IBM Branch Office 097, 1975
Our sales team leader was six foot leprechaun
with blue eyes, white hair and a red nose,
whose idea of customer entertainment
leaned to scotch and stag movies,
but observed certain fixed principles.
His jacket was never unbuttoned
and he never left the office without his hat.
However, FX was rarely away from his desk.
He did the planning and we did the work,
his name never attached to any assigned duty.
Wagging a piece of chalk like a baton,
he directed the weekly review meeting,
bemoaning the fate of his excellent strategies
in the hands of such a clumsy bunch.
In good years, befitting his rank,
he was equipped with an acolyte or two,
and fist wrapped around the receiver,
he would repeat the answers out loud
while one of us took detailed notes.
In leaner times, dignity had to be shelved,
and he would reluctantly search for a pencil.
Francis hated efficiency and measurements,
an excuse to hire accountants,
those parasites on the body corporate,
and counseled us that management and clients
had little (if any) need to know.
He believed in the founding gospel of Watson,
the magic combination of sales and man,
and never wavered, a proud fossil to the end.
(A memory of the early days in my 34 years at IBM)
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