Boss Move of the Year and Justin Trudeau

So everyone is doing the “end-of-year” awards thing. I’ll pitch in my thoughts. Man of the Year? Well that’s Trump of course; the fact that he’s coming back to town with a naughty-nice list is the greatest comeback in American political history.

Boss Move of the Year? That goes to Trump as well for his reaction to the assassination attempt in Butler this past July.

Second place in the boss move category? I nominate Trump for his starring role in “Justin Trudeau’s Trip to Mar-a-Lago.”

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Book and Movie Review: The Valley of Decision (rerun)

WSJ briefly reviewed Marcia Davenport’s book The Valley of Decision in its roundup of books about family businesses a couple of weeks ago. I reviewed both the book and the 1945 movie that it inspired (starring Greer Garson and Gregory Peck) last year.

The book could be subtitled An Industrial Romance, as could the movie. Both could enjoy some renewed attention at a time when the importance of manufacturing is receiving increased focus in the US.

Pittsburgh, 1873. The Scott family owns a steel mill, and sixteen-year-old Mary Rafferty has just started work as maid in their home.   There are 5 Scott children, but 17-year-old Paul is the only one who truly values the mill as anything other than a source of dividends.   William Jr, the eldest, is   engaged to a young Boston socialite and wants to to maximize his take from the mill to support their joint social ambitions.   Elizabeth is “plain and angular and earnest, full of purpose and good works.”   The twins Constance and Edgar, 9-year-olds when Mary first meets them, are always into mischief–“known in the backyards and nurseries of Western Avenue as holy terrors and limbs of the devil”…as they grow older, Constance dreams of marrying an English aristocrats, moving to Europe to get away from what she sees as her boring family, and meeting “all the wicked people,” while Edgar prefers life as a rather raffish gentleman of leisure to doing any kind of serious work.

Paul, though, shares with his father William a strong personal bond with the mill, the work it does, and the people who work there. Will Jr, who as oldest is the presumptive future chief of the mill,  has no desire whatsoever to be a part of scenes such as a Bessemer Converter blow:

And now excitement, familiar but primevally keen, swept everything else aside. The great bulbous brute towering above him began to rumble and belch. From its mouth high overhead a stream of scarlet flame threw itself at the acid winter sky. The blower gave a sign. The blow was ready, and suddenly the usual concert of barbaric noises in the shed was drowned in one fearful ear-crushing roar as the cold blast was shot into the converter’s belly.   Element grappled with element, oxygen in a death-struggle with carbon, a battle more terrible and wonderful than man had ever made before.   The flame, steady and fearfully red, began to change color, a descending scale of blinding flashes echoing from the death-and-birth agony of the elements. Inside the beast steel was being born, and from the vessel’s roaring mouth the solid fire changed from red to blue, to orange, to yellow…

Paul does see things differently from his father in that believes that a more scientific approach to steelmaking will be necessary if they are to compete successfully with giants like Carnegie Steel. When he returns from college he sets up a metallurgical laboratory at the mill, and an open hearth furnace is installed to help in the switch of focus to specialty steels.

There is an immediate strong attraction between Paul and Mary, but the are obstacles–not only the very different class positions of Paul and Mary, but the fact that Mary’s brother..a key skilled worker at the mill…is also a labor leader, attempting to organize a union among Scott employees. And while William Scott Sr does care about his workers, he will resist any attempts to interfere with what he see as his management prerogatives.

Mary quickly comes to share Paul’s emotional bond with the mill, and she also develops a strong sense of connection to and responsibility for the entire family..indeed, more of a sense of connection and responsibility that than felt by some of the family’s own members.

The book begins with Mary starting work for the Scott family, but the history of the mill goes back further, to its founding by Paul’s immigrant grandfather–and the book extends the story through multiple generations, up through the early years of World War II.   The mill played an important role in arming Union forces in the Civil War, and a similar role in later conflicts.   The importance of this exemplar of heavy industry to the national defense is played up strongly, as one might expect in a book published in 1941.

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January 6th and the Dog That Didn’t Bark

I would like to add another dimension to Alan’s post regarding January 6th by focusing on the intelligence analysis and decision-making by various government agencies prior to that day.

There has been a lot of ink spilled by the old legacy press regarding the DOJ Inspector General’s (IG) report that the FBI had 26 informants on the ground during Jan. 6. Some commentators have seized upon a particular finding in the report, that there were no FBI agents physically present within the crowd that day, as definitive proof against broader theories of FBI involvement.

Let’s leave aside whether the scope of the report could adequately cover all of the FBI’s activities or even how a single data point (lack of FBI agents on the ground) is used to dismiss a complex web of questions in order to reach simplistic conclusions.

Instead let’s focus on something more nuanced concerning potential intelligence gathering, informants, and other forms of involvement that preceded the events of that day.

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Nothing Personal, It’s Just Business. Well, Actually, It Is All Personal. Because Business is Personal.

For those who may not know, I own a business and our field is HVAC distribution, which is a subset of industrial distribution.

A few weeks ago I lost my largest customer. It wasn’t due to any fault of my company or staff. The order came from one of my manufacturer vendors, where the people and culture have developed into a gross toxic stew over the last few years. I’ll spare you the gory details, but to quote Goodfellas, “we had to sit still and take it. It was among the Italians, it was real greaseball shit“.

Which is to say, one of my largest vendors gave this order and no matter how hard I fought, or wanted to fight, it was over. So that was that.

The great part about owning your own business is that over time (I’ve been doing this for 35 years) you develop a sense of peace in the face of threats and you develop what many have called “steel”. I have faced unimaginable (to most) adversity being in business for this long. We have lost our largest customer before.

And while this is a short term shock to us, we have been here before and have been through worse. Kneejerk reactions always prove unproductive. Sitting in a quiet room and thinking about your company, where you are, and who your friends are and what you can do IS productive. Charlie Munger said:

The first rule of a happy life is low expectations. If you have unrealistic expectations you’re going to be miserable your whole life. You want to have reasonable expectations and take life’s results, good and bad, as they happen with a certain amount of stoicism.

Munger thinks that I shouldn’t spend too much time navel gazing over something that I had no control over. So what now? This customer was 12% of our revenue.

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A Memory – Christmas in the Barracks, 1978

( I wrote this memory of a barracks Christmas when I first started blogging, and expanded it for my memoir – from which this long reminiscence is pulled. I was stationed in Japan, then, a junior airman assigned to the FEN detachment.)

All during the year, Thea and I had not given up on our idea of celebrating a proper Christmas in the dorm. We needed to develop a critical mass of people who would go along with it, and something of a sense of community in the barracks. Marsh was keen as well; she reveled in holidays, any holidays, and the foundation was laid over the summer when the three of us began cooking a slightly more elaborate dinner for ourselves every Sunday afternoon, and sharing with anyone else who happened to be hanging around the day room, bored and hungry on a Sunday.
“Bring a plate and a fork, and a chair from your room! That was our cheery invitation— there was a sad shortage of chairs around the dinette table at the kitchen end of the day room. The girls from the Public Affairs office, Shell and Shirl, and any of Shirl’s constantly rotating flier boyfriends joined in, as did Tree and Gee. The resident vegetarian fixed a vat of eggplant parmigiana, another girl, newly arrived, had the touch with the most perfect fried chicken I had ever eaten. I had bought a crockpot and constructed marvelous stews and chilis. The weekly dinner was well established and well attended, even after the dorm was converted from all-female to an ordinary Air-Base group dorm…

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