A Place at the Table
19
Winning
Liam
“LIAM, YOU NEED A SHOWER.”
“Not much chance of that happening, Randy. Is there an outdoor faucet and a hose around?”
“I think I know a better way. The guys need to believe you’re here as a proper hostage. I think I can get you out to my house, get you a shower, and get back before anyone is the wiser. Can you rise early?”
“I’m usually up by five.”
“I was thinking four.”
“Let’s get some sleep then.”
The plan worked flawlessly. I gave my ski jacket and University stocking cap to a guy about the same size as me who immediately lay down next to the fire barrel and went to sleep. Or appeared to. I left in Randy’s car and, in the darkness, no one saw me. I hoped.
Sally Peters had a hearty breakfast for us when I came out of the shower. She was hospitable and not overly solicitous. She took her cues from Randy and greeted me as her husband’s friend and nothing special. We’d been gone just an hour when I nudged my stand-in awake and took back my coat. At eight o’clock, Erich arrived with my suit and a newspaper. Soon after, Smith and Loveland arrived.
“Ah, good. You have a paper. Did you see the response?”
“It’s like answering a challenge to a duel. ‘The Shoemakers’ Union will arrive at the appointed time and place. They will be accompanied by William Thomas Cyning as agreed upon in the terms of coming to the table. All items of concern will be presented at that time. We wish to thank the management and owners of Covington Shoe Company for agreeing to hear our grievances.’ Are we ready for this?” I looked at my three companions.
“You look like a corporate executive yourself, Liam. No. You look better than most corporate executives. I’d peg you as a Leader at once,” Smith said.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. We need every advantage we can muster.”
“Shall we head for the board room then?” Randy took a deep breath and nodded. He was obviously nervous, but we were on our way.
“Liam! It’s good to see they kept their word.” Ferguson said as we entered. “Well, conditions have been met. We have all come to the table. Come ahead, boy. We can leave now.”
“Have they really been met, sir? Did you not promise to meet and hear their grievances?”
“Not exactly. We promised to come to the bargaining table. That’s done.”
“Do you generally conduct your business with deception and cheating?”
“You don’t have a comprehension of business, Liam. You need to keep the other side off their stride.”
“Why don’t you show me how it’s done, sir?” Fergie had to know I was goading him but he was far too proud to back down.
“Well, that would be a pleasure. Let’s take our seats and have at this then.” Ferguson sat at the center seat at the table and the two people with him looked surprised but sat as well. I walked around the table and sat opposite Ferguson. “Liam, that chair would be for the negotiator for the union. I can’t be craning my neck to look around the table for him.”
“Yes, sir.” I calmly folded my hands on the table.
“Oh. You?”
“Is this not an appropriate venue for us to continue our discussion?”
“Very cleverly played. Please tell me who the people seated with you are. I assume one at least is from the esteemed Shoemakers’ Union.”
“Yes, sir. On my right is Randy Peters, shoe-laster, drafted by the employees as their union leader. On my left is Alfred Smith, our contract attorney. At the end of the table, our stenographer, Miss Loveland. And your lieutenants?”
“You surprise me at every turn. Very well. On my left is Leland Bennet, our Vice President of Operations. On my right is Arnold Rice, our Corporate Attorney. Now what are these demands the workers are making?”
“Have you not read the letter, sir?”
“No, no. When management brought up the issue, I simply told them to handle it and get rid of the problem.”
“Let us present you with a fresh copy. We have prepared one for each of you.” Smith handed the copies across the table.
“Very professionally done.”
“Our stenographer was kind enough to type copies.”
Ferguson read the paper, becoming more agitated as he read. Finally, he exploded.
“What? You can’t expect me to take this seriously! This is not at all what I was told the asks were. This is way out of line!”
“Would you mind breaking that out a point at a time and telling me what is out of line?”
“A dollar an hour wage increase? That would be a substantial hit on our bottom line. We cannot afford that kind of labor increase.”
“According to the annual report, the company had a net profit of $400 million last year. This represents a $12.5 million increase in expenses—just three percent. Is this what you consider a significant hit?”
