of other things going on and then I lost the whole file on the computer and then I was told nobody would publish the real thing so I had to rewrite it as fiction and then I lost that too so have probably just about learned my lesson.

You have spent some money buying this book and I appreciate that and thank you for it in advance (and if you like my style, check out some of my other trashy stuff on Amazon. This is not a flash in the pan. I had a stint of novel and short story writing and managed to get them published as well. A health warning: They really are trashy. Just type in my name in the author’s link and have your credit card ready). Once this is done I am going back to the fiction so you have not heard the last from me in that genre. But as this is fiction I guess I’ll just keep going.

When this book was nearly complete in its non-fiction form, I made a decision. The book was not complete. Something was missing. I wanted to take a different slant that just the plain old ‘business case study’ stuff. So I decided to spice it up a bit by writing a few short stories. Not only does it keep me in practice for my return to writing for entertainment’s sake, it also helps to tell this story of my life with Wingers. The short stories are relevant in that they help to re-create the scenes, add some colour and perhaps better explain the feelings at the time. And yes, they are all fiction. I might have paraphrased some of the dialogue, but rest assured that all of these short stories are fiction, even if they were inspired by real events. I have some stories to tell and this seemed like a good opportunity.

Another decision was made for me by the publishers. For legal reasons the book had to be altered into a total work of fiction, inspired by the truth. Many would say you could not have made it up. One of the hardest things was to change all of the names and because of this the meaning gets lost and for that I apologize. But being a work of fiction gets me off the hook in many ways as well.

There were going to be numerous scans of documents relating to the takeover of Wingers. While they are an integral part of the story and part of the ‘inspiration’ and had approval to be published from the sources, my lily-livered publisher won’t allow them, either. So I’m pressing the delete button and letting a lot of people off the hook. Oh well, maybe one day someone will come to me for the real story, warts and all.

In the meantime, let’s get back to business. Here’s what you’ll get in return for your money from The Takeover Diaries:

1. An insight into how a small ‘backwater’ family-owned quarrying company became the largest independent in its sector. Having travelled the world promoting the way we were able to develop our business model, I feel pretty confident that Wingers was one of its kind and as many admirers told me: World-class. That in itself is an interesting business case study and is detailed in Chapter 1. Let’s call that chapter ‘The Vision Thing’. Rest assured a lot of blood sweat and tears went into the success that was Wingers Limited. I have included two ‘short but inspired by the truth’ stories in this chapter to introduce my early days with the Wingers.

2. An understanding of the dynamics and dysfunction and circumstances that inevitably occur in a family business. How these are dealt with (or not dealt with) are detailed in Chapter 2 : ‘The Winds of War’.

3. When the circumstances were right ‘The Vultures from Within’ made a bid for the Company. That’s a good name for Chapter 3 and you’ll see how we let that happen. An offer was made for the company by these vultures in January 2006 which set the whole thing in motion. It was waiting to happen for a long time. Another short but inspired by the truth story brings us up to speed with the development of the business and all the other things that were going on which I’ve titled The Shooting Parties.

4. Instead of saying ‘thank – you – very – much – for- the - management – buy – out’ we sort of said ‘F*** Off’. This precipitated a ‘trade sale’ due to the shareholding structure, trusts and beneficiaries. That was another thing that was allowed to happen. This chapter combines some of the historical and legal stuff which led to the inevitable requirement to offer the company up to the multinationals instead of doing an ‘inside’ deal with my brothers-in-law. Chapter 4 is called Trade Sale Time.

5. The race was on. We were the last great independent in the sector up for sale. We decided to join the fray and assembled a bid team of our own. I had to sell our house to pay for lawyers and accountants. Buying a company is not cheap, nor is making the effort in the first place. We were pretty inexperienced in the world of high finance and corporate takeovers but learned quickly. We got a lot of help from all corners and made the best of it. We even had a ‘business plan’ and you can see how we made it work in Chapter 5.

