TEACH ME TONIGHT

In 1963, I began working in a factory, a new experience for me. Read this story to find out how I fared.
03/10/2016

TEACH ME TONIGHT

   In 1963, Sam Felix hired me to fill the position of Purchasing Agent of the DeLaval Turbine Company’s Filtration Division located in Millbrae, California.  DeLaval’s primary manufacturing facilities were located in Trenton, New Jersey where it manufactured many industrial products including pumps known the world over by its logo, IMO, which stood for I Move Oil. Sam’s family owned a significant amount of the company’s stock, it was said, which may explain why he was given so much autonomy while managing this small part of a very large corporation.

Sam, six-foot three-inches tall, flew when he walked. On my first day of work, he led me at a quick-pace march around the shop area while describing the manufacturing process. He left me panting.

That evening, Angie asked, “How’d the new job go?”

“Not bad, but my legs hurt from having to sprint after Sam all day, trying to keep up with him.”

One of my duties was to purchase a two-inch thick circular steel plate used to hold the filter tubes in place. The first one I ordered arrived cut incorrectly. It wouldn’t fit in the steel tank. The shop superintendent covered up my error. I owed him a great debt of gratitude as this slab of metal was quite expensive.

Another job duty was to arrange shipment of completed units. It seemed to require more time to prepare shipping documentation to transport the skid-mounted filtration units to customers, one in Japan, another in Australia, than it did to manufacture them.

Interestingly, we allowed four weeks for our start-up engineer to get these units in operation, three weeks in Tokyo, one in Sydney, based on anticipated language barriers. The reverse happened. He only needed one week in Japan where every pipe and valve had been hand painted by legions of women and when the unit was turned on, not one leak occurred. In Australia, workmen had left a tool in the piping which caused major damage when the pump was turned on. In addition, virtually every fitting leaked. When the whistle sounded for tea, everyone stopped work, some dropping their tools. Our field engineer couldn’t get over the difference in the work ethic of the two countries.

Dan Harrington, my predecessor, taught me the ropes of my job. Although not a college graduate, he had years of field experience and knew every aspect of the business. He went out of his way to help me succeed as his replacement.

The shop utilized four welding positions. The welders had a strong dislike for management and called a strike within my first year of employment. The strike ended quickly when management refused to meet their demands, and the welders came back to work, surly and unhappy. They had one thing going for them. Collectively, they had cornered the Playboy centerfold market, which was on display in their welding booths. One of the female office employees complained, and Sam had the pinups removed. It was bad enough that the welders lost their strike. Now, they lost their art gallery.

It soon became apparent to me that the financial well-being of DeLaval’s Filtration Division was dubious, as unprofitable as had been FWC’s Cooling Tower Department. To rectify the situation, Sam began resorting to some questionable business practices. On one occasion, we needed to complete and ship a water filtration unit to a small community in California by month’s end to reflect profitability that quarter. Sam managed to persuade one of the elected officials to accept billing before we shipped the equipment. This event coincided with an inspection of our inventory records by internal auditors. Part of my discussion with them went something like this:

“There are three of these items in your inventory record, but we counted six of them on the shelf.”

“Yes, but three of those are assigned to the unit on the shop floor still under construction we billed for but haven’t yet shipped. Technically, they are not in our inventory.”

The auditors displayed little sense of humor about this matter, although Sam was a bundle of laughs. On one occasion, he invited me and a few other employees to join him after work to help him entertain a prospective customer. Sam took us to his “Members Only” Bombay Bicycle Club to loosen up the client. The bartender mixed drinks using Sam's personal liquor supply stored in his private locker. Afterwards, we went to a very fashionable San Francisco eatery. Sam almost fell off his chair when the restaurant declined his credit card, as they accepted cash only. Sam did not have a dime on him. The staff and the prospective client had to chip in to pay the bill. It was just another hilarious day in my so-called working life.

I had learned a valuable business lesson: Always carry cash when making a splash.

Oh, the client did not buy a filtration unit from us. It’s too bad as Sam was prepared to accept a credit card.

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