“You have misinterpreted the numbers. Last year was an aberrant year. Various factors impacted our profitability that will not be in effect this year. Our net will be drastically reduced.”
“Drastically? Can a company that drops drastically from $400 million in net profit to, say, $100 million even be considered as viable? Is Covington Shoe Company going out of business?”
“No! Nothing like that. We’ll be a hundred million below last year. The shareholders are aware of this,” he said. I needed to be wary. I knew Ferguson was an expert at this and even if he was willing to negotiate with me, he wouldn’t be easily satisfied. It was likely that his ‘drastic’ reduction was no more than the union’s demand.
“And we are asking for only four percent more. Am I correct in computing a $12.5 million impact on $300 million net at four percent?”
“That’s simply too much of an impact on the bottom line. I’m a magnanimous man but I’m dealing with the money of my shareholders. I would have considered the twenty-five cents an hour I heard was originally proposed but this is ridiculous.”
I felt Smith tap my leg and leaned over to the attorney so he could whisper in my ear. “He’ll go higher. It’s a gambit.” I nodded and faced Ferguson.
“My attorney is very fast with math and has given me the numbers. Let me ask, Mr. Ferguson, what is the most valuable asset Covington Shoes has?”
“We have three primary assets. The real estate, including buildings, the machinery, and our raw materials,” Ferguson said.
“And how big a liability do those items become if there are no workers to turn raw materials into shoes using the machinery in these buildings? No one here wants to cost the company its profitability, but assets have a value. Considering that, wouldn’t you think seventy-five cents an hour would be a just compensation for what is really your most valuable asset?” I asked.
“I agree the workforce is valuable but there is a limit to what anyone will pay for an asset.” He paused and scowled at me. I tried not to flinch. “Fifty cents and not a penny more.” I turned to Randy and asked if that was adequate. Randy was struck silent and simply nodded.
“Miss Loveland, please record a fifty-cents per hour increase across the board as our agreement,” I said. Ferguson looked at the secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Cyning.”
The negotiations proceeded. Not everything went as smoothly as I had hoped. The equipment maintenance was approved with little discussion. Ferguson admitted that most of the faulty equipment had been replaced during the strike. He balked, however at improving the break area as simply being something the company did as a kind gesture. I argued that employees who left the building were the most often tardy returning to their stations. After Smith explained what he would sue for should a client become injured on the job and suggesting a dollar value for the gained productive time by keeping employees onsite, Ferguson finally agreed to replace the furniture but no more.
I barely got what the original document asked for in sick leave. “We can’t be paying people to not work,” Ferguson complained. He agreed to one week of vacation and one week of sick leave.
“Now this, you must agree, is simply frivolous. A free pair of shoes every year? That is the equivalent of increasing pay yet again. We have a compensation agreement in place on that.”
“I can see your point,” I agreed. I’d given this a lot of thought and even surveyed a number of strikers about the idea, asking them what shoes they wore to work. “What if this could be set up and have it not cost the company?”
“How can I give away a free pair of shoes and have it not cost anything?”
“When I was behind the picket line the past three days, I had the privilege of talking to many of the people—your employees—who were out there. They are fiercely proud of their work. Covington Shoes. They believe they are the best-made shoes in the world. But as I looked around, I saw that no one was wearing Covington Shoes. I’m wearing Covington Shoes, why aren’t your employees?” I raised one foot above the table to display my new top-of-the-line pair of Covington Shoes. I’d only worn them once to the concert several weeks ago and Erich had seen to it that they were polished like a mirror.
“These are quality shoes. I would frankly expect a Cyning to wear nothing less,” Fergie said. I knew my father wore Covington shoes and that Fergie would know it.
“Quality built by those employees. I asked a worker about why he was wearing Dominion Footwear. Can you imagine striking against Covington Shoes while wearing Dominion Footwear? I asked why and he told me Dominion Footwear was priced thirty percent below Covington shoes. If it weren’t for that, he’d be wearing Covington shoes. Maybe not these top-of-the-line dress shoes, but certainly the casual or work shoes produced here.”
