Election Day: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  “What do you mean?” Bill asked.

  “Let us vote on it. Do we want to all take a 12% pay cut or would we rather drop eighteen members of the workforce?”

  “Yeah,” called out another senior man, “if eighteen go, there’s more work – and overtime – for the rest of us. And we don’t have to take a pay cut.”

  A lot of shouts filled the factory floor as that comment crashed down. Walter restored order and said, “And who would determine which of you would be let go?”

  “By seniority,” shouted Frank. “How else?”

  “By job necessity, that’s how,” the boss answered now a bit angry. “And I will make that decision.”

  “If we had a union, you couldn’t make that decision,” the draftsman said.

  “And maybe that’s just what we need in this fucking place,” yelled a welder.

  His statement drew roars of approval from most of the workers. Walter, sensing that the first use of profanity was a sign that the meeting could shortly descend into chaos, once again restored order and said, “Okay, I’ll go along with your wishes. We will all vote on it. Do we take the cut or do we let eighteen of us go?”

  “And Mr. Steadman,” said a steely-eyed, deep-voiced assembly line supervisor, “if we vote to let eighteen go, will any of them be members of your family?”

  That question brought silence to the crowd and they all focused their eyes on their boss. Walter Steadman answered immediately, “Yes, I would fire Christopher, not because he is the youngest or the least senior member of my family, but because his position as assistant head of manufacturing is the most expendable. Bill will just have to work much harder without his brother, and he will do so without getting paid overtime, of course.”

  Both Chris and Bill did not react to their father’s statement and just kept their eyes focused straight ahead on the crowd. The silence continued as the employees digested the boss’s statement and Christopher thought, Jeez, Dad, I’m twenty-six years old with a kid on the way and you’re going to kick my ass out the door? But he knew why his father did it, and he knew he was right in doing it.

  “Okay,” Frank said in a subdued voice. “We’ll vote on it this afternoon at coffee break, if that’s all right with you, Boss.”

  “That’s fine with me. Please let me know the results as soon as you can and I’ll proceed from there. And be sure to give a ballot to me and all my family members.”

  Frank said nothing. He damn well knew why the old man chose Christopher for his sacrificial lamb. Chris was the family member closest to the workers. On the factory floor each and every day he interacted with them all, from the guy who swept up the lathe trimmings, to the package handlers in shipping and receiving, and right up to the line supervisors who reported directly to him. Chris knew them all by first name, and they all called him by his. There was not a problem – personal, financial, or job related – that any one of them had that Chris would not try to solve for them. He was more a friend than a boss, but there was something else about him that was not easily explained. Probably the over-used word charisma could be applied, but the best observation came from a cute metal fabricator named Diane who had spoken to Chris about a problem with her schedule and her kids’ schedules. After he had worked it out to their mutual satisfaction, Diane turned to her co-worker and said, “Martha, that man is something!”

  “Yeah, he is kinda good-looking.”

  “Not just his looks. When I spoke to him now, he…well he made me feel as if I was the only person in the plant.”

  “Watch out, sweetie,” Martha said with a grin. “But you’re right. I believe Chris could charm the panties off just about any girlie he chooses.”

  The male workers never thought of Chris as a lady-killer, but they thought of him as a leader, someone they would follow into battle. Maybe it was his Marine Corps training, or maybe it was something else, but whatever it was Christopher Steadman had it, and most of them would hate to see him get fired. So when the votes were counted, and Frank walked into Walter Steadman’s office with the results Walter said, “Tell me.”

  “Everyone voted, except for two on vacation that we were unable to contact. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, the vote was pretty lopsided. Fifty-two voted for the pay cut and thirteen for the layoffs.”

  Steadman nodded and breathed deeply. Thank God that decency and common sense had ruled. He said, “Thanks, Frank. I know this cut will be tough to swallow, but it’s our only choice.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We had another vote, and this one was even more lopsided – in fact, it was unanimous.”

  “What other vote?”

  “We voted to unionize. We are going to join the Amalgamated Machinists and Metal Workers as soon as we can. They’ve already been contacted.”

  “Well, I don’t agree with that decision, but you certainly have the right to do so.”

  “Yeah, Boss, we do,” Frank said getting up and leaving the office.

  * * *

  The union was voted in and the local leaders of the AMMW proposed a three-year labor contract to the management team of the Mainstay Metals Company which called for a 5% across the board pay increase for each of the three years, a 15% benefit increase and large increases in vacation, personal and sick leave time. And of course, there were the myriad pages of “work rules” which seemed solely designed to tie the hands of management in all aspects of their own business. But the kicker was the union demand of no layoffs during the term of the contract.

  The family had politely received the union leaders and they were polite in return. Nothing was discussed at the initial meeting much beyond the weather, and then Jim Moran, the obvious leader of the two union men said, “Mr. Steadman, my partner Tommy Wagner and I are reasonable men. We consider ourselves businessmen just like you. We will leave you copies of the proposed contract for you to study. When you’re ready to negotiate, call us back and we’ll talk turkey.”

