How Things Get Done . . .

. . . or at least how things are occasionally done.

These events occurred in the early 1980's, and the main characters were: Bill, a former mentor mentioned previously in this blog; Bryce, once moderately prominent in health care during the Carter administration, and at the time dealt with here a senior vice-president with Blue Cross Association/National Association of Blue Shield Plans (BCA/NABSP), an organization that was half supportive, half management of the individual Blue plans throughout the country; Otis, a director reporting to Bryce; and yours truly.

I was a vice-president at the Chicago Blue plan when I was asked to have lunch with Bryce, whom I knew of but had never met. I accepted, of course, although I had no idea what he might want. He, Otis, and I met at Le Perroquet in downtown Chicago. The amenities lasted through perhaps the first half of the meal, at which point Bryce spoke of what was on his mind.

Prior to moving to Chicago, I had acquired a good reputation in the field of federal procurement, and had provided services to Blue plans involved in such efforts - the Jacksonville, Little Rock, Seattle, Kansas City, and Chicago plans. Several years prior to this lunch Otis had sought my advice when BCA/NABSP decided to set up a department to provide those same services to Blue plans, which advice I gave him only to see it ignored, whether by Otis or his superiors I don't know. I suspect the latter.

The Blue plans weren't very enthusiastic about the new department and continued to use the consulting services of the division I had left in Boston rather than those of BCA/NABSP.

Bryce was looking for a way to enhance the popularity of his group. He was in the process of forming a steering committee comprising executives from some of the individual plans. He invited me to join the committee, which would oversee and advise the department.

I saw immediately what was up. It must be confessed that I was a little rough around the edges and I replied that "If the steering committee is actually going to be involved, actually do something, I'd be happy to be part of it, but if all you want is the use of my name in order to say that I recommend it, I wouldn't be interested."

The rest of the lunch was cordial, we exchanged "Glad to meetcha's," and I never heard any more about it.

Flash forward several years. I had left the Blues, was making six figures working at my first love, mainframe assembler programming, and had found a fascinating industry in which to work: junk mail. No, really.

Out of a clear Blue sky there came a phone call from Bill, my former mentor, still Executive Vice-President at Blue Shield of Massachusetts. He told me that "the Blues" - BCA/NABSP - were going to form a company to deal with federal procurements on behalf of Blue plans and to provide data processing services to plans that won contracts.

He thought *eye* would be perfect in the role of president of that company, reporting to a Board of Directors consisting of Blue plan presidents, and he wanted me to call Bryce, who would either make the decision or influence the decision substantially.

Well.

I would have dipped my arm in boiling oil before leaving what I was doing and going back to the Blues, but I couldn't just say that to Bill. He had been a mentor to me and very helpful over the years. I agreed to call Bryce.

I did so, his secretary put him on the line, and the conversation went exactly like this:

Donnie: "Bill has called me regarding the company you are forming to deal with federal procurements and subsequent processing. He wants me to be president of that company. Now I don't want to be president of that company and you don't want me to be president of that company, but we have to do something to keep Bill happy, so how about this: I'll call Bill and tell him that we talked and that if there's any movement in that direction you will call me."

Bryce: "Fine."

Donnie: "Thank you."

And that script was followed. Not long thereafter Bill died of a heart attack - he was only fiftyish - and I don't know to this day whether that company was ever formed.

Groggy

In the mid-1970's four of us - three from Blue Cross/Blue Shield in Boston and one EDSF employee who serviced our account - spent three months in Dallas working on a joint proposal to the state of Massachusetts regarding the processing of Medicaid claims.

It was fairly intense and became moreso as our deadline approached, but it was made easier by the first class facilities provided by EDS for the team.

The additional EDS employees provided were more than competent and were both professional and friendly.

The Boston four became fast friends. We stayed at a hotel on the North Central Expressway, met for breakfast before going to work, met for dinner after work, and occasionally went out for a drink or two together. Once in a while one or two people would fly back to Boston for a weekend, work shedule permitting. We rented a car for the entire three months, and whoever was staying in Dallas would drive the travelers to the airport on Friday nights and pick them up on their return Sunday evenings.

