SO LONG, IT'S BEEN GOOD TO KNOW YOU

Another year, another baby, another degree, another job. In this yarn I describe some of the amazing events that happened to me and the family in 1966. 03/10/2016

SO LONG, IT’S BEEN GOOD TO KNOW YOU

In 1964, Angie and I decided to have another baby, hoping for a boy. On June 11, 1965, our second son and last child arrived on schedule at Sequoia Hospital, Redwood City, and a familiar port of call for my wife. She had given birth to our six children in less than nine years. Angie wanted to call him Anthony, but I objected. It didn’t seem to fit with his surname. We finally agreed to name him after me, Joseph James. There are times when I wish we had chosen to call him Timothy. Don’t you think someone named Timothy Finnerty, spoken with a lilting brogue, would capture the ear?

The attending physician said, “Do you know how fortunate you are to have six children born without a single health issue?” To be honest, it never crossed our minds that such a thing could occur. We took it for granted our babies would be born perfectly healthy, and they were. 

What I did not take for granted was my ability to earn an MBA degree. It required me to drive from Millbrae to Santa Clara in heavy rush-hour freeway traffic, two and sometimes three nights a week, which took a minimum of forty minutes. The drive home to San Mateo took an equal amount of time. Angie never failed to have dinner waiting for me. I could always rely upon her.

I could not rely upon my 1951 Studebaker to travel these distances at freeway speed. I sold it for fifty bucks and bought a brand new bright red 1964 VW bug, our first ever new car. What fun it was to drive. Sometimes we would use it rather than our station wagon to go shopping. Picture us, if you will, arriving or leaving a parking lot. Angie placed Joey on the floor between her legs, in his car seat. Jamie, Laura and Ellen filled the back seat. Barry and Carol occupied the well in back, knees facing each other, riding sideways. People gawked at us when we emerged like clowns from a circus car, surprised that we could all fit so snugly.

A much greater surprise came when Transamerica Insurance Company bought DeLaval Turbine Company in 1965. It seemed like an unlikely purchase. What did an insurance company know about industrial equipment? Nothing, but this did not matter. This was the time in American history when large business firms decided to expand horizontally, not integrate vertically. All sorts of unusual business acquisitions took place.

Soon afterwards, a Transamerica executive showed up at the Filtration Division offices. His job was to assess our potential for profit. He interviewed most of the staff, including me. Favorably impressed with our organization, he convinced Transamerica to provide us with their financial support, with a proviso. He gave Sam Felix one year in which to turn around the company’s fortunes. As time went on, we learned that you might enjoy meeting this man once but if he paid you a second call, he had come to terminate your employment. I could feel a great unease descending upon me and my coworkers as time went by without achieving any significant improvement in our profitability.

Despite this looming uncertainty about my job, the year 1966 became memorable. In July, Angie took all six children, ages one to nine, to New York on a red-eye TWA flight. Imagine how difficult and how brave it was for her to undertake such a journey by herself. 

I stayed behind in order to complete my study program. On August 6, 1966, Santa Clara University awarded me an MBA degree. While driving home I periodically stuck my head out the window, shouting for joy, unable to contain my excitement and pleasure. It had taken me three and a half years to finish the program, an achievement Angie made possible. It was she who encouraged me to go back to school; she who typed all my school papers; and she who allowed me the luxury of spending time studying instead of helping her with the grinding chores of raising a large family of young children. She always sacrificed for me.

A few days later, I traveled to New York to spend my two weeks of vacation with Angie and the children. We returned to California in the company of her brother Al Sammarco, his wife, Mary, and their two boys, Richard and Gary. Al, a career naval non-commissioned officer, was in the process of transferring from Rhode Island to San Diego. Our combined families made quite a sight when we arrived at San Francisco International Airport. Half the luggage on the plane seemed to belong to our party. We gathered everyone and our belongings at the curb, waiting for our neighbor, Mrs. Kane, to drive us home. We laughed when she showed up in her Volkswagen convertible. I phoned a friend at DeLaval and obtained the loan of their truck to cart the luggage. Everyone squeezed together, and we managed to make it home in just one trip, some of us in the truck, everyone else in her Bug.   

Not long afterwards, Transamerica announced it would close the Millbrae Filtration Division in September, relocating its operations to Trenton. They offered to transfer some key personnel, including me. It was de-ja-vu: First FWC, now DeLaval wanting me to move back to New Jersey.

As noted previously, Sam Felix had expressed little interest in my effort to obtain an MBA degree during my years with DeLaval. Imagine my pleasure when I showed my diploma to the business manager a few days before the plant began to shut down. She immediately reimbursed me for the balance of my tuition. Thank you very much, DeLaval.  

In exchange for the check, I submitted my resignation. I had found another job with a small engineering firm. I left, singing the title of this vignette.

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