Chapter 10 - Fair men of the Board
When the morning of the big meeting came, Lydia arrived at the office at eight-thirty, her regular time. She was normally the first one there on Monday mornings, but this time two people got there ahead of her. Seeing that the lights were on in the boardroom wasn’t unexpected. When Mr. Simmons was in town for board meetings, he was usually the first one in the office. Looking at her desk, Lydia was definitely surprised to see an elderly woman sitting comfortably in her office chair.
“Can I help you?” Lydia asked the woman.
“Oh yes, pardon me,” she said nicely, momentarily putting down her knitting needles, “I am Gerald’s mother. I am waiting for a Miss Lydia Phillips. Is that you?”
“That’s me,” she said, now reassured that this wasn’t just some confused old woman walking in from the street. Lydia’s own grandmother had passed away a few years before, and Lydia didn’t go out of her way to talk to seniors very often. She brought an extra chair over from another cubicle so that the elderly woman could stay seated.
“When my Gerald told me that this project had started again and that you were leading it, I just had to come and meet you,” the woman said, her soft voice seemingly keeping rhythm with the gentle clicking of her knitting needles.
Lydia had heard Gerald’s mother being mentioned before in Westminster circles, but had no idea what role she played in the company. “Have you worked on this kind of project before?” Lydia asked, thinking this may be the opportunity this woman needed to impart some of her wisdom to Lydia, whether she would take it or not.
“Golly, no,” she said with a smile. “I have no interest in business. I am just a homemaker, or at least I was until all my kids flew the coop and there was no more home to make. But I always told them to make sure they were making the world a better place, no matter what job they had. When Gerald started pub-lishing books, I told him he had a very big responsibility. He was never terribly interested in church, but he promised me some day I would see his company print a church book. Lately I’ve had to start reminding him if he wants me to see this book before I die, he might not have a lot of time.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Lydia protested. “I’m sure you’ve got many good years left.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but the good Lord has given me these eighty years, and when he sees fit to take me, I’ll be ready to go.” Lydia wasn’t at all accustomed to this kind of morbid talk. “But I’m sure now that you are working on it, I’ll be holding that book in my hands before long.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lydia said. Maybe it was her optimism, her blunt way of speaking, or this new perspective on Gerald’s upbringing but Lydia was starting to feel quite comfortable with this woman.
“I know you will, sweetie,” the old woman said, resting her hand on top of Lydia’s. “And there’s something I wanted to give you before you ran off to your meeting.” She slid a simple cardboard box across the desk to Lydia.
As soon as Lydia opened the box, an aroma of apple and cinnamon wafted out that made all her similarly scented candles pale in comparison. Lydia was flabbergasted to find an actual homemade apple pie, the kind where the top shell had been hand-pressed to the bottom shell and both seemed to be working hard to contain the filling. The pie sat snugly inside a ceramic pie plate and was accompanied by a simple card.
“This is such a thoughtful gift,” gushed Lydia, still not sure what to make of it all. Lifting out the card she added, “How should I return this pie plate to you when I’m done?”
“That’s yours to keep,” the woman said, waving her arm dismissively. “Heaven knows my kitchen is already cluttered with more dishes than I need.”
Lydia couldn’t remember the last person she had met who, even in this moment of generosity, would try to deflect praise like this. The card in the box simply read, ‘Praying for you’ and the woman had signed her name. It was a touching sentiment but Lydia wanted to make it clear that the old woman was not working under a false understanding.
“You should probably know,” she began apologetically, worried that she may sadden the woman, “I am not a Christian. This book won’t be an expression of my faith. I’m just doing my job.”
The woman’s facial expression didn’t change at all. She reached out her hand to rest it on Lydia’s shoulder. “I believe with all my heart that you are the right person for this job.”
Lydia impulsively reached out and gave the elderly woman a hug. No matter what Luke and Melvin thought of her ability to do the job and despite her own self-doubt, this simple old woman had just filled Lydia with a sense of confidence. She would love to have spent more of the morning talking with her, but there wasn’t enough time.
“I really should get going,” said Lydia, releasing the woman from their embrace. “I just have so many things to do before the meeting.”
“You certainly do,” she replied. “I’m so happy to have met you.”
“I’m glad too,” said Lydia.
“God bless you,” the woman said as she packed up her things and left Lydia’s desk.
Lydia headed to the photocopier feeling as though she had somehow inherited a grandmother. Still, she couldn’t help but think that these warm cozy feelings would have to make way for the more practical thinking required to be taken seriously in this kind of meeting. As the last sheet of paper came out of the copier machine and all the necessary materials were ready, it was only the mental aspect of preparation that remained.
