A Tie That Binds

By James Antonio

James Antonio was born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1943.  After a two-year stint as an army paratrooper, he attended Indiana University in Bloomiington, Indiana where he majored in business and philosophy.  From college, he joined the corporate world as a Yellow Pages representative for the Bell Telephone System.  It was here that he challenged the age-old corporate rule of the necktie for men.  He was fired for that decision and later went on to become the first man in th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640961982

Book preview

1

The Confrontation

Late in the evening of early September 1973, a young man stood at the window of the third floor of the Michigan City Red Lantern Inn on Lake Michigan. The winds were gusting hard, as they did so often on the lake. The water was turbulent. Waves were splashing against the building. The small brick room on the corner had been his home for three weeks. He had chosen not to stay in town at one of the fancier motels with the rest of the advertising crew.

As the water boiled up against the building, he replayed the day in his head like he had done many other evenings in that small room. He distinctly remembered the conversation that had taken place between him and his supervisor.

His boss had asked him to pad his expense account again—as he had before—this time to pay for beer and food for a party he wanted to throw for the crewmembers on a houseboat. The previous time he had needed an extra $25 because he had been the big loser in a poker game the night before and needed to cover his bank account, so his wife wouldn’t miss the money. And before him, a long line of supervisors had asked him to do the same thing over the years. He remembered the shocked look on his boss’s face when he had said no. A three-hundred-pound man, at around five foot eight, stood there, his puffy, red face getting redder, asking him, What do you mean no?

I mean no!

You’ve been playing the game so far. What are you trying to do here, upset the apple cart? What’s your problem?

I don’t have a problem. I’m just tired of playing your disgusting game. I’ll have a real problem if I keep cheating on my expense account. I’ll have a problem with myself. You see, I have to face those customers out there every day, sometimes ten times a day. And every day, I have to tell every customer that their rates are going up again, because our rates are based on the amount of money the Public Service Commission allows us. What they allow us, as you well know, is based on our expenditures each year. A big part of our expenses are the lavish parties this company has, about fifteen or twenty large, catered affairs a year. You know the victory celebrations where they put that roast pig out with the apple stuffed in its mouth, and where the champagne flows out of that crystal bowl on the table with the caviar on it? Should I start thanking these customers for the caviar? For the champagne? That goofy looking stuffed pig with the apple? If that’s what it takes to let you know that I’m sick of this game, that cheating for you bunch of greedy assholes has started to make me feel dirty, then that’s what I’ll do. No, I think you’ve got the picture, Bill, just leave me the hell alone to do my job. No more dirty work for me. I’m done with it. I’m not one of the good old boys anymore.

You are making a big mistake, said Bill.

No, you people are making the mistakes, but you’ve all been doing it so long, you think it’s okay, business as usual. Well, count me out. I’m sick of your damned drunken parties anyway. You and the rest of your bandit buddies are giving the saying ‘Let your fingers do the walking’ a whole new meaning.

Recalling that conversation with Bill, he decided not to wear a tie the next morning. He knew it could have some disastrous consequences, but he felt compelled to dress comfortably. He knew it could get him fired, but he was sick of it all. He decided to take this way out rather than quit. He was burned out. His brain was doing somersaults. A high-powered salesman no longer cared.

He awoke early the next day. The lake was serene. The water was as smooth as glass—such a contrast from the night before. The air was crystal clear, all the way to the horizon, as was his mind. He decided to wear a polo shirt, one with a little reptile on the pocket, a nice pair of slacks, and his favorite pair of Florshiems. As he climbed into his car, he took a last look at the lake, stood for a moment, then got in and headed for work.

As he drove, his mind tracked back to the early days of his childhood to the first day he arrived at Our Lady of Lourdes grade school along with his two older brothers, wearing a tan shirt with a blue tie. How proud he’d felt to wear that tie. He had been six years old then; he didn’t know any better. He was yet unaware of the subtle brainwashing techniques that society had in store for him.

He thought to himself, Damn, I’ve had to wear a tie, for some reason, some institution, school, the army, work, just about my entire life. There must be a place in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, somewhere that says I have an inherent right, as a thinking human being, to express myself in a free society, as long as it is not offensive to society as a whole. I’ve just got to free myself of the restrictive binds of that stupid piece of cloth.

That was his feeling, and by god, he was going to stick with it, come hell or high water. And for some strange reason, he knew the high water had come and gone last night.

His sleek little sports car pulled into the telephone company parking lot. He got out and started walking toward his office. As he opened the door, he said aloud, Here comes the hell.

Jim Antonio knew what to expect before he even went to his desk. Bill, his boss, and the other crew supervisor were standing together, looking at him as the walked through the door. Before he could sit down, he heard his boss’s voice ring out, Where’s your tie, Antonio?

