Texas Gal
by C. Sprite

 

Chapter Forty-Three         Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer!

I chuckled as I read the press release in the Wall Street Journal the next morning. Grandma's people must have broken new records getting it written and released so quickly. The headline was 'DD seeks $500 M.' The article read:

'Darla Anne Drake, the charming 16-year-old girl who three-years ago founded Piermont Paper is naturally incensed over comments made by South-Core Paper that purport to link her to damage at it's company's headquarters last year. At the time of the incident, where furniture was overturned, typewriters smashed, and graffiti sprayed on walls and furnishings, the damage was attributed by police to a simple an act of vandalism by teenagers. With the departure of CEO Benjamin E. Chamberlain, who resigned after years of charges of gross mismanagement by industry insiders that saw South-Core's stock value plummet, incoming CEO Stanley Broward decided to revisit the vandalism question. In a press statement a week ago, he announced that the only thing stolen during the break-in was a file detailing South-Core's plans to acquire Missouri based Mo Paper, whose assets included nineteen paper plants, three sawmills, a corporate office building, and 345,000 acres of forestland. Just days after the incident, Darla Anne Drake struck a deal with Mo Paper president Boy Blu to rescue the ailing $240 million company from the foreclosure efforts of South-Core, who had clandestinely purchased all of Mo Paper's outstanding loans. With the assimilation of the company into Piermont Paper, all overdue payments were immediately made to South-Core and all other creditors, and a significant portion of the Mo Paper debt was retired. South-Core was embarrassed to suddenly find itself holding structured debt that yielded a significantly lower interest rate than the interest rate on the money it had borrowed to purchase Mo Paper's debt. The company, who reportedly lost many millions of its stockholder dollars in their botched attempt to gobble up Mo Paper, stated in its press release that DD hadn't shown any interest in Mo Paper until after the break-in. Stanley Broward seems intent on picking up where Chamberlain left off in his long string of unsuccessful encounters with DD.

'Ameri-Moore's president, Mabel Moore, has said that by naming DD in South Core's press release, Broward's attempt to besmirch Miss Drake's good name through guilt by association was patently obvious, and that she intended to use every resource available to correct this heinous insult. She further said that the full weight of Ameri-Moore was behind DD and that a war chest of $100 million was being assembled. It's anticipated that court action could last many months and progress through several judicial levels. An award of $500 million by a jury would wipe out South-Core, whose total net value was reported as being only $219 million in its last annual statement.'

I reread the article twice. While it didn't actually say that legal action was intended, it sure sounded like it. The article was very powerful, while being non-committal. It spoke of South-Core's history of mismanagement and the resultant loss of stockholder equity. It made it seem as i f they had once again blundered terribly and stood to lose another significant chunk of shareholder equity, if not all of it. It was wonderful.

I wondered if Stanley Broward found the article amusing. I somehow doubted it. I expected that he would spend a good part of the day with attorneys discussing the matter. Myself, I retired to the couch to read trade magazines for a couple of hours. The regular weekly meeting wouldn't begin until 10 o'clock.

"I'm sure that everyone has read, or at least heard about the press release," I said as the meeting started. I saw nods all around the table. "I had intended to simply let the matter drop, but after hearing that South-Core has targeted me and Piermont, I decided to respond. The new CEO, Stanley Broward, intends to destroy me and absorb Piermont, at any cost. I don't intend to let him. Okay, let's get started. Bob?"

"Now that we have the binding equipment that we need to fill all the orders for MoPacs, I've begun sleeping better. I know that it may not be important to all of you, but it makes a big difference in my life." Everyone chuckled, as Bob intended. "I haven't smacked my wife or kicked the dog all week." Everyone chuckled again. Bob was a sweetheart who would never hit his wife or hurt an animal and everyone knew it. "Things are actually becoming a little dull around here. DD hasn't bought any companies and you guys are doing your jobs so well, I have almost nothing to do. Production wise, things are great. The new product lines are moving so well, you'd think we were giving product away. I've ordered two new bagging machines for Concord and that will alleviate the backlog once they're installed. Our only real problem is where to store all the MoPacs that we've produced. The warehouses at Franklin, Evansville and Little Rock are filling up fast. We can't ship to the school stores until August, but we've begun shipping to retail outlets out of necessity. I've told them that we won't bill until August 1^st, and terms will be our standard 2%10, Net EOM, from that date." **

"Thanks, Bob," I said, grinning. "We're all glad to hear you're sleeping better. Bill?"

"My report is even more boring than Bob's," he said grinning. "Everything is great. We're spending a lot of money on the Mo Paper line, and so far little has returned, but the A/R's are there, the buyers have excellent credit, so eventually things will balance out. In September and October our collections should be enormous as the school stores pay their invoices."

"Great. Thanks, Bill. Ben?"

"Just the same old problems with the furloughed workers. They want to know when their plants will open."

"I wish I could answer that. Thanks, Ben. Tom?"