  “Can we truly negotiate, Mr. Moran, or are you prepared to force this document down our throats?” Steadman asked.

  “Come on, Walter! This is America. Everything’s negotiable. That is the process,” said the jovial, white-haired Moran. “Everything is on the table for discussion.”

  And when they “talked turkey” they discovered a different Jim Moran and Tom Wagner on the other side of the table, and they were not smiling when they said, “The best we can do is one point off the raises and two points off the benefit package, but only in the third year of the contract.”

  “I thought you understood business, Mr. Moran,” Linda said. “How do you propose we pay for all these raises without letting people go?”

  “Raise your prices,” Moran said.

  “Take a pay cut for all your management people,” Wagner said.

  Go fuck yourselves Christopher thought as he felt his blood begin to boil at these arrogant bastards. But he kept his mouth shut and let his father handle it.

  “Jim,” Walter said, “you have to be reasonable here. I showed you the books. You know our situation. You have to know this can’t possibly work.”

  “You know Walter, I truly sympathize with you and your family. I have dealt with companies that are so greedy they make me want to vomit. You’re not one of them, but you have a group of angry workers, and I’m not saying that anger is justified, who gave me their demands that are reflected in the contract before you. And, whether you believe me or not, I tried to tell them that those demands, if met, could very well put you out of business.”

  “And what did they say to that comment?” Bill asked.

  “They said – and by they I mean the four spokesmen of the group – they said they didn’t believe it. They said you have plenty of dough and would never give up your beloved business.”

  Christopher, who prided himself on his ability to read people and detect their levels of truth and sincerity, had reversed his opinion of Jim Moran. “Jim,” he said as the rest of the family turned to look at their youngest member, the member wh
o rarely said anything.

  Moran was caught by surprise and his head snapped back a bit as Christopher’s gaze struck him full on. “Yes,” he said, “And you are, again?”

  “Chris Steadman and I want to ask you, Jimmy Moran, are you an American?”

  “Of course!”

  “Do you believe in America and the free-enterprise system?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Jimmy, I’m asking you as a fellow American, what should we do? What would you do if you were on this side of the table? What would you do to preserve a prosperous small business that, with numerous others like us, is the heart of America?”

  Moran was mesmerized by Christopher Steadman. For one of the few times in his life he was at a complete loss for words. Tommy Wagner who had also been affected by Christopher’s words finally said, “Christopher, we are not on your side of the table. We are the union, doing union business and that’s who pays our salary.”

  Jimmy Moran said, “That’s the way it is folks. Let us know your decision. Either you sign the contract or we go to mediation.”

  The meeting adjourned and as they all left the conference room, Moran grabbed Christopher by the arm and whispered, “Chris, if you find yourself out of job, come and see me.”

  “Jimmy, I believe your heart is in the right place, but you work for an organization, knowingly or unknowingly, that’s actively working to destroy America. Thanks, anyway.”

  Moran walked away wishing he had said things a bit differently. There was something he liked about Christopher Steadman, something loyal, or hero-like, or true – something that was rare in a man in this day and age.

  * * *

  Mediation did not resolve the issue although the head mediator pointed out to the union that they had no chance of imposing a no layoff clause on this business, or any business. The dispute went to arbitration and that state-chosen official imposed a one-year contract on Mainstay Metals that provided the raises in salary, benefits and 50% of the increased leave time the union asked for.

  When the decision came down the family gathered with their lawyer and worked out the financial details and the legal ramifications of the new work rules. Greg told his father he would have to lay off twenty-five workers instead of the eighteen they once spoke about in order to account for the raises just granted. Walter refused. He said “We’ll do the eighteen for now to get out from under the Obamacare requirements, and see how it goes.”

  “How are you going to make up the difference?” Greg asked, upset at his father’s obstinacy on the realities of the issue.

  “We’ll raise our prices accordingly.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Bill asked.

  “Yes.”

  That decision turned out to be the worst business decision Walter Steadman made since the day he opened the doors of Mainstay Metals thirty-five years ago.

  * * *

  During the months of contract negotiations, Chris had become the father of a healthy baby girl they named Elizabeth after Pauline’s recently deceased and long-beloved grandmother. And now he did not have a job, but at least he had a modest income from his 10% ownership stake in the company, and a few thousand dollars in the bank.

  Pauline went back to work as soon as she was able and Christopher became Mr. Mom to Elizabeth. Fortunately, his two brother’s wives pitched in watching the baby so Chris could go out looking for a job. He was just finishing up his master’s degree courses and figured he would teach history as his wife did. They would do okay with the two salaries and benefits. On his way out the door, Bill’s wife Edna said, “Chris, why don’t you apply for unemployment. You were laid off.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’m management and part owner of the company.”

  “So if something happened and Bill lost his job, he would be in the same position?”

  “Afraid so, Edna.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but it’s the way things are. Hey, what are you worried about anyway?”

  “Bill told me business is down. He sounded very concerned.”

  “That’s the first I heard of it. I’ll talk to Dad when I get a chance and see what’s cooking.”