It’s hangin’ with the rest of my ties back at the motel.

Go back to the motel and put it on.

No way, man, the motel is fifteen miles up the road, and besides, I’ve got a building contractor to meet at nine o’clock. It’s ninety degrees out there already … and where is it written that I have to wear a tie, anyway?

I’m calling Indianapolis. If you’re trying to get your ass fired, I’m just the one that can do it.

The supervisors gathered together in a huddle at Bill’s desk. After he had made a fifteen-minute phone call to his boss, he called Antonio up to his desk.

I spoke with Corell about this, and he wants to see you in Indianapolis. Turn in your market, clean out your desk, and get the hell out of here!

It will be a pleasure.

The next morning, Friday, he went to the downtown Indianapolis main headquarters building wearing one of his nicest suits and matching tie. He walked into Corell’s office.

Jim, how the hell you doing? Hey, by the way, congratulations. The results just came in. You led the job again. Looks like another trophy for your mantel. That’s the second Indianapolis you’ve led in your four years, isn’t it?

Yes, it is, Bob.

Hey, Jim, what’s this tie thing all about?

"It’s about the fact that if I’m doing such a good job and supposed to be a professional, I think I can determine how to dress myself for a sales call. I think, pardon me, know I have that right as a human being."

Well, you’ve got a tie on now. What was the problem yesterday in Michigan City?

The problem yesterday was the fact that my sales call was a building contractor on the job site. It was ninety degrees out, and old Billy boy was in a foul mood from the day before. Today, the occasion called for it. I’m quite capable of making the distinction. Today called for it, yesterday didn’t.

Yeah, he mentioned something about you not wanting to contribute to the little victory party he wanted to have on the boat.

He didn’t want me to contribute; he wanted me to steal from the company, as we’ve always done before. You know the old ‘customer to dinner’ trick—Mr. Does Not Exist—and then the company steals it back from the customer in higher rates. Bob, this is bullshit! We can’t keep this cheating-the-public thing up forever. It’s not right, and I refuse to be a part of it any longer.

Jim, what’s this got to do with not wearing a tie?

It’s got nothing to do with it and everything to do with it.

Explain.

Nothing in the fact that I’m here in front of you because I refused to wear a tie yesterday. But everything in the fact that the only reason Bill even called you was because I wouldn’t pad my expense account. He has seen me come into the office without a tie on this very job and never said a word. This time he decided to pull a power trip on me because I stopped forkin’ over the moolah for whatever reason.

Jim, the company’s legal department has been notified because our manual clearly states traditionally accepted mode of dress.

That’s it, that’s all you can come up with? Well, that’s not enough for me. ‘Traditionally accepted mode of dress’ can be interpreted in many different ways, considering how often traditions change over the years.

The tie is one tradition that will never change.

Says who? Bob Corell?

Jim, philosophy is good in some places, but not here at Hoosier Telephone & Telegraph.

There is a place for philosophy in every facet of life, even here at H. T. & T, and if you think not, that BA you got in business management was all in vain, a waste of time on your part.

Antonio, I’m going to ask you once more: Are you going to cooperate with us? Are you going to wear a tie to work?

The answer is no if I don’t have the right to use my discretion as to when I think it is appropriate. I want to make that decision. I don’t want this company to make it for me.

James Antonio, hand over your company pass. You’re fired.

Fired! The word reverberated through his head. As he drove home from downtown, he replayed the conversation in his head. He knew if he didn’t back down from using his own discretion, Corell would have no choice. He had forced them to fire him because he knew that he could no longer participate in the folly he was calling a job. His mind then went blank.

He arrived home, pulled into the driveway, parked, then went into the house. The first thing he did was pull down all the blinds. When this was done, he walked into his den, sat down at his desk, pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, and began to write:

Compete. I never want to compete again. Since my present environment rejects me, if I should seek another place in life, I will seek one of unity and truth, one in which I can become a working part in unison with the rest … but not the same.

The telephone rang. He answered it. It was Jina, his girlfriend.

Honey, are you okay? I just heard.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

I’m worried about you. I’m getting off work and coming right over.

Don’t, Jina Lyn, I really want to be alone for a while to think this thing out. Give me a few days, honey. I’ll be all right. Really. I’ll be all right.

Are you sure? I’m really worried.

Please, baby, I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll call you in a few days. I’m not leaving the house. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

Okay, but promise you’ll call.

I promise. Honest.

You know I love you very much, Jim, and I’ll always be there for you. Don’t ever forget that. That will never change, no matter what happens from here on in.

I love you too. I’ll talk to you soon; I promise.

Good-bye.

