My good friends’ 2018 vineyard crop was put in bottles yesterday. I spent several hours putting corks in about 250 glass bottles. They’ve progressed to the point where we no longer have to strip labels off the wine we drink. It’s now a sophisticated home operation of steel tanks, wooden barrels, and unused bottles. I took a case of last year’s vintage home, sipped on a glass or three, and watched the 50th Anniversary Woodstock documentary on Netflix. I found it ironic that the iconic concert was essentially funded through an inheritance from Polligrip and Pollident, products that didn’t exactly fit the demographics of the crowd. I’m glad I took the time to drive by the site a couple of years ago on the way to Cooperstown and Baseball’s Hall of Fame.
Today, I’m having lunch with a former co-worker who just announced his retirement. When I worked with him, I was best know for my humorous poems that I would deliver at going-away parties. It turned out to be a big job with the heavy turnover of our sales staff. I was honored when he asked me to write something for his last day. He once told me that he was one of the original 35 employees that worked for Phil Knight as he began to build his Nike shoe empire. Unfortunately, it was a time of major struggles and missed paychecks. He decided to join the radio business, perhaps missing an opportunity to have become very rich. Instead, he spent 35 years at Alpha Broadcasting, focusing primarily on country station KUPL – The Bull. I’ve included the names of some of his managers that I also worked under in my brief three-year tenure.
Even after 35 years, there will be little fanfare provided by the company. He was well paid, but there’s no pension, sporadic 401k matches, and probably not a symbolic gold watch to honor his accomplishments. I’m imagining his workmates gathering in the conference room after work with Crock Pots of food and left-over booze that was part of a trade deal to provide client holiday gifts. Hopefully, Al’s 35 years of service will be rewarded more generously by the company. He will read this poem that I wrote for the occasion:
Our Pal Al
I asked Mike Johnston,
To write this haiku.
He couldn’t sell,
But rhyme he could do.
I’ll join him in retirement,
In just a few days.
Since my boss of eight years,
Cressy, got a raise.
No offense, Geoff,
But I’ll shed no tears.
You’re my 18th manager,
In thirty-five years.
My first was Bill Fuller,
Who threw sharp things.
Others were worse,
With angry mood swings.
Too many to thank.
And a lot to say.
A trail of good friends,
Along the pathway.
Six different owners,
Countless GMs.
A constant battle,
Of us versus them.
Lisa – I’m grateful,,
And Milt, join me soon.
I’m sure next year’s budget,
Will be through the moon.
Memories of retreats,
And another one-on-one.
Nightmares of hearing.
The wrong spot run.
My wife Kristi,
Gave permission to quit.
To be quite honest,
I’m tired of this shit.
After years of Proffitt,
It’s hard to believe.
That it’s taken this long,
To actually leave.
I could have been rich,
If I’d stuck with Phil Knight.
To put up with this BULL,
Just doesn’t seem right.
There’s no gold watch,
Or company stock.
And any honors banquet,
May come from a Crock.
Bob, you’ve survived,
And made Alpha great.
You too should get out,
Before it’s too late.
It’s also my birthday,
And my last State Fair.
I’ll golf and race cars,
Free of who’s on the air.
I know I’ll be missed,
But there’s accounts to be had.
Let’s hope my replacement,
Doesn’t make you look bad.
Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com
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