Raymond Atkins - The Front Porch Prophet

“Well, you were honest,” A.J. admitted. “The problem is, I can’t think of a more qualified group. What are you looking for that they don’t have? Why are you offering them all twenty thousand dollars to leave? They know how to make this mill run. They know the machines and the employees. Why don’t you want them?” A.J. had made his pitch.

“We require that all members of management have a college degree,” Ralph Hunter replied. “None of your co-workers has a degree, and three of them did not graduate high school. Additionally, we have historically had less than satisfactory results when we assimilated an existing supervisory staff. It just does not work out. As you pointed out, we are making leaving a very attractive option. We do try to be fair about these things. And any who stay will not be singled out. There will be no hit list, unless, of course, the job performance is not satisfactory, which is sometimes the case in demotion situations. To keep all of this in perspective, you need to remember that we could simply fire you all on the spot. No options, no money, no anything.” A.J. knew he had a point.

“I have a college degree,” A.J. replied, “and it isn’t worth a damn down in the mill. It didn’t get me the job, and it hasn’t helped me keep it.”

“We have our requirements,” said Ralph Hunter. “And I disagree with your statement that your degree has not helped you. In spite of your antagonistic demeanor throughout this meeting-which I understand and sympathize with, incidentally, whether you believe it or not-I would like to offer you employment.” The words hung there.

“If you’re dumping everyone else,” A.J. finally said, “I guess I’m gone, too. I can’t be the only one who gets out alive. Get the checks ready.” A.J. hated to have to make the decision, but he knew it was the right thing to do. He did not have what it took to make a side deal, and he simply did not like Ralph Hunter, even though, as Ralph had pointed out, they could have canned everyone outright. He hoped Maggie would understand.

“You misunderstand,” Hunter said. “I’m not offering you your old job. I do think, however, that you may be the man we’re looking for to fill a training position we’re creating. We need someone who knows the facility and the people to work with our new supervisors and bring them up to speed. That is the job I am offering to you. It will be a temporary position, but it could last as long as a year, depending on how things go.” A.J. wasn’t quite sure he had heard correctly. From the moment he had walked in the door, he knew he was going to be fired. He knew his reputation as unsecured artillery had preceded him. He had thought the best he would be able to manage would be to exit with dignity. Then Ralph Hunter had offered up the ultimate insult. A.J. slid back his chair and stood. He looked over at John McCord.

“Did you know about this, John?” He stared at McCord, who appeared to be inspecting the wood grain on the tabletop.

“Mr. McCord and I discussed the idea earlier today,” Ralph said. “He told me that you would decline. I believed you might accept. The possibility exists that opportunities might be found for you at other facilities if the transition period here goes smoothly.”

“I told him that you would tell him to stick it,” John McCord commented, still inspecting the furniture.

“You told him right,” A.J. said, turning to Hunter. “Stick it, Ralph. I’m not interested, and I won’t go back to working hourly in the mill. I’ll make room for the new talent.” A.J.’s mind had been in a small cloud, but now he was clear as a bell. It was time to move on. “When do I get my money?” he asked.

“Mr. Kramer will be handling the details of all the severance packages,” Hunter said. “Until such time as he deals with your case, you are expected to continue your usual duties.” Hunter cleared his throat and directed a stern look in A.J.’s direction. “The very generous exit settlements we are offering are contingent upon your best efforts until you go. Negative actions such as production sabotage, work slowdowns, or attempts to sway hourly opinion against Alabama Southern will result in termination without benefits.”

John McCord grimaced. A.J. gazed coolly at Ralph.

“Ralph,” A.J. began, “you’ve insulted me twice now, and we’ve barely met. You are at your limit.” Hunter lowered his eyes. Strangely, A.J. wasn’t too upset. There were other jobs. He had begun to savor the freedom that came with unsalvageable situations. He headed for the door, thinking it had been a mistake, after all, to leave the bat in the truck.

When he entered the mill he was met by Ellis Simpson and Harry Ford. Harry handed a cup of coffee to A.J. and they walked out onto the log deck to lean up on a railing and discuss their troubles. A.J. was surprised to see Ellis was through interviewing with Kramer. It appeared that quick and clean was the Alabama Southern way. Ellis spoke.

“I’ve worked at this sawmill for nineteen years, and do you want to hear what job Kramer offered me? Laborer, that’s what! I am forty-seven years old. I can’t go back to pumping a shovel ten hours a day for $6.90 an hour. I haven’t been screwed this good since my wedding night.”

Ellis did have a small safety net of sorts. Raynell had a separate income as owner, manager, and sole employee of Raynell’s Klip and Kurl. She plied her trade out of a small salon built with McCord lumber acquired piecemeal over time. Raynell gave a bad haircut but did a brisk business nonetheless, particularly among older gentlemen, due to her seemingly unintentional habit of poking an ample breast into the eye of the haircutee at least twice per session. So the Simpson family wouldn’t starve, but neither would they be spending many sleepless nights worrying about the best investment strategies for their surplus revenues.

“What about you, A.J.?” Harry asked. He had not yet had his interview and held a touch of hope. “What did they say to you?” Harry was a mediocre performer but a very nice guy. He was employed for the sole reason that John McCord liked him and did not have the heart to put him on the street. His title was special manager, and his duties included making coffee and saying “Yes, John.”

A.J. knew that Harry was doomed even though he made great coffee. Hunter had plenty of college boys with more seniority to brew for him, men who would brew loyally.

“They offered me a job I couldn’t take, just like they did Ellis.” Harry looked dejected. A.J. merely shrugged. There was no way to soften the blow. “Boys, we’re all screwed. They don’t want us.”

“So you’re taking the money?” asked Ellis.

“I’m taking the money,” A.J. replied as he threw his empty coffee cup onto a pile of bark. He hoped the action didn’t constitute production sabotage. “My advice is keep your mouth shut, hang on long enough to get your check, and give them the finger on the way out the gate.” He sighed. It was very strange, but he realized he was going to miss the place. He stuck his hands in his pockets and headed on in. He had at least one more shift to run.

A.J. SAT IN HIS TRUCK, PARKED UNDER THE HANGING tree at the foot of Eugene’s Mountain. It was just before dawn on the Saturday following his meeting with Ralph Hunter, a date that would live in infamy. He couldn’t explain why he was there, except to say it was as good a place as any to be, and better than some. He sighed and flipped his cigarette out the vent window. With any luck at all it would start a forest fire and burn down several thousand acres of pine trees destined to become Alabama Southern lumber. He had been unemployed now for about five hours, and even though he had known it was coming, he had not yet arrived at complete objectivity regarding the condition.