"No news is good new, right?" my director of Purchasing and Procurement said grinning. "All quiet on the eastern front. I think it's time to go on vacation."

"Wonderful news, Tom. Ron?"

"Everything is great. When we bought Appalachian Paper, things were about as bad as they could get in a business that was still functioning. Since then, everything has turned around to a point that our production and morale is as good as it is anywhere in the division. The only sore point is the two Mo Paper plants in my region that remain closed. I wish we could do something, but I guess the need isn't there yet."

"Unfortunately true," I said. "At least all of the transferred employees still at Jefferson City are from the four affected areas. The rest have returned to the plants in their home towns. We've hired very few new folks for JC, just so we could help our furloughed employees. Gerard?"

"My only concern is with JC. With so few trained people from the area, what happens when we reopen those closed plants? I won't have a work force."

"If we reopen those four plants," I said, "the openings will be staggered and probably with limited operations. We'll have time to train operators. Since we have 32 paper plants, we can always put together adequate personnel. It wasn't always that way. I remember worrying how we were going to staff Greenfield. Most of the employees had moved away or found other jobs, and we didn't have enough here at Brandon to spare. Matt?"

"By our next meeting we should have samples of the fine stationary that we'll be marketing under the name, Plymouth Paper. It will be offered both through our Business Forms catalog and a separate specialty catalog, and can be ordered with or without imprinting. Our design people have been working on the box designs and they look great. We're also working on the Appalachian Paper product line for children, as DD suggested. I think it will be a winner."

"Thanks, Matt. John, I've saved you for last because I know you have a story to tell us."

John grinned. "At least it has a happy ending, DD. The ten unassembled 6130 machines that you managed to squeeze out of Lassiter somehow, arrived very incomplete. Because the task seemed so overwhelming, and the time so short, I brought in everyone that I could. We had twenty-two of our guys down there. So as to stay out of one another's way, I divided the work up into eighteen separate tasks, according to the assembly plans. Once we got the eighteen sub-assemblies ready, we'd be able to slap the machine together in no time. But every single subassembly had one critical part missing that prevented us from completing its assembly. Not one single sub-assembly could be completed. I hate to appear paranoid, but it sure doesn't seem like a coincidence. When we identified what appeared to be a trend, we stopped working and spent our time matching up the received parts with the exploded views and parts lists. We found which parts were missing and immediately ordered them. Bob dispatched a truck from Evansville with instructions that the driver was to camp out on the loading dock until he got the missing parts. The driver had a copy of the missing parts list and was instructed to make sure that every part was there before he moved his truck away from the dock. I understand the shipping supervisor screamed at him for an hour and threatened to have the truck towed if he didn't move it. By the time the truck pulled out, everyone on the dock at Lassiter knew the story of how one critical part was missing from every subassembly. I hope that someone catches hell over it. It's no way to do business."

"You said it has a happy ending?"

"Yes. All ten of those machines were up and operating when I left Franklin last night. The second group of five assembled machines sent to Evansville and Little Rock are also set up and operating. There's nothing to do now except keep them filled with paper, covers, and wire, and apply a little grease to fittings each shift."

"Wonderful, John. Thank you for all your hard work. And thank your guys for me."

"I already have."

"That takes care of old business," I said. "Now onto the new." I stood up. "A few weeks ago John became our newest Vice-President. I'm afraid he won't have that distinction any longer." From the expression on John's face, he might have thought I was taking the title away from him, so I hurried along. "Only one member of this little group has not had his title changed since he joined Piermont and that is going to be corrected now. Tom Harris has done an outstanding job as our Purchasing and Procurement Director, and from this day forward he will be our Vice-President of Purchasing and Procurement. Although he is the last to be advanced to VP, it is not a reflection on his contribution. He has worked every bit as hard as our other team members. Congratulations, Tom."

Tom stood up smiling. "Thank you, DD. I don't mind being the last one in this group because I've never seen or even heard of a finer team of people. I know that the last one here would easily be the first in any other group. It is an honor and a privilege to work with so many fine and dedicated people. I love my job, I love the company, and I love working for you, DD. I can't wait to get to work each day. Thank you for this honor."

Everyone applauded then rose to their feet to shake his hand and slap him on the back. We took a brief break to refresh our beverages.

"Since next Friday begins the holiday weekend for the 4^th of July, there will be no meeting, which is why Ron and Gerard are here this week instead," I said when we resumed. "In case I forget later, let me wish everyone a happy holiday now." A few seconds of reciprocal wishes ensued. "I'll open the meeting up to anything that anyone wishes to discuss. Lunch probably won't arrive for about fifty minutes. Who's first?"

"Are you really going to sue South-Core for $500 million?" John asked.