6. Chapter 6 deals with all the mechanics and wheeling and dealing of ‘Finding Funding’. There were lots of trips to London and I tell about one of them in the short but inspired by the truth story: Yooper in the Strand.

7. We managed to put it all together and in Chapter 7 you will see how we assembled it (much to our surprise) and make ‘The Offer’. Unfortunately I cannot include a copy of that either.

8. In ‘The Drama of it All’ it all comes to the inevitable ending. That is a bit like the Titanic sinking: You know the ending because of history but you want to see ‘how’ it happened and get my take on it. You will get that. An alternate title could have been ‘Their Spies were better than our Spies’. I decided to portray the boardroom drama in a different light with the short but inspired by the truth story: Boys in the Boardroom.

9. The aftermath of the sale of the business and trying to figure out what to do next is introduced in The End or the Beginning. A short but inspired by the truth story called Site Visit captures my mood at the time.

10. Finally, the final chapter provides some possible take home comments. It is called Lessons Learned. I also write about other lessons in the Short but inspired by the truth story Studying Shakespeare. If you have a family-owned business or work in one, you might find some of this stuff useful. If you are with a multi-national corporate environment I think you’ll find some of my comments on conduct and courtesy useful. If you are an outsider, like me, there are some lessons there too.

I keep a diary and have done so for over 35 years (the volumes fill up a whole shelf in my office bookcase). I prefer to call these ‘journals’ as in the UK the word diary is downgraded to not much more than a schedule or calendar.

This is the first bit of advice I’ll offer: Just a page a day and you’ll be amazed at the results. I use it for planning, thinking and organising myself in addition to writing about the day’s events.

The Journal entries appear in italics. Where I have done some editing or inserted something to provide an explanation or clarity, it is noted by these brackets []. Otherwise it is direct from the diary, bad grammar and all. Each entry is noted by the date and the principal places I found myself in that day with the final location where I spent the night. On a few occasions I have scanned drawings, ‘mind maps’, tables and country maps to provide further clarity.

Another note of clarity: There are plenty of units and dimensions which could cause some confusion. That is the mantra of the quarrying industry: Take something very simple like making small rocks from big rocks and confuse it with lots of nomenclature. There is the ‘tonne’. This is a British word for ‘ton’ and it weighs 1000 kilograms or 2204 pounds. This is different from the ‘ton’ in the United States which weighs 2000 pounds. This was invented so that the Brits could say to the yanks ‘at least our tonnes are bigger than your tons’. Not. Then you have things like tph (which means metric tonnes per hour) or tpa (again metric tonnes per annum or year).

Then we have currencies to deal with. In 2006 the Pound Sterling was worth about 1.9 US dollars. So in round terms if you take the £ figure and multiply it by 2 when you see it you will get a quick conversion to dollars at the time. For those of you in the Euro-zone or other currencies, you will just have to suffer and figure it out for yourself.

The second bit of advice on offer: Don’t bear a grudge. I don’t despise my relations for selling off what was a great family business. I’m not going to use this book as a vehicle for taking cheap shots. I’m not going to go on about all the employees, customers, and stakeholders that we let down in a big way. I won’t brandish or humiliate my brothers-in-law for selling off the business their father and mother built up from nothing. History will do a good enough job of that. I just wish they could have waited until the older generation had passed on.

With that in mind I want to use this opportunity to thank the Wingers family. I thank them for trusting me in the first place all those years ago and then letting me marry their daughter and then eventually becoming an ‘insider’ of sorts and then being allow to lead the effort in this takeover battle. Despite losing it all, it was a battle worth fighting. For that reason I don’t think they will mind that I am finally getting this off my chest and I hope some of you out there gain some benefit from the experiences I’m going to share with you in ‘The Takeover Diaries’. Thank you.

