“That doesn’t really answer the question,” a male voice from the audience chided. “Is it in our best interest to retire before the merger closes, or wait until after?”
“That’s a personal decision. It’s entirely up to you. Remember there are no guarantees either way,” the HR representative stated.
“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” another employee shot back.
“Well, you can retire now and become an Easton retiree with benefits. But there’s no guarantee those benefits will continue indefinitely once Pratt-Miles owns Easton. If you need health insurance, you might be better off continuing to work.”
“So are you saying I will have a job with Pratt-Miles after the close?” another employee asked.
“You know we can’t guarantee that. Pratt-Miles is still in the process of evaluating staffing needs,” the meeting moderator answered.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” another employee pressed.
“Again, that’s entirely up to you,” came the reply.
“Thanks for the useful information,” an attendee in the front row huffed sarcastically.
“Any time,” the moderator from Pratt-Miles cheerily answered, without the least bit of concern in her voice.
Individuals who had already retired from The Easton Company did not learn that Pratt-Miles had no retiree benefit plans until months after they had cast their votes for the merger. Spread across the country, the majority of Easton retirees were aware of the Easton/Pratt-Miles merger, but had no idea their own retiree medical and life insurance benefits were in jeopardy until they received letters on Pratt-Miles stationery six months after the sale closed. The Easton retirees were shocked and irate. They had spent their careers with Easton and had been repeatedly told, both verbally and in writing, that their retiree benefits were “for life.”
Pratt-Miles gave Easton’s retirees six months advance notice before ending benefits. The decision affected nearly 400 retirees and surviving spouses whose ages ranged from fifty-six to ninety-four.
The retirees asked, “What about all those benefits memos, retirement letters and booklets The Easton Company distributed promising retiree medical benefits for life?” Pratt-Miles simply declared them invalid, unless they were specifically incorporated into a written severance agreement that was witnessed and signed by both parties. Of course, the only retirees holding that type of a document were Easton’s former executives. Certainly not the secretaries and janitors who had spent careers typing and sweeping floors for a secure retirement.
Retirees wrote to their congressional representatives. They spoke with reporters. They consulted attorneys. Legal action was threatened. Possibly a class action lawsuit. Unfortunately, the same law designed to protect workers’ benefits – the Employee Retirement Income Security Act, or ERISA – also creates a series of hurdles that an individual must jump before going to court. In a case like this, those ERISA hurdles can take two years or more to complete. Only after exhausting all remedies under ERISA can a person bring suit against an employer in court. It did not require a genius in the Pratt-Miles legal department to realize that time was on the corporation’s side in this matter. Chances were good that the company could wait out the aging retirees, who would run out of money or run out of time before the case was resolved.
Peace of Mind? Passé
The envelope arrived in her mail soon after Pratt-Miles advised Easton retirees that their benefits were being terminated. Kate Cooper ripped opened the hand addressed catalog-sized mailer with the assorted postage stamps affixed to it and pulled out a small booklet whose pages were yellowing and curled at the edges. Attached to it was a note from Samuel Jones, an Easton retiree who had joined the company in 1965 and retired thirty-one years later in 1996. His note read:
Kate,
Get a load of this. What’s happened to my piece of the “peace of mind” I was promised? You’ll notice there’s no disclaimer and Ed Easton’s printed signature along with his endorsement of the company’s terrific retiree benefits program is on the inside cover. Can someone please explain to me in plain English how Pratt-Miles can legally get away with ending these benefits for all of us with no more effort than if they were turning off a spigot?
An Easton Retiree ’Til the Day I Die,
Samuel Jones
The front cover of the booklet included a 1960s-looking cartoon of a happy little man in a suit reaching up to a tree whose leaves spelled out “Enjoyable Retirement.” On the first page, Kate found this introduction:
Retirement with Financial Comfort
It helps anyone’s peace of mind all through life to know he’s going to be sitting safe, financially, in his later years.
That goes for the girls, too.
We have tried to plan retirement income and benefits for you, which, when added to your social security income and perhaps to income from some personal savings of your own, will give you a comfortable living at retirement.
We pay the entire cost of this retirement plan, so all you have to do is stay with us. We want you to do just that (and happily), and this is one reason we have the retirement benefits plan in the first place.
Kate smiled and shook her head, “Those were the days,” she muttered to herself. Pre-ERISA days where trust and a handshake were considered a contract. And a new recognition that “the girls” deserved equal benefits. She sighed sadly. She would forward the booklet to the Pratt-Miles attorneys in Denver but she was certain they would be unmoved.
Tales of the Sofa, Too
Jim Fisher accurately predicted the timing of his own involuntary termination from the company. As a human resources representative, it was easier to see the impending end of one’s own job after performing exit interviews for so many others.
Soon after lunch on Jim’s last day at work, a small group of employees gathered outside his office for a farewell toast and to share slices of a grocery store sheet cake. This was the downsized version of the more lavish parties historically arranged for people departing the company. As the number of employees leaving started to exceed those who still remained at the former Easton headquarters, the catered going away events gave way to smaller and smaller recognitions.
