Challenges and Successes

Spending so much time in Tijuana during the construction of the plant, I had grown to enjoy it there, and decided that managing a plant down there might be fun. So, when the investors that had purchased the company made their divestiture move, I reached out to my network, and let it be known that I spoke Spanish, and was willing to relocate to Tijuana.

It wasn’t long before I was contacted by a friend, asking my permission to pass my contact info to a Swiss friend that owned a custom injection molding plant in Tijuana. He needed a molding manager, and Bob P. wanted to recommend me.

I met with the owner a few days later, in his Tijuana offices, and the next Monday, started to work. It was a little bit of a stretch for me, since from a technological standpoint, I felt I was lacking. But he decided to give me a chance, and I think it worked out well for both of us, for the two years I was there. Unfortunately, he got into some financial difficulties, and I felt that the burden of keeping me on the payroll was not paying off for him, since business was so slow. So I left, and once again reached out for contacts.

This time, it was a local friend that informed me that a Finnish company was looking for an Operations Manager for their multi-faceted operation in Tijuana. I dropped off my résumé, and started the process of four interviews and psychological evaluation, and after about a month, moved into my new office.

I was faced with some extreme challenges while in their employ, due to some practices by my Mexican predecessor. We basically had to correct every single importation and exportation (from six to 12 each, per week) from the previous 5 years. Taxes were seriously in arrears, and accounting practices were, at best, negligent. The only area that seemed to be without significant issues, was human resources. There, at least, we were in full compliance.

The owners were understandably ignorant of Mexican law and cultural practices, and made the mistake of assuming that the local manager would be honest and straightforward. Unfortunately, they had chosen poorly, and while I don’t think the man was inherently dishonest, I would have to say that he served them very poorly, due to his total lack of professionalism.

During my employ there, I learned more about Mexican law, and sound business practices, than I had ever before been exposed to. I was given every assistance from the corporate offices, and feel as though I benefitted greatly from the association.

Sadly, after a little over five years, the decision was made to “farm out” our production to various manufacturers in China. This was deemed a necessity, in order to compete, since most of the competition was already doing so.

After shutting down the plant, and liquidating the assets, I found myself once again footloose and fancy free, so, HELLO…..NETWORK!

The VP to whom I had reported had also left the company, and immediately asked me if I would be interested in a Plant Manager position at his new employer’s single manufacturing plant, in Orange County, CA. With over 350,000 square feet of plant, and nearly 800 employees, it would be the largest operation I had ever managed. I was cautiously intrigued, and I had always enjoyed working with Bill (even if he IS a West Point graduate), so I said let’s talk!

I interviewed with Bill, and another VP, as well as two managers, before being called back for a second interview session, this one to include their president. We seemed to click, and an offer was made and accepted, with the company agreeing to pay my hotel and meals for a year, during which time I could relocate my family.

Working closely with Bill proved to be another very important learning experience for me. He is a great believer in data, its analysis and USING it! He was the gas pedal to our engine, always pushing us for just a little more. I also worked very closely with Barry, the Materials Manager. That title doesn’t do justice to what Barry actually did. Barry is a veritable dynamo, and not only could we depend upon him to get things done, we also knew that it would get done well, and on-time. He was in charge of all purchasing, shipping, inventory and order processing, as well as disposition of nearly four years’ accumulation of scrap and obsolete product. We would have been SUNK, without Barry!

My forte was my operational and people skills. When I joined the team, the company was experiencing nearly 40% turnover of personnel, had just learned that over 70% of the workforce were illegal aliens, and there was a labor union trying to organize. Talk about baptism by fire!

On top of all that, order lead times were two to two and a half months, versus the two weeks that our competitors offered. We had seven and half million dollars of obsolete inventory, two and a half million dollars of accumulated scrap, and an equipment base that was ten years outdated, with an almost nonexistent maintenance budget.

What? Me worry?