"I intend to make South-Core just as uncomfortable as I can. If our attorneys feel that we have a case, we'll sue. There's never been any love lost between us. You and Matt know better than most what that organization was like under Benjamin Chamberlain. And now this new guy, Broward, instead of offering to smoke a peace pipe, has thrown down his gauntlet. Well, I've picked it up. At one time, South-Core was the 800 pound gorilla to us. But times have changed. With the Mo Paper acquisition, we're double their size. We're the 800 pound gorilla in the monkey house now. A couple of years ago, South-Core had $200 million in assets. They lost every time we've played in the same ball park, but they've been busy on other fronts, so their assets are currently estimated as being $293 million. They lost a bundle on the South Shore School Supplies debacle, and again on the Mo Paper deal. The Mo Paper deal is my favorite. We were actually making payments to South-Core at lower interest rates than the rates they were paying on money borrowed to buy Mo Paper's notes in the first place. They also lost on the Brandon acquisition, and the acquisitions in Greenfield, Concord, and Gorham. The other acquisitions we've made didn't involve them. But the six deals alone cost them tens of millions in expected revenues, if not directly in expenditures, so it's understandable that they hate me. Anyone else might have decided by now to avoid me, but not South-Core. There is one interesting aspect to this whole situation. South-Core's persistence has resulted in their becoming a much leaner and meaner company. They've had to slice the fat away or it would have dragged them down by now. They're a more dangerous competitor now then ever before."

"What other fronts has South-Core been busy on," Ben Phillips asked.

"They've jumped into soft goods while expanding their formed products capability. I guess they saw that I was avoiding those product lines and decided that I wouldn't be eating their lunch every time they identified an easy kill. They recently picked up six small plants, at fire sale prices, which accounts for the sudden spike in assets. Their fiscal year ends in June, so their posted reports from the last quarter still show their assets as being $247 million, with liabilities of $28 million. South Core probably won't be releasing their numbers until the end of July, but Bill knows an analyst whose job it is to track the progress of paper companies. His information is that South-Core currently has assets of $293 million, and liabilities of $52 million. We know that they've managed to sell the paper on our notes because we were notified when it changed hands. They took a bath in doing so, or their net worth would be much higher than $241 million."

"In light of the popularity of the MoPac cover designs, are we really going to change them?" Gerard asked, changing the subject.

I looked towards Matt and he took the question.

"We don't necessarily have to change, but the kids might want a change after a while. We can simply expand the number of choices but that creates stocking problems. Any thoughts from anyone else?"

"I agree that the designs should change," Ron said. "Anything gets stale after a while."

"But what's the while?" Gerard asked.

"Maybe we should have new designs ready for each new semester," I said. "I'm referring to two semesters not tri-semesters."

"That's doable," Matt said. "Should we take back unsold MoPacs?"

Everyone looked around the table at the other faces and wound up looking at me.

"No, I don't think so," I said. "The stores should know how many they'll sell, and be able to sell out every semester. If they have stock left, they can simply reduce their new orders. If they want to clear the old stock, they can discount the retail prices. The inside sheets are still just white paper with light blue lines."

The talk went that like until lunch arrived, and then continued through lunch. When we finished eating I adjourned the meeting, wished everyone a nice weekend, and we dispersed. Gerard and Ron immediately headed to the airport. Everyone else returned to their office, and I returned to the couch and my trade magazines.

I wish I could say the weekend flew by, but it was more of a crawl. I spent most of it out by the pool at the Holiday Inn, wishing I was at the ranch. I knew that Mary and Judy would be heading for their jobs on Monday, but they would be home every weekend. In the meantime they had probably been out riding every day since I left. Susan was supposed to be somewhere up in Canada, inspecting the forest lands owned by the Lumber division. She was scheduled to come get me on Thursday, and bring me to the ranch. The week couldn't pass quickly enough for me.

On Monday, Bob and I sat down together and went through each of the offered properties. Although things had seemed to calm down, I wouldn't be anxious to buy anything until several things happened. One was the shipment of the MoPacs that were piling up in the warehouses. If we got flooded out, everything would be lost. The engineering firm hadn't yet delivered the first report; the one that discussed the possibility of flooding at each location. The other consideration was a decision regarding the four closed plants. It was amazing how much that preyed on my mind. I wound up sending rejection letters to each of the remaining Possibles, informing them that while I had an interest, other matters prevented me from acquiring properties at this time.

Each day seemed longer than the previous one. I thought that Thursday afternoon would never get here. But of course it did. Susan called when the plane was an hour out and I was waiting to board when they arrived. I had already wished Earl a happy holiday and sent him on his way. He estimated that he would be back in Virginia in eleven hours if he didn't get too badly hung up in traffic. The plane had refueled in Toronto so as soon as I was aboard we headed for home. What a wonderful word: Home!

We had a little barbeque at the ranch on Friday. Nothing like the one planned by Auntie for August, but nice. Our entire guest list was comprised of Grandma and Charles. This barbeque was family only.

Ricardo manned the grill, turning the fillets every few minutes, and the rest of us prepared the salads and side dishes. We boiled corn on the cob, baked potatoes and beans, and prepared two large pitchers of iced tea. We had made half a dozen pies the night before.