  “Thanks, good luck out there today.”

  Chapter Five

  There was no luck out there that day or in the following days for the unemployed wannabe high school history teacher. The education system in California was in chaos due to budget cuts. Teachers were being laid off all over the state and few, if any, positions were being filled. After ten days of frustration as school district after school district politely rejected his request for employment, he said to Pauline, “Honey, this sucks. I don’t think I’ll ever find a job.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s tough. Maybe I should have warned you, but I figured you might get lucky.”

  “Hey, maybe I’ll find something else besides teaching.”

  “I know you will,” she said. She took his hand in hers and whispered, “But you have to find something soon.”

  “Uh-oh. What’s up?”

  “I got my layoff notice today. In six weeks, when this term is complete, I’m out of a job.”

  “Shit!”

  “What will we do, Chris? We have a baby and…”

  “I’ll go see Dad. Last time I spoke to him about Edna’s concerns, he assured me things were going okay. Maybe he can do something for me.”

  The next day as Chris walked through the plant toward his father’s office he instantly recognized a change in the atmosphere. The jovial, family-like camaraderie was gone. There were few smiles on the familiar faces as they worked mechanically at their stations. Only two workers acknowledged him, one with a slight smile, and the other with a short nod of his head. He thought the gloomy atmosphere and robot-like workers resembled a prison workshop as he entered Walter’s office. “Hi, Dad,” he said.

  “Hi, Chris,” he said putting a slight smile on his face.

  Chris hadn’t seen his father for about three weeks when the family all had dinner together at Walter and Emily’s home. But now, only twenty-one days later, his father looked a year older with many creases in his face appearing that Chris had not previously noticed.

  “How’s my new granddaughter doing?” he asked.

  “She’s doing great. Me and Pauline, not so great.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I can’t find a job and Pauline’s just lost hers. That’s what’s up.”

  “Oh Chris, I’m sorry. If only I could help you…”

  “What do you mean, if only? You’re all I have left who can help us through this.”

  “I was less than forthright when we spoke last time. The business is in trouble. I’m going to eliminate the profit sharing for us, and I’m going to have to lay off ten more people. The orders are just not coming in as they used to.”

  “Why?”

  “The price increase I put in. My customers are going to my competitors most of whom are in China, India and South Korea.”

  “And the elimination of the profit sharing means that bit of income is now gone for me? Dad, the only money we will have coming in will be Pauline’s unemployment check when she’s done at school. That’s not enough. Any suggestions?”

  “I’m afraid not, son. I can help you out from my savings for a little while, but…”

  “No way, Dad. You and mom deserve all you earned. I’ll think of something.”

  And that night, Christopher Steadman, unable to sleep, his mind churning furiously, suddenly sat upright in bed, the unexpected motion waking his lightly-sleeping wife. “What’s the matter, Chris? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, honey,” he said with a big smile. “I’m very fine. Go back to sleep.”

  When Chris awoke the next morning refreshed, and surprised he had slept so late that Pauline had already left for school, he ate a big breakfast and took his second cup of coffee over to the desk where his PC stood and began clicking away. After a few minutes he p
icked up the telephone and dialed the number that stared back at him from the monitor. “Marine Corps Base Quantico,” said the operator. “How may I direct your call?”

  “Major James O’Grady, please. I don’t know what unit he’s in though.”

  “Hold on, I’ll check the directory. Here he is, in Network Ops. I’ll connect you.”

  “Major O’Grady here.”

  Chris smiled at the familiar sound of the gruff voice, more fitted to that of a drill instructor at Parris Island. “Former Sergeant Christopher Steadman here, sir!”

  “Chris Steadman! Well I’ll be a son-of-a-gun. You finally re-considered and want to go to OCS after all, right?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Yes.”

  O’Grady burst out laughing and said, “You always did have a sense of humor, Chris. Now what is the real reason for this call to your old CO?”

  “I just told you.”

  “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “Major, the only pulling I want is you pulling all the right strings to get me back into the Corps and into Officers Candidates School, ASAP.”

  “Care to tell me why?”

  “Sure.”

  When Chris finished his tale of woe Major O’Grady said, “So you think because I am now stationed at Quantico where the OCS is located, and because I play golf with the commanding officer of that school, and because I play poker with the base commander, you think I can pull enough strings to get you here?”

  “I sure hope so, sir.”

  “There’s a new class forming up in six weeks, Sergeant. Pack your duffle bag. I’ll notify you when the paperwork is done.”

  “Sir, I don’t know how to…”

  “Welcome home, Sergeant. See you soon.”

  “Semper Fi, Major.”

  The six weeks flew by. Pauline had accepted her husband’s decision with no reservations. She now officially had no job and would stay home with the baby while Christopher went east to Virginia. They put the house on the market at an attractive price and hoped to close around the same time he finished training. The family reacted to Chris’s decision with mixed emotions. It was the second crack in the family solidarity, the first coming when Chris was laid off from the business. They all feared more cracks were yet to come.