Rock

Somewhere in Scotland, looking out my window across the sea towards the mountains on Skye in 2017

CHAPTER 1

The Vision Thing

E veryone in the UK aggregates/quarrying industry and beyond knew that JJ Wingers was a man of vision. His plans and actions set out enough work to last for generations.

Much has been written about JJ. This is the rest of the story, my own take on him based on my direct involvement with him. I really only knew him for about 7 years but his views and vision would have a profound influence on me for the rest of my career.

Just for the sake of reference, there is a book out there that inspired this novel. I can’t give you the name of that either but it has pictures of ships and railway locos on the cover. I suggest that you read that book for it is an interesting historical account. You will find that I am mentioned in the dispatches for my assistance on it. I did a lot of editing and had a lot of involvement in the drafting of the final chapters, dealing with the developments of the quarrying business in the past 35 years (the most interesting part in my view).

We intentionally downplayed the ‘Takeover’ in that book because we wanted The Wingers Story to be a celebration of the life and times of JJ Wingers. As this book is going to drag up the dirt about the takeover and what caused it, there are not going to be many celebrations here, I can assure you. Despite all that, I feel it is indeed useful to set the background of the ethos of Wingers Limited and that has to start with Mr JJ.

‘Mr JJ’ (which I and everyone preferred to call him and distinguishes him from his son JJ whom I won’t dwell on for now) appeared to have about 7 main strategies that he stuck to in his business and personal life. These characteristics became apparent to me very quickly in my career with Wingers. They are summed up in the following bullet points and throughout this chapter I’ll illustrate how they really became part of ‘The Vision Thing’:

1. Think and plan from a long- term time frame

2. Hire smart young people and encourage new ideas

3. Seek advice from people throughout the organisation

4. Be charming when you need to and a bastard when that’s needed too

5. Find the money to do it all, somehow

6. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. If you’re right about 50% of the time you’ll succeed

7. See and learn what others do, then try to relate it to your business, introduce it using the points above, and watch what happens. Usually terrific success.

As you’d expect many of these points are inter-related and are pretty much common sense. The difference with Mr JJ was that he was single minded enough about all of it to make it work. Of course I was the beneficiary of some of these points and this is my side of the story of how it all developed. We’ll start with the last point first.

Mr JJ and his mates would travel, in the 1960’s and 1970’s, to mining operations in the USA to gather their ideas and see he could integrate them into his business (#7). He felt that the UK quarrying industry was backward at best and found much the same in the US quarry industry. But the iron ore mining industry was different. It was being run by engineers in big companies with big plans to grow the domestic steel industry by supplying iron ore pellets from big open pits in northern Minnesota and Upper Michigan, railed to port and then shipped on vessels through the Great Lakes to the steel mills.

Wherever he went on tour of an iron ore operation he and his team would usually be accompanied by a young mining or mineral processing engineer. When asked where they had studied their trade most of the responses were enthusiastic about the Michigan College of Mining and Technology, now known as Michigan Tech. Likewise, in meetings with suppliers of big scale mining or mineral processing equipment, the name of that university came up.

Mr JJ was interested in that as he had a son Elton who had a good head on his shoulders and he wanted him to train as a mining engineer then enter the family business. Elton’s ‘cards were marked’. As soon as Mr JJ returned to the UK from one of those trips he wrote to Michigan Tech’s President to reserve a ‘place’ in mining engineering degree program for Elton. Elton was about 12 at the time and the Michigan Tech President wrote back to say he would be welcome when he was about 18! (Refer to attribute #1 about long term perspective). I saw the letter and later in life would occasionally meet the President Emeritus and he would dine out on that story of the esteem folks held for Michigan Tech. I am still among those who hold esteem for Michigan Tech.

The ideas from the iron range were successfully implemented in Mendipset in the 60s and 70s to redevelop a once disused limestone quarry into the UK’s largest unit at the time. This coincided with a spike in demand brought on by the motorway building programme in the UK. The development of rail transport to reduce delivery costs and use of satellite depots with value – added facilities like asphalt plants were added to increase market penetration and profits.