Then it was simply a matter of eating our fill and enjoying each other's company while enjoying the shade of the front veranda. Not too daunting a task at all. After Susan told us about her inspection tour, I told everyone about my delightful week.

"What?" Susan said. "You didn't buy a single company?"

"Nope. Not one. I didn't even go look. I couldn't anyway. You had the plane."

"Ah ha, that's the secret," she said grinning.

"Speaking of planes," Auntie said, "what was in that letter from the FAA?"

"What letter?" I asked.

"Didn't you get the letter? I left it on the desk in the study."

In a second I was through the door and racing for the study. There, sitting on the desk, was a letter addressed to me from the Federal Aviation Administration. I wanted to rip it open, but I didn't want to damage it so I opened it very carefully. It was the result of my written exam in Teterboro. I raced back outside.

"I passed," I screamed. "I passed."

"Passed what?" Judy asked as everyone crowded around me.

"I took the written exam portion of the flight test last month. I passed. I got a 96."

"What did you have a problem with?" Auntie asked as everyone else congratulated me.

"I don't know. I thought I answered everything correctly. They don't tell you what you got wrong."

"You can fly a plane now?" Susan asked.

"Not yet, but soon. I have to get forty hours of flight time logged with an instructor and in solo flight, and then I can take the flight portion of the exam. If I pass I get a private pilots license like Auntie."

"You'll have to get a Restricted Radio Telephone operator's license," Auntie said, "but that's just an application and a small fee."

"Somebody at Teterboro told me about that. I sent it in already."

"And you'll have to get a medical exam; and then get reexamined every two years."

"Uh, can Dr. Clark's exam suffice?" I asked.

"I doubt it. The examining doctor must be one of the doctors registered with the FAA."

"What do they check?"

"Mostly your eyes, ears, heart, and respiration. The usual stuff. They check your peripheral vision also. I'd never had that done before."

"How do they do that?"

"You sit down in a chair and they put a stand against the back that has a white ball on an rigid arm that extends out and down. The doctor or nurse stands behind you while you look straight ahead. Then they pivot the arm with the ball and you tell them when you see it in your peripheral vision.

"I see. They don't check, uh…"

"No," Auntie said. "I didn't have to remove my skirt. I'll make an appointment for you with the doctor that I go to."

"Great."

I felt wonderful for the rest of the day. I was going to fly.

The three-day holiday weekend was great, but then it was time to go to work again. Mary and Judy went off to start their summer jobs, and Susan and I would head east in the afternoon. Auntie called the doctor whom she had gone to for her flight medical as soon as his office opened and gotten him to slip me into his morning appointments. When we boarded the Ameri-Moore jet in the afternoon I had my medical certificate in my wallet.

Earl was waiting with the limo, and after dropping me off, Susan continued on to the first location in her inspection tour. Earl took me to the Holiday Inn where my reserved suite was waiting.

I was on my second cup of tea the next morning when Bob called to see if I was busy, then dropped over.

"Hi, boss."

"Hi, Bob. Have a nice holiday?"

"It was great. The weather cooperated and we had a great outdoor barbeque. Matt and Katie came over, and John came with his current love interest."

"I haven't met Katie yet."

"She's a peach. But she's gone back to New Jersey now. She only comes up when she can get away from her job."

"I'm sure I'll get a chance to meet her one of these days."

"I'm sure. Matt's smitten."

"Anything else going on?"

"Nope. Same old story. You?"

"I got my exam score from the FAA. I passed with a 96."

"Congratulations!" Smiling he added, "Does this mean I have to share the plane now?"

"Maybe a little. I've been thinking about finding an instructor up here since I'm spending more time here than in Texas."

"The guy that taught me is great. He has the patience of a saint. My first few landings were pretty bad, but he remained calm the whole time. He even said that I was doing fine. I guess he's seen it all."

"Auntie let me do some touch and goes last year. She stayed on the dual controls the entire time, but I think I was getting the hang of it."

"Then you're starting a bit ahead of where I was. I had never been behind the controls before."

"It's amazing how fast it become comfortable."

"Not for me. I had about six or seven hours before I really started to feel comfortable in the left seat. I started quite a bit later than you though. They say it's always easier when you start something like that when you're young."

"I suppose. Did you watch the price of South-Core stock last week?"

"Yeah. It was amazing. Like Bill said, stocks can really jump around when people panic."

"What was the low?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. It closed just over 11 a week ago Friday, but then opened around 13½ a share on Monday morning. By noon the price had plummeted to about 7½. I know that it hung around there for a while, then jumped to about 9. The next day the article appeared in the local papers here. I don't know where else it appeared, but the stock was down to around 3¼ on Wednesday. This morning it opened at 9 7/16."

"When do we get a report?"

"Bill will receive the information after the market closes today and tally it. Then we'll get together at four o'clock."

"Okay," I said.

"Well, I guess I'd better get moving. I have a ton of stuff to do today. I just wanted to say hi."

"Okay, Bob. I'll see you at four."

After Bob left I retired to my couch to read.

