The Sage
On a cold November morning in upstate New York, Jacob Lederer walked briskly up the street to his workplace. A light snow was drifting down from the gray sky, while a stiffening breeze swirled the flakes into semicircular patterns on the sidewalk. As usual Jacob would be a few minutes late, but then, he always worked through most of his lunch break. It didn't help much that his employer had built the state-of-the-art, automated production facility where the employee parking lot had been. Employees were now expected to pay for commercial parking, three blocks away. In this day and age, Jacob guessed it was a small price to pay for a decent job. He was, at age 61, in exceptional physical condition for his years, so the walk was more a nuisance than an issue. At least the parking garage was on the same side of the street.
Jacob turned onto the entrance walkway, took two steps up and had twenty feet to go. A story-and-a-half tall, brown-sided steel building stretched 200 feet in either direction. To his right was the company's only bit of landscape planting, a solitary little red oak tree that had been added as an afterthought. It had been selected by someone who failed to consider that there wasn't enough room for it to grow where it had been planted, and it would have to be cut down in another few years.
The steel door was labeled “Employee Entrance” in large, red glued-on letters. He pushed the door latch, opened the door and stepped inside.
Jacob had done a lot of things for a living. After high school he'd spent four years in the Navy, then he had re-upped into Naval Security, following which he had attended college for a career in law enforcement. He had been hired by the FBI, but halfway through his training he had decided that being a federal cop was not what he wanted, after all. So being young, single, familiar with the sea, and adventurous, he had signed with an Alaskan crabbing vessel. Afterward he had apprenticed as a tradesman and had worked as a cabinetmaker for some years, and he had finally taken a job working as a purchasing assistant.
But the leaping gnomes in Washington had decided that the United States needed an answer to the European Common Market, and so eventually, NAFTA happened. The resulting exodus of both manufacturing and technical jobs to Mexico and south was subsequently eclipsed by the movement of even more jobs, to Asia. As manufacturers who closed their doors in the U.S. became the devastated majority, Jacob had perhaps been fortunate to find and to keep a position as a purchasing agent for one of the few remaining kitchen cabinet factories, stateside.
Fortunate, perhaps.
“Jacob, 'The Nemesis' wants to see you.”
Jacob hadn't even finished removing his hat. Co-worker Freddo was addressing him from the office, across the hall from the coatroom. It crossed Jacob's mind that there would probably be a new scheme in place today, one designed to break him down, but it really didn't matter. Not at all. As he calmly hung his overcoat on a metal hook with his hat above it, he replied, “Okay. Is she upset, or does she actually need something?”
Freddo answered, “What do you think?”
As usual, everyone turned and acknowledged Jacob as he entered the office. He smiled amiably and nodded to each of them, then sat down at his desk. He never played anyone else's game, today would be no different. After sorting through requisitions in his inbox, he started his computer and then got up and walked the ten feet to the coffeemaker.
The company was at that moment employing just over 300 people. The office was actually just an office area, apparently intended to recreate the atmosphere of a sweatshop. It was without windows, was served by poorly-maintained, intermittently-functioning heating, and there had never been a ceiling installed. Just below the piping, the hanging fluorescent lighting consisted of individual fixtures tied up with rusting steel wires. One room contained the activities of sales, accounting, production scheduling, plant maintenance, plant safety, and purchasing. A large room it was, but doors were continually opening and closing as people entered and left the office area, and the penetrating screams of computer-controlled routing machines, sawdust and drafts entered with them. A cubicle, reviled as depersonalizing in other offices, would have been quite a luxury here.
But what sweatshop is complete without a taskmaster? Or in this case a taskmistress, an aging, nasty, scheming, vulgar, overbearing woman. Known plant-wide as “Marilynbitch”, the only experience she'd had before coming to the company was that of having maintained a miserable marriage, and eight years worked as a waitress. But at the time of her hiring she was a younger woman who saw herself as a “party girl”, and she had shown her boss-to-be some leg. Unfortunately for the company and all of the people she now supervised, it was the main qualification the man had been looking for. So now that her kids were nearly grown, she'd divorced her husband and had taken up with an old girlfriend, with whom she now lived. Nobody cared to speculate about the relationship she had with the boss, but then, he didn't otherwise seem like a bad guy. He had started the company from scratch more than twenty years earlier and it had grown steadily. Whatever anyone had to say to him about his office manager, however, had fallen on completely deaf ears, and in that respect, he was hardly blameless for the result.
Jacob added some powdered creamer and sugar to his coffee, and went back to his desk and his computer. It had finished booting and he opened the database program, and his email. The most recent email stood out in bold caps, “SEE ME IMMEDIATELY.” it was signed, “Marilyn.” She always signed her name with a period after it, it was sort of her trademark. Jacob sighed, took a deep drink of coffee, put it down on his desk and got up to go to Marilyn's office.
Jacob opened the door to the narrow hallway and walked the twenty feet to her office, and knocked on the door. He stepped into a quiet, plush office that was nearly half the size of the room he had just come from. Just beyond her desk was the only entrance to the owner's office. Through her venetian-blinded window she could watch people arriving, and there was a large white-faced clock right beside the window. “That's what this is,” thought Jacob. “She wants to bust on me for being three minutes late.”