Meanwhile, back in Michigan I was growing up in slightly different circumstance. In 1976 I moved from my birthplace in Grayrock (in the Lower Peninsula of the state) to Minetown which is where Michigan Tech is located. Both of my elder brothers were engineering students at Tech and my parents had bought a place in Minetown so none of us would have to stay in the dorms. I had to spend my senior year of high school in new surroundings, away from the parents and pretty much on my own.

Michigan Tech was one of those sorts of Universities that had a particular appeal, a bit like a rough sea on a boat or a steep treacherous pitch on a mountain, full of fresh powder. One might call it impossible or at best a challenge, but to another it would be something to relish. For my father (who was a Tech Alumni), his ambition in life was to see all seven of his children go to Tech and get an engineering degree. As he said, once you get an engineering degree you can do what the hell you want. When we were at the stage of life when we were discussing university options he told me, ‘I’ll give you three choices: You can go to Michigan Technological University, Michigan Tech, or MTU".

I think I knew that I really had little choice so would make the best of it. In that respect Elton’s father and my father were probably not much different. Elton and I were probably not much different either in being resigned to the fact that we were destined for Tech and were going to make the best of it. Not everyone thought of Michigan Tech with such platitudes. Elton’s mother would refer to it as ‘That pick and shovel school’ and there were other geographical and cultural issues that will be revealed later which were incubated in that part of the world.

The positive side of knowing that I had no choice other than to attend Michigan Tech led to a turning point in my life as I managed to convince myself that I wanted to become a Mining Engineer. I think that came from a combination of the tales that my grandfather (a Swedish immigrant and miner) told me, the sense of adventure it offered and the knowledge that lots of mines are located in mountains and I also had a pretty keen interest in skiing. My ski racing efforts were unfortunately pretty mediocre as I was raised on a bump of a hilI near Grayrock called Cub Mountain (we could ski to the hill and back) but the team managed to qualify for the high school state championships my junior year and I was team MVP.

When my cards were marked that I was going to Minetown I set my sights on skiing at a better hill (Mont Quincy) and hopefully skiing for the Varsity team at Michigan Tech. I had to get through my senior year first and that was going to be a challenge: Going from a somewhat secure and comfortable background after having been in the same school system for 12 years to one of uncertainty of having to make new friends and start all over again. It was a bit like starting university a year early.

I had that year on my own in Minetown and caught the eye of the skiing and mining program recruiters. That was not too difficult as mining was not exactly awash with enrolment and I was practicing on a par with members of the Tech skiing team. I was graduated from Minetown High School in the spring of 1977 and enrolled at Tech that autumn with a scholarship from some Minerals Industry Education Foundation. I recalled that somewhere on the application I wrote that I was committed to a career in mining and would like to own a mine one day. I had also done pretty well on the skiing front and was invited to try out for the university team without a scholarship offer but plenty of good intentions.

My first meeting with Elton Wingers happened on the way to the American Institute of Mining Engineers (now called SME) Minnesota Section convention in January 1978. The SME was very good about encouraging students to travel and attend with free admission and lots of free drink at this annual ‘festival’ held in a frigid Duluth, Minnesota. We eventually started having classes together, studied together and partied together. I was getting a bit of a reputation as a BMOC (Big Man on Campus) by making the varsity alpine skiing team as a freshman walk - on. I also wrote for the University newspaper, The Michigan Tech Lode and even had an occasional column called ‘Travels With"—mostly about the antics of travelling with some of the school’s sports teams on ‘road trips’. Not bad for a freshman. Elton got a bit of a reputation for buying a brand new Volkswagen Sirocco with his American Express card. Somehow we managed to find ourselves tied for the best grade-point average in the freshman class of Mining Engineering students. All that would change.