First thing was to figure out how to purge 70% of our work force, before the Feds found out and shut us down. Obviously, we had to replace nearly all of them, as well. And….we had to do it not only without suffering a loss of productivity, but while increasing productivity, in increments of 10% per month. Of course, as soon as you call the very first person into the office, and call into question their VISA status, the word is out on the floor, and productivity screeches to a halt. So, Jack B., the VP of Human Resources and I had to do a lot of planning. I wanted the biggest problems gone first, so they wouldn’t be agitating. I also wanted to give as many people as possible an opportunity to make themselves well. And, I needed to keep my key people on hand as long as possible. Unfortunately, in order to protect the company, we had to go through the ranks in some unbiased or random method. So, we decided to determine what would be our drop-dead minimum manning level to continue operations. That would allow us to preserve our supervisors and those in key positions, as long as possible. We then set up a reduction in force, of a quantity that coincided with the number of “problems” we could most do without. The remainder, we dealt with in alphabetical order.

As I said, once the cat’s out of the bag, everyone that knows they’re illegal gets scared. My first job was to get everyone together (we’re talking about almost 800 people) and let them know that there will NOT be any Immigration buses pulling into the parking lot, and that we will NOT be reporting anything to anybody, if we decide to terminate someone because of their status. I had to make them comfortable enough that they would stay, right up until the moment they were called in, and not bolt. At this point, I had only been there for perhaps two months, and had not had a lot of interface with the rank and file. I made it a point to walk the entire facility several times a day, but with that many people, I had probably only actually spoken with 10 or 15% of the workforce, and most of that was just casual. I hadn’t had the opportunity to establish any credibility. Now, the fact that the workforce was more than 95% Latino, and I always spoke to them in Spanish had to help. But remember too, that I’m pale and red-headed, which probably didn’t.

So, I started out by pulling everyone into the warehouse, introducing myself, and acknowledging that there was no reason for them to take my word, since they’d never had a chance to see if I would keep my word. I then guaranteed them that if they did give me the chance, they would never regret it. And I told them what hotel I was staying at, and my room number, as well as the phone, if they ever wanted to ask me something, after hours.

I explained what was going to happen, why it had to happen, and how we would be going about it. I urged them to start looking for something else, if they knew they couldn’t stay on, so their families wouldn’t suffer. And I urged them to stay as long as they could, to take advantage of the continued income. I hit on all the details, and didn’t pull my punches. I spent two hours on that stack of pallets, trying to set their minds as much at ease as possible, and apparently it worked. By the time we had purged 570 employees, only five had left before their interview date, and one of them left because he had already found another job.

All the while this was going on, we also had the Teamsters trying to organize a union in our plant. This process, too, was educational for me. A couple of thoroughly obnoxious agitators camped outside our gate, and accosted everyone moving in or out. I was in constant contact with our attorney during this phase, as well, and learned all the things that management cannot say or do, and some of it just plain dumbfounded me!

For instance, I could purchase T-shirts bearing the statement VOTE NO! (and I did!), but I can’t comment to an individual, “I hope you vote no.” Obviously, neither can I ask him how he intends to vote. Both would constitute intimidation, and open the company up to all sorts of problems.

If one of my managers was to break that rule, and the employee reports it to the union or to the court, it would render the election unnecessary. The court would simply assume that the work force was sufficiently intimidated to make the results of an election questionable, and it would mandate the formation of the union! Consequently, we had to essentially forbid any manager or supervisor from discussing the union issue with, or in the vicinity of, ANY employee.

Conversely, peers that might be against the idea of a union are perfectly free to discuss it, any way they like, with their coworkers – no intimidation there! So, I ordered hundreds of VOTE NO! T-shirts, and gave them away free to anybody that wanted them, and encouraged them to save their street clothes by wearing them.

It was a mentally and emotionally exhausting process, but eventually the election was held, with a decisive vote against the formation of a union. When you take into consideration the loss of so many friends and family during the purge, and the huge influx of new replacement employees, this takes on a major significance.  It’s certainly one of the most interesting and challenging positions I’ve ever held. And it’s also one that I’m particularly proud of.

The workers (Bill liked to call them Associates, but as far as I’m concerned, they did a hell of a lot more than just associate! They worked!) deserve a lot of the credit for what was accomplished during that time. They busted their collective butt, not only picking up the slack for the missing hands, and the new, inexperienced people, but also in meeting, and exceeding the mandate for incremental productivity increases. When I got there, we were shipping an average of 6.5 to 7 million dollars in sales volume per month. By the time the election was held, we were shipping 13 million! And we were doing it with 25% less manpower! Employee turnover was floating around 1%, once we stabilized our staffing. Generated scrap dropped by more than 60%! And while making these adjustments, we simultaneously shortened our average delivery time to two weeks!