It was hard work, often involving long hours, but one of the more enjoyable long term work efforts I've experienced. In spite of that, nerves frayed and tension mounted as the deadline approached.

• We were becoming punch drunk, and with a week or so to go two of the project team got a little too intense. One of the Boston Blues people and one of the Dallas EDS employees were working on a section of the proposal together, and in a large room with perhaps six or eight other people present their voices began to rise as they disagreed over whether a sentence segment should end in a colon or a semi-colon.
  
  I was the leader of the Boston contingent, and I contemplated telling them to flip a coin, rewrite the sentence, or duke it out elsewhere, but for some reason reached for the dictionary instead. I swear, this was not planned but just came tumbling out of my mouth.
  
  I cleared my throat loudly, loudly enough in fact to cause everyone in the room to stop whatever they were doing and look at me. Turning to "semi-colon" in the dictionary, I read the definition - used to distinguish between items in a list, yada yada yada. A whispered exchange took place between the two disputants: "See?" "Wait."
  
  Beginning to turn the pages in my search for "colon," I said "Whereas . . . ." turning, turning, stalling, "a colon . . . ," turning, turning, got it! "is a part of the large intestine."
  
  Everyone in the room cracked up and I wondered whether some EDS exec would open the door to see what the ruckus was (none did.) The tension was broken and there was no more debate on the issue. To this day I don't know how they settled it.
  
  
• At the very end of the process two Blue vice-presidents and the Boston EDSF account manager flew down to Dallas to review and sign the proposals and to fly back to Boston with us. I believe we were all on a packed L-1011. We were slightly scattered but all seated within perhaps twenty feet of each other. The four of us who had spent the duration in Dallas were pretty much out of it.
  
  There is ("was" - I just checked and the final race was run on September 18, 2009) in Revere, Massachusetts a dog track named Wonderland. The mechanical "rabbit" used to lead the racing dogs was named "Swifty."
  
  As we were ready to land at Boston's Logan International Airport, I glanced out the window and saw Revere and Wonderland, and my mouth took off again.
  
  "Uhh, ladies and gentlemen, we have made a terrible mistake. Somehow we have landed at Wonderland instead of Logan. I knew something was wrong when I heard the announcement from the control tower: "There goes Swifty!"
  
  At this point my colleagues were turning around to verify that I was the "pilot" making the announcement, and a couple of them were collapsing in laughter.
  
  I suppose you not only had to be there but you had to be in on the culmination of an exhausting effort. Certainly several *other* passengers were looking at me as if I were a two-headed duck.
  
  "The good news is that we are an overwhelming favorite to win this race. The bad news is that we will only pay two ten."
  
  That was about 35 years ago, and I imagine today you'd be at least a temporary guest of airport security if you tried something like that.

Hired Again

I went to work for Jack (who was fired several years later), and I eventually became a Division Director. During these years Rob and I continued to spend the occasional evening together and have lunch together at least once a month. It was at one of these lunches that he confided that he had accepted a senior vice-presidency in Chicago, and bowled me over by asking if I would accept a vice-presidency under him. He told me that he had talked to my Vice-President and to my Executive VP and mentor, and received their blessings and permission to make me the offer.

The salary offered was a 66% increase for me, but I had reservations. First, Rob and I had serious philosophical differences about data processing, and second, I didn't care for Chicago. I did realize that I'd only been there for a couple of brief business trips, but the city had done nothing to excite me.

Rob was leaving for Chicago in several days, a very well kept secret at work, although it was about to be made public. We agreed that I would consider it and we would discuss it in Chicago - as chance would have it I had to be there the following Thursday on business.

The following week I extended my stay in Chicago by a day, poked around downtown for a while, and met Rob for dinner at the Executive House. A third party joined us, a mid-thirtyish Maryellen, whom Rob had known for a few years, as she worked in an organization related to his old job and to his new job.