Because of all my extra – curricular activities I let my academics and motivation slip during 1978/79. I elected to go on co-op (sandwich course with industry) in the spring of ’79 right at the end of the collegiate ski racing season. I had taken a job in Southwestern Wyoming which placed me in a good location for spring skiing at the Utah resorts. I made some money, did lots of skiing, learned about the industry and got my motivation back. Elton and I corresponded occasionally. I would tell him about life and times in the minerals industry and he would reply back on the stationary they used to give you for flying on Concorde. His letters let me know what was going on back at Tech and as the summer drew on, the polo season back in England. I had done a rather amusing article on that sport in which he excelled for ‘The Lode’ during our freshman year.

We both returned to Minetown in the autumn of ’79. We arranged to meet up before autumn term classes started. The following will give you a flavour of how my life was going and how it was going to change back then:

SHORT STORY NUMBER ONE

THE LONGSHOT

The late August air around the Great Lakes area was humid and heavy. It had a taste to it. After six months in the dry desert badlands of South-western Wyoming, Rock was feeling the pleasure of this new air in his lungs as he drove towards Michigan’s Keweenaw Peninsula on M28. Both windows of his pickup were rolled down and a cassette was playing ‘Running on Empty". He looked out at the outcrops of black basalt and up at the canopy of tall maple trees with big green leaves nearly covering the highway and felt like he was nearly home.

Before long he was driving down the hill into Minetown past more outcrops and then found his way along the bumpy backstreets to the small house kitty-corner from the parking lot of the St Ignatius Church. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon.

His sister heard him pull in the driveway which was on a slope like everything else in Minetown. She came out the kitchen door which was towards the back of this place they shared on South Avenue.

The first thing she said to him was Where the hell you been? I thought you were gonna be here a few days ago.

He noticed that she must have had a good summer at the Minetown County beach. He did not have any suntan to speak of as most of his spring and summer had been spent underground.

Rock replied, Gee, Marie, I didn’t think it mattered. I decided to pull into Hibbing for a few days and look at Hibtac and Minntac with Steve Lodestar. Then I went to the farm and helped gramps redo the inside of the barn. I tried to call from there to let you know what was going on but nobody was around.

She shrugged her shoulders after a brother/sister hug. No biggie. That Elton Wingers guy has called for you a coupla times, as has Garton. Doc stopped in for a few beers last night. They all want to see you.

That’s great. I’ll give them all a call once I get this unloaded.

He had walked to the back of the red Ford F100 that had collected a few dents but otherwise was in good condition. A heavy canvas tarp borrowed from their dad was lashed over the truck bed and he was starting to untie the knots. Marie came to help him and they lifted the tarp off the back end and began folding it over toward the cab.

Good trip then, ‘eh? How was gramps? She asked.

Rock thought about his days with their grandfather and got himself ready for a response:

Yah, Gramps was pretty hilarious, you betcha. We didn’t have a measuring tape so we cut all da plywood to refit da milking stalls using two sticks eh, side by each. I did all dat measuring and didn’t get a single cut wrong, ‘eh. Rock was right back into the Yooper accent imitating his grandfather who was a Swedish immigrant. A Yooper was someone who was from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

Must be your engineering expertise

Hardly. Anyhow, we painted the whole thing white. Dem cows didn’t know what ta tink when they wandered back in after a few days of being out. I had a great time.

She shrugged her shoulders like she did after he had told a story, then looked into the back of the truck.

What’s with all the beer?

That question came after seeing the eight cases of Coors. Even in 1979 you could not easily get it east of the Mississippi. Rock had decided to stock up in Billings, Montana after he had coasted the truck all the way down Beartooth Pass towards Red Lodge. That was after a few days in Nelson and Yellowstone on the way home. It had been a great trip for him. He did not let his grandfather see all the cases of beer but did show him the samples of trona, coal, and oil shale that he had brought back with him from Wyoming.

Marie had made her way to the rock samples while Rock was carrying the cases up the slope of the driveway to the back door of the house. She took more interest in the rocks than the beer as she was studying geological engineering at Michigan Tech. She waited for him to return before asking him about the gossip coming from Northern Colorado relating to the piece of shale.

