Chapter 5

I had been making almost weekly trips to the new operation in Vancouver since January. Keith and I supervised the removal of old equipment, setting up the offices and arranging for services. The production area was gutted, painted, and re-built from floor-to-ceiling. Both of us wanted it to be spotlessly clean and kept that way, no easy feat for a plastics blow-molding operation. We were going to make containers for food and pharmaceuticals, and the environment needed to be pristine.

While Keith had concentrated on the machinery installation, I was looking after the office and services set up. Along with a small administrative staff, we would have a Q.A. lab, a maintenance department, and a shipping and warehouse area. Our product was light, but bulky. Warehouse space was non-revenue space, and it would be up to us to minimize finished goods inventory. Easier said than done in a period of "just in time" deliveries, a philosophy that transfers our customers' inventory and warehousing costs to us.

As early as the end of March, we could see that we were going to be on schedule with our projected opening in May. We would start production of salable goods in late April, but full scale production would be determined by the number of fully trained operators we had by the end of May. I hoped that with six extruders on line, we would have at least six operators by that time.

If I could take pride in anything, it was my rapport with our suppliers. The machinery people, led by Tucker Winterhalt, bent over backwards to help us with the installation and training. Ours wasn't a big operation, but we had developed a very good relationship with them, and it was paying off now. They also gave us valuable leads to potential employees with extrusion-molding experience.

I could say the same thing for Pete Elliot, our main resin supplier. Somehow or other, several thousand pounds of "trial" resin had found its way into our hands, and we were able to use this for our machinery start-up and operator training. That was a significant saving over our projected start-up costs. It was also a demonstration of what could be accomplished when the supplier-customer relationship was developed to benefit both parties.

Keith and I had been sharing a suite in a Marriot Residence when I was jumping back and forth between Reardon and Vancouver. We weren't always in Vancouver at the same time. As April approached, I began looking for a place to live. The Reardon house was up for sale, and Marina assured me it would sell quickly for much more than I had paid for it. We had landscaped the grounds, and put in a cedar fence in the large back yard. In addition, the housing market had strengthened, and I was relieved, since a first look at west coast housing prices appeared discouragingly high.

I had contacted a local Vancouver realtor, letting him know what I was looking for and what price range I was working with. It didn't seem to discourage him, so I was hopeful. The only condition I put on his search was not to bother with any apartments. A townhouse, duplex, or bungalow would be the target. I wasn't going back to where I was two years ago.

Jennifer and Cary Taylor were doing a great job of filling in for me in Reardon when I was away. I had begun to wonder if I shouldn't move out sooner, but they still needed some guidance, and I wasn't anxious to leave all my newfound friends. I had accepted my fate as a frequent flyer and had become intimately familiar with both the Cincinnati and Portland airports.

When the day finally came and it was time for me to say goodbye, I admit I was a bit choked up. Janet was invited, of course, and she seemed more upset than I expected. I assured her that her program was safe. I had that commitment from Aser and Phil. It was too valuable to abandon now.

"Phil's going to be your liaison here until Keith is settled back in. Then he will hand it over to Keith until you two feel Jennifer is ready to take over. I'm going to see if I can find a similar opportunity in Vancouver for a co-op program. Clark College looks like a good bet."

"I'm going to miss our coffee sessions," Janet said with a note of sadness.

"Me too," I nodded.

Janet had been dropping in at least once every two weeks for updates on how the students were doing. It wasn't really necessary, but I had come to rely on her visits as a nice break from routine. We talked about her success in spreading the program now that Interstate had become the flagship corporation. It was the tipping point for getting more companies in the area on board, and Janet had rightly earned a lot of kudos for persisting with her objective, despite the difficulty in getting it launched.

"I'll have my entire senior class, and a good part of my juniors involved next semester," she said proudly.

"Yeah ... just think, it only took a couple of years to become an overnight success," I laughed.

"All the non-believers are now on board, so I'm not trying to do everything myself anymore. It's a big relief to sit back and enjoy the results of all that effort and frustration."