Bob and Bill arrived promptly at four o'clock. We sat down in my informal area to talk.

"Okay," Bill said. "I've got the numbers on the activity so far. I don't expect them change any more. South-Core's stock opened last Monday at 13½. The stock was undervalued to begin with. The only reason for the low price was the mismanagement that resulted in a steady stream of bad press over the past two years that destroyed investor confidence in the company. The WSJ was already out but I guess it took a while for everyone to see the article about your implied lawsuit. When they did, the price started to fall as everyone bailed out. When a company with a book value of $219 million is about to be sued for $500 million by a company the size of Ameri-Moore, investors get nervous. I'm sure the big guys figured to sell and start the ball rolling, and then buy it back later when the price had tumbled significantly. With only ten million shares outstanding, and a per share value of almost 22, I'm sure they figured they had a lot of wiggle room.

"The price rose and fell as people played their hunches about what would happen. The volume was quite high. The low occurred on Thursday afternoon when fifty thousand shares were traded at 1 15/16."

"1 15/16?" I echoed in surprise.

"Yeah. Amazing isn't it. People must have started panicking when the price broke the $5 barrier because the number of shares traded Thursday was staggering for such a small company."

"What's the final count?" I asked.

"I didn't start placing buy orders until Wednesday, as we planned, and our buying was handled through six trading houses so that it didn't immediately appear that we were buying as much as we did. I started slow, and then picked up the pace as the price continued to plummet. Most of our purchases occurred below 3. At the close of the market today, Piermont owns 3,845,000 shares of South-Core stock, giving us a 38.45% ownership stake in the company. We paid an average per share price of 3 3/16 for a total investment of $12,248,247.56. That includes brokerage fees. The stock closed at 11 9/16 Thursday. The people who sold when it was at 13½ probably wanted to get their portfolio settled before the long holiday weekend, accounting for the sudden rise in price near the end of the trading day."

"Dang it," I said. "I was hoping we could get more than 50 percent."

"With 3,845,000 shares, we are now the major investor. When Broward finds out, he'll mess himself. The company is actually pretty solid now, and once the annual report comes out, the stock is sure to climb. If you issue a press release in which you announce that you've decided not to seek legal remedies, the price could very easily double. It should have been over $22 to begin with, and should be around $30 a share when the reports are filed. A $32 million dollar profit in one week is nothing to sneeze at, and $103 million is even better."

"But making a profit in the stock market wasn't my goal," I said. "I wanted to get a controlling interest in the company."

"As the largest investor, you probably have control," Bob said. "I'm sure most shareholders would vote with you if you propose actions that seem to benefit the company. If Piermont went public, people would fight for a place in line to purchase stock."

"If we had gotten more than fifty percent, there would be no question. Now we have to pay interest expense on the $12 million we needed for the purchase, with little return since South-Core dividends have been virtually non-existent."

"We did acquire almost a forty percent stake in a company worth $241 million, for a small fraction of that amount."

"Yes," I said, grinning. "We did do that. I don't mean to sound so depressed. It just would have been so simple if we had an undeniable controlling interest. I could have walked into South-Core headquarters, replaced their leaders, and finally been sure that they were off our back."

Over the following days, there was a great deal of press devoted to the situation at South-Core. Someone with access to shareholder information disclosed that Piermont had secured an almost forty percent stake in the company while prices were near their lowest, and company executives had increased their own combined holdings to thirty-two percent, as they too took advantage of the severely low prices. There was a lot of talk about possible insider trading investigations by the SEC.

Since we owned such a large part of the company now, it was generally accepted that I wouldn't be filing suit, and the price of the stock leapt upwards. By the end of the week South-Core stock was sitting at 19 7/8 climbing. It had toyed with the $20 barrier, but each time it had fallen back slightly after making a brief run at it.

On Thursday I had my first flight lesson with a certified instructor, the one that had taught Bob. Mike O'Neil's small school owned several Piper Cherokee 140's, and he wanted me to begin my training in one of them instead of Piermont's Cessna 206. He said that the low-wing craft was more stable on the ground than high-wing aircraft, and therefore better suited to new students during the first part of flight training. I was so anxious to get airborne, I couldn't have cared less.

A common mistake by all first time pilots who haven't studied the mechanics of aircraft is to grab the wheel as if it's a car steeling wheel and attempt to 'drive' the plane while it's on the ground. After taking me through a complete pre-flight inspection of the aircraft, and showing me how to start the engine, set the altimeter and the gyrocompass, Mike told me to take the plane to the active runway. I released the handbrake, took the 'T' shaped throttle in my right hand, and applied power while pushing down hard on the left pedal to turn the aircraft.

"You've had previous instruction," Mike said. "You said you hadn't."

"I said I've never been in a plane with a flight instructor," I said. "My aunt has a pilot's license and owns a plane that we keep in the backyard."