After a great dinner, as regards both the food and drink and the company, Rob and I discussed the offer. He was to have three areas under him and we finessed the data processing issue by agreeing that he would never ask me to work in data processing. I had seen enough during the day to decide that I would learn to like Chicago, and I accepted the position, contingent on his sending me a written offer.

Prior to the dinner, I had gone to the Michigan Avenue Club (now defunct) to watch Rob and Maryellen play racquetball. After our brief business discussion at dinner, Rob asked me if I had ever played racquetball. I had played for a couple of years, but that had been ten years earlier.

Rob: "Do you think you could beat me?"

Donnie "Probably, with some practice."

Maryellen: "Do you think you could beat me?"

Donnie "Yes."

Hot button!

Maryellen: "You could not! You couldn't beat me! You could never beat me!

Donnie: "Rob, would you tell her that if I say I can beat her, I can beat her?"

Rob, dutifully: "If Donnie says he can beat you, he can beat you."

Maryellen: "You can't beat me! I'll bet you anything you can't beat me!"

Donnie: "How about your lily white body?"

Rob: "I'll hold the stakes."

Maryellen: "You're on - for a trip to Vegas!" And after a moment's
consideration, "Rob, what do you know about him? Is he kinky?" And to me, "Thirty minutes. No, fifteen minutes."

Donnie: "Oh sure, fifteen minutes. Now I gotta do it twice."

After some laughter we left and found that it was snowing furiously. They both assured me that it meant nothing, it was just "lake effect," and I would catch my plane to Boston the next day.

That night and the next day, Chicago got twenty inches of snow. My rental car was towed (to Old Town, it turned out) and O'Hare would not be open for a couple of days. It was Saturday and I tried to find Rob, but had no luck. Amazingly, I remembered Maryellen's last name (I'm not good at remembering these things right off the bat) and found her.

She had no idea how to locate Rob, but said, "I'm having a "We're snowed in party" tonight. Why don't you come over?" I accepted gratefully and she gave me directions. By nightfall the snow had stopped coming down and I walked (no taxis, as you can imagine) from (roughly) Michigan and Wacker to Sandburg Village, stopping occasionally to help people push cars out of snowbanks. When I arrived at Maryellen's I found that I was the only guest at the party. As things worked out, the necessity of winning a racquetball match was dispensed with, although over the years we played a number of times and she never did win.

I couldn't get a plane to Boston until Tuesday, so on Monday I called Boston and arranged to stay in Chicago for the rest of the week, as I had to be there again the following Thursday in any event. I spent the next week in Chicago and fell in love with it. I found the car about three blocks from Maryellen's place and spent the week with her, with Rob, and with her and Rob.

NEXT: THE JOB AND OTHER THINGS

Fun With Work Friends

• Around 1973 or 1974, Blue Cross of Massachusetts held a "Men's Night Out" and tickets were provided for a game between the Boston Red Sox and the Detroit Tigers.
  
  Rob (VP of Data Processing), Paul (Rob's AVP), Drew (Director of the data processing division in which I worked), and I sat together. We'd been friends for a couple of years, (in the cases of Rob and Drew, going back to before they'd hired me) and the three of them had known each other for longer than that.
  
  Just before the game started, Rob turned to face Drew and me and said, "We should do something to make it more interesting. How about if Paul and I pick a player to hit a home run and you two pick a player to hit a home run? We'll bet a dollar apiece."
  
  This was agreed to immediately and before Drew and I could consult each other on our pick, Rob said "We'll take Yastrzemski (the "zee" is silent, like the "pee" in "swim"), and laughed. Yaz was a Red Sox outfielder, home run hitter, and Triple Crown winner. I do believe Rob had set this up for that purpose.
  