I nodded. I understood what it must have been like to be the one person trying to make it happen. When it did, everyone wanted to be part of the success. Typical human behavior, I suppose.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"Tomorrow. I have a morning flight to Portland. My real estate guy has several places for me to look at on Saturday and Sunday, so I'll have plenty to keep me busy over the weekend."

She looked at me, and I could see her eyes glistening. It caught me by surprise. I could tell she was a bit emotional. I didn't expect that. I always tried to keep our association on a business-only basis. Perhaps I hadn't been as successful at that as I thought.

Rebecca appeared at our sides at that point. She too was showing the signs of being a little saddened.

"Jack, I'm going to miss you. Please keep in touch ... and don't you dare come back to Reardon without seeing me," she demanded in dead seriousness. "You're my favorite mensch ... after Aser," she smiled. I could see the moisture in her eyes as well. It was a humbling experience. People I'd never even met two years ago were genuinely upset that I was leaving. I wondered briefly if I was making the right decision.

I spent the balance of that Thursday afternoon making sure I talked to everyone at the reception for my departure. I spent a little extra time with Phil Tupper. Diane had come by earlier, but had to leave to pick up their children from school. I got to say goodbye to her, but I promised, as I did so often that afternoon, that I would see them the next time I was back in Reardon.

"You and Keith have done a great job in the getting the new plant up on schedule, Jack. It seems every time we give you a project, you make it happen on time and on budget. You make me look good," he grinned.

"We were well prepared, Phil. We knew what we had to do, and Keith and our suppliers made it happen. They were the big contributors."

Phil had a wry smile and was shaking his head. "Typical of you. Too modest for your own good. I'm still patting myself on the back for telling Aser we should hire you."

"Well, you don't know how grateful I am that I got this chance. And now, running my own operation. I would never have dreamed it in a million years. I wonder what old man Sandivale would say if he knew?"

"I plan to mail him a copy of the press release on the official opening. I don't mind rubbing a little salt into his wounds. Vancouver will probably outsell SandStacker within six months, and be bigger by half when it's running full out."

As the afternoon turned into evening, I was ready to leave. I had already packed up my office and files, and they were ready for shipment to Vancouver. They would arrive by UPS on Monday, in plenty of time for me to get organized. It was time for me to say goodbye to Aser, and prepare myself for my new business and personal life.

"Well, Aser, I have to admit, I never thought I would be on my way across the country to run my own plant, but here I am, ready to go."

Aser was beaming from ear to ear. "Congratulations again, Jack. I don't have the slightest doubt that the Vancouver operation will be an outstanding success. It's always a shame when you have to part with your best people to make new things happen, but, that's the way it is." He shook my hand firmly and grasped my shoulder as he did so. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. I was getting a little choked up myself.

"Thank you, Aser. Thanks to all of you," I said looking around.

I had handed over the keys to my company car to Jennifer Sullivan. She would be driving me home, and picking me up very early tomorrow morning to take me to the Cincinnati airport. Her reward for this special duty was to keep the car. She would need it as my replacement-in-training. I think we had chosen well. I took a great deal of pride in the fact that the decision was largely on my recommendation. She was going to be a very fine manager.

When I stepped off the plane in Portland that Friday afternoon, I was greeted by warm spring sunshine and, surprisingly, by Pete Elliot, our resin rep. He was waiting for me at the baggage carousel.

"What brings you out on a Friday afternoon, Pete? I thought you'd be out on the golf course," I kidded.

"Strict orders from Aser. I am to look after getting you settled and buy you a nice steak dinner."

"Well, uh ... that's great ... but ... what does your wife think about that?"

"She thinks it's great. She'll be joining us along with the Winterhalts. It's all arranged, and it's on Aser. You've got a great boss, Jack," he said as we walked from the baggage area toward the parking garage.

"Yeah ... you can say that again," I mumbled absently.