Sipping Asti Spumante from a plastic champagne glass, Jim joked, “Soon these send-offs will be reduced to a shared bottle of Coke and a bag of pretzels.”
What made Jim’s going away gathering unique, however, was the auction. After the cake was mostly gone and everyone was on his or her second glass of cheap bubbly, Jim auctioned off the yellow sofa. Conditions of transfer were clearly stated: The highest bidder would be the sofa’s next caretaker. The recipient would be responsible for moving the thing to its next location. The auction proceeds would go to Habitat for Humanity.
After three rounds of fast-paced bidding by a half dozen individuals – peppered with lots of hoots and side comments from those assembled – the final bidding faced off between two guys from Information Technology who had been competing with each other for years on everything from the Super Bowl pool to the next promotion. When the bidding hit $260, the IT geeks decided to call a truce and share the sofa. Those assembled clapped and cheered. The spirit of Jim’s departure event was something right out of the old Easton Company playbook. A bit of personal recognition wrapped in conviviality, community and charity.
Several months later when most members of the IT department were laid off, the yellow sofa once again was without a home. In the wake of the extensive downsizing, an effort was made to consolidate the remaining employees in the building.
It was during this physical office reorganization that the in-house maintenance men were asked to move the yellow sofa out of the old IT area to make room for a group of employees from the third floor. Initially, Lenny and Sam, the only remaining staff from the Easton building maintenance team, protested the manager’s request to move the heavy piece of furniture.
“Is it really necessary given all the space throughout the entire building?”
Sam wanted to know.
The manager, one of the few who had been reassigned from Denver to Pratt-Miles’ newest regional office (the former Easton headquarters building) did not appreciate the push back. “Look fellas. You can’t tell me you have that much to do that you can’t move a sofa. With the rest of your team already RIFed, I’d think you’d act like you still want a job around here. After all, if we need maintenance help, we can always call a contractor. What you guys do isn’t rocket science, you know.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Sam finally mumbled to the manager. “Where the heck do you want us to put this thing?”
“I couldn’t care less,” the manager replied, “as long as it’s out of here.”
Sam and Lenny exchanged looks. “So you don’t care where it goes?” Lenny asked the manager, just to be certain there was no misunderstanding.
“That’s correct. But I want it gone by morning.” He huffed off and slammed his office door in their faces.
“Well Lenny,” Sam grinned, “looks like we have a new sofa for the break room.”
Throughout the spring, Lenny and Sam enjoyed lounging on the yellow sofa in the basement break room, adjacent to the maintenance office. It was a fine addition to the other amenities they had collected from throughout the building as more and more employees were let go and offices stood abandoned. The break room already had a recliner, a coffee table, nice floor lamps, two computers for surfing the net, a DVD player and a good-sized TV on a rolling cart acquired from the abandoned communications conference room, nice artwork, several large potted plants, and a small refrigerator from a former lunchroom. Since no one ever came down to the maintenance area, Lenny and Sam were free to entertain themselves during work hours, interrupted only occasionally by a call from someone to fix, move, unlock or clean something.
The sofa was great for catching a nap or settling in to watch an afternoon baseball game on TV. Sam had even entertained his latest lady friend in the break room after normal business hours, letting her in through the downstairs entrance next to the loading dock so she wouldn’t have to go past the receptionist or the security guard at the front desk.
“It’s the perfect make-out couch,” Sam told Lenny, referring to the yellow sofa. “Easy to maneuver around but difficult to escape from.”
Unfortunately for Sam and Lenny their good life at work did not last long. Pratt-Miles’ Denver management finally determined there was no need for the remaining on-staff maintenance employees. Their jobs were eliminated and they left behind most of the goodies in the break room feathered nest. The maintenance managers had been let go months before. The decision to keep two low level employees was simply for convenience, but now it was clear to the company’s new management that an outside contractor could handle any maintenance problems. So on the first of June, Sam and Lenny left the building for the last time, ending the yellow sofa’s days of sports, movies and evening amour.
Although Sam and Lenny were sad to go, they had won a $150 bet with the former mailroom workers. The wager was made between the last two mailroom employees and the last two maintenance men. They had bet on who among them would be the last to go. The mailroom clerks were sure they would outlast Sam and Lenny; and they might have won the bet had it not been for their prank or serious error (they never admitted which) involving the Denver office. Soon after another “RIF visit” to the former Easton offices by Janice Foss, the Pratt-Miles vice president of human resources, Janice arrived at her Denver office one morning to find it piled high with Fed Ex packages. There were so many boxes and envelopes that she could barely reach her desk, which was also stacked high with Fed Ex bundles. Closer examination of the packages revealed they had all been sent out from the former Easton mailroom over a three-day period. Every package was addressed to Janice. The Fed Ex shipments included several mass mailings to retirees, vendors and former employees – hundreds of pieces of mail and boxes of materials.