"The backyard?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. Everyone else seems to know without my saying it. We have our own paved runway and hanger in the backyard on the ranch. Our jet picks us up at home and takes us to wherever we have to go on business. I've spent a lot of time in planes. Last year my aunt let me stay on the controls with her while she did a couple of touch and goes, and I've taxied the plane out."

"Just a couple of touch and goes?"

"That's the limit of my time on the controls, but I've watched her as she's used the Nav-Com radios and followed our position on sectional charts."

"It sounds like you're well ahead of the students I usually get. Okay, I'm going to show you how we check the engine to make sure it's firing properly before we take off."

Mike turned the plane as we approached the active runway so that our prop wash wouldn't kick up pebbles or other trash that might be on the runway and fling it at other planes, even though there was no one behind us. He believed that you should develop the proper habits from the very beginning.

After checking the engine firing, and turning the plane to visually insure that no one was inbound on a final approach, Mike taxied the plane onto the active runway while I stayed on the controls with him. He pushed the throttle firmly forward and we began to rumble down the runway. I was looking ahead, but my eyes kept darting to the airspeed indicator as the feel of the plane changed. As air flowed over and under the wings at an ever greater speed, the plane slowed relaxed its grip on the Earth and felt like it 'wanted' to fly. It suddenly leapt into the air as Mike pulled back gently on the yoke, and climbed higher and higher as our airspeed increased. In seconds we were climbing over wooded land, hills, and farmland, the airport receding in the distance.

"Okay," Mike said, as we got some altitude under us, "lesson one is how to fly straight and level."

Over the next hour I was allowed to fly the plane by myself as Mike showed me what to watch on the instrument panel and how to trim the plane so that it almost flew itself. It didn't have an autopilot system, but once properly trimmed, you could just about fly the plane with a little pressure on one of the rudder pedals. That assumes that the wind isn't acting up. I didn't tell him that I had already done that with Auntie.

Once we had practiced level flight, Mike showed me how to make efficient turns using the attitude indicator and the turn-and-bank indicator. Part of the flight examination to get your license will have you under a hood that prevents you from seeing outside the plane. You must fly the craft using only the instruments. This is not to be confused with an instrument rating, which is incredibly more complex. It's to prepare a pilot to rely solely on the plane's instruments when flying at night, or in case he or she suddenly flies into fog or a snowstorm during the day.

The final part of the first lesson involved landing the plane. This is the most difficult part of flying. Almost anyone can get the plane into the air, and fly it to a destination. Getting it down safely and gently is what differentiates good pilots from poor pilots.

When the lesson ended, Mike chopped the power to minimum as we rolled along after a landing. I was both exhilarated and sad.

"You did terrific," Mike said as we deplaned. "You've obviously been paying attention when flying with your aunt. We'll have you soloed in no time."

"Really? When?"

"Well— it depends on you. Experience shows that the closer you can keep your flight times together, the more you retain and build on with future lessons."

"I'm ready now. The cost of lessons isn't a problem."

"I understand that. How about tomorrow morning? In the meantime, think about what you learned today and go over the flight in your head. Think about how the plane felt and what changed as you made corrections. Think about the numbers involved with doing the touch and goes. There's the airspeed, the climb and descend speed, and the compass direction of each leg in the pattern. Think about the descent, flaring the plane just before touchdown, and your touchdown. If you can keep each of these things in your mind until they become second nature, you're halfway there."

I felt wonderful as I climbed into the limo and Earl drove me to the plant. As Mike instructed, I went over every part of today's lesson in my mind. For the rest of the day I didn't feel bored at all; just anxious.

We were shooting touch and goes a week later when Mike put his hand on mine to stop me from pushing the throttle forward as we rolled along the runway after landing. I thought he was ending the lesson early as he pressed down on the pedal brakes, and I wondered what I could have done wrong. He brought the plane to a stop, pulled on the handbrake, and unbuckled his seatbelt, right there on the active runway. It was midweek, and he knew that there wasn't anyone else in the pattern. My heart started to race as he reached up and twisted the upper lock on the door.

"Okay," he said, "once around the pattern and then stop to pick me up."

"By myself?"

"It's the only way to solo."

I smiled and watched as he climbed out of the small plane and double latched the door. When he reached the grass bordering the runway, he turned to me and gave me a thumbs up. I swallowed the lump in my throat, released the handbrake, and pushed the throttle forward as my eyes darted around the sky for any sign of aircraft while alternating with scans of the instrument panel. I wasn't doing anything that I hadn't been doing for a half-hour already today, but now I was doing it alone. There was no one to save me from myself if I messed up.

The small plane leapt into the air and climbed out quickly as the airspeed increased. My heart was racing like never before as I turned ninety degrees to the left. Since this was occurring at an uncontrolled field, each pilot was responsible for identifying the presence of other planes in the pattern. Although not required at uncontrolled fields, many pilots announce their entry into the downwind leg; that's the leg of the pattern parallel to but in the opposite direction of the active runway. It's in everybody's interest to know where the other planes are. Some pilots just come in on a straight in approach and announce their position on final approach as they near the point where planes in the pattern would be turning onto final.

