A number of years ago, nearly thirty by my count, I was the First Sergeant of a small USAF combat radar unit home based in Arizona. The unit mission was to provide radar service wherever the need should arise. We trained in the desert of Arizona and the mountains of Nevada. During my time in the early 1980's, we deployed to Saudi Arabia twice during the Iraq-Iran war, maintaining and operating tactical radar on top of a small hill overlooking the Arabian Gulf.
It was a neat little unit, one in which the members felt confidence in each other, whether or not they were equal in rank. As one of the senior NCO's, I had many opportunities to talk with the people in the unit on a person-to-person basis. Part of my job was to identify rising problems before they became issues and to do that, I tried to know the folks in the unit, from the Commander on down to the lowliest Airman straight out of technical school. The door to my office was open to all at any time, unless of course, there was someone else in there. I've counseled young officers, older sergeants, and airmen on all sorts of difficulties they might have or I perceived them as having.
At times, folks would just drop in to BS, tell a story or a joke, or ask for some help. One day, out of the blue, an airman said that he had some books about the Air Force if I was interested. I was and told him so, and the next day he dropped two books on my desk. That night, I began going through them, sitting in a recliner in front of a bookcase in my home office. Over the next few weeks, when I had a spare moment, I'd pull one of those books out of the bookcase for some pleasurable reading.
Many of the men are but featureless faces now with the exception of those with whom I worked most closely. Of particular clarity are the faces of the Commanders I worked for, Majors Bowen and Bakonyi, a senior NCO named Bill Baker, three NCO's in the radar shop, Cliff Sucher, Al Ashford and Dennis Wuebker, and the fellow who took over as First Sergeant when I left, MSgt Tom (Slick) Seidel.
Now, there are people with whom I have come into contact on the Internet who have identified themselves as having been in my unit. Just this past week, two fellows who were in the unit caught up to me on Facebook. In the past year, I've swapped notes with two others and for well over a year, I've been reading messages (responding now and again) of one Jeff Turkel who identified himself to me, but I honestly could not place him. I remember he came to us from the fire department, but I could not have picked him out of a crowd of two.
The other morning, about 5 AM, I awoke with a start. Jeff Turkel. Those books. After getting the coffee going and my newspaper, I went into my office and started going through my bookcases. I found what I thought I would. One book, The United States Air Force in Southeast Asia, and the other, The US War Machine, both with the name Jeff Turkel inside the cover.
For 30 years I've been harboring borrowed books, perhaps referring to them from time to time in my research, and even occasionally noting that there was a name there, but not remembering who he was.
I'll send Jeff a link to this and promise to return his books as soon as I've finished reading them.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Exodus
CHAPTER ONE
Friday the 13th - Massacre
Before you read the story, you must first know how it ended, with a bang. Friday the 13th of December, began like most others days for the division, but before it was over, fully two thirds of all division employees would be out of work, half of the total work force fired less than two weeks before Christmas. That by a CEO who had once said he'd never had a lay off and did not anticipate ever having one. Of course, by saying it, he clearly overlooked the fact that less than a year earlier he had directed the lay off of an entire division in Georgia.
The week had started ominously. A week earlier, all the Quality Assurance travel crews had been called in, ostensibly to go through an equipment inventory, but on Tuesday, as they trickled in from various cities across the country, they had each been fired and given an airline ticket back home.
On Wednesday, a rumor had flown through the factory that half of the division would soon be history, but nothing was confirmed. After all, nobody with any heart at all would lay off good workers just before Christmas. In case there is any question about these workers being good, remember that the division had already gone through two layoffs, so those remaining have to be considered good workers, or they'd have gone in earlier waves. Wouldn't they? That, plus the fact that the fiscal year had been the best year ever for the corporation and our division had provided in excess of thirty percent of corporate earnings.
With the firing of the inspectors and now a rumor that more were to go, Nathan Ballou panicked. Instead of going home precisely at quitting time as he would normally, he dashed wide-eyed into the center and dragged Dan Wakefield into Dave Scudamore's office, apparently expecting Scudamore could lay to rest all rumors and reassure him that his job was safe for all eternity. But Scudamore had been able only to say that he had not been told of any plans to lay off more workers. Nathan was having trouble breathing and seemed on the verge of major panic, so Scudamore and Wakefield stayed with him, hoping to calm him down enough so that he wouldn't have a seizure on his way home. After all, Nathan was easily the least stable person in the division. He was also the fellow who took sick leave every time he broke a finger nail or had his teeth cleaned, so there was good reason to worry about his mental health.
Friday ended early for QA. Around three in the afternoon, Dave Scudamore stuck his head in the office and said something about a meeting at three o'clock. I looked at my watch and said we'd better hurry because it was already three. He had already turned to go, but paused, turned back, and said that the meeting was for Maxi only, not me. Maxi looked at me and then followed Scudamore. As she reached the railing outside our office, she turned and, with a little smile, told me she had been right all along, that she'd go before I did.
I watched them leave and knew she was right. Then it hit me that once again, the company had failed to recognize its own chain of command. As Maxi's supervisor, I should have been the one to let her know officially, not some personnel weenie.
A few minutes later, Dan Wakefield came into my office wanting to know if I knew what was happening, "What's up? You and I are the only one's left."