“Sit down!” barked Marilyn, a scowl embedded between her sagging jowls. Jacob did. A bit of a smile flurried across his face. This would no doubt be ridiculous, as always.
“What the hell are you smiling about??” Marilyn demanded.
“Hey, Marilyn, I'm a happy guy.”
“Well, you won't be happy, when I finish your annual review next month!” she asserted. “I hear you've been trying to do my job! I do not like my business being interfered with! I am not happy!”
Jacob was smiling broadly now, knowing it would not fail to piss her off completely, but that would be little change to her everyday demeanor, so why should he care?
“You really should try to be happy, Marilyn. It's really only a choice we all make. Anyone can have inner peace.” Jacob had lightly clasped his hands together under his chin. He looked like a smiling psychotherapist, which probably would have been a great adjustment for Marilyn.
Jacob had been right, the smiling reply was too much for her. She stood up, stalked around her large, empty desk, and poked a pencil at his face as she spoke.
“I'm telling you right now, I do NOT want you advising people who have a problem of any kind, at this company! That is MY job! If anyone has a problem here, whether it's with me, with Henry, with the job they probably aren't doing or how much they fuckin' make, they are supposed to be dealing with me! Hands off!” Marilyn stomped back around her desk and flopped her butt into her high-backed captain's chair.
“I understand,” Jacob replied, rising from his chair, “Will that be all?”
“No!” she retorted. “You were late again this morning! Don't let it happen any more!”
**************************
More than four hundred miles away, a technician was running a software package designed to identify a particular target. His job was classified, his security clearance was somewhere off the charts. Before him were seven monitors, each displaying one aspect of the search in progress. For twenty-four hours of each day for nearly a year, the program had monitored internet activity, filtered through emails in search of a few select keywords, and had searched the records of a great many United States citizens. It was looking for something in particular, an unusual set of conditions. A small window opened within a larger one on the central screen, and the technician's eyes widened, just a bit.
“Sir,” he said, “We've got something. It's a match.”
***********************
Jacob turned and headed back to the working office, and to his desk. He was still smiling. The contented look on his face helped everyone in the room that morning, as it had every morning. At lunchtime when the others asked him to go along to the diner up the street, Jacob excused himself. He didn't know if he had time to process the quantity of materials requisitions that he needed to finish before the end of the day. His employer might have been justified in providing an assistant, but Jacob was it, he was the entire purchasing department for a busy enterprise.
What “The Nemesis” had been wound up about, in fact, was a fairly common occurrence. People with problems did come to Jacob, and it wasn't limited to people at his place of employment. Jacob had the look, and usually, he had the answer.
The business he worked for wasn't really all that small, but they relied on a outside human resources agency to fill jobs whenever jobs opened. Marilyn had attempted to handle the hiring, but nobody suited her. She also had felt that if she had hired someone, that person was also hers to fire, and it never took her long to try. But an outside agency also meant there was nobody to go to if there were any interpersonal issues, or even personal crises that perhaps needed only a listening ear.
Jacob may have looked like an ordinary man, but he truly was extraordinary. He usually said almost nothing to anyone unless they spoke to him first. If he did reply, the reply was short, to the point, and it was always constructive. As a result he was credited with being a deep thinker. After all, he wasn't shy, he was very personable when spoken to, and nothing seemed to rattle him. And who else but a deep thinker could come up with the responses Jacob did? He appeared to be a bit older than his biological age, was stockily-built and wore a graying beard that seemed to complement his receding hair. His deep, calm speaking voice didn't hurt the image, either. But the thing people recalled best about him was his kindly face. He had never displayed anger or even a flicker of disappointment, but always, always appeared to be both confident and attentive.
It had not always been that way for Jacob. He had departed from his FBI training because of a short fuse and a lack of patience. One man had changed all of that. One never knows when one's pivotal moment will come, if it ever does. For Jacob, it did, during some very rough weather while at sea on the crabbing boat.
Crabbers work during a very short season to collect a very valuable cargo. When Jacob signed on, the draw was that if the vessel came in with a full hold, each crabber stood to make as much as $30,000. The catch was, there was no more than a reasonable chance that you would come back alive. The mortality rate during the season for everyone was about one crabber a week, and the lost were often the new hands, like Jacob. Further, several of the crabbing boats would often come back with very little to show for their efforts, so there was a good chance of making nothing, for all of that risk.
The seas were high and it was late at night, and it was the third straight day of it without sleep. The workers would go and catch an hour or two, one at a time, to keep them alert enough to stay on the deck. The boat Jacob was on was one of the biggest ones, but was nevertheless being tossed around like a rowboat in a hurricane. Jacob was the only new hire and was having a particularly bad time snagging one of the large, heavy, swinging baskets that had been brought up even with the deck. In the darkness, the basket was only visible during part of its swing, and it was impossible to know exactly when the boat would pitch, or how far. He was getting mad and was starting to rant in his best/worst sailor's language, when a much more seasoned old sailor stepped over and placed a reassuring hand on Jacob's shoulder. He shouted to make himself heard above the crashing waves, “'It is beyond a doubt that all our knowledge begins with experience.' That's from one of the greatest philosophers that ever lived. His name was Immanuel Kant. Take it easy and try again. You will get it, but not if you're mad at it.” Jacob felt a peculiar warmth in the shoulder on which the old man had placed his hand. He settled down and snagged the basket on his very next try.