Did you hear that they cut the funding for that big project at Parachute?

Yeah. That was a bummer. Typical of big oil, though. It’ll come back one day. Maybe they won’t even have to mine it. Talk was going on about developing some method of hydraulic fracturing or even microwaving the stuff to get it out. He paused and considered the piece of oil shale she was holding.

Not so sure about uranium though after Three Mile last spring.

Did you get any of that? she asked with those inquisitive blue eyes in anticipation to see if he had any samples of the renowned paleokart carbonates.

No, I went to a couple of exploration sites between Lander and Laramie but didn’t know what I was looking for. And I didn’t have a Geiger counter in my back pocket either. Check out that big lump of coal though. Right out of a road cutting near Rock Springs. Seam must have been 10 feet thick. And I got lots of samples of trona. The clear stuff is pretty neat; the guys in my mining section called it ‘TV trona’.

Marie picked up a piece of the translucent material about four inches thick and was able to see her hand on the other side. She asked, So do they really turn this into baking soda?

Yep, the Arm and Hammer guys had a mine about 10 miles from us. They call it ‘sodium sesquacarbonate’ as it has a bunch of H2O tagged onto it and all they do is cook it away, in simple terms. Most of our output goes as a flux in glass making. We couldn’t keep up with demand.

Yeah, I got credit for mineralogy too. You’d better keep up with appearances and speak to your buddies after you get this unloaded. I’ll make us some dinner and then I’m going out. Pork chops OK?

Great. Thanks. This won’t take long, Rock said as he loaded up some more cases of Coors to carry up to the back door.

Rock took a shower after dinner and trimmed a bit of his beard in the upstairs toilet. His grandpa had told him he ‘looked like a monkey’ when he had arrived at the farm on the outskirts of Ironwood just over the state line from Wisconsin.

That seemed like a long time ago already. He had managed a few wood-fired saunas and a few long discussions with his grandpa, all about his mining adventures in Wyoming. They had laughed together in the sauna trying to compare the room and pillar technique employing automated continuous miners to the sub-level stoping Gramps had worked using jackleg drills at the Quincy Mine in Hancock. Rock had explained that the trona was a layered deposit at 4500 feet deep which was totally different to the vein mining of the copper country’s native copper deposits. All Gramps could conclude was:

You know nothing. I worked on da 85 level. Beat dat.

Rock had heard the stories of the heat in the Quincy Mine. At nearly 9000 feet deep it was one of the deepest yet most productive copper mines in North America and he could see the disused shaft head frame from his bedroom window across the Portage Canal and high up on the other side of the valley.

His grandpa’s stories about the ‘cousin jacks’ always amused him. These were the Cornish tin miners who came over in their droves to work in the copper mines just as gramps had done. They got the name ‘cousin jack’ because whenever a shift boss job opening came up the mine captain would say that job was being saved for ‘my cousin Jack’ who was making his way over from Cornwall. Rock found that a bit ironic as he knew that gramps had gotten his job at the Quincy through a Swedish uncle who himself was a mine captain at one of the other 100-odd mines operating in the district in the early 1900s. Gramps was one of the lucky ones who made it out of the mines in one piece with enough money to buy a farm and educate his children.

Rock made calls to his former Minetown High School friends Garton and Doc but both of them were out and both of their parents said hello and welcome back and asked how Wyoming was and then told them that their sons had girlfriends now so that was keeping them occupied.

Elton Wingers’ number was written on the wall beside the hanger for the phone. He knew the number but checked anyhow as he had not used it in a few months now. He didn’t even have a phone in the trailer he stayed in back in Wyoming so phone calls were not exactly high on his priority list. He wrote letters instead.

Hey England, what’s up? Rock asked Elton as so on as he picked up. Elton had that nickname from his classmates and recognized Rock’s voice straight away.

