Somewhere East of Edenton

A couple of months ago I would have cringed at this campsite, a open space facing directly into the afternoon sun, the nearest shade tree two football fields away. Temperatures never made it over 60 and the wind chill has got the bite of the Chinook. I am delighted to take advantage of the power of the sun. All the curtains are drawn open but, the windows are shut against the wind that has rocked the RV all day. My two cats are lounging in the sunshine seeking the comforts of Rah, the sun god. Phoenix is snoring; Diablo just let out a long sigh after giving herself a good bath. Inland they are expecting frost, but on the coast, it will drop into the forties. It won’t be the temperature that is cold, but the wind.

Sold one book to my cousin and gave another away to the Edenton, NC Public Library. I have to be the first author who has ever personally donated a book to the library. The assistant told me that the librarian is vacationing in Italy, but that she would call me when she returns. Yeah right, I skeptically think, but then again…

I spent the better part of yesterday trying to remember the names of some of the employees who worked at the TRW Automotive plant in Greenville. Known throughout the company as one of the best employee involvement facilities, we even made the cover of the annual stock report one year. Alas, the good employee management practices didn’t guarantee employment for the employees, but they should have walked away from the plant with a set of team skills any employer in town could appreciate and use. At least, that is what I use to tell them when we were working hard to develop a team-based approach to work. Now I was sitting in the abandoned parking lot, with an RV full of unsold books, looking at three naked flagpoles, a yard that needs moving and wondering who they were and where did they go.

I couldn’t help think of one employee who never had to worry about his future. Dale Leary was a bright young man who knew how to work hard, and played even a little bit harder. He was eager for promotions, so he volunteered for shift overtime, worked on the toughest and dirtiest machines and finally he became an A operator. As an A operator, he was assigned to the Acme Screw Machines, a machine that takes years to master. Dale was fortunate for he became friends with an older employee who worked on these machines in the automotive supplier plants in Detroit. Harold knew these machines like he once knew the rebellious yearnings of a youth. He took Dale under his wing, and showed him how to fine tune the delicate machines. Dale learned, listened and grew.

I first met Dale when he was coming up on his one year employment anniversary. He was eligible to enroll in the company’s 401k and sat in the enrollment meeting with me. The sleepy eyed kid with his blonde hair hanging down over his collar made an impression on me. I remembered his name, one of nearly 250 I would soon learn as the new HR Manager for the plant. Dale was surprised that I remembered his name when we talked later on the shop floor. There was just something about his polite manner and smile that did not seem to set right with his reputation for wild Saturday nights. He hated weekend overtime, as it interfered with his weekend activities. Finally he lost his license for drinking and driving. Once his partying was curtailed, he buckled down to focus on his employment.

Harold and Dale became a solid team. Dale was more prone to adopting the team concepts than Harold. Harold also intuitively ran his machines, and balked at charting statistical process control charts, the “new way” to manufacturing. Dale helped his mentor with plotting the charts; Harold showed his apprentice his trade like a father teaches a son to fish, where skill and lore all became the same.

I transferred to another plant, but came back to Greenville one Thanksgiving when I read in the local paper that Dale had been stabbed to death on a county road. I attended the funeral. Details about the crime were few but rumors were many. I never learned what happened. I don’t know if anyone did.

I find myself thinking of him every once in a while. It is strange how the mind will hold a name and memory. When I became the manufacturing manager, Dale challenged my management one Thursday after we announced overtime. We were out on the shop floor. He said I didn’t care if the employees had to work the weekends or not. Overtime didn’t wreck my weekend. I never forgot his remark, mainly because he accused me of not caring. For some reason, I always did care about him. Rest in Peace, Dale Leary.