A day later, the seas had diminished and they were making headway to a new area, to try and finish up the catch. Jacob had a chance to get some rest and a full meal, but first he went to thank old Jonas, the man who had helped him recover a working frame of mind at a critical moment. He found Jonas in his cabin, and he asked, “Where did you get that quote? How did you know just what to say?”
Jonas just smiled, and handed him a small book from a single shelf. It was The Critique of Pure Reason, by Kant. “What I quoted to you is the first line of the introduction. Although Kant was going somewhere else with it, it just seemed to fit. It isn't easy reading, but you have a college education, so you can probably handle it.”
It turned out that philosophy was Jonas' passion, and he passed it along to Jacob, who was intrigued. But to understand the writings of Kant, he needed to be able to follow Aristotle, and the dominoes began to fall. He read Plato, and Descartes. He read Locke, and Foucault. Socrates. Heraclitus. These were only the beginning for Jacob. The further he went, the more involved he became in developing his own analysis of each set of ideas, and he found that most had their merits. What began for Jacob as a quest for understanding became instead, to him, a journey.
Now, more than thirty years later, Jacob was writing his own treatise. His solitary existence had been dedicated to it. The intensity of his efforts was such that his study was where he lived. It was the one room of his small house that got more of his time than did his sleeping quarters. His quest for truth and understanding had taken him far beyond the examination of philosophy, into theology and from there to the study of world religions. He had taken time off between jobs to travel to the Far East to tour the places he'd read about, and to gather information that he would never find in books. At this point, Jacob had four languages under his belt and was able to communicate marginally in five others.
Despite his early wish to further his grasp on just philosophy, Jacob found theology to be inextricably linked to it. That didn't make it bad, it made it human. And his greatest struggle turned out to be that of expressing his own conclusions from an entirely fresh point of view. He was determined nonetheless, and as it would be learned, was also destined to succeed in that effort.
His study was a smallish room centered in the back half of his brick-faced ranch-style home. In it he kept an apartment-sized refrigerator. Three of four walls were covered with loaded bookshelves from floor to ceiling, the desk was littered with worn and dusty reference books and notes, and there were two computers that were on all the time. One of the computers was his word processor and the other was his music machine, for in his quest for the clearest picture of human character and thought processes, he frequently turned to music. Music he had used ranged from classical, (notably Beethoven's 7th), to rock, from Grand Funk to Metallica, and even some pop and country selections. Every note or combination of notes had been composed by some human being as an expression of some emotion, or as with classical music, an entire set of them. There is nothing like music to open a window on the human soul and its deep complexity. Without fail, he had gained the perspective he had been looking for. Then he had resumed his writing.
In the very center of the room was a whiteboard that had been littered with Jacob's fast notes, because he paced a lot. It was easier to go to the whiteboard and to remain on his feet, during the pacing sessions. But he only got to use one side of the whiteboard because the other side was fully occupied with something that had come to him, and that he felt compelled to leave there:
"there is a place and a presence deep within the human psyche that is unknown to all. it creates an image of itself within everything that we do, think, say, create, or destroy…it is the closest thing within our biological existences to a common link. it is the collective soul of humanity and we will share a common fate - all must be awakened, it must be recognized, and must be lifted up"
So involved had Jacob become with his writing that he had begun to resent the job that supported him. It was a daily struggle. From his perspective he had no sooner gotten started than he found it was midnight. Any later to bed and he was liable to sleep too late. And often that was what happened; he would stay with it until three a.m. or later, and then try to get up at six.
This accounted for why there was absolutely no extra weight on Jacob's body. He got his exercise pacing the floor and wearing out his carpets. He frequently went right to work in his study without eating. He usually worked through lunch. And he didn't get a lot of sleep. Nevertheless he was as amiable, as cheerful and as friendly a man as one could ever hope to meet. And that was because Jacob had figured it all out, and was completely at peace. Although he had not realized it or applied a title to it, he had advanced from practicing philosopher, to sage.
In fact the obnoxious Marilyn didn't really bother him at all. He had been studying her. In doing so, Jacob had come to realize that it wasn't all personal selfishness or hereditary cruelty that made her as she was. There had been some serious issues in her past, and he knew it. It probably wasn't enough to excuse her seemingly rabid behavior, but it was interesting to watch to see what she would inadvertently reveal, other than her glaring incompetence at work.
Typically whenever there was an issue that involved any expense to the company, Jacob would indeed give the problem a push in Marilyn's direction. But for anything else, if somebody was asking for his opinion or for his assistance, they would receive it.