When the time came, Lydia walked nervously into the quiet boardroom. She sat alone while the board members and others shuffled into their seats. Gerald welcomed everyone and introduced Lydia and the project she was working on. Next, Lydia stood up to speak. She thanked Gerald for the welcome, thanked everyone for attending, and offered a general thanks to the whole company for the opportunity she had been given to head up this project. Gerald had told her ahead of time to be brief and hand out the documents without much description so as to not influence anyone’s first impressions. She distributed the booklets to a room full of expressionless men with greying hair in expensive suits. The only two women in the room were Lydia and Gerald’s mother, who happily knitted alone in the corner. Lydia walked over and gave her a copy of the documents too, but she only glanced at them and focussed mostly on her knitting. The clicking of her needles was the only sound Lydia could hear as the others quietly read through the articles.
As they read, some of the men scribbled notes in the margins and others circled and underlined portions of text, but most just sat quietly reading. Luke and Melvin were both reading closely, and they also looked up from time to time to gauge the responses from the various board members. Lydia was also interested in their reactions, but she noticed something that she didn’t like; there was a lot of nodding when people flipped to the page where the piece written by Reverend Ballard was printed.
After about fifteen anxious minutes, everyone had looked up from their reading and glanced back and forth at each other to see who else had finished.
Gerald was the first to speak up. “Now that we’ve all completed the reading, Lydia, why don’t you tell us some of your thoughts from having interviewed all of these people?”
“Certainly,” she began, “but first I’d like to say again how grateful I am for the opportunity to lead this project.” She wasn’t normally the kind of person to kiss up, but having met his mother, she felt a lot better about Gerald, and she still felt that her assignment was an act of generosity on his part. Making a good impression with the board of directors also couldn’t hurt.
Gerald smiled and nodded, then made a circular movement with his hand, gesturing as if to say that the thanks weren’t necessary and that she should continue with her assessment.
“I was quite pleased to see that all of the candidates had presented themselves as clearly and succinctly in their pieces of writing as they did in their interviews, if not more. I enjoyed speaking with each of them. Naturally
all of them have their own areas of expertise, which is why I contacted them for an interview in the first place, but they each have a number of other strengths and weaknesses, which became apparent to me. I’ll talk about the candidates in the order in which I interviewed them.
First of all, I had a nice chat with Reverend Ballard. He speaks with confidence and professionalism, as you would expect from a man of his qualifications. He is very well-trained theologically and can expound at length on a wide number of topics. I did however get the impression that he speaks with an air of presumptuousness that I feel may put off some of our readers. I wonder if his education and his position of power impair his ability to connect with the common person.
Benjamin Worsley speaks from an interesting array of experiences and his passions line up with issues that weigh heavily on our nation’s collective social conscience. He has a really folksy brand of humour and has a truly friendly character, but he lives in virtual isolation and his social skills reflect that, so that may create problems as far as making him marketable.
Alistair Graham is a very wise man. He speaks carefully and sincerely, and many say that his writings on prayer make him one of the most influential men in the country on the subject. What raises flags about him is his age. His wife died recently, and while he still looks quite healthy, I imagine the writing process would take quite a bit longer if he were selected.
Finally, there is Monica Lang. She has a fascinating story and is doing incredible work with her organization. I found her engaging and honest in a way unlike the other three. I do feel, however, that I caught her at a low point in her career, as far as enthusiasm goes, but I think this book project may lift her out of that.”
Gerald looked up from the papers he was flipping through. “What are your thoughts on these book topic suggestions, Lydia?”
“I noticed that both Mr. Graham and Ms. Lang chose to write about their own institutions. Mr. Graham mentioned in our communication that his retreat center had been looking to write a new manual for their guests, and thought this project may be a good avenue for that. Ms. Lang would like to tell the stories of some of her guests, highlighting the work she and her volunteers have done. This kind of self-promotion doesn’t align well with Westminster policy, but I think the stories and metaphors they present would still make their book quite applicable. Reverend Ballard seems quite confident that people want to read new parables, but I’m not sure that’s a genre that can be revamped. Mr. Worsley’s idea seems the most edgy, mixing the old and new. I recognize that all of the ideas would need some refining, but I think they are all still workable.”
Gerald wrote down a few more notes as she spoke. He then looked up and looked around the table and inquired of the others in the room, “Let’s see what the rest of us have to say. We can start at the back and then move forward. Does anyone have any comments on Monica Lang.”
“Needless to say, we’re all thrilled with the success of Feminine-ism,” said an older board member Lydia had never met, “but I don’t think that means we should give a book deal to every feminist that crosses our path.”