“You can’t possibly suggest we cut our prices by thirty percent. Let’s go back to the scenario where you asked what would happen if a company went from $400 million to $100 million in profit in a year. An outright rebellion of the stockholders! There would be a sell-off of Covington Shoes stock and the price would plunge,” Ferguson practically shouted.
“When a person walks into a shoe store to buy a pair of Covington shoes like I did just a few weeks ago, what was the markup of that pair of shoes? Certainly, Browning’s wasn’t selling them at cost, were they?”
“No, of course not. We sell wholesale. The typical retail margin is forty to forty-five percent.”
“So why not offer a direct sale to employees at wholesale plus ten percent? That would put you at exactly the same price point as Dominion Footwear. For your employees only. You would still be earning more per pair from sales to your employees than from wholesale to retailers.”
“And the next thing we would have is a worker selling shoes to his friends and relatives because he got them at a thirty percent discount.” Ferguson sat back with his arms folded.
“Bravo! Yes! Let’s let that happen!” I struck my hands lightly on the table.
“What?”
“Every pair sold to an employee represents a sale you do not currently have. Not just 6,000 per year, but perhaps a pair for each member of his or her family. Let’s say 24,000 per year. But not only do you have a sale you did not previously have, you also have a ten percent markup over wholesale. It is more profitable to sell to your own employees than to your retailers. Isn’t that worth some consideration? If an enterprising worker starts selling the shoes on the side, perhaps he should be moved into sales and be considered in the Promoter class rather than Dexter. Wouldn’t those sales still be more than what you had before?”
“You’re telling me that giving a discount to my employees for shoes bought direct will increase my bottom line?” Fergie grabbed a pad of paper from his attorney and started scrawling some numbers while we waited. “Damn it, Liam! That’s brilliant. I agree. Miss Loveland, please record our agreement that employees will be able to buy direct from our Covington Shoes company store at ten percent over wholesale. I can’t wait until I tell the board about this. Liam, you should become a Promoter.”
I’d achieved all I was going to. Ferguson was happy with his win. The union would be happy with their win. I needed to walk away, but…
“There is one last thing,” I said with a sigh.
“What? We have covered every point on the workers list of demands. I can’t see what else would be necessary,” Fergie said.
“This whole strike was caused by a simple letter with a request to bargain. It was suggested and reviewed by all the employees but it got the employee who signed the letter on their behalf fired. That employee is sitting beside me. When he walked out of the door, all the employees of Covington Shoes followed. Mr. Ferguson, I’ve suggested that your workers are an asset, but how much more of an asset is an employee who commands such loyalty and leadership? This is not on your letter but I am asking you personally. Will you please, reinstate Mr. Randy Peters as an employee with all benefits, back pay, and seniority restored? I ask this because I believe you are a just and honorable man who runs a great company and can afford to be magnanimous.”
Ferguson looked at me for a long time. He turned to the company lawyer to consult with him. Finally, he turned to his vice president of operations before returning to me.
“I want you to know that hiring back a worker who was terminated for cause is never a good idea. But I see your point. As a personal favor to you, we will grant this request. Miss Loveland, please record that we have agreed Mr. Peters will be reinstated on his job with full benefits, backpay, and seniority. Can we call this meeting to an end?”
“If we may take a break, our agreement will be typed in half an hour and we can sign it as agreed pending union and board approval.” Fergie looked at me and simply nodded his head.
Meredith
LIAM HAD SENT WORD to Erich that he needed his suit. Erich showed me the note. It wasn’t worded the way Liam would have done even a week ago. Instead of asking for clothes suitable for a corporate meeting, he itemized exactly what he wanted. Suit, shirt, tie, and shoes. Liam was showing he had the situation under control and was making the decisions.
He was acting like a Leader.
My phone ringing startled me so much I froze in place wondering if this was Liam calling to say he was free. Foolish. It rang again and I rushed to answer it.
“Hello. This is Meredith Sauvage. How may I help you?”
“Meredith, it’s Regina. I’m planning a party and would like your assistance.”
“A party? Now?”
“Yes. We’ll need to celebrate Liam’s victory.”
“You’ve heard? Has he won?”
