Rivethead - Ben Hamper [65]
The working class the world over is in shock today as it was announced that the General Motors Corporation's beloved Quality cat, Mr. Howard Makem, was officially laid off from his job at the GM Truck & Bus facility in Flint, Michigan. A grieving UAW spokesman told reporters: “The auto industry has lost a dear comrade and a special brother who provided a keen light in an era of darkness.” GM Chairman Roger Smith refused comment outside of the admission that he “felt like a lousy hangman.” Mr. Makem is reported to be in seclusion at his home outside the small village of Lapeer where a night-long vigil is being held by throngs of admirers and somber linemates.
I remember the day I had to break the news to Mike that Howie Makem had apparently vanished. Christ, it was as if his little brother had disappeared.
“Howie's GONE?” Mike hollered. “Have you asked around? He must be somewhere.”
“I don't know where he went,” I answered. “All I know is that he's been missing for weeks. The flag outside the plant hasn't been at half mast or anything, so I assume he's still alive.”
“You wouldn't be snowin’ me about this whole disappearance, would you? I know how loath you are about givin’ me a Howie Makem interview. Let's be honest, Ben.”
“I can't believe we're having this whole conversation. Howie Makem is missing. I don't know why and I don't know where. Above all, I don't even fuckin’ care! If he ever shows up again, I promise to get you an interview. Are you happy?”
My editor leaned back in his chair. “Exceedingly so.” He beamed.
It was back to the drawing board for the brainy sorts at GM Truck & Bus. In light of Howie Makem's disappearance, another inventive Quality concept was needed. They introduced to us the official General Motors “Quality Drinking Glass.”
One evening, the supervisors began approaching each of their workers with a little mid-job pep talk. The gist was that if the Quality level reached such and such a figure, we would all receive a lovely drinking glass memento that we could proudly take home to show our kin and prop beside our bowling trophies and eighth-grade diplomas. The glass even provided a wrenching of the heartstrings, for emblazoned on the side was the profile of none other than Howie Makem himself, rest his controversial soul.
Christ, I got all choked up and thought I was gonna bawl. With renewed determination, I began knocking the piss right out of each and every rivet that dared rear its shiny little scalp in my direction. Go, team, go! Forget your house payment. Forget your child support. Forget that trip to Cedar Point. Damn it, do it for Howie!
Sure enough, the boys and I hit our goal. One night after lunch break, Gino came luggin’ a case of Quality Drinking Glasses down the line.
“Thanks for the good job, Ben.” Gino smiled. “Here's your cup.”
At the same time, one of the utility guys was walking right behind Gino asking each worker whether he'd like to sell his Quality Glass for a buck. He mumbled something about wanting to start a collection. I was shocked. I told the guy to get his rotten currency outta my face. No one could have my Howie Makem drinking glass. The gall of some bastards…
I figure that the whole investment in these glasses probably ran GM maybe $35. But, of course, it was the thought that mattered most. After all, when someone works hard all day in a smoky chamber full of sludge, noise, armpits, beer breath, cigar butts, psychos, manic depressives, grease pits, banana stickers, venom and gigantic stalking kitty cats, why not give the guy his own glass.
You can bet your ass he'll soon be needin’ a drink.
7
ANOTHER LAYOFF SWALLOWED ME UP, THIS TIME, THE GRAND-pappy of ‘em all. I was out of work for nearly a year, far too long a span when you stopped to consider Reagan was now in power. Ron wasn't nearly as charitable as our old pal Jimmy Carter. He had his own designs on what