“Right,” added Melvin, “too many of this kind of book, and we’ll be branded in ways that we may not want.”
“I have worked closely with Soleil Macpherson from the beginning of our last big project until now,” Luke added, “and I’ve got to say, she presented a number of obstacles to the process. This Mrs. Lang seems to be of the same ilk. I don’t imagine the process would be much simpler with her, even if the leader of the development team would be softer to that kind of attitude.”
“In defence of Mrs. Lang,” noted another older board member near the back, “I did work with her husband’s legal firm a while back, and they told me he was a man of integrity and good standing. Still, I’m not sure I can support this choice either.”
Lydia hadn’t sat in on too many of these meetings, but already she couldn’t believe how easily her opinion was ignored. Also, in the seemingly unlikely event that they would endorse Monica as a candidate, they would all need to be reminded that she wanted to be called Ms. Lang.
“Okay, let’s move on to Mr. Worsley.”
“I’ve known about Mr. Worsley for a long time,” stated one of the board members. “He’s been quite vocal at anti-war and civil rights marches and demonstrations, but if you ask me, it is neither civil nor Christian to protest in a way that wreaks havoc and disrupts business.”
“He may seem popular because of all the media attention he’s gotten, but much of that is negative attention. I don’t think we want our company to be tied to a man like that. His reputation could bring ours down with him.”
“I think the hippie movement died a few years after I got rid of my last pair of bell bottoms,” said Luke, eliciting laughter from around the table. “I think Mr. Worsley’s ship has sailed.”
The discussion went on to Mr. Graham, and Lydia was sad to see that he was just as easily dismissed. She couldn’t believe that none of the discussion thus far had even mentioned the pieces of writing that were submitted. After all the candidates’ effort, no one had discussed either the content or the style of writing in any of those pieces.
Then, what she feared most happened. At the mention of Reverend Ballard’s name, various board members began telling stories of positive connections they’d had with the priest. Everyone seemed to love his appearance, his interpersonal manner and his speaking style. Also, they were finally discussing a written piece, but they were praising the one that Lydia thought was the least plausible of the four.
“I think this is the kind of brilliant work we’ve come to expect from Reverend Ballard,” Luke said. “It’s pleasant, it has a sort of biblical feel to it, and it leads nicely into a series of similar chapters.”
“It seems his reputation has preceded him,” added Gerald, trying to draw the discussion to a close.
“So all of you think this ‘church and state’ topic will sell?” asked Lydia, speaking up for the first time since her analysis was done. She thought back to his lengthy justifications of a church-state partnership at the restaurant. She remem-bered thinking that this topic would be tough to market to a large audience.
“All we need to know,” answered Melvin, “is that this guy writes well and has a good look. I think he’s a no-brainer.”
“Looking around the room,” Luke said, “the vast majority of us agree about which of these candidates is actually capable of pulling off this kind of project. I don’t know what sort of bias or inexperience would make someone want to head in a different direction, but it would only serve to delay and delegitimize this project.”
Lydia didn’t know what was more frightening, Luke’s second brazen insult or the fact that this challenge was met by nods from more than one of the board members at the table. She gave a frustrated glance toward Gerald who gestured for her to speak. She was happy to oblige.
“I never set out to disparage Reverend Ballard,” she said, trying to hide her sarcasm, “who is obviously well-respected within this room, but throughout my communications with him he’s demonstrated arrogance and an old-fashioned way of thinking. I don’t know a lot of Christians, but I’d like to think that they would rather read a book written by someone with fresh insight than someone with merely a nice smile and a good resume.”
“I haven’t been to church since my second wedding,” said Melvin, “and given how that turned out, I don’t have any reason to go back any time soon, but I’m pretty sure Christians need to see little Bible references all throughout the book, and none of these writers did that. Only Reverend Ballard used a Biblical format of any kind.”
“I’ve seen the studies too,” said Luke, turning to look directly at Lydia for the first time in the meeting. “You need to understand that with Christians, or any other demographic, there are certain things that their core values tell them that they should want, and then there are the things that they actually do want. The Christian Contemporary Music industry makes sure that the
y have good-looking people on their CD covers and their book publishers do the same. We’re just playing the same game they are.”
Gerald broke the silence that followed Luke’s critique. “Just so we’re clear then, Lydia, who do you think is our best bet as an author.”
“I am convinced that Monica Lang would do the best job,” she said, feigning confidence. Heads began shaking around the room.
“And I think it’s clear the rest have stated a preference that we go with Reverend Ballard. It seems clear to me that if you are prepared to work with Reverend Ballard, we can get started on the project right away, but if you don’t think that’s something you would be comfortable with, I’m sure you can see that puts this entire project in jeopardy.”