Among those who had come to him were co-workers Freddo Wray and Carey Smith. Freddo had been involved in a territorial battle with Carey, at the desk adjacent to his. Freddo was a salesman and Carey was part of accounting, and quarters were close in the office. Something as small as the position of a trash can was enough to start an undeclared war. With all of the people in the office, it was suddenly Freddo who was always in Carey's way, and Carey who was in Freddo's. Jacob had avoided any and all involvement until the two came to his desk, each complaining about the other. Jacob had stopped what he was doing. Looking deeply concerned, he sat silent for a moment. Then, peering over the top of his bifocals at them both, he stated simply but sternly, “You are not being paid to be friends. But if you can't get along at all, you can't get done what you are being paid to do.”
It might be seen as tribute to Jacob's influence that the problem ended right there. Freddo began to be polite again, Carey moved her trash can, they resumed smiling and talking as they had before the disagreement started. End of problem.
It was common for material requisitions to go through accounting for approval, before larger amounts would be applied to a purchase. One day, Jon the production manager placed a new requisition for more than forty-five thousand dollars' worth of cherry veneer plywood in accounting's lap, asking that it be ordered immediately. However that amount required the owner's approval, and that meant going through Marilyn, an unpleasant addition to anyone's day.
An argument ensued, and the production and accounting managers soon wound up in front of Jacob's desk. Jon explained that they had to get the material moving ASAP because they had just been handed a new order for two hundred units of the same product, with an almost impossible delivery date. “We need the materials already on the floor,” he added, “and we don't have time to break it into two shipments so that it's easier to get approved.” Jacob had been sorting through papers and only looked up briefly while he was talking. He never looked up after that, just continued sorting papers. But he answered without hesitation, “You can't build a fire if you have no fuel.”
Once again, end of argument. The accounting manager flounced off to the administrative office to get her approval. Jon grinned at Jacob and said, “Isn't that a bad metaphor to be using in a cabinet factory?” Both men laughed.
Without question, the most frequent assistance was needed by some person or other whom Marilyn had chosen to pick on, on whatever day. There were always one or two people who were on her “shit list” and who were targeted for elimination, but on any given day the list could easily include a few others. On one such day, the poor accounting manager had been in Marilyn's office for an hour hearing about inventory control, which Marilyn knew absolutely nothing about. Henry the owner had asked for current inventory figures, and Marilyn saw no reason why the accounting manager couldn't take it from her desk and hand it to her that very second. Efforts to explain that the ten-month-old annual inventory would have to be updated for an accurate set of figures, were pointless. The accounting manager came back from a chewing-out, in tears and ready to quit.
She walked right to Jacob's desk, and told him she was going to quit right then and there.
Jacob understood without asking that he was being given an opportunity to talk her out of it. Everyone stopped to listen. This time Jacob put down what he was doing, and listened too.
Throughout the explanation of what had happened in Marilyn's office, Jacob was trying to come up with a response, but he understood that you can't excuse the inexcusable. Fortunately she ended it with “...and its so obvious she has no idea what any of us do here!”
The only thing that stood a chance to work was to agree with her, and to try to laugh it off. So Jacob replied, “You're so right about that. But we all need our jobs, and we have to look past Marilyn's butt like it's just another big bump in the road.” That statement brought general laughter from the others, and people began to gather around. From his chair, Jacob looked around at the faces, and added, “You can put a round peg into a square hole, you see, as long as it's smaller than the square, and you don't care that the whole space isn't filled.” He gestured by sticking his index finger into a closed fist. More laughter.
Someone else asked, “Ya, but why do you think Henry would keep someone like that around?”
Jon the production manager had just come in from the plant, and he answered that one. “It's an extreeeme case of short-sightedness.” He frowned and shook his head in mock sarcasm. “The man can't see beyond the end of his own dick!”
That one brought down the house. And, the accounting manager didn't quit.
Then, there were those that Jacob considered to be “seekers”.
Among us every day are the unfortunate, people who have lost a job, a child, a spouse, a fortune, a home, the list goes on forever, and the list includes hope itself. Each of us knows deep inside what we will have to endure and how to endure it, but few of us are willing. We want to tell someone about it, we want to be told how to deal with it, to be comforted, commiserated-with, helped, healed.
More than one person who knew Jacob had approached him alone on the street, a questioning look in their eyes, a situation to be resolved, pleading inside for answers to some personal despair. Jacob would recognize it immediately, gaze at those eyes while infusing their minds with a comforting look, and the seeker would immediately be comforted. He would place a hand on the shoulder, mentally assuring the person that they would be alright. He then would nod, a knowing smile would form on his lips, he would pat the shoulder of the seeker once, and turn to be on his way.
Jacob knew that what they really needed most of all was reassurance, and in fact that was all he had to offer; so of course he offered it. And yet because of his eminence as a man of exceptional wisdom, they felt that they had, in some fashion, experienced a form of healing. It was profound enough to each that they usually chose not to speak of it. Such is the power of every human mind.
In truth Jacob had only been trying to help people who needed it, but in fact he had no way of knowing how seriously the people he had helped, had taken it. At first there were people throughout his workplace who venerated him, but eventually the whole town where he lived did, as well.
Strangely enough, he was worthy, because his own settled heart and his understanding of the world and all of the people in it, made him quite unusual. While in the Far East, he had also learned a thing or two about settling the hearts of others. That was the challenge that drove him to attempt to place it in print. If he could tell or show someone, he could help that person. If he could get it into print, it had the potential to change everything. For everyone.