Up until he said that I didn't realize what exactly was happening. I figured Maxi and a few others would go, but the massacre was wide-spread. Several had been laid off that morning in the manufacturing department and now Shelley Paonne, Nathan Ballou, Josh Berry and Dave Machievski were being axed from the center and losses in the hen house included Denise Macieira, Tanya May, and the twins. We lost all of our data entry people, all but one of the program supervisors and my right arm had disappeared as well.
Dan and I stood at the railing overlooking the factory contemplating our navels and the workers swarming over yet another of the other division's product on the floor below. Abbey Merrick was walking up through the factory, her eyes red from crying. She must have been told something or her imagination was very real.
Then I knew. Maxi walked up through the factory carrying two flattened cardboard packing cartons, looking as if she were about to cry, but too damned stubborn to actually let any tears flow. Maxi herself told me that she and ten others were gone, to leave that afternoon. As if to punctuate what she was saying to me, she said that they had already taken her company security badge and her office key. The cardboard cartons were to load her personal belongings. So the Quality Assurance and Customer Service Manager was told by his employee that she had been let go by the division hierarchy. I never received even so much as a briefing as to why it happened, much less an apology for completely ignoring normal guidelines. In fact, a week later I was moved out of my office into a cubicle precisely the same width as my desk and deeper than the computer wing on my desk by about two inches. I decided then and there that I would actively pursue employment in other directions. I decided that I probably would be treated like that forever and there was absolutely nothing that could be done to change the company's way of doing things.
CHAPTER ONE
Friday the 13th - Massacre
Before you read the story, you must first know how it ended, with a bang. Friday the 13th of December, began like most others days for the division, but before it was over, fully two thirds of all division employees would be out of work, half of the total work force fired less than two weeks before Christmas. That by a CEO who had once said he'd never had a lay off and did not anticipate ever having one. Of course, by saying it, he clearly overlooked the fact that less than a year earlier he had directed the lay off of an entire division in Georgia.
The week had started ominously. A week earlier, all the Quality Assurance travel crews had been called in, ostensibly to go through an equipment inventory, but on Tuesday, as they trickled in from various cities across the country, they had each been fired and given an airline ticket back home.
On Wednesday, a rumor had flown through the factory that half of the division would soon be history, but nothing was confirmed. After all, nobody with any heart at all would lay off good workers just before Christmas. In case there is any question about these workers being good, remember that the division had already gone through two layoffs, so those remaining have to be considered good workers, or they'd have gone in earlier waves. Wouldn't they? That, plus the fact that the fiscal year had been the best year ever for the corporation and our division had provided in excess of thirty percent of corporate earnings.
With the firing of the inspectors and now a rumor that more were to go, Nathan Ballou panicked. Instead of going home precisely at quitting time as he would normally, he dashed wide-eyed into the center and dragged Dan Wakefield into Dave Scudamore's office, apparently expecting Scudamore could lay to rest all rumors and reassure him that his job was safe for all eternity. But Scudamore had been able only to say that he had not been told of any plans to lay off more workers. Nathan was having trouble breathing and seemed on the verge of major panic, so Scudamore and Wakefield stayed with him, hoping to calm him down enough so that he wouldn't have a seizure on his way home. After all, Nathan was easily the least stable person in the division. He was also the fellow who took sick leave every time he broke a finger nail or had his teeth cleaned, so there was good reason to worry about his mental health.
Friday ended early for QA. Around three in the afternoon, Dave Scudamore stuck his head in the office and said something about a meeting at three o'clock. I looked at my watch and said we'd better hurry because it was already three. He had already turned to go, but paused, turned back, and said that the meeting was for Maxi only, not me. Maxi looked at me and then followed Scudamore. As she reached the railing outside our office, she turned and, with a little smile, told me she had been right all along, that she'd go before I did.
I watched them leave and knew she was right. Then it hit me that once again, the company had failed to recognize its own chain of command. As Maxi's supervisor, I should have been the one to let her know officially, not some personnel weenie.
A few minutes later, Dan Wakefield came into my office wanting to know if I knew what was happening, "What's up? You and I are the only one's left."
Up until he said that I didn't realize what exactly was happening. I figured Maxi and a few others would go, but the massacre was wide-spread. Several had been laid off that morning in the manufacturing department and now Shelley Paonne, Nathan Ballou, Josh Berry and Dave Machievski were being axed from the center and losses in the hen house included Denise Macieira, Tanya May, and the twins. We lost all of our data entry people, all but one of the program supervisors and my right arm had disappeared as well.
Dan and I stood at the railing overlooking the factory contemplating our navels and the workers swarming over yet another of the other division's product on the floor below. Abbey Merrick was walking up through the factory, her eyes red from crying. She must have been told something or her imagination was very real.
Then I knew. Maxi walked up through the factory carrying two flattened cardboard packing cartons, looking as if she were about to cry, but too damned stubborn to actually let any tears flow. Maxi herself told me that she and ten others were gone, to leave that afternoon. As if to punctuate what she was saying to me, she said that they had already taken her company security badge and her office key. The cardboard cartons were to load her personal belongings. So the Quality Assurance and Customer Service Manager was told by his employee that she had been let go by the division hierarchy. I never received even so much as a briefing as to why it happened, much less an apology for completely ignoring normal guidelines. In fact, a week later I was moved out of my office into a cubicle precisely the same width as my desk and deeper than the computer wing on my desk by about two inches. I decided then and there that I would actively pursue employment in other directions. I decided that I probably would be treated like that forever and there was absolutely nothing that could be done to change the company's way of doing things.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