THAT, my friends, is accomplished by the WORKERS!

A Few New Career Steps

After a year at the Long Beach Airport, there was a massive layoff, and I found myself joining nearly 27,000 co-workers, in line for a severance check. Unfortunately, nearly half of us were engineers, and there were only around 1,300 engineer positions open in the greater L.A. area at the time.

So, I ended up taking a job with a guy up in the San Fernando Valley, that bought up abandoned storage lockers, and sold the goods for a profit. Sometimes he peddled it at the swap meets, but more often, he would stage a yard sale, on a borrowed corner property. He would go to the auctions, and buy the lockers, then send me along with a truck, to load up the goods, and transfer them to storage lockers he had rented. That meant some long hours, and a lot of bending and carrying, sorting through personal effects, junk and trash, with the occasional find of something that would yield a tidy profit. Then, I’d take it to our storage lockers, and unload it from the truck, and load it into the locker.

Come Thursday, I’d unload stuff from the locker, and load it into one of the trucks, or a trailer, and that night, we’d unload it from the truck, and pile it up in the yard we were using that weekend. We’d cover it with a tarp, and camp out in the yard overnight, then get up with the sun, and spread it out in rows on the yard. Sell all day, and then pile and tarp the leftovers that night, camp out again, and repeat it Saturday and Sunday. Sunday evening, we’d load the remains into the trucks, and go by one of the local thrift stores, and donate what we didn’t want, and take the rest to storage, until the next weekend.

Hardly what you’d call a challenging career, but it did have its perks. Since Coco and I had come to L.A. with essentially nothing but the clothes on our backs, we were able to furnish our house, for pennies, often with new or near new things, much more quickly than we could have, otherwise. Nearly twenty years later, we still have some of the knickknacks we gathered those days, and the memories they bring with them.

After working at this for several months, my boss, Jim, offered me a partnership. He would front the money, I would do the work, and we’d split the profit. He’d also help me out, on sales. We did that for a few more months, until the city started to crack down on habitual yard sellers, and we had to shut down.

So……I went down to the Sears Outlet store, bought a roll-around toolbox, and outfitted it with tools, and took a job as a maintenance mechanic at a plastic bottle blow-molding plant. In a few months, I was made maintenance supervisor, and a few months after that, maintenance manager. Then I was given the job of starting up a dedicated purchasing department, on top of everything else.

As purchasing manager, I started tracking material usage, and started finding some huge discrepancies. Material purchased (in pounds), minus finished product (also in pounds) should equal material in inventory (less any scrap, also measured in pounds).

But we were shipping around 30-40,000 pounds per month, and purchasing 75-85,000 pounds per month. Our scrap was negligible, and our inventory stayed pretty much constant. So where was 45,000 pounds of material a month disappearing to?

Hesitant to cast any doubts on someone’s honesty without being sure, I decided to investigate. I even hired someone to watch our yard, from an adjoining property. As it turned out, our Plant Manager was taking delivery of raw material, and selling it elsewhere, while we paid for the purchase of it! I got photos of him, driving a bulk truck out of our yard, and of the same truck delivering material to a competitor an hour later. I confronted him with it, and he fired me on the spot. I called the owner of the company at home, and gave him the information, and he started his own investigation. But of course, by then, the PM knew he was being watched, and the monthly consumption fell off to a reasonable level. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that they caught him, because of a traffic accident, with 50,000 pounds of material, proven to be stolen from the company. He was finally fired, and went to jail.

During the period that I was buying and selling abandoned goods, in yard sales, Coco got pregnant for the second time. With the first having ended in a miscarriage, we were both concerned, and so, took great care with her “package”. It paid off very nicely, on August 26, when we were joined by Michelle, a beautiful little girl that would only become more beautiful every day.

Just about the time she was born, I made the change to the bottle manufacturing company, leaving behind the yard sale business forever.