"Your company car is waiting for you at the Marriott. The desk clerk has the keys, but he's under strict orders not to give them to you until tomorrow morning. Tonight you won't be driving, so feel free to celebrate your arrival on the west coast."

I was tired from the flight, seven hours with a stop enroute. Throw in a three hour time change, and my three o'clock arrival was more like six o'clock. I had used some of my points to upgrade to first class, so I was comfortable and reasonably well fed. I wasn't in a big rush for dinner, which was three or four hours away, so I might as well relax and get some rest before meeting my two best suppliers.

Pete drove me to the Marriot Residence that had become so familiar. It beat the heck out of a hotel or motel room. It was like a small two bedroom apartment, and made the stay that much more bearable. Just the same, I would be looking for a place of my own as soon as possible. I needed a sense of permanency to help me with this transition. This was the first time I had ever lived more than a few miles from the town I was born in. It was going to take some getting used to.

Pete Elliot lived in Tigard, south of Portland. I thought it was strange that he would choose Oregon, since it was not exactly a hotbed of plastic manufacturing. Pete explained the lifestyle, the tax benefits, and the proximity to his western Canadian and northern California customers made it a practical choice.

Tucker Winterhalt, our extrusion equipment supplier, lived in Walnut Creek, California. He was up here with his wife visiting family, and it just so happened that it coincided with my arrival. It would make the evening very pleasant, I was sure. Both Pete and Tucker were very likable guys, and it would be a pleasure to meet their wives.

Pete left to look after some late business, promising to pick me up at seven that evening. I was grateful. It gave me a few hours to put my head down and catch up on lost sleep from last night. I set the clock radio for six-thirty, and I was out almost immediately.

When the alarm went off I was startled and it took me a moment to orient myself. I had stripped down to my shorts before I fell asleep, so it was off to the bathroom for a shower and a shave. By the time I was done, I was feeling much fresher and more alert. I was also feeling hungry, so Pete's arrival ten minutes later was welcome.

I was greeted warmly by Patty Elliot and slipped into the back seat as Pete drove toward the bridges to Portland. Along the way, Patty and I got acquainted and she told me how much she enjoyed living in the northwest. She was originally from South Carolina, but swore she would never leave Oregon if she could help it.

Pete had chosen a very nice restaurant along the Willamette River promenade. We entered, and the maitre d' promptly showed us to our table. The Winterhalts were already there, and I was introduced to Margie, Tucker's wife. Margie was a California girl, and was happy they could settle in the East Bay area. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that two great guys like Pete and Tucker would have married two very nice ladies.

Margie and Patty were acquainted, although they didn't see each other very often. They included me in their conversations and I felt very welcome. We talked about the better places to live. In Patty's opinion the south side of the river, meaning Oregon, was the desirable choice. I explained as diplomatically as I could that, since I was the manager of a Vancouver, Washington, plant, it would be more appropriate if I chose to live on the north side. They nodded in understanding, but perhaps with a bit of sympathy.

The dinner and the company were very good, but as the clock neared ten, I knew I was beginning to fade. Pete had the maitre d' call a cab and after saying thank you for a lovely evening to my friends I slipped into the back seat and gave the driver my destination. It was all I could do to stay awake long enough to pay the driver and walk to my room.

When I awoke the next morning, the clock radio read almost eight o'clock. My real estate man would be stopping by at ten that morning, so I had time to get myself organized. After a shower and shave, I walked across the road to the shopping center opposite and found a Denny's for breakfast.

That looked after, I returned to my room and spent the next hour looking up my bookmarked real estate properties. On my most recent visit, I had been looking at likely candidates and, noting them, printed out the descriptions when I got back to Reardon. I wanted to get my agent's opinion on the listings and on the districts.

Our business was located on the southwest side of the city in an older business park. My experience with rush-hour traffic gave me an incentive to find a home that would avoid my having to use either the freeway or any of the congested main routes.

