Raymond Atkins - The Front Porch Prophet

“Gentlemen, I bid you a good afternoon, and welcome to Alabama Southern,” he began. His manner was brisk, his voice atonal. He was looking no one in the eye, which in A.J.’s opinion was a bad sign.

“As Mr. McCord has indicated,” Hunter continued, “Alabama Southern is a diversified corporation whose primary focus lies in the direction of responsible fiber usage. We are a Fortune 500 company. We believe in the optimum interplay of our natural and human resources, which, when combined with strong strategic support from upper management and modernization of our physical facilities, guarantees our continued success as a leader in our industry.”

A.J. believed that holding a man to his word was difficult if he spoke in code. He looked around the room. Half the boys were clearly lost, and John McCord was looking at the tops of his shoes. He looked up, and A.J. was staring at him with intensity. John looked back down at his brogans. He had started the mill from scratch forty years ago and had labored hard and long to make it fly. He expected hard work and loyalty, and he paid well for good employees. He had always favored A.J. because he got the job done. Actually, A.J. reminded McCord of himself in his younger days. And A.J. had always liked and respected John, but he didn’t like him all that much today.

“At Alabama Southern, we believe that management is a team concept,” Hunter droned on. “Some of you in this room have achieved exceptional results.” He was looking at A.J., who looked right back. “Others in this room seem to be struggling.” This time he was looking at Harry Ford, who looked like he wished he were elsewhere and who most likely would be before long. “Regardless of how each of you is currently performing, let me make myself clear about your status. You will be scheduled to meet with Mr. Kramer, our human resources manager.” He gestured to the pallid individual sitting to his left. “He will interview you, and based on the outcomes of those interviews, you may be offered employment.” A.J. took a long look at Mr. Kramer, who appeared to be a humorless soul. Ralph Hunter continued. “You will each be interviewed, and it is my hope you all will be offered continued employment at Alabama Southern Number Fifteen. Mr. McCord has spoken highly of you all and has recommended to me that you all be retained. I have noted his suggestion, and we shall see what we shall see. Are there any questions?” There were probably no more than five or six thousand potential queries, but anonymity had become suddenly attractive and no hands were raised.

This was a group of men who had made money for John McCord over the years by running his business well. They were all family men with many obligations and had paid their dues the hard way. To A.J., the current situation had an odor about it that made sitting in the room an effort. He took another long look at Kramer. Then A.J. shrugged. He wasn’t going to survive the purge anyway, so he raised his hand. He hated set pieces. They tended to get his dander up. He believed that people’s lives were more than file folders and numbers on balance sheets.

“For those of us who don’t get offers, what do we take with us?” A.J. asked quietly.

“All of this will be covered by Mr. Kramer in the interviews,” Mr. Hunter began, “but in general it will work like this. Whether you stay or move on, each of you will receive your vested retirement in the form of a lump sum settlement. For those of you who leave, Mr. McCord has insisted upon an additional ten-thousand-dollar settlement, which I have approved. I understand he intends to match that figure out of his own funds, for a total of twenty thousand dollars on top of the retirement settlement. Those of you hired by the company will be started at the pay rate paid for new hires at your particular job levels. Unfortunately, this will result in a substantial pay cut for any man who is hired, which may be offset somewhat by our excellent benefit package. Your current health and life insurance will remain in effect for a ninety-day period. This will allow any of you who might be leaving time to make other arrangements. Those who stay will be covered under the company plan. I think this addresses the basic points of your question.”

A.J. was a bit surprised. The severance package was awfully sweet and seemed to offer a healthy bonus to anyone with enough sense to simply walk away. In all probability, it would be getting a lot of use. He raised his hand again. Ellis kicked him under the table.

“What factors will you look at when deciding who will be employed?” Ellis kicked A.J. again, harder this time. He continued. “The mill has exceeded production goals five out of the last six years. Everyone in this room is a professional. What else could possibly matter?” Ellis didn’t kick A.J. this time, and all eyes were on Ralph Hunter. Hunter’s eyes were on A.J.

“You men certainly know how to make lumber, and plenty of it,” Hunter began. “This will be taken into account. In addition, we have other requirements with respect to our supervisory personnel. But we will leave all of this in the able hands of Mr. Kramer. For now, we will adjourn. Some of you have shifts in progress, and a supervisor’s first job is to supervise. So let’s get at ’em.” Hunter had tried to be one of the boys with his last statement, but he simply wasn’t up to the task. A.J. hoped he would hire one of the real boys to be hale and hearty for him, because the need would occasionally arise and most or all of the group would need the work.

“Mr. Simpson, I wonder if you would mind meeting me in the personnel office?” asked Mr. Kramer, although it wasn’t really a question at all. Ellis froze. Then he looked at A.J., who was a little surprised that the weeding process was beginning so soon.

“Welcome to the Fortune 500, Ellis,” A.J. said softly. “Show them what you’ve got.” He slugged his friend on the shoulder. Ellis left looking worried, his thoughts no doubt consumed by visions of nine hungry children without shoes watching their mama, Raynell, working her fingers to the bone taking in ironing. A.J. thought they should have at least offered him a blindfold and a cigarette. He hoped maybe they were starting with the ones they were keeping, but in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn’t so.

“Mr. Longstreet, can I have a minute of your time?” Ralph Hunter asked, and again, it really wasn’t a question at all. The room had cleared out. “There are some things we need to discuss.” A.J. was certain that the hardball was about to begin. They were moving him up to the head of the line. It was a compliment, really, like shooting the rogue steer first so the rest of the herd would be easier to control.

“Mr. Longstreet,” Ralph began, briskly flipping through the pages in front of him in a businesslike manner. “According to the information I have been provided, your shift has exceeded its production goals by substantial margins ever since you began your supervisory duties on night shift.”

“Yes,” A.J. commented.

“Additionally, your absentee rate is lower than industry average and none of your employees have ever suffered a serious injury.” Hunter put his papers down and looked across the table at A.J. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. “How do you do it?” he asked.

“How many of the men who just left this room are going to be offered jobs?” A.J. countered. “I know I’m history, but what about the rest?” It was very quiet in the room.

“You will be offered a position, Mr. Longstreet,” Ralph Hunter answered. A.J. couldn’t believe it. There had to be a catch. Hunter continued. “Alabama Southern does not plan to offer any of the others salaried jobs. They will all be given the choice of leaving or filling hourly positions in the mills. Monetarily, those who move on will do quite well. Those who stay will be able to make a living. I believe I am correct in my understanding that they all promoted up from the ranks in the first place, as you did. We will fill the slots they vacate with excess supervisory staff from our other locations. All veterans, all more qualified.” A.J. had to give Hunter credit. He hadn’t blinked. He apparently had more than a little of the rough stuff under his belt, which was no doubt why the Lumber Executives had sent him on this mission. It was why Ralph got the ham hock in his beans.