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AFTER MY COLLEGE freshman year in engineering, I was hired for a part-time summer job by a civil engineering firm in my home town. The office was in an upscale building where a lot of respectable businesses were headquartered. The company had an impressive name. But after starting, I discovered it was just a one-man show. Mr. Jones was the owner. I became his sole employee.
Jones was probably in his mid-70s. He’d headed up his own company for decades. Piles of brochures from his glory days were scattered about the office. They featured a photo of a smiling younger Jones, who certainly looked confident and important. The company itself appeared to be something of a success, at least based on the brochure, which included pictures of office buildings, vehicles and even a small fleet of airplanes.
Jones had retired a few years previously. Retirement turned out not to be for him. On numerous occasions, I heard him on the phone, telling the story of his revived company: “I closed down my company and we moved to a retirement community. We’d play golf every day and then sit around the clubhouse having drinks every evening. About every few months, one of the guys would fall over and die. After a couple of years of this, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told my wife I had to get out. We moved and I’m starting my company back up.”
Jones was a driven man. He had an air of constant impatience. One day, the two of us drove to Atlantic City to do a land survey. During the trip down, he asked me about my engineering studies. When I told him I planned to study electrical engineering, his reaction seemed to indicate he felt any discipline but his own—civil engineering—was a waste of time.
The survey didn’t go well. He gave me a quick, three-minute explanation of the theory behind his equipment and then drove to a point a quarter mile or so away. Whatever it was I was supposed to do on my end, I wasn’t doing it right. He gave a young neighborhood kid a dollar to run down the street and give me instructions. The message got lost in translation.
He bought us lunch at McDonald’s and we drove home. Although he didn’t berate me, I knew he wasn’t happy and I felt I’d failed. I also thought that if he’d slowed down and given me better instructions, things might have gone better.
A few weeks after I was hired, he brought on Fred, who was a physical education teacher in a nearby school district. Every summer for years, Fred did land surveying work to supplement his income. He was a personable fellow and, for me, a breath of fresh air.
Fred and I were sent out to do a survey on our own. Fred, with his experience, was the lead. This time, the survey went smoothly. I especially appreciated Fred’s seasoned perspective: “I’ve worked for a number of these codgers over the years. They’re all the same. They won’t listen to anybody, and they have to do everything themselves.” With Fred in the office, I felt more relaxed.
A couple of weeks after Fred was hired, work dried up and Jones decided he was going to close up shop and move his office to a town 20 miles away. Fred and I were out of a job. I don’t think Fred was too broken up about it, and I know I wasn’t. I spent the rest of the summer doing factory and janitorial work through a temporary employment agency. Although I made five cents less an hour, I was content with the mindless work and the autonomy.
Now that I’m in the retirement phase of my life, I’m trying to understand Jones’s perspective. At one time, he was in charge of a successful, multi-million-dollar company, and now he was doing surveys and low-level civil engineering work with a couple of temporary employees. Although he certainly didn’t need the money, he approached his new venture as if it were a life-and-death proposition. “Pressure,” he once loudly exclaimed in the office. “I’m always under pressure.”
On some level, he must have been enjoying what he was doing, but to me he seemed unhappy and obsessed. Perhaps after his first experience with retirement, he couldn’t shake the sense of his own mortality. Maybe he thought that going back to work would be a distraction, so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Or was he hoping to recapture the feeling of his glory days? The old brochures in his office might have been a clue.
I’ve always admired people who continue to work into their later decades. I have a few engineer friends who continue to be productive employees in their late 70s. These friends seem to enjoy their work and give off a different vibe than Jones did.
Although my younger self might have been inclined to dismiss Jones as just another cranky old man, my older self has more sympathy for him. He was struggling with the inevitable losses that come with advancing age, trying to work out a solution as best he knew how. What part consideration of his legacy played in his motivation I can only speculate about.
I have no illusions about leaving a permanent legacy at the nuclear power plant where I labored for 38 years. I continually saw people with more talent or responsibilities than me being largely forgotten by the current staff within a year of their retirement. With enough passage of time, few people would be left that had even met these formerly important employees.
I spent four years of my life upgrading a critical system at the plant. It was the most important project of my career, and it turned out to be quite a success. Still, I doubt that anyone except a few fellow retirees remembers my role in it. I’m not sad about that. It’s just the way things work.
I don’t know how Jones ultimately fared with his revived company. After a good bit of online research, I couldn’t find any indication that his company ever even existed. As it says in Ecclesiastes, “There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.”
Ken Cutler lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and has worked as an electrical engineer in the nuclear power industry for more than 38 years. There, he has become an informal financial advisor for many of his coworkers. Ken is involved in his church, enjoys traveling and hiking with his wife Lisa, is a shortwave radio hobbyist, and has a soft spot for cats and dogs. Check out Ken’s earlier articles.
