Lawrence (Yogi) Berra
Central New Jersey, 1991, and times were hard. Craftsmen and laborers in beat up old station wagons pulled into our industrial park almost every week, stopping at every plant and warehouse looking for work. There were no jobs to be had, so they'd move on to the next park.
One Tuesday morning, though, a shiny black Mercedes pulled up and Walter arrived. He was about 60 and wore a dark conservative business suit, but like the others, he visited every plant in the park. When he got to ours, Peter, the plant owner, decided to talk to him, more out of curiosity than anything, I think.
Walter was a production engineer and had been chief operating officer of company ten-times our size. He'd also been out of work for more than a year. Now he just wanted a job, needed one is probably closer to the truth. "Anything," he said, "anything at all." It must have been a humbling experience.
"I tell you what," he said when Peter hesitated. "Let me look over your shop and make some suggestions. If you like my ideas, hire me. If not, don't, and it costs you nothing."
How could Peter refuse? He agreed to pay a one-day consulting fee and asked Walter to come in the next day.
Walter was there at 7:30, eager and energetic. He talked with Peter for an hour, then to the machine operators, the foremen, the supply room and shipping clerks, the accountant. He diagrammed the work flow and poked through the tool crib. He studied the inventory and purchasing records, everything. We left the plant together about 6:20 that evening, and he was excited.
On Thursday, he and Peter were closeted all morning. When they came out, I overheard Peter saying, "You know, if I can increase my through-put with less inventory like you say...." They walked off into the plant with Walter talking and gesturing and Peter nodding.
They came back at about 3 o'clock. Standing right behind my desk, they shook hands and I heard Peter say, "Walter, I like it. It'll work. Come in tomorrow and we'll go to lunch and talk about a job for you." Good for Walter, I thought. And you, too, Peter.
Well, Friday morning was not one of Peter's best. A customer canceled a big order, and the shop people presented him with a union organizing petition. When Walter arrived, Peter begged off. "Walter, I just can't make it today. I've got problems I have to deal with. Come back on Monday and we'll talk." And he headed out to the production floor.
If Walter had just left then, he would undoubtedly have gotten a job offer on Monday. But he didn't. He sat down at Marie's desk, made himself at home and picked up the phone. He dialed - eleven digits. And he talked for a half-hour.
That's not right, I thought, but didn't say anything. Peter did when he came back to the office. "Hey, Walter, what are you still doing here? And leave the phone alone, okay?" He picked up some production notes and ducked back into the plant. Walter waved a vague hand in the air and put his feet up on the desk.
Amazingly, he continued to talk. He even dialed two more long-distance numbers, maybe even international. I guess he just didn't understand small-company mentality. At a billion-dollar firm, the telephone is just overhead. At a private company, it's taking money directly out of the owner's pocket.
Peter came in again and stopped dead still when he saw Walter, lounging back, phone at his ear, and feet on the desk. Then he lost it, flipped out completely. I never heard anyone shout GET OFF MY PHONE! that loud. Even more amazing, Walter put his hand over the mouthpiece and calmly said, "Just a few more minutes, Peter."
Peter charged the desk, grabbed the phone and ripped the cord out of the wall. He snatched up Walter's briefcase and heaved it through the door, far out into the parking lot. Then, standing trembling over Walter, neck cords vibrating, finger pointing, he screamed: OUT! Walter got up and left.
On Monday morning, Walter actually showed up again. Peter refused even to see him, but Walter continued to call every week for a month. He never did get it. He still expected Peter to apologize and offer him a job.
"To me, when a person's a stranger, he should act a little strange."
Funny Girl, 1968 film