My realtor, Jerry Irwin, was right on time when he knocked on my door. I invited him in, offering him a coffee, and he suggested we sit and discuss what I found on my Internet exploration. When I explained my concerns about commuting, he told me that he thought three or four of my choices would avoid that problem, and two or three of his would be appropriate to look at as well.

When we arrived back at the Marriott later that afternoon, we had looked at five possibilities, but none of them jumped out at me. Perhaps I was spoiled by our home in Reardon. It had everything that Molly and I wanted. But now Molly was gone and I only had to satisfy myself. Just the same, I wasn't going to accept something I wouldn't be happy with. I would just have to be patient.

The next morning, Jerry and I discussed what we had left of the eight properties. He suggested we look a bit farther out to the northwest in a newer area. There was a subdivision being developed, and he thought the houses would be of a type I would like. We set off once again with the hope of finding something acceptable.

I remember when Marina Montague first showed me the house that Molly and I bought in Reardon. I knew immediately that this was the house. I had been sure that Molly would think so too, but I wasn't about to take the chance she wouldn't agree, so we had looked at some others. In the end, my first instinct had been right. It was the perfect house, and Molly could barely feign interest in any of the others we looked at.

That was the way I felt when I walked into the second show home in the new River Bluffs subdivision. It was a modest sized bungalow, but it was perfect for my needs. Barely 1500 square feet on the main floor, it had a three-quarter unfinished basement with an exit to the back yard.

The main floor was much like our Reardon house. A great room with an open attached dining area, a decent sized kitchen with an island, a large master bedroom with full bathroom, and another full bathroom between the master and a small second bedroom. There was a laundry room leading to a two car garage.

I turned to Jerry. "I think this is what I'm looking for, Jerry. What are they asking?"

"Two seventy-nine," he answered promptly.

"Well, that's certainly in the ballpark. What about the district?"

"Five years ago, I wouldn't have recommended it. It lacked a lot of nearby services. Too remote. Today that's all changed, and I think it's going to be very popular. The prices are certainly better than across the river in Portland."

"What about the builder?"

"Well known. Good reputation. Offers a warranty, and the trade says he looks after any problems promptly. He's a good risk."

"And the price?"

"Well, it's April, and the market is starting to move. I'm not sure whether we can convince him to give us a discount. We can try, though."

"Do you mind if we come back here this afternoon and I have another look?" I wanted to be sure if I was going to make an offer. It needed a more thorough examination.

"Not at all."

"Good. Why don't I buy you lunch and we can talk about it."

By two o'clock that afternoon, I knew I was going to make an offer on the house. It was really a matter of how much. "What do you suggest, Jerry?"

"If it were me, I'd offer two sixty-five. It's a sellers market, but this house isn't very large, and that makes it a bit more difficult to market. At that price, they aren't losing too much, and get to move a piece of inventory that might not be easy to sell."

"OK ... two sixty-five it is. Let's go write up the offer."

Jerry would submit the offer to the developer on Monday morning. We shook hands as he dropped me off at the Marriott. I was satisfied that I had found what I wanted. Later, when I sat back and thought about it, the house was very much like the one we bought in Reardon. Was that a coincidence ... or did I subconsciously look for just that home? I was pretty sure it was the latter.

I drove to the office for my first formal day as Plant Manager, Interstate Plastics Mfg. Corp., Vancouver division. My laptop was slung over my shoulder and my briefcase was in hand as I climbed the stairs to my new office. The big windows that overlooked the shop floor drew me first.

As I looked down and saw the machinery and people working, I immediately felt the knot in my stomach. This was my plant and these were my employees and it was my obligation to give them every opportunity to succeed. For the first time since Aser had asked me to accept the position, I felt the weight of that responsibility.

I stood there, gazing down at the activity, the noise of the equipment only barely audible. Finally, I turned and moved to my new office. Since my last visit, the furniture had arrived and been put in place. I glanced at the IN tray and noticed it already had material in it. I picked up the papers, and taped to the tray was a note in large handwriting: WELCOME BOSS! We were in business.