My grip on the yoke was tight and my hands sweating slightly as I turned onto final approach. There was a spot on the runway, just before the runway identification numerals, that I always aimed for, and I watched that spot now, as I pulled back on the throttle and let the plane glide in on minimal power. My descent speed was right, my airspeed was right, and the plane was pointed straight ahead. A very mild crosswind had been buffeting me slightly on previous landings so I was keeping the right wing just a touch lower to slide in that direction as I approached the runway.

As the runway rushed up to meet the plane, I lifted the right wing and flared the plane, letting it settle gently onto the main gear, then letting the nose drop slightly until the nose-wheel made contact. As my speed slipped away, I touched the right rudder pedal to move the plane towards where Mike was waiting. I came to a stop next to him and he hopped up onto the wing and opened the door.

Without a word, he climbed into the right seat and buckled his seatbelt. I looked at him anxiously, awaiting his verdict. When he had double locked the door, he turned to me and smiled and said, "Well, don't just sit there. We're blocking the active runway."

I released the brake and started the plane forward. "Up or back to the hanger?" I asked.

"Back to the hanger."

That was it. He didn't say another word until we reached the hanger. He also never touched the controls, but then he hadn't touched the controls during our past two lessons.

As I applied the handbrake and turned off the ignition, Mike reached into my flight case behind my seat and removed my log book. Opening it to where a record of my flights were recorded, he made the next entry using the numbers from the Hobbs meter on the instrument panel. In the comments area he wrote 'Solo flight' then added his signature, and printed his name and instructor number.

He turned to me and smiled. "Congratulations. Now you can begin to learn how to fly."

I smiled back. "Thank you, but I thought that's what I was doing."

"No, not yet. All you've really done so far is learn to take-off and land the plane safely. Landing is of course a critical step, and until you can master that, there's not much sense learning the rest. You can now come to the airport and shoot touch and goes by yourself if I'm with another student or unavailable. But you can't leave the pattern yet. You only have five hours of flight time after all."

"What's next?"

"You should spend some more hours here, shooting touch and goes. Your solo touchdown today was almost flawless, but you should have raised your right wing a couple of seconds sooner. You don't want to risk a ground loop. Remember, a low-wing plane is more at risk of that than a high wing plane. Once your landings are perfect, we'll begin your cross-country work. You'll have to find your way to other airports using both radio navigation and dead-reckoning. When you can do that to my satisfaction, you'll be able to leave the pattern by yourself to do your solo cross-country trips. After that we'll do the hood work. That's the part of the training that everyone hates, but it's as important as landings. Then with a little more practice you should have your forty hours in and be ready to take your flight exam to become a private pilot."

"When can we use the company plane?"

"After you complete your solo cross-country work, we can check you out in the Cessna, but if I were you, I'd stay with the Piper until you get your ticket. You want to be as proficient as possible in front of the FAA examiner."

"I understand."

Although my first dual cross-country trip might not be for another week I began reviewing everything to do with radio navigation that evening. Yes, I suppose you could say I was anxious.

Immediately after the news appeared in financial columns across the country that Piermont had purchased a 40% stake in South-Core, I was inundated with offers of businesses for sale. I guess that overseas companies read the US news because at least half were from foreign companies. Each received a letter thanking them for thinking of us, but informing them that we intended to remain a domestic company for the foreseeable future.

The small companies got the usual letter informing them that their size precluded any possible interest, but thanked them for thinking of us, and the companies that produced products inconsistent with our present lines also received cordial rejection letters. That left a steadily growing pile of Possibles. I didn't really intend to purchase anything, but didn't take the final step of rejecting the offers. Bob always enjoyed looking through them so I gave them to him when I received them.

I was sitting on my couch, plotting a long-distance solo cross-country trip to Dutchess County airport near Poughkeepsie, New York, when Bob called and asked to come over. I said 'Sure, Bob,' and returned to my chart until he arrived a few seconds later.

"What's up," I asked as he sat down across from me.

"Did you see this offer for the forms company in Texas?"

"Texas?" I echoed, suddenly more alert.

"Yeah, it's near Houston."

"No, I didn't see anything from a company in Texas."

"The corporation that owns it isn't in Texas. They're in West Virginia."

"Oh, yes, I remember that letter. They never said that the plant was in Texas."

"No, they didn't. I had to do some follow-up work to learn that. The principal is a holding company for a coal mining company. WVMG has interests in mining, agriculture, aviation, steel production, and fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Yeah. Shrimp in the Gulf, tuna in the Pacific, and Alaskan salmon."

"What's their interest in aviation?"

"They own a fixed base operator outfit."

"They sound pretty diversified," I said.

"Yes. Anyway, they had a forty percent stake in this business forms printing outfit up until five or six years ago. There was some kind of squabble with top management about ten years ago and the principal owner sold their interest to a farm co-op in California. Things didn't work out and after just a year, the farm co-op sold their interest to a property management company in New York City, who almost immediately turned around and sold it to a big hotel in the Catskills."

