“Concord survived thanks to Southern Republic,” Hank said.
“For the better?” Bozin asked.
“I’d say so. Paved roads. New schools. Water and sewer system. The hospital. Convalescent center. We couldn’t have afforded any of those improvements if not for Southern Republic. Republic Board changed us some, but that company didn’t invest in the area like you have.”
Brent thought back to when Southern Republic arrived. He was still in Cub Scouts but Hank was right, the changes even during his lifetime were profound. Car dealerships opened, banks sprouted, businesses flourished, two shopping centers were constructed. Franchise food places arrived. Cable television became available. Natural gas lines came their way. And with one small but convenient substitution, rural routes were abolished and addresses assigned that allowed home delivery of mail. In the span of a few decades, things were altered forever. A lot like his own life, which during the past few weeks had irrevocably changed too.
“I remember coming here just before we bought the company,” Bozin said. “The mill was in bad shape, ready to close. Republic Board was on the verge of bankruptcy. Concord was just a small agricultural community, a world unto itself. I knew it was going to take a lot of work and a lot of money to make things go. And it did. But I think we now have a town and county that’s a good placeto live. In our favor, I’d say we’ve been a good corporate citizen. Always paying our taxes, as assessed, on time.”
But Brent knew how things worked. Company employees perennially filled seats on the board of tax assessors, city council, and county commission. Not to mention Hank’s long tenure as mayor. Friends in high places never hurt when it came to decision time.
Bozin looked at Hank. “Would you say Concord is a company town?”
“I used to hear that all the time. Out-of-town reporters wanted to know if Southern Republic controlled everything. I told folks, to my knowledge, there’s no company store where employees spend their whole paycheck trying to keep accounts current. The company doesn’t dictate city or county policy. We have franchise operations and small businesses owned and operated by a bunch of folks that don’t have anything to do with Southern Republic.”
Listening to Hank’s description brought to mind what Brent always equated witha company town. Were they still around? Barely. Look at the decline of the American steel industry, the problems with U.S. automobile manufacturers, and, just like Bozin said earlier, don’t forget about overseas competition, which was driving the price of everything to rock-bottom lows. It was hard enough to just survive. But survive and control everything?
Nearly impossible.
“It really insulted me when people thought the company ran everything here,” Hank said. “I always thought I did.”
Brent smiled. “You didn’t?”
The sarcasm in his voice was clear.
“Believe it or not, it was a democracy.”
“Until the council, or anyone else, disagreed with you.”
Bozin chuckled. “He’s got you there, Hank.”
Dessert was served in the living room, a delicious key lime pie topped with real whipped cream. Brent could have actually eaten another piece, but wasn’t offered seconds.
“How long do you think it’ll take to finish the negotiations?” Bozin asked Hank.
“Probably by Monday or Tuesday of next week.”
“No chance of anything sooner?”
“I doubt it. The members are going to have to digest the changes and get used to the idea of five years again. That takes a little time to get right.”
“This is the tricky point,” Bozin said. “I always worry about the other unions. Whether we can bring them in line. Have you ever had any reservations, Hank, about the way we do this?”
“Not a one. It’s the only way to bargain. The privacy allows a reasonable deal among reasonable men.”
The older man sighed. “I remember in the beginning when we negotiated everything in the open. Long, hard bargaining sessions. Robbie Shuman made things tough, didn’t he?”
“You got that right.”
“Brent, did you ever meet Shuman?” Bozin asked.
“No, sir. But I went to high school with his son. He was shot to death, as I remember. What a terrible thing.”
“Robbie was tough as nails,” Hank said. “But he was also pigheaded.”
“I’m curious, Hank, when did Hamilton first suggest the more private bargaining sessions?”
“A long time ago. He called me to the front office one day and we had a talk. That was the first time we ever sat down with the door closed.”