-0-

The first eight weeks were a blur for me. We were just getting up and operating. As expected, we had some start-up and teething problems, but with the help of Tucker and our supervisor, we worked through them. We were in production, and the waste rates were dropping daily as the crews were trained and gained experience.

By the end of June, I expected we would be operating at my projected rates. That would put us on my personal target, although Phil had insisted we build in a bigger cushion for the unexpected. "If it doesn't happen and you hit the ground running, we have nothing to explain," he said with a grin. He knew I wouldn't let us fall back on that.

The offer on the new house was accepted, and my occupancy date was June 1^st. In the meantime, Marina phoned to let me know she had three offers on the Reardon house, and the best of them, with no conditions, was at three hundred five thousand. I immediately accepted. The closing would be May thirtieth, and Marina checked on movers for quotes. With luck, I would have my furniture here when I took possession of the new house.

Not long after I arrived, I began to develop a new routine. There was no fitness center or pool near the plant, so I looked around my new subdivision and found both. Until then, there were plenty of safe walking areas around the Marriott, unlike the plant location. In addition, there was an exercise room and an outdoor pool. Within a week, I was back on my old fitness schedule.

I used the facilities in my room to prepare my meals. I had already had enough restaurant food to know I wasn't going to keep my proper conditioning that way. I began to teach myself to cook all over again. I had been spoiled by Molly for almost a year, and then after she was gone, I found myself buying semi-prepared meals with the so-called "healthy choice" label.

I moved into my new house in early June. It was the second brand new house I had bought in two years, or for that matter, the second in my entire life. Aser and Phil had insisted that I have the movers look after everything, including packing and unpacking. Their rationale was that I had enough on my plate with starting up the new plant without the stress and strain of moving once again. After the fact, I was grateful for their thoughtfulness.

The builder had done a good job of cleaning the house and finishing the minimal landscaping: two trees and a couple of thousand square feet of sod on top of some topsoil. I contacted a fence builder and had him construct a six foot high cedar fence around the rear of the property, joining up to the house a few feet from the front. Within a couple of weeks, I was moved in, unpacked, and feeling like I had a home once more.

My new job was a new lease on life for me. I found myself dwelling less and less on Molly and what might have been, and more and more on what I wanted to accomplish in my career. I had big ambitions for myself in Vancouver. I was going to make it the best operating plant of the two, and threw down the challenge to Keith. It would be a friendly competition, but a competition nonetheless. I had the disadvantage of new, inexperienced people, but the advantage of newer, supposedly more efficient equipment. Time would tell.

In my private moments, I still thought of Molly and how much I missed her. I would occasionally fall into a maudlin mood as I thought about what I had lost. The moods didn't last long, but they were there all the same. I wondered what to do about my future. Was it just going to be work? Running the plant and no more? I didn't think I would be happy with that in the long run. I was busy and occupied now ... but what about later?

"Jack, line three ... Jack, line three," the speaker blared. I was on the plant floor when I was paged. I walked to the supervisor's office and punched in the line three button.

"Jack Tompkins."

"Hello, Jack ... it's Janet ... Janet Zukowski," came the halting, familiar voice.

"Janet! How are you? Where are you?" I was almost yelling into the phone.

"I'm in Reardon, but ... I'm coming out your way, Jack. I thought we could get together while I'm there." Janet sounded very tentative to me.

"Of course we can. When are you coming?"

"This Saturday. I get into Portland at three in the afternoon."

"I know that flight. I used it all the time myself. I'll meet you at the baggage carousel."

"That would be great. I'm really looking forward to coming out there ... and ... seeing you again." Again, it was a hesitant voice I was hearing.

"It will be terrific, Janet. How long can you stay?"

"I'm not sure. I'll tell you about it when I see you Saturday."

"OK ... great. I hope it's for a few days. I'd love to show you around." I didn't realize how energized I was with her call.

"I'll see you Saturday, Jack. Bye for now."