It just so happened that Jacob was nearing the completion of his treatise. He had not even begun the decision-making process that would help to determine where it would first be published. Psychology journals are common, some are eminent, and perhaps it should become a book before that. He just hadn't given that part of it much thought. First to complete, and then to edit the manuscript.
************************
In the little town where the cabinet factory was located, a black Chevrolet Suburban pulled up in front of the county courthouse. Two men got out and walked through the front doors. They flashed their identifications at the surprised courthouse security officer and the man who attended the metal detector, and went on to the county clerks office.
“I wonder what that's all about?” The security officer wondered aloud.
*************************
A few more days passed, and Jacob no longer needed to struggle with the content of the body of his treatise. It was finished. All he needed now was an introduction and his closing remarks. But why were those things being so difficult to complete? It was a Thursday night, and this time, Jacob didn't even get his customary few hours of sleep. He was writing,
“...for each of us builds for himself an existence that is equivalent to his own perceptions, tempered by his own opinions which are based primarily on his experiences - but also on his fears.”
Jacob turned his wrist over and looked at his watch. Seven a.m.! He had to move!
*******************
Looking a bit more disheveled than usual, Jacob walked the three blocks from the parking garage as quickly as he could. In spite of his lack of sleep and late start, he would be on time today. He arrived with a few minutes to spare. He hung his hat and coat in the coatroom as usual, and stepped across the hall. This morning it would be coffee first.
Jacob got his coffee, turned on his computer and sat down. He took a deep drink and felt the welcome warmth, but it bottomed out in his empty stomach. Today he would have to get some lunch for a change.
One of the doors from the plant opened and Jon, the production manager, walked through it. “Jacob,” he said, “Could I see you for a minute?” Without hesitation, Jacob got up and followed him, down the hall and out into the plant.
They passed several of the loud wood-routing machines and walked between the automatic saws, toward the area where incoming materials were stacked. There on a stack of rough lumber sat a young man, his head down, elbows on his knees and his hands on his head. His body shook visibly as he sobbed. Jon explained, “I think he's having a nervous breakdown, Jacob. Something's wrong but he won't talk. I can't get anything out of him. Would you try? See if we need to get him to a hospital or something.”
Jacob sat down next to the young man and clasped his hands together. “Want to tell me what's going on, son?”
The man lowered a hand and looked over, and realized who was speaking to him. He felt reassured just by the fact that it was Jacob. Jacob had come.
About ten minutes passed. As is so often the case, this man was having family problems, and it was largely over money. His wife had threatened to be gone when he got home. He was already working a part-time job, was hardly home as it was, and there just wasn't any way to keep going, as he saw it. He had simply become completely overwhelmed that morning, and his emotional condition could easily have been considered a nervous breakdown.
While Jacob had never done and never would do marriage counseling, he did understand the emotional mechanism that led to this frame of mind. He spoke frankly and honestly about what might be done, and how the young man might go about it. The result, he explained, was not supposed to be under his control. Every man and every woman can and will go in whatever direction they themselves choose. The best thing he could possibly do is to get himself under control, because without that, he would be out of the game. Others would then make decisions for him, until he decided to get back in it.
Jon walked away, confident it was taken care of. Others continued their work, but watched as they were able. One of them stopped when they saw Jacob reach into his pocket and remove a large, bronze-colored coin. Jacob held it between two fingers and rubbed it while he continued to speak. Then he handed it to the young man, who gripped it in his hand and closed his eyes.
The worker who was watching, grabbed the shoulder of another man who had been working next to him. “Look!” he whispered.
When the young man unclenched his hand, his eyes opened and they appeared to be clear, and full of wonder. He never looked away as Jacob accepted the coin back from him, and put it back into his pocket. Then Jacob stood up, patted the young man on the shoulder, and walked away.
“What the hell was that?" The two men who had been watching, looked at each other. The young man got up and walked to his workstation, and got busy. Jacob walked back to the office.
When he arrived, Marilyn was waiting for him.
“Oh, crap,” thought Jacob.
“What did I tell you?!” Marilyn was sitting in Jacob's chair.
This just wasn't the day for it. There were far more important things in Jacob's life, and far more important things in this world, than having to duke it out with Marilyn. Never had that fact seemed as clear as at did at this moment. Jacob would finish his project, his own life's work, and then go out and find another job, in another state if need be. And he didn't need to explain it to anyone, least of all, Marilyn. Period at the end.
Jacob picked up his coffee, now room temperature, and drained the cup. He looked at Marilyn and smiled. Then, he walked purposefully to the coatroom and put on his hat, and pulled on his coat.
Carey from accounting came scurrying over. Jacob, you're not quitting??”
Jacob replied, matter-of-factly, “Why, yes, I am.” He nodded as he spoke, and he smiled again. Then he walked through the door, down the sidewalk and on for the three blocks to the parking garage.
On his way home he stopped and picked up another coffee and three donuts. He ate the donuts on the way, and when he got home, he downed the coffee and went to bed. The caffeine in two measly coffees would not prevent him from getting some serious “zees”.