And so, began the adventure of raising a baby, into a young lady, that will some day give me grandchildren to bounce on my knee.

That should go very well with the grey hairs that she also gave me. Such is the life of a father, right?

Meanwhile, I had taken a job as Maintenance Manager for a custom injection molding company in Gardena. I learned a lot at that family owned business, as they took a very aggressive stance on training their workforce. The company had been around since 1952, and was very prominent, with an impressive client list. Over half of the computer monitor and television housings made in North America came out of their facility. While there, I designed and managed the construction of a new wing of offices and a large new warehouse, taking advantage of my experience in construction management. After about three years, the president announced that the family was selling the business, and shortly thereafter, we met Mike, the new pres./CEO. Most of the family left, and the new owners began to make the inevitable changes.

Then, the CEO called me in, and tasked me with undertaking a feasibility study on building a “maquiladora” or manufacturing facility, in Mexico, to take advantage of the lower labor rates, and the closer proximity to our major clients. That took me about six weeks, during which time I worked closely with Steve A., the grandson of the founder of the original company. Later, I was assisted tremendously by Lee Stevens, a commercial real estate professional, with whom I eventually became a close friend. My findings were favorable, and when I made my presentation, I was almost immediately given authorization to proceed with acquisition of a site.

Once Lee and I chose our preferred site, things happened quickly. From signature of a contract, to beneficial occupancy was four and half months. I designed the plant, and managed the construction, and then started production. The day we loaded our first two trucks with finished goods, I handed the keys over to our VP of Manufacturing, and headed back to L.A. The fact that I had finished the job before schedule and under budget, was overshadowed by the fact that we had lost a significant portion of our business to a change of vendors by a large client.

Starting Out

I felt as though I had accomplished quite a lot, in putting the family and church issues behind us (Really! I believed that!) We proceeded with the wedding plans, which were rather austere, given that I quit my job in Mexico City and moved to Zacatecas. We had earlier decided to marry in Plateros, which is an ancient mission just a few kilometers from Fresnillo. It was strictly family and very close friends, and was very nice. We didn’t have the wherewithal to have a reception, but the family came through and gathered everyone at the house afterward, with a cake, music, food and copious amounts of rum. (Dad reluctantly gave away the bride, scowling the whole time, but chose not to show up at the house.) We had a lovely wedding, a very enjoyable time at the house, and then drove to Zacatecas to spend our honeymoon weekend locked in a hotel room. (That was fun, too!)

On Monday, Coco had to return to work, and I had to look for a job. We moved into a small (make that miniscule) one bedroom house that measured about 400 square feet, and began the process of learning more about each other.

One thing I learned about Coco immediately was that her upbringing had not included any kitchen time at all. I don’t think she could boil water without burning it. Fortunately, I had learned to cook a good bit over the years, and even enjoyed it, so I kept us alive, while teaching her the basics.

I also learned that two people can be very happy, with very little. It’s all in your attitude. Over the years, I’ve left lucrative, stable positions, to take off in a new direction, often leaving the country entirely. I’ve lived in eleven different countries, and in eleven different states in the U.S. I’ve had to go to unbelievable lengths to limit my résumé to two pages, per the recommended standard. Consequently, I’ve developed a confidence that keeps me calm in the face of unemployment or tough economic times. Things always work out, if you keep plugging away at them. Coco, however, was (and still is) more stability conscious, and became more dismayed every day at my lack of job offers in Zacatecas. Finally, I decided that we were going to have to change our tack, and I suggested that I make a couple of calls to friends in the States, get a job up there and bring in some income, while continuing my search for work south of the border. We discussed, and agreed that it was the thing to do, and I reached out to my network.

Within a week, I was invited to interview for the job of Facilities Manager for the Long Beach Airport, and I flew up and was offered the job. The money wasn’t great, but it was a hell of a lot more than I was making back in Zacatecas, so after returning home to discuss it with Coco, I accepted. The following week, I kissed my bride of one month goodbye, and boarded a bus for the two day trip to Long Beach, where I buried myself in my work, and satisfied myself with weekly phone calls to Zacatecas.