I put the phone down and sat in the chair for a few moments. My abdomen was tingling, and my head was full of thoughts. Where could I take her? What could I show her? The Oregon coast? Mount St. Helens? The Columbia Gorge? I had to hope she would stay long enough to see some of these. I took me a moment to realize just how excited I was to see her.

The rest of the week went quickly enough, and I was eagerly awaiting her flight as I stood by the carousel in the airport that Saturday afternoon. When I saw her coming down the escalator to the baggage area, I felt that tingling again. I wasn't sure how I was going to greet her. We were friends, not just business associates, but my mind was confused about how I felt.

She saw me, waved with a big smile, and we walked quickly toward each other. I'm not sure just what I was thinking, but before I knew it I had swept her into my arms and hugged her, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. It suddenly dawned on me what I had done, and I immediately stepped back.

"Oh ... uh ... sorry, Janet. I guess I was a little overenthusiastic. Sorry," I stumbled.

She stood there with a strange look on her face. Not upset, perhaps surprised, but almost ... almost intrigued. We stared at each other for a moment until she began to smile. "Glad to see you too, Jack." We were OK. No harm done.

I took her bags and we headed for my car. Along the way, she talked about the flight and a bit about her summer, but not about what had brought her out west. I decided to let her tell me in her own time. I was just happy to have her here.

"Where are you staying?"

"Uhhhmmm ... I was thinking of a motel. I didn't make a reservation. I wasn't sure how long I would be staying," she said, again with halting uncertainty.

"Well ... it's settled then. I have a spare bedroom and bathroom at my house, and the rent's cheap."

"Oh ... Jack ... I couldn't do that."

"Why not? You wouldn't be imposing, and it would give us a chance to catch up. There's nothing fun about staying in a motel, trust me. It's settled ... you'll be staying with me," I said with authority.

She glanced over to me, an inscrutable look on her face. I began to wonder what was going on. She came all the way across the country without a motel reservation? That didn't sound like the Janet I knew. Again, I decided to wait and see what she would tell me.

We talked about inconsequential things as we drove to my house. I learned that she was originally from the west coast, but further south, in California. She had told me that before, but I had forgotten it. She was commenting on how much she missed the ocean, the temperate climate, and the different lifestyle of the west. She sounded nostalgic, it seemed to me.

I put her luggage in the second bedroom while Janet used the facilities. We met in the kitchen and she accepted an iced tea.

"This is a lovely home, Jack. It reminds me of the one you had in Reardon," she said, before suddenly realizing what she had suggested.

I smiled and assured her, "Yes, it is almost the same idea. Not quite as big and not quite as large a lot, but nice ... and just fine for me. Some time this fall I'll probably start on finishing part of the basement. An extra bedroom for sure, along with a bathroom, and maybe an exercise room."

"You have a daughter out here, don't you?"

"Yes, Bonnie lives in McMinnville with her husband, Dave, and our grandchildren. I've been down twice already. It's only a couple of hours from here."

There was a long pause. Something was on Janet's mind, but she wasn't ready to tell me yet. I decided to ask a pertinent question.

"So ... what brings you way out west, Janet? Vacation?"

She looked away for a moment and then looked back directly at me. "Actually, Jack, I'm here for a job interview on Monday."

"A job interview? With whom?"

"Portland State. There's an opening for head coach of women's volleyball," she said quietly. "They're also looking at my computer science qualifications. It could give me an advantage to do some instruction as well as coach."

"Wow! Do you think you have a chance?"

"Yes. I'm on their short list. They interviewed me a couple of weeks ago in Reardon. When I submitted my résumé, one of the committee remembered me from UCLA."

"Janet, that's great!" I'm sure she could feel my enthusiasm, and it seemed to lift her.

"Do you think so?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at right away. I guess I'm a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but I had a feeling what was going on.

I looked directly at her. "Yes ... I think so. I think it would be great to have you close again."

I saw her eyes go wide and her mouth open in surprise. I had spoken boldly, and I had meant what I had said, but I had no idea that I really had been harboring those thoughts.