Lydia hadn’t expected an easy road but she also hadn’t expected to have her opinion completely discounted at this meeting. If she had any interest in maintaining the status quo, she would have simply backed down and accepted the wishes of her superiors. However, this project had given her a taste of something; and that taste had only whetted her appetite. “I simply don’t see Reverend Ballard as a marketable author. It is my professional opinion that by selecting him, we would be failing at maintaining the brand that we are trying to carve out for ourselves. His ideas are not cutting edge, his writing style is not dynamic, and I never got the sense that he would be willing to play by anyone else’s rules than his own. Also, I don’t personally feel comfortable in his presence.”
Gerald looked over at his mother, who was still knitting quietly in the corner, and then he looked around the table. A wearied expression came across his face. “Does anyone object to us tabling this until our next meeting?” he asked.
“I take it this means that Miss Philips will be able carry out her regularly assigned duties in the meantime?” Luke asked after a short silence.
“Yes, until then she will return to her regular duties and the funding for this project will be frozen until we decide next month what to do.” Sensing approval from around the circle, Gerald looked at Lydia and said, “Miss Philips you are dismissed, but I would like to talk to you before I leave today.”
Lydia nodded and quickly left the boardroom. She walked over to her desk and waited impatiently for the meeting to end. A few weeks earlier, she would have gladly declined her assignment, but now she couldn’t bear to think that it would be taken from her. Through the boardroom window, it seemed that they were still talking about her and the book project and she was sure the others were conspiring to replace her as head of the development team. She could see that Luke was talking a lot and she wondered if maybe he were campaigning for her position.
A few hours later the boardroom doors opened again and the men filed out. Eventually Gerald emerged as well and gestured for Lydia to come back into the boardroom.
Lydia entered the room and sat down without saying anything.
After a short pause Gerald looked at her and said, “I’m disappointed, Lydia. I drove a long distance to attend this meeting. I was hoping to leave having made some kind of progress on this project.”
“I followed company guidelines and interviewed a number of quality candidates,” Lydia said half-defensively and half-inquisitively, “but I got the sense that everyone in the room had made their minds up about Reverend Ballard before the meeting began. If that’s the case, it doesn’t make sense to have wasted company money or my time and energy interviewing all of those other candidates.”
“There’s something you need to know about Reverend Ballard,” said Gerald. “We’ve tried to write a book about Christianity twice before. Once during the recession in the early 90s, and once when we were in the middle of merger talks. Both times it died on the cutting room floor, but both times Reverend Ballard was supposed to be the writer. A lot of people in this office and on the Board feel that they owe it to him to give him another chance, and I’ll be honest; he is a close friend of mine and my family.”
“Then why didn’t you just tell me three weeks ago that this is who I was supposed to work with?”
“The reason, Lydia, is that I wanted you to choose him. The same goes for any candidate for any book. You’ve got to see or experience something that tells you clearly which way you want to go. Reverend Ballard couldn’t fully convince you and it seemed like none of the other candidates could either. In that case, we shouldn’t be publishing a book with any of them.”
“So what do you want me to do until the next meeting?”
“When I see you again, you need to be convinced which way we as a company should go; so convinced that you are able to convince us. If that meeting doesn’t go any smoother than today, I think you can see why I’ll have to pull the plug. You can continue to do all the research you want, but on your own time, and without our budget.”
“But,” Lydia blurted out. She wanted to complain about the narrow-mindedness of the board members. She wanted to mention her chat earlier with his mother, but she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t in the mood for reasoning or sentimentality. She simply said, “I won’t let you down.”
“If you need some help, you can start to put some people together for your development team, just don’t give them any long-term promises.”
“This is going to be a lot harder to do since I’ll be going back to working for Luke full-time again,” added Lydia.
“Miss Phillips,” he said sternly, “your salary costs us money, this book project costs us money. Until we are actually selling books, the only way you make money for us is if you are also doing your regular job. So until this book is officially underway, you will do your regular work as assigned. Any other questions?”
“No, sir” she said humbly. “I understand. I’ll see you in a month.”
She left the boardroom and walked back to her desk feeling defeated. Any optimism she had felt had vanished. It was only when she returned to her own desk that her mood brightened a little.
On her chair was the brown cardboard box that she had almost forgotten. When she pulled the side flap open, the aroma of the pie wafted out again, and Lydia knew what she wanted to do next. Lydia quickly went to turn on the office percolator and find a clean plate. Soon she was sipping coffee, eating the homemade pie and wondering what her next month would look like.