About six hours later, Jacob awoke to the sound of hard and persistent knocking at his front door. He slowly got out of bed, pulled on his heavy robe and tied it. Then he walked to the door and opened it. It was Freddo.
“Hey, buddy, were you sleeping? Sorry about that, it's cold out, can I come in?” Freddo was all smiles and seemed so wound up he was just short of bouncing, on Jacob's front stoop.
Jacob stepped aside and Freddo came in, pulling the door shut behind him.
“You know about what happened after you left, man? Do you have any idea?”
“No,” Jacob answered honestly, “I'd been up all night, and I've been asleep since I got home. They didn't can the boy I'd been talking to, did they?” Jacob hadn't considered that possibility.
“Can him? Hell no, nobody got canned. Everybody quit! I mean ev-ery-bo-dy!”
“Say, what?” Jacob's brow knitted and he frowned in dismay. “They what?”
“Quit! Walked out! Oh, you, tee! The whole plant emptied into the street.”
Jacob felt his knees get a little wobbly, and he sat down. “Because of what I did? Over three hundred people? Is that what you're saying?”
Freddo was nodding. A thousand things attempted to flash through Jacob's mind at the same time. He wasn't really fully awake, and it was just about too much. People depended on their jobs. People had families. This plant was the industrial showcase of their little town. Christmas was coming soon. What had he done?
Freddo responded, “Yeah, that's what I'm telling you. Jon walked in right after you left and Carey told him what you did. He walked right out into the plant and called a meeting of the lead men. The lead men passed the word, and everyone stopped their equipment, for one thing because materials stopped coming. People started to leave, took their stuff, the machinery mechanic took his tools home, and Jon followed suit. By the time he got to Henry to tell him he was done, there were only three of us in the office. Everyone else had hit the street. Before noon, it was just Marilyn and Henry! It was just beautiful!”
Freddo buttoned up his coat, adding, “Hey Jacob, a bunch of us are meeting down at the Omar in about twenty minutes, I'm gonna go down. You should come! You did us all a helluva favor, man! Later!” He hustled out the door.
Jacob just sat there, on the arm of the couch, for several minutes. Obviously it hadn't hit Freddo yet that there wouldn't be a paycheck next week, and no unemployment either, because he'd quit. They had all quit!
He walked back to his bedroom to get dressed. Something had to be done. But what?
The answer came very quickly after he'd finished dressing, as another knock came at the door. This time Jacob peered through the peephole, half expecting to see an angry mob. It was Henry, the owner of the company.
Jacob opened the door wide. “Come in,” he said. Henry did, and he sat right down.
“Got to talk to you, Jacob.”
“I know. Thanks for coming,” Jacob replied. “Look, I'm sorry...”
“You've got nothing to be sorry about. It's me who has to apologize. I've totally screwed this up! The office sucks, my manager stinks, you guys have to pay to park three blocks away. We fill that parking garage all by ourselves! The pay is below average, the work is fast-paced and it's dusty and dirty work, and the demands are high. I did set the bar high, Jacob, we're a lean-running operation! Any cash we've ever gotten in reserve, I've pulled it out. It's a substantial pot of money at this point. I should have known we couldn't continue this way.”
“But you're still here, Henry, that counts for something,” Jacob answered, reassuringly.
“How d'ya figure?” Henry shook his head. “I've got roughly a million and a half in inventory, nearly 200,000 square feet of manufacturing space, tens of millions tied up in machinery and there's not a soul there to make it go. I'll lose everything! Why before I closed up this afternoon, I'd already had orders canceled by our closest distributor. They had already been told we were out of business! Out of business, Jacob!”
At this particular moment, Henry looked a lot like the young man that Jacob had been asked to talk to that morning. Jacob had a moment of weakness as he thought about leaving him that way. But perish the thought. Henry was a decent guy, and he was the key to jobs for more than three hundred people. And Jacob himself had put him here.
He began, “Look, Henry, about Marilyn...”
“Gone,” interjected Henry. “Gone, gone, gone. I told her to find a job somewhere else.”
“But I thought you and Marilyn...”
“Nope. I maybe wanted that, but that was fifteen years ago. I was gonna use her, that's true, but I soon discovered that everyone she'd ever known had done that. Except maybe her poor husband. But she was already too far gone for even a marriage. I didn't have the heart to fire her, and when she stepped over the line, I stepped around her. Over and over. I'm so sorry, Jacob. Why even if people started to come back, what would I have? A bunch of people who are there, but still pissed off!”
Obviously Henry was ready to get past this. They began to talk seriously about solutions.
After about an hour, Jacob had agreed to ask the high school for the use of the gym for a meeting of employees of the cabinet plant. He would lay out the changes and offer on Henry's behalf to allow everyone to return to work. Provided they had enough people accept, operations would resume in three days' time. Everyone would return with a fifteen percent increase in wages, Marilyn would not return, and Henry would be putting in a parking lot in the adjacent industrial plot, which was for sale. The same lot would also be home to an new one-story suite of offices, attached to the plant.