  Drew turned to me and said, "You pick someone, Donnie. I don't know anything about it." I picked Gates Brown, Detroit's journeyman outfielder, first baseman, and pinch-hitter. He was a .250 hitter near the end of his career and he generally didn't knock down fences, but he was a left-handed hitter and he always did well at Fenway Park.
  
  An inning or two into the game, Brown put one out of the park. Rob and Paul mumbled about a "fix" and forked over their dollars, then offered, "Do it again? We'll keep Yastrzemski." Drew and I agreed and stayed with Gates Brown, who several innings later clocked another one. Another payoff and more grumbling, but no offer to repeat the bet. A third bet would have been a standoff in any event, as neither Brown nor Yaz homered after that.
  
  
• Paul and I once spent a Sunday afternoon in his back yard playing backgammon for ten cents a point. I won $1.70 and he handed me $2.00. I didn't have any change and he said, "You can give it to me tomorrow."
  
  Sometime Monday morning I ran into Rob at work.
  
  Rob, smiling: "Paul beat you at backgammon yesterday, huh?"
  
  Donnie, flabbergasted: "Whaaaaat?"
  
  Rob, obviously confused: "I asked him how you two did and he said, 'Donnie owes me thirty cents.'"

Hired

In 1972 I was working as a newly trained assembler programmer at a Boston newspaper, and spending some evenings at the Board Room, a third floor bar. Through a long series of coincidences this led to a vice-presidency in a Chicago company a few years later. But first things first.

Among the regulars at the bar were two men who knew each other from an earlier employment. They were both ten or fifteen years older than I, but we hit it off right away, and often chatted, played chess or bumper pool, or otherwise socialized.

One day Drew offered me a job in one of his departments at Blue Cross of Massachusetts, and a day or two later I accepted. I was assigned to a program development department and given the title "Senior Systems Designer." Whatever that meant, I was unqualified for it, but was or soon became quite competent at the actual work I had to do.

On the day I reported to my new job I was surprised to see Rob, the other of the two gents from the Board Room, in my area talking to two or three employees. I walked over and when there was a lull in the conversation I ventured, "Hi Rob. What are you doing here?"

"You work for me, son." It turned out that he had just been hired as VP of data processing, which made him Drew's boss.

As it happened, it didn't affect our social relationships, other than to strengthen them. Occasionally Rob would call me and ask me to visit with him for a cup of coffee. Amazingly, at least to me, this was a problem for some of the other people in data processing. All programmers and analysts (and, ahem, Senior Systems Designers) were on the same floor, and some were annoyed by my relationship with and access to Rob. Screw 'em. I never used the relationship for my own benefit and I didn't much care what people with such small minds thought.

The visits became very frequent several months later, as a result of the championship chess match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer. Rob knew that I had played a little tournament chess. He also knew that I got my butt kicked a lot, but that I still had a better understanding of the game than he did. On most days the newspapers carried a report of the preceding day's chess action, and Rob would call me to visit, set up a chess board, and ask me to go through the play with him, attempting to answer any questions he had.

Some days he would tell me to pack it in an hour early, leave work, and join him at the Board Room to watch the match, which was being televised on PBS, moderated by chess master Shelby Lyman. Naturally, this triggered more buzzing regarding Rob and me. Oh well.

I worked in that department for several years, sometimes spending evenings or weekends socializing with Rob, Drew, and Rob's new Assistant Vice President, Paul, who had also worked with Rob and Drew in the past. Incidentally, they were three of the friendliest, most personable, most intelligent people I ever met.

For reasons too convoluted to go into here, I left Rob's area and moved to Blue Shield. It seemed to me that the data processing area was headed for serious problems (in the event, it was) and going in a direction I didn't care to take even if it turned out to be successful.

I have always been able to separate my business life and my social life, even to the extent of dealing differently with the same person in the two environments. When I left the department it was because I was absolutely convinced that Rob was making a major mistake with the company's data processing. We occasionally discussed it, always agreed to disagree, and remained friends.

ROBERT JAMES FISCHER, R.I.P.
March 9, 1943 - January 17, 2008