Laaaars. How are you? Just arrived back I presume?

Rock was the nickname that seemed to be attributed to anyone whose last name was Svensson and lived in the Minetown area.

Yeah. Just today. I made a few stops along the way.

‘Must have been a pretty long drive."

Not as long as your flight. How is your jet lag this time?

Oh, not too bad thanks. I’ve been here for a few days.

So you’ll be ready for a few beers then. Where should we meet up?

Thanks. That would be great. How about the Longshot? I can be there shortly. How are you fixed? He always said things so politely with his soft English accent.

I was born ready. I’ll start walking down to town and see you there. I’ve had enough driving for awhile. Catch you later. Rock set the phone back on the receiver and didn’t give anything another thought as he headed for the door and began the familiar walk downhill towards the drinking district of Minetown, otherwise known as Sheldon Avenue.

It felt good to be walking downhill on the tree lined streets combined with the old timber frame houses set into the steep slopes. He breathed in the heavy air once again and looked across the Portage to the steep green slopes of Mont Quincy which was to the right of the old Quincy Mine from his viewpoint. He spared a thought that in just a few months this warm weather would be gone and the snow would be piled high along these streets and everything would be white and he would be skiing hard over at Quincy.

He had done lots of training in the Western states and liked it. This had included spring skiing at places like Park City only about 60 miles away in Utah. During the summer he had run several half marathons and just completed the one in Nelson Hole on his ride home. Dry land training for the Tech ski team would be starting in few days and so would classes at da Tech. He was ready for all of it but tonight he would take it easy and see what was happening in Minetown on his first night back in town. He was looking forward to catching up with his buddy from England who he called England and wanted to hear what he had to say and what was happening in his life.

Plenty was happening in downtown Minetown. The streets were full of college students walking up and down the sidewalks and crossing Shelden to leave one bar or enter another. It was just getting dark but the bar lights were on and beer was flowing and some of the places were so crowded that people were standing outside. Everyone was there to start fall term and meet old friends or try to make new ones before classes began on Monday.

Rock walked past the Whatley House Hotel or ‘The Doghouse’ as it was commonly known by. He glanced through the big windows and saw the bar was already packed. Further on looking down Isle Royale Street he saw crowds queuing to get into the Library Bar. He carried on the south side of Sheldon and in a few doors just past the taxi depot and the dry clearer was the Longshot Bar. It did not have much of a history compared to the likes of the aforementioned places but was beginning to earn a reputation.

He stepped inside and smelled that familiarity of a bar that had too much beer spilled on the floor from the night before. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dark light he made out Elton’s fit looking form leaning against a partition, looking down at the sunken dance floor. The dance floor was empty at that time in the evening but would be heaving in a few hours when they cranked the music up. Music by the Eagles was blaring at a moderate volume about that hotel in California.

Something looked different and Rock quickly realized it as he tapped him on the shoulder.

Hey, Eng, what’s with the beard?

Elton turned around and raised the bottle of Miller Lite he was sipping from. He beamed a big smile and nodded at Rock.

Looks like I’m trying to keep up with you, mate. He said and gave Rock’s beard a tug.

Think you’re doing a better job of it. Think I’ll get a beer.

Allow me. What are you having?

Same as you. Thanks.

Elton left him at the partition and headed for the bar. Rock took the opportunity to look around and size up the scenery. Many of the usual suspects, groups of girls from the sororities sitting together in the booths made of weathered barn wood. A few fraternity brothers were doing the same, pouring beer from pitchers and eating popcorn at their booths. Everybody was probably talking about their summer activities. He was certain that Elton would be doing the same with him shortly, talking about the usual things.

He brought the beers back and Rock took his and said thanks and they tapped the long neck bottles together and said ‘cheers’ and Rock took that first pull and it felt like he had not left town for six months to work on that Co-op work assignment.

So, how was your summer? Rock asked first.

Great, thanks. Good to be back though. We’re going to have a great time this term. What do you have lined up for classes?