There was something more. Jacob would be replaced by a new hire who would serve as the purchasing manager. Jacob would be handling human resources for the company.
There was one final thing Jacob asked of Henry. He said, “You pick the amount.” He explained, and after listening, Henry wrote a check with no recipient's name on it, in the amount of two thousand dollars, and handed it to Jacob. The men shook hands and Henry departed with new hope in his heart. It would be found that he was indeed, good for all he had promised.
Jacob put on his coat, locked the door and walked quickly to the Omar Bar. The little corner bar was packed with people, but the bloom was off the rose, so to speak. They were becoming a somber crowd of people who had no jobs, and they were discussing what to do next.
Among the many were four men who looked just like the regulars there at the Omar, but who were not. Dressed in dark work shirts, jeans and boots, they were seated in three locations, mixing with people and listening to the stories of what had been going on. All were federal agents.
Jacob walked through the door, and a few people noticed and greeted him. But Jacob removed his hat and spoke up. Shortly, everyone was listening.
Jacob announced that they would all be offered their jobs back without reprisal. He explained that he had just spoken at length with Henry. There would be better conditions, more money, and no Marilyn. At that, a cheer went up, and as soon as they quieted down again, Jacob added that there would be a meeting at the high school gym tomorrow night, provided they could get permission to use the gym. The objective was to get things running again at the plant within three days.
With his hat in his hand, Jacob also apologized. “I truly wish I hadn't put you all through all of this,” he began. But he got shouted down.
“Nooo! You did us a favor!” All seemed to be in complete agreement on the point.
“Then,” said Jacob, “Get on your phones, and let everyone else know about the meeting. I'll try and get it on the radio in the morning. Is Jon French here?”
“Yep!” The production manager stepped forward.
“Need to talk to you.”
Jacob explained, showed Jon the check for two thousand dollars. Jon displayed a huge smile, slapped Jacob on the back, and they set out together for the home of the young man Jacob had counseled that morning.
Jacob finally arrived home at about ten p.m., hungry and still tired, but satisfied. He pulled his car up in front of his home, and got out. As he closed the car door and started for the house, he heard another car door closing. He turned to look. The figure walking toward him passed under the yellow streetlight. It was Marilyn.
Jacob had only known sharp words and anger from the woman, and he immediately wondered if she had a gun. But he had no fear of death, so he stopped and stood his ground.
“Can I help you?”
“Jeez, Jacob, I hope so.” Marilyn was close enough now to see her face. It was the first time Jacob had ever seen her without the look of omnipotent anger.
“Well if it's about your job,” Jacob began.
“Nope. Anything but. Don't want muh job back.” Marilyn had put her hands on her hips.
“Oh boy,” thought Jacob, and he grimaced. “Here it comes.”
She laughed! Jacob didn't know she could laugh. “So you're here because?”
“I just want to know if you were serious, you know, what you said. About, anyone could have inner peace.”
Jacob thought all the way back to the crabbing boat, and the old sailor who had given him Immanuel Kant's book. That was the turnaround for him. But a person like Marilyn, he knew would never be able to follow it. If she could understand it, she wouldn't finish it. It struck him for the first time that the treatise he had just finished writing would have precisely the same shortcoming.
Marilyn, of all people, had just done him yet another, bigger favor. He needed to try to return it.
“Okay, Marilyn, here's what you need to know.”
They were standing outside after ten p.m. in late November, in twenty-one degrees. But for ten minutes she stood with her arms folded in front of her, and listened.
The gist of what Jacob told her was that we all have inner peace in some form, however deeply we have buried it. The selections we make every day about every single thing will determine whether or not we choose to embrace that peace, or will adopt some other way of thinking and acting. We each develop a mindset that, for the most part, determines how we will live and how we will perceive whatever happens around us, and even how we will react. Then, having planted the suggestion, Jacob offered a bit of proof.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the large bronze coin. He rubbed it rapidly between his two fingers, and instructed her to grip the coin tightly in her hand, and to close her eyes. She did so.
Instantly the warmth of the coin flowed down her arm and into her body. When she opened her eyes, she felt amazingly relieved, and – peaceful.
“How...did you do that?”she queried, in amazement.
Jacob replied, “I didn't do that. You did that.”
Jacob accepted the coin back from Marilyn, looked at his watch, then turned to go up the walk to his house. He was hungry. He cast a remark over his shoulder as he walked away, “You have a good night.”
Neither Jacob nor Marilyn had noticed the black Suburban parked half a block away.
Jacob went inside, turned on a light, bumped up the thermostat, mixed up some canned tuna with mayo, and made a tuna salad sandwich. He grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and carried both into his study. He took a drink of soda, turned on the monitor to his word processor and began to think about the way to begin a rewritten version of his work, this one for the common man. He would never touch the sandwich until the next day, when of course, he would throw it out.