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Although probably not meant as such, a pretty dark assessment which I’m afraid drives many to commit horrific acts out of desperation just so they’ll be remembered.
Reminds me of the poem Ozymadias by Shelley…one of my favorites. I try to just do my best in the moment and hope the ripples benefit those around me, regardless of who gets the credit.
For those who are interested, here’s a link to the poem:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias
Please don’t think about this too long:
“In 100 years, 2223, we all will be forgotten.” Our kids will be gone and probably our grand kids.
Hi Ken, I enjoyed your current article.
You wrote – “I couldn’t find any indication that his company ever even existed.” When I go hunting online for someone I use to work with that has a license required by a state one of places I go is to the state website for professional licenses by searching by the state and for the license by profession and name. For a business the secretary of state (SOS) for each state lists information for the business for LLCs & corporations. Is is rare to find a sole owner business that has not availed itself of some of the potential liability protections by registering as a disregarded (for tax) entity even if the entity is not a separate legal entity.
While many of the social media references seem to disappear over time when a business ends it seems that once you get a professional license or register with the SOS your license status or the entity status never disappears even after non license renewal or even death or entity liquidation. Those types of searches may not work in your former employer case as it appears his time may have been before the internet of everything.
Best, Bill
Thanks Bill. His company’s heyday was well before the Internet, and despite its success, it was apparently not consequential enough to etch a digital footprint.
Seeing the growth of those I’ve coached or mentored was always sweeter to me than being remembered for what I contributed. I’m still proud of my best work, but that kind of success is fleeting.
Very well put.
David, you hit the nail on the head.
I agree, David I’m finding a lot of satisfaction by trying to get the most out of this phase of my life by encouraging the growth of those who will take my place.
Interesintg article Ken. I can relate on many levels. I worked several summers for a small civil engineering firm. The bosses were 2 brothers who worked there until they went out of business. they were old and cranky, but the experienced employees were mostly good and taught me a lot about surveying. It was fun working outdoors on many local projects.
I also understand spending 30+ years in a company – actually 4 or 5 companies due to M&A. I’ve been out over 5 years, and I’m sure few remember me, and I don’t know any of the current leadership. Im OK with that. I have a few good friends from those days,
What I found sad was how many very senior employees seemed to fade at the end, and their last few years left a bad taste. Some couldn’t keep up with technology, or the pace, or they were resistant to change. It was sad to see formerly great employees lose their luster and respect at the end.
Interesting observations, Rick. I can’t say that I noticed much of the ‘fading’ phenomenon in my industry. One reason I went into power rather than a high tech career was an observation that the experience and knowledge base of employees in that industry tends to become more valued over time. Many of my colleagues retired at the top of their game.
Since moving to a CCRC last month I’ve found myself outlining my background to a number of new people. I’ve also run into a few residents from my old company. I’ve realized that I’ve thought more about that company and my former career in the last month than in the preceding twenty years (unless you count pension payments and medical coverage). But my job was always what I did, and not who I was, and I left on my own timetable. I think workers today are less likely to fall into the trap of identifying too strongly with their jobs: they know they may not keep them long.
Think it was bad for those of us who worked decades in the same place, image the future now that workers don’t think they should be required to be in the office and work along side others.
Not long remembered? No one will know what their fellow worker looked like.
Fortunately, I have number of good friends from my old company that I get together with regularly. These friendships were cultivated over decades in many cases. I’m thankful to have these continuing friendships, but I am concerned about the loss of institutional knowledge in our industry.
Ken your story is mine.
I worked for Xerox 35 years in research and new products,
I also listen to shortwave (ham).
No one remembers me either.
Always enjoy your writings. Paul
Paul, thank you for your kind words and comments. The international content on shortwave bands has gotten a lot thinner since my early days of listening in the 1980s. But hams are always interesting to listen to.
Ken,
Yes, that’s the way it works.
Our family’s 60-year-old-business was sold when I was 54 just because I wanted to do something else.
While all of our employees were hired by the buyer, they absorbed the company into theirs in a just a few years. A good number of our employees joined us for a reunion every 5 years.
It was great seeing everyone one again and again. As far as being remembered, I was more worried about me remembering them. I insisted on name tags for everyone. Our family members wore them as well!!
Thank you. This article made me realize that I would like to be remembered for having a lasting, positive impact at work. Good motivation for today’s return from Thanksgiving break! Small class sizes at the local community college where I teach make that a more likely scenario!
Based on what we are reading, your positive impact will not last very long. Enjoy it while you are there.