Rock though for a moment, then admitted, I have to repeat fluid mechanics but don’t mind. I think we’ll both be doing materials handling together with Jimbo. I’m going to do that report writing class as I got a lot of good stuff from the project I worked on out west.

You’ll probably do pretty well at that, Rock. And thanks for your letters. I showed them to my parents. My dad liked the bit about your attempt to reorganize the mine surveyors.

Rock laughed at that. He had created a minor revolution at the mine back in Wyoming. In one of his monthly reports and he decided to let rip about lots of things that just were not right at the mine. That led to lots of dissent and even a few changes in management and working practices. It was not the first time he was outspoken about folks not pulling their own weight.

I didn’t mean to piss everyone off. Anyhow, what were you up to?

Oh, the usual, a bit of polo, a bit of partying. A few chats with my dad about the business. He paused for a moment, took a sip of beer, considered his words and continued. Tell me, Rock, what are you going to do when you graduate?

I dunno. Haven’t really thought about it much. Probably go back out west and work in the mountains at some mine or another. Rock shifted about on his feet and looked around the bar, then added:

Skiing’s pretty good out there.

Elton shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgement, then seemed to announce rather than ask:

Ever thought about coming to England?

‘Not really. Why are you asking that?"

My Dad. We have this quarry business in England that I told you about. Well, he’s thinking of expanding it. He sent me back here to ask around and find some guys like you to come over and work in it.

Really? Why me? I mean like, aren’t there plenty of mining engineers still in England?

I’m sure there are. But it’s like this, Rock: Dad reckons that the engineers over there keep telling him what is not possible, rather than what is possible. Back to front in his view. That’s part of the reason why he sent me to Tech in the first place. I showed him some of your letters. He thinks you’d fit in pretty well with us. Elton had another pull on his beer, now that he had finished what he wanted to say. He now wanted Rock to reply.

I really don’t know what to say. Guess I’m pretty flattered. Guess I’m going to have to think about this, Rock sipped on his beer again.

You’ve got plenty of time. We’ll talk about it some more later. I’m sure you’ll have some questions and I’ll try to answer them. I just wanted to let you know now.

Well, thanks for doing that. Let me get you another beer.

Elton held up his beer into the dim light. It was nearly empty.

Naw, come to think of it, I am still a bit jet lagged. I’ll drive back to Hancock now. I think I’ll leave you to it.

Ok. I’ll head back to the Doghouse. It was hoppin’

They set their beer bottles over at the bar and walked back out where it was now darker on a warm evening and streetlights were on and cars passed slowly going one way towards the Portage Lake Lift Bridge. After saying goodnight and making plans to meet up in the Mining department’s study room on campus on Monday, Rock watched Elton head down the street towards his Sirocco which he had parked a few blocks up towards the bridge.

He turned and headed back towards the Doghouse but when he got there it was so crowded he decided not to go in. There would be plenty of time for drinking in the weeks and months ahead and he thought to himself he was in it for the long haul.

As he walked up the hill toward his home he also thought of what his Grandfather would say when he told him he might go to work for the ‘cousin jacks’. He had plenty to think about, And dat’s dat. Fer sure, you betcha’ he said to himself and let out a deep breath. The air still felt good.

END

I did think it through and said I was interested. I was concerned that it would not be fair to either party to jump right into this so suggested we looked at the chances of a summer job to try each other out. Elton said he’d talk to his Dad about it and came back with a positive response. Elton had also talked the same idea to a class mate, Matthew Orr. Matthew was the son of the manager of the biggest mine in North America at the time, Pellets on the Mesabi Range near Taconite Town, Minnesota. Later that year we would make a trip to tour Pellets and I introduced myself to Tommy Orr (recovering from a blistering hangover, much to the amusement of my classmates). Tommy joked with us that if I didn’t take that summer job in England he was going to ask for it.

In late May 1980 I was boarding a jet airplane for the