Not everyone who had quit that day would return. Freddo Wray opened an adult book store, but after a rocky start and limited local acceptance, he returned to manufacturing. Eventually he employed fifteen people in his successful operation, making prophylactics. Jacob smiled when he heard about it, it suited Freddo. The former accounting manager moved to Pennsylvania to partner with a former associate, and they founded a Certified Public Accounting firm. The last Jacob heard, they had opened nine offices, had fifty employees and were still growing. Rob was the name of a young man who had been working in production. Rob decided to return to college, where he earned a degree in computer science. He would eventually lead the way in development of an advanced replacement for digital technology, and would also spearhead a successful effort to produce the first truly sentient machine brain.
Jacob himself would turn the world of philosophy on its ear. It would take until the year of his retirement, ten years hence. What he would be remembered for, however, would be the smaller book he was about to begin. It would indeed change things, for everybody.
But for the moment, Jacob was sitting at his computer and was stumped. He felt that he needed to begin somewhere, anywhere, so he typed something that would become a part of the foreword:
“Time or reality as illusion is pure absurdity. We must deal with all things as what we are; sane, reasoning human beings. The concept of afterlife, valid or not, should have no bearing on the quality of human existence on earth. Everything perceived by the human consciousness must be addressed in the here and now. That is the first challenge for humanity, and it must not exclude any part of creation. If that seems like too much, it only means that it is time to begin. Let's get to work.”
No sooner had he completed that paragraph, when yet another knock came at the door. It was so late!
Jacob put his glasses next to the keyboard, walked from the study and opened the front door. There stood two men, both in black overcoats and wearing black fedoras. One of them produced a badge and identification.
“Federal agents, Mr. Lederer. May we come in?”
Jacob was shocked, to say the least. What else could happen today? He stood aside and the men entered, pulling the door closed behind them.
“What's this all about?” he inquired, more curious than anxious.
“Well sir, what we can tell you is that you were found and identified as the result of a great deal of effort, to locate one particular sort of individual. One with a good military service record, an educated person, a world-traveled and intuitive person, a special kind of person. One who is interested in his fellows and is also respected by them, and is known for his service to others. A true leader. We need your help.”
“Well please, get to the point. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Lederer, the President would like to speak with you. He requests your counsel, at your earliest convenience.”
Jacob was aghast. “With all due respect, I've got to be here for the next few days...”
“We know all about that, sir. We've been in this town for four days now. We've run all manner of background checks, looked at criminal records of the people you are in contact with for any reason at all, including at your work. We've talked to people without asking directly about you. We didn't have to ask about you.” The agent smiled. “You're a popular guy around here.”
The other agent extended a hand and gave Jacob a card. “We really hope you will accept the President's invitation, and honor his request as soon as you can, once your local plant is back up and running. Just call this number and we will send a limousine to take you to the nearest airport where we can land a plane. I am authorized to tell you that you may pack for an overnight or for a week, if you wish. Your expenses will be paid, everything will be provided, and you will be compensated.”
“Well,” Jacob replied, “Ordinarily I would politely refuse. The reason I tried to leave my job was, for the most part, to finish my own project, and I'm not sure about leaving to do something additional. Take a look.”
This was unprecedented, of course. But it had been a different day. Jacob led the way into the little study. Screen-savers were displaying on both computers, the notes were all over his whiteboard in the center of the room, books, papers and notes, everywhere. To the agents, it was just a messy room.
One of the agents noticed the tuna fish sandwich and the can of Coke next to the computers, and he wondered if Jacob would miss that sandwich if he slipped it into his overcoat pocket. It was a mere eighteen inches from his left hand. He decided against it. In fact, if Jacob had noticed at all, he would have assumed he had eaten it himself.
“Just wondering, sir, are you online with either of those computers?” the agent queried.
“No. No, actually I'm not. I still use hard-copy sources of information,” Jacob answered. “And the curiosity will get the better of me if I don't accept, so yes, in a few days you will hear from me.”
“Very good, sir, we want to indeed thank you for your time, at this late hour. We know you've had quite a day of it, so we'll be on our way and allow you to wrap it up.”
The agents walked to and through the front door. Jacob stared at the card. For all of his common sense, if he didn't have that card he might in some way have begun to doubt the reality of what had just occurred. The entire day had been like this.
When Jacob wrote, he was in the habit of keeping notes in his mind as well as on paper. There had been something standing in the corner of his mind, ever since Marilyn walked away from in front of his home, a little earlier that night. It was time to get some sleep, he needed to get up in time to call the high school for the use of the gymnasium, and then the radio station for the meeting announcement. It was critical that the meeting came together as soon as possible.
But he didn't want to forget this idea. Sleep might intervene and wipe out his mental note.
He grabbed a small yellow legal pad and pulled a blank sheet from behind the other notes. He picked up a pen and he wrote:
“The centerpiece of the plain-language version must include complete dismissal of moral relativism. Emphasize hogwash status. End result must transcend theism and atheism alike. Will be the greatest case for shared accountability for all outcomes.”
Jacob thought for a moment, standing there in his robe and slippers, his finger on his lower lip. Then he added, “With dominion over the earth comes commensurate responsibility.”
The pull was too great. Jacob sat down to type.
A neighbor's tomcat was standing on the window ledge, looking into Jacob's study, and specifically at that tuna sandwich. The cat had seen this happen before, and was considering what a terrible waste it was. But then again, the cat realized, nobody's perfect.
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