ZIP!

I recently learned that an old friend – I’ll call him “Joe” - will be retiring.  Joe has spent his entire career at our company – 42 years.  That number astounds me (although, other, smaller numbers have astounded me in years past, only to find that they eventually seemed much smaller when I surpassed them.)
 
Joe was one of the very first people I met when I joined this company, fresh out of college.  He was the Assistant Manager of our department.  As a newbie insurance underwriter, I reported to a supervisor, who reported to Joe.  He was, and is, a great guy.

Joe knew his stuff.  We all respected him, and he, in turn, had our backs.  Although I may not have realized it, years later when I became a manager, Joe was among the early influencers who helped to shape my own style.  He stood up for his people, and we would have jumped in front of a bus for him.  It doesn’t get much better than that.

Joe came from humble beginnings, a solid blue-collar family of first-generation Italian-Americans.  He speaks with a fairly thick Boston accent.  With no disrespect intended (quite the opposite,) he reminds me a bit of Boston mayor Tom Menino (known, affectionately or derisively, depending on who does the knowing, as “Mumbles” for his accented, occasionally slurred speaking style.)  Tom Menino has been, and continues to be wildly popular among his constituents, and for good reason – he knows how to get things done, knows every inch of his city, and does what he believes is best – always – for his people. 

Back in the day, Joe seemed to know everyone in our company – no small statement, considering that we worked at the headquarters of a Fortune 500 corporation.  If you needed to get something done – to cut through the red tape, go to the source, and just get it done – Joe always knew how, and could usually call in a favor if necessary to grease the skids. 
 
A friend and I went to Joe’s house, many years ago, to hash out an idea: we were going to lay plans to start a risk management consulting company.  By that point in our careers, we had amassed some industry credentials and relevant experience; and we were, after all, in the middle of the booming, Reagan-era 1980s.  Anything seemed possible. 

Our plan never got off the ground.  The usual reasons – inertia, fear of the unknown, lack of time to commit, the siren call of the “safe” corporate pay package – prevailed.   I don’t remember any of the details of our so-called plan, but what I do recall vividly about our visit to Joe’s house was his three young children.  They stood out to me as some of the most polite, well-mannered, respectful kids I’d ever encountered.  They came into the room, excused themselves, and offered us something to drink.  At that point in my life, I hadn’t had much experience with children, but even I knew that they were remarkably well raised.  They were special.  Joe, it turned out, had a pretty good life outside of work.

At work, as years went by, the story unfolded differently.  Joe’s career seemed to hit a plateau at a certain point.  I knew from our conversations that for him, the thrill was definitely gone.  Younger, less experienced, sharply dressed, fast-talking, MBA-wielding “suits” had taken the reins.  There had been a change of the guard at the top, and the corporate culture followed suit.  “Lean and mean” were valued.  Loyal and competent, not so much.  Joe, and many others like him, lost ground.  Some were shown the door.    

I had, by then, moved around a bit, and no longer worked at headquarters; so my own personal experience was, thankfully, somewhat distanced from the carnage.  But we felt the ripple effects in the hinterlands nonetheless.  The entire company was changing, evolving, shedding its skin and reinventing itself, repeatedly, like a snake.

Years passed, then decades.  Joe soldiered on.  I’m sure he had opportunities to move on to greener pastures, but for reasons that I think I understand – his family, including his elderly parents who had moved into the in-law apartment in the beautiful, new house that Joe and his wife had built along the way; the “golden handcuffs” of a pension plan, 401(K) and generous (though ever less so) benefits  – he stayed.

Now, after 42 years, Joe’s moment has come.  He has much to look forward to: spending time with his wife and children, now successful adults; and with the grandchildren he adores.  A Disney trip is in the offing.  I hope, for his sake, that there will be many more.

I spoke with Joe the other day.  I asked him about his retirement party, which I didn’t want to miss.  His answer saddened, but didn’t really surprise me.  He doesn’t want one; he just wants to fade away.  It turns out that his departure, though voluntary, has left a sour taste, for reasons I’m sure he would not want me to detail here.  This is not the way a 42 year relationship should end; but, equally true, it’s par for the course these days, in the parallel universe we call corporate America.

One could take away any of a number of lessons from Joe’s story.  I choose these: 

·         Family comes first.  Always.  By the yardstick that is his family, Joe is a rich and successful man, with every reason to reflect with great pride on the last four decades. 

·         Companies, Republican platform planks to the contrary notwithstanding, are not people.  Loyalty to a company may or may not be rewarded; the outcome is random, not unlike, say, that of loyalty to a sofa.

·         Loyalty to people, especially people who, for whatever reason, rely on you, is likely to be richly rewarding.  You may shape their lives in ways you will never know.  They just might jump in front of a bus for you.

Footnote:  The title of this post, “ZIP!” is meaningless to all but three people – Joe, me, and one other friend who may or may not remember its origin.  I hope that one day, Joe will come across my blog, and I want him to recognize himself.