The mailroom staff back in Virginia claimed that the Fed Ex label process must have erroneously repeated Janice’s address on all the labels instead of picking up the correct addresses. Janice wasn’t buying the explanation. She knew the former Easton personnel didn’t like her and the feeling was mutual. It angered her that the mailroom employees didn’t even bother to apologize, just shrugged it off by saying, “Oops. Well these things happen.”
It took two days for staff in Denver to sort out the mess. Within a month after the Fed Ex fiasco, the mailroom jobs in Virginia were eliminated and the mailroom duties were outsourced. So the last two mailroom employees lost their jobs first, which meant Sam and Lenny won the bet.
Before the merger, The Easton Company’s seven-person maintenance crew had a number of important responsibilities, not the least of which was preventive maintenance on the building. Since the exterior was painted stucco adorned with exposed teakwood trellises, ongoing maintenance activities included patching, painting, sanding and staining. Likewise, the storm drainage system required special attention, especially during spring rains and summer storms. The flat-roofed building had been constructed without gutters; so leaf debris from surrounding trees wrecked havoc with the built-in drain lines, which required constant monitoring and periodic cleaning.
When Easton’s maintenance managers were laid off, the maintenance director, Ken Bradford, called Pratt-Miles headquarters and spoke with a human resources representative handling the maintenance group’s terminations. He wanted to know who to send his files to – the ones containing information on the building’s HVAC contracts, scheduled maintenance needs, the key codes to control panels, city fire drill schedules, and building security protocols. The HR rep in Denver said he would get back to Ken, but never did. On his final day at work, Ken tried one last time to contact someone at Pratt-Miles headquarters to pass along what he considered important information. This time he called Janice Foss, the vice president of human resources, on her direct line.
After he explained the reason for his call, Janice responded in a tone one might use when talking to an adolescent, “Ken, you don’t have to worry about any of that any more. You just need to let it go so you can move on. I think you’ve become a bit obsessive about your work. Trust me. We’ll manage. Just leave your keys. Thanks again for your concern, but we’ll take it from here.”
When Ken hung up the phone he was steaming mad. Janice Foss’ reply was the most patronizing nonsense he had experienced in his career. Yeah, his was a blue-collar job but he considered himself a professional. He had planned to leave lengthy instructions and notes for someone along with his files. Now, given the vice president’s reaction to his interest in transitioning information – and her obvious lack of understanding what his job involved – he cavalierly followed her instructions. Leaving the building that day he simply left his keys on his desk, taking with him over twenty years of knowledge about the operations, quirks and contracts concerning an idiosyncratic building designed by a world class architect.
For the next six months building maintenance was ignored except for the occasional plumbing problem or light fixture issue that required immediate attention. Sam and Lenny, during their short remaining tenure, took a minimalist approach to their work. Preventive maintenance was nonexistent. After Sam and Lenny’s departure, no one from Pratt-Miles even thought about such things 2,000 miles away in Denver. Until the roof fell in. Literally.
During the hottest July on record in the Washington area, the air conditioning units stopped working in the Pratt-Miles regional Virginia office. No one seemed to have a clue whether there were service or maintenance contracts on the units since no one had bothered to debrief the maintenance team about anything before they left. Urgent calls placed to Ken Bradford’s home number went unanswered. So when the air conditioning stopped working, it took two weeks to find a contractor willing to come take a look at it. It seemed everyone was having brownout issues in the heat, and without a contract, new service requests had to wait their turn.
While waiting for the air
conditioning to be repaired in a building with windows that did not open, employees threatened to stop coming to work, left early, called in sick and one even quit. But because the company’s owners were in Denver, there was no real urgency on their part. Certainly they wanted the system repaired, but to them it was no big deal.
Then, while the air conditioning was still out, a series of torrential summer storms blew through the metro area and heavy downpours resulted in local flooding. On the third straight day of hard rain, a new maintenance problem occurred that made the lack of air conditioning seem minor by comparison. With the departure of the maintenance staff, no one had cleaned the drains on the top of the building in half a year – a critical task on a building with flat roofs and rooftop terraces. The rainwater pooled on the rooftops and began seeping down inside the walls without anyone noticing until enough water accumulated to cause the collapse of large portions of the ceiling on the lower level of the building.
Employees called the new owners in Denver who seemed baffled as to how a building they recently purchased could be falling down. Employees were moved to other floors, but the water damage was extensive. Structural assessments were required. Mold began to grow on the walls and huge fans and dehumidifying units were set up and run 24/7 for weeks on end while repairs were in progress. Employees complained to management, called in sick, and called OSHA.
It took nearly nine weeks and $3 million to return the building to working order. The ordeal gave Kate Cooper a new crop of gray hairs and a recurring nightmare. In Kate’s dream the former headquarters building designed by the famous architect David Sinclair was overgrown with vines. In the dream, as Kate looked on in horror, the overgrown white stucco building sank slowly into a pit of brown muck until it entirely disappeared underground – employees and all – with one big sucking sound. The epilogue in Kate’s nightmare was always the same. The new owners viewed the building’s demise as a development opportunity and immediately built a twenty-two-story condo tower on the site.
Pink Slips and Parting Gifts Page 21