"Who then turned around and sold it to an alligator farm in Florida?" I asked, grinning.

"Not quite. The hotel had a couple of bad years and sold their interest to the holding company that owned the minority stake. That company now owns a hundred percent. Years of inattention by disinterested partners have taken their toll. The holding company tried to establish new management and make the place profitable, but with no success. They claim that they and their partners have poured a ton of money into it over the years, but nothing they've tried has turned the business around. They're anxious to get out, so they can eliminate the red ink from their books."

"How anxious?"

"Very anxious. My information is that they're pretty disgusted, and ready to just shut the operation down to stop the losses, so they'll probably let it go for not much more than the value of the building and property."

"Which is what?"

"It's appraised at eight million dollars?"

"Eight million? For just the property and building? Where is it, in downtown Houston?"

"No, it's a bit north of the city."

"Then what makes it so valuable?"

"Four and a half million square feet under roof on three-hundred-eighty acres of land."

"That's a large printing operation."

"They don't occupy the entire space. There are seven buildings in all. The building housing the print operation is the oldest, built in 1959 when the operation was started. The other buildings were built between 62 and 66 in an effort to make the property an industrial complex. But the other tenants have moved out. It sounds like every time a new principal took over controlling interest of the property, they tried to bulldog the tenants into immediately signing new leases at higher rates. One building was never even occupied because the property changed hands before it was completed and the tenant who'd intended to occupy it couldn't get along with the reps from the hotel. The complex has become a brick and mortar pariah of sorts. Nobody wants to move in while the ownership carousel is spinning in high gear."

"What's the story with the forms printing outfit."

"It's difficult to say without visiting it. The holding company doesn't seem to have very much specific information, and the two calls I've placed to the forms outfit haven't been returned."

"No wonder they're going down the drain," I said.

"Yeah! But at least the holding company has a reputation for paying their taxes on time, so title should be free and clear for a change."

"Sounds like it might be worth a trip to look it over," I said.

"That's what I was thinking."

"Too bad I don't have the jet. Susan is out in the Northwest this week."

"We could go common carrier, or charter a flight."

"Yes, we could do that. But I'd like a little more information before we do. We don't want to buy a plant just to get the land. We have lots of land already. Do we have anyone whose judgment you trust at any of the Arkansas plants? They're probably just a six to seven hour drive from Houston."

"We've got a couple of good people down there, but they're not you, DD. You can just look at a place and know if it's a good buy or not."

I knew that I didn't have any special powers of observation, but I did seem able to determine from a simple visual inspection if the asking price of a property represented an opportunity for Piermont.

"What do you think about going down in the Cessna?" I asked.

"The 206?"

"Sure. The distance is what? About 1500 miles? We'd probably only have to refuel once, or maybe twice at the most."

"You're talking about twelve hours of flying, DD. It would be fun for you and me, but not so much for the others who have to sit in the rear seats, and for whom airplane travel is simply an expeditious way to get from one point to another. Our small plane is fine for a two or three hour trip, but we're talking about twenty-four hours for the round trip to Houston."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," I said, sighing. "Sitting in a small space for that long would be uncomfortable for our guys. On the jet you can get up and walk around if you feel cramped. The demand on the Ameri-Moore jet has increased to point that I should probably begin to think about getting another plane. Piermont has grown large enough in size and scope to justify the expense. Once everything with Mo Paper settles down, we'll start looking around. We'll keep the 206 for flights within the Northeast Region, but get something bigger for longer distances, such as hops to Asheville, Bloomington, or Jefferson City."

"Great. But what about the printing operation?"

"Call Albany airport and check the prices and availability for a round-trip, same-day charter to Houston."

"I think that an outfit at Rutland has a Gulfsteam I turboprop available for charter flights. It holds up to 19."

"Okay, check prices and availability with them also."

Bob was back in my office in an hour with the prices and availability. The available planes ranged from an old DC-3 cargo plane to an almost new Boeing-727, and the prices were almost as disparate.

"The 727 is out," I said. "The charter amount is prohibitive. We'll have to select from one of the others or go common carrier."

"I think that the Grumman Gulfstream I at Rutland Transair offers the best price versus performance. It cruises just under 300 mph and has a range of up to 2,500 miles. We should be able to reach Houston in six hours without having to stop for fuel. They say that it can take up to 19 passengers, and that the cabin is very roomy."

"Okay, call them back and arrange for the charter. We'll stop at Danbury to pick up Ralph and one of his engineers to help check out the equipment."

 

** Author's note – For those not familiar with billing terms, 2%10, Net EOM means that the purchaser may deduct 2 percent of an invoice amount if it's paid within ten days from the end of the billing cycle, otherwise the full amount is due by COB (close of business) on the last day of the month following the end of the billing cycle.

 

(continued in part 44 )

Many thanks to Bob M. for his excellent proofreading efforts on Chapters 36-45.

 

 

 

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