“Dear Meredith, you don’t understand how this works. Everyone wins.”
“Yes, ma’am.” No, I did not understand. This was a layer of Leaders I had not been shown before.
“Now, let’s have the party on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. That will give things a chance to settle down. It will be a larger party than Liam’s birthday, so we’ll serve food from the buffet in the ballroom.”
“I’ll coordinate it with cook, Ma’am.”
“I’d like you to help with the invitations since all the important guests are people you know.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Your classmates, Miss Ransom and Miss Reese, with their parents, of course. Lonnie Porras and his sweetheart. Let’s make sure both of their parents are invited. Miss Ritter’s mother has been influential in this matter.”
“His other school friends from Elenchus as well?” I asked.
“Yes. At least the two who came to the gathering you had in August. Liam expressed some desire that the next time we had a gathering in his honor, he would like it attended by his friends. I think he has made some new friends since then.”
“Yes, of course. Should I assume you would also like Mr. Winzar to attend?” I said. I was beginning to see what she was after now. Everyone Liam had been in touch with the past three months would count as a new friend. I wondered about Carolyn Dubois and John Berringer.
“Oh! What a wonderful suggestion. I see you are understanding the process. Please indicate each is welcome to bring a guest and his or her parents if they happen to be in town. Now, who else?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, of course.”
“Yes. And don’t forget your parents, dear.” Regina’s enthusiasm was contagious. I was scribbling down names as quickly as I could.
“Thank you, ma’am. And Richard and Donnie’s parents. They’ll need to get leave in order to travel home.”
“I leave the rest to you, Meredith. I—and the University—will understand if you don’t make it to classes this week. I don’t think we’ll send Liam back to Elenchus just now.”
“I’ll do my best, madam.”
“I have always believed you would.”
I collapsed in my desk chair. I’d been given a task by the matriarch. Perhaps it was nothing more than busywork to keep me active but it was work from Regina Cyning. I needed to get used to this. Regina’s confidence that everyone would win was compelling. I’d been stewing with worry since Liam showed up behind the picket line. One day soon, Liam would give me tasks like this so I needed to get things in order and show I’m capable of handling them.
“Mr. Winzar, this is Meredith Sauvage calling.”
“A delight. How may I help you? Another hundred pizzas?”
“No, the call is a simple thank you for the part you played in ending the strike. I’m sure Mr. Cyning will want to express his thanks personally,” I said.
“Then you and he had better get used to calling me David. I could see his strategy from a mile away. When that reporter called, it was all I could do to keep from laughing. Do I take it that it’s over?”
“They are still in negotiations, which I am told is a good sign. There will be a formal invitation, of course, but Liam is planning a holiday party in celebration and would like to entertain you and a guest on Saturday after Thanksgiving. He extends this invitation as well to your parents, should they be visiting for the holiday.”
“As it happens my parents will be here. Would you mind terribly addressing the invitation to them at my address?” he asked.
“I will be delighted. Oh, and David, I assume you have good sources of information but we believe in sharing news we hear if we deem it important. As you know, Liam will join us at the university in January.”
“Yes.”
“I have recently been informed that Miss Elizabeth Kendrick will also begin at mid-term.”
“Ah, yes. I recognize the name from something my parents said this summer. So, the gathering of the eligibles has begun. Well, perhaps I’ll be lucky this time and discover she’s a lesbian,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Why on earth would he want the new student to be a lesbian?
“As you will discover soon enough, Meredith, my predilection is toward my own gender. It would be convenient to find a wife who also had that bent. I’m sure we could still manage a conception, but we wouldn’t need to depend on each other for recreation.”
“I will keep my eyes open for someone who might fill the position. Please feel free to bring a guest of either gender to the party. No one will object.”
“Thank you. Good day, Meredith.”
“Good day, David.” I busied myself composing the invitations. They would need to be handwritten, of course. It would be impolite to send typed invitations to a formal party.
“Miss Sauvage. Miss Sauvage.” Lupe knocked insistently on my door. I needed to remind the poor woman that if the door was unlocked, she should just come in. I opened the door.