In August of 1989, just three months after our wedding, Coco decided that being separated by 3,000 miles (actually, she probably thought of it in terms of kilometers) was no way to build a marriage, and she informed me that she would be arriving the following Saturday. I picked her up at the airport, and we settled into the Crazy 8 Motel, until we could find a house.

I had stumbled across the Crazy 8, only because it was right around the corner from a bar that was managed by an acquaintance, Bill Rocher. Bill was one of those guys that you just knew was never going to amount to much, not because he had no brains, but because he had no ambition. But he was a genuinely nice guy, always willing to offer a helping hand to a friend, and never one to take advantage of someone. The bar actually belonged to Bill’s brother, but it was essentially a real estate investment, rather than an actual business interest. He had put no money into the place, and the emptiness on a Friday or Saturday night was the result. It really was a shame, because the place had a couple of pool tables, dart boards, a full kitchen, a large dance floor, and a lengthy bar. Ample parking completed the offering, but apparently, all this wasn’t enough to interest him in developing the business.

I often stopped by on my way home from work, before Coco joined me, and had even been to Bill’s house a couple of times. I could usually catch Bill at the bar early in the evening, when he came in to help his head bartender, Sue, set up.  Since I was renting a room in the home of my boss’s secretary, I was never in a great hurry to get “home”, and it was easier to eat out, than to use someone else’s kitchen. We would often order pizza, Mexican food or Chinese, delivered to the bar, since their industrial kitchen was long since shut down.

Usually, we would order enough for the three of us, and Sue would join us in a snack. She was finishing her studies at nursing school, and said she couldn’t be caught eating such unhealthy food around her fellow students, but she loved it. One such night, since we usually treated her to “dinner”, she decided to treat us to drinks.

She asked me if I had ever tried a Red Hot, and I hadn’t, so she promptly brought three over. A Red Hot is a jigger of cinnamon schnapps, with a dash of tabasco sauce on top, and you don’t sip it, you slam it. It goes down like candy, with just a little bit of hot at the end…feels like anything but liquor. Really tasty!

Shortly after we checked into the Crazy 8, I decided to take Coco over and introduce her to Bill and Sue. Unfortunately, Bill wasn’t in, and Sue said she didn’t expect him that weekend, as he had planned to go to the mountains. She asked if we’d like a drink, and I started to order my usual JD on the rocks, and I asked Coco if she’d like a Coke. You may recall me mentioning that Coco doesn’t drink.) She turned her nose up at the idea of a Coke, and Sue piped up, “How about a Red Hot?”

I don’t know why it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m pretty sure it did. “Hey, sure! That’s what she wants. You’ll like it, honey. It’s just cinnamon.”

Four for her, seven for me, and I left with Coco over my shoulder, tossing a chuckling ‘good night’ over my other shoulder to Sue.

I carried her around the corner, down the street, up the stairs, and into the room and deposited her as gently as I could on the bed. I took off her shoes, watch and earrings, and decided that she wasn’t going to wake up, so I climbed into the other bed, and went to sleep.

In the morning, I turned over, saw that she hadn’t moved an inch, and looked for the comforting rise and fall of her chest.

I detected none.

Well, NOW I was awake! I jumped up and checked her pulse. Normal. Thank God! Scared the Hell out of me there for a minute! I pulled an eyelid up and looked for signs of recognition.

Again, none.

Well, at least I knew she was still alive, even if comatose. I decided to make coffee and play this by ear.

I made a pot of coffee, took a shower, and watched two ½ hour TV programs. I sang two verses of Dixie, and most of The Devil Went Down to Georgia. I sat down roughly on her bed, jostling her nearly off the edge.

Nothing.

I took her hand and spoke into her ear. I patted her cheek, and ruffled her hair. I hollered “HEY!” at the top of my lungs.

Nothing. Boy, this gal really knows how to have a good time, I thought, as I whistled a poor rendition of InnaGaddaDaVida.

I decided I’d sneak down to the corner and pick up some donuts, so she’d have something there when she woke up. As I was easing the door open, she sat bolt upright, wide-eyed.

I should have thought of the donuts earlier!

That was the first, and the last time I ever saw Coco drink. A rare sip of my beer is enough to make her curl her lip.