Good-bye.

He unplugged the phone cord from the wall. Then he did the same thing with every phone. He went into the living room, lay down on the floor flat on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t move from that position for hours.

As the sun went down and the house darkened, there was a knock at the door. Could it be a neighbor? Could it be a friend? He didn’t care. He didn’t move from that position, staring at the ceiling. The knocking stopped. Finally, he drifted off to sleep. Escape. Escape from his thoughts. That was so hard to do. Escape from the emptiness. Escape from the madness of it all.

He drifted in and out of sleep. As he lay there, his thoughts drifted into the past. His supervisor, Bill Beam. Not William Beam. Billy Beam. That’s the way it was on his birth certificate, he had often bragged. My leader, he thought. What I, as an employee should strive to emulate, to set my standards by, as a good employee.

He remembered the conversation that had taken place a few nights before he had been fired. Because Bill knew he had a brother in law enforcement, Bill felt like he could divulge cop stories to him. Old Billy boy had been chief of security at Hoosier Tel for seven years before being placed as a supervisor in Yellow Pages advertising. In that earlier capacity, he had had access to a private listening room, where, in his words, I’d let any law enforcement people listen to any conversation, involving anyone, anywhere in the world, at any time of the day or night.

No court order?

No court order. If a CIA official wanted to hear a conversation that one of his agents in Timbuktu was having with his wife, he could listen. If anyone in any branch of law enforcement wanted to tap into a suspect’s phone, Bill would do it. I’m a patriot, he had said. I wanted to help stop crime. I was just doing my civic duty, so to speak, if you know what I mean. Hell, I served in Korea. You’re an ex-army paratrooper. You know.

Hey, Bill, what I’m hearing here is about a bunch of illegal wiretapping, on a lot of unsuspecting folks, not patriotism. Patriotism is making sure some bastards aren’t prying into our lives, listening to our conversations. Christ, if what you say is true, and I assume it is, I find the whole thing abominable and you disgusting for being part of an elite group of individuals who can so easily tread on and ignore the Constitution of the United States, which is supposed to protect us from predators of this sort. But obviously it has not. If all the chief security officers of all the telephone companies are like you, then some bunch of creeps somewhere is listening to anyone, anytime, any moment they feel like it. That’s scary, and that’s coming from a patriot.

Grow up, Antonio. Court orders are a joke. By the time a cop gets a court order, it’s usually too late, and they have problems. My way is quicker and more effective. Ask your brother; he’s probably taken advantage of our offer somewhere sometime.

Bill, you really don’t understand. You really don’t understand that you and every law enforcement officer that you ‘help’ is guilty of a crime. I’m sure not a lawyer, but I have a sneaky suspicion that what you have done, and I’m sure are still doing, in practice, is illegal, and you could all be prosecuted.

Yeah, how can it be proven?

Bill, it probably can’t be, and I’ll forget this conversation, but it really makes me sick.

"Well, excuse me. Crime will make you sick too.

Crime is what I’m trying to stop."

But you’re committing one crime to stop another.

Another … another … sleep … yes … wonderful … sleep the words drifted away. The conversation faded away.

One day. Two days. Three days went by. No phone calls, no answering the knocks on the door. Just reading and meditating. Meditating and reading.

Thinking … recalling.

He had purchased a Zen training manual in a bookstore in Nashville, Indiana, and had been fasting and drinking only water and juice while studying the manual for the last three days.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone was at the door.

It was his brother, Peter.

Jim, are you okay? Mom has tried to call. We are all quite worried about you. Jina called and told us what happened. I’ve stopped by before but couldn’t get any response. What’s going on?

Nothing, brother, I’ve just had a lot of thinking to do, and I didn’t want to be disturbed.

Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.

I’m doing okay.

When’s the last time you ate?

The fact is I was just going to eat. I’ve been cooking these strip steaks for several hours now, and they should be about ready. I’m making beef jerky out of them, cooking out all the fat and garbage.

He took a tray of steaks out of the oven and placed them on the stove to cool.

Jim, they look like strips of bacon, not steak.

That’s the idea. The only reason I’m cooking them at all is because I don’t want to waste them. I had this case in the freezer for a while and decided to use them rather than throw them away. I don’t eat that much meat anymore.

Yeah, but, bro, why ruin a perfectly good piece of meat?

Hey, Peter, I’m not ruining them, I’m just making them better. Here, try a piece.

I don’t know, they look pretty pathetic. His brother tried a piece of the shriveled steak.

Not too bad, really.

I told you so.

The two men sat and ate in silence. Peter looked at his brother. He noticed pallor in his color, and he could tell he had lost a lot of weight since the last time he had seen him.

"Jim, you don’t look so