“What is it, Lupe?”
“Mr. Cyning called Erich to come and get him. The negotiations are finished. He said Mr. Ferguson is calling the press to meet at the picket line. You may want to watch the news.”
“Watch? Indeed! I need to impress upon Mr. Cyning who his personal assistant is. I suppose Erich has left already.” Why on earth didn’t he call me? I should have been the one to pick him up, or at least have ridden with Erich.
“Yes, Miss. The family is gathering in the lounge to watch the conference and invites you to watch with them.”
“I… I’ll join them at once.”
I was always comfortable with Liam. His grandmother was charming and always welcoming. We were getting on well. His parents, however, seemed remote or a bit standoffish. I didn’t think they actively disliked me, but they still made me nervous. I hurried to the lounge. Regina was also just arriving.
“Mother! Just in time. They’ve just broken into regular programming. Meredith, please fix yourself a drink. Mother, the usual?” Thomas asked.
“I can get my own. Don’t disturb anyone to wait on me,” Regina answered.
“Brian is behind the bar already, Mother. He might as well mix your drink.” Brian, in fact, rushed up to Regina with a martini and presented it to her.
“Thank you, Brian.”
“Always my pleasure, Mrs. Cyning.”
I had just reached the bar when Brian returned. He sent me to the front of the bar.
“No matter what the boss says, Miss Sauvage, when I am tending bar, I fix drinks for everyone. What can I make for you?”
“I’d almost join in the martinis but I think I’d better stick to non-alcoholic beverages for now. A tonic and lemon?”
“You’re an easy one to mix for. Oh, look. The people are getting in front of the microphones.” He finished pouring my drink and deftly twisted a lemon wedge into the glass. Then we moved closer to the teLevi’sion.
“This has been a very long day. Of course, for some of you gathered here it has been much longer than a day. Your dedication and perseverance are noted.” Ferguson had been the first to step up to the microphones and was trying to put everyone at ease. Most of the audience comprised striking employees. “I am happy to say, however, that after hours of bargaining, we have arrived at a solution I believe will please both the workers and the shareholders. Mr. Peters and I have signed an agreement that is ready for both union and board ratification. Yes. You have heard me right. We live in a world ruled by agreements, yet it strikes me as strange that in our closest relationship—that of employer and employee—we have never put pen to paper to formalize our relationship. This agreement spells out the settlement terms as well as steps forward that will enable us to keep pace with the economy and make sure our workers are fairly compensated as times change. When this agreement is ratified, we hope to never see a strike nor the necessity for one again.” The workers seemed a little hesitant in their applause, but hopeful. “I would like your own spokesperson to address you at this time. Mr. Randy Peters.”
I recognized the man from my brief time in captivity. He seemed like a fair enough man who was truly appalled that his fellow workers would kidnap someone off the street to hold as hostage. I felt he might have sent me home regardless of Liam showing up. I made a mental note to invite him to the party.
“Hi, guys. I guess you heard from Mr. Ferguson that we settled. We agreed not to talk about the specific terms in front of the cameras but I can tell you that Mr. Ferguson has agreed to terms as good or better than we originally asked. I believe this means good things for our working relationship in the future and we can once again take great pride in the shoes we produce and the company we work for. With a signed agreement, we can all return to work in the morning and you’ll have an opportunity to review the agreement and vote to ratify.” The workers let out a genuine cheer and applauded loudly. Ferguson stepped back to the microphones and placed a hand on Randy’s shoulder.
“Please understand that at such short notice we cannot provide printed copies of the agreement immediately. Typewritten copies have been provided for the press and I am assured there will be printed copies available for all employees at the door tomorrow. Your representative and negotiator have done well for you. I’m happy to say we worked as a team. I will also say that Mr. Cyning, falsely reported as being a hostage, has been a welcome guest of both the workers and of Covington Shoes. He plans to return to his home now. Which is what we all should do. Let’s be fresh when we clock in tomorrow morning.”
There was more applause and cheering as the reporters tried in vain to ask questions. Ferguson, Randy, and Liam all turned their backs on the cameras and left with many workers slapping their backs and thanking them.
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