The old man's thick white hair was combed straight back, and his dark suit stretched taut around his belly.
He walked straight and proud with his stomach preceding him; announcing, as it were, the many fine restaurants he frequented, as well as providing a welcome buffer zone on the crowded sidewalks and elevators of the city.
"Good morning, Mr. Denken," the guard said, opening a door at the entrance to the corporate tower. Harold Denken did not reply, but kept his eyes fixed toward a large tree in the middle of the lobby. The anemic-looking elm was the only tree left on the grounds. On one side of the tree was an empty information booth and on the other side was a small concession stand. Every morning next to the tree, a boy set up a shoeshine stand. And every morning, Harold had his shoes shined.
"Hello Bobby!" Harold greeted the tousle-headed fifteen-year-old. "That tree is not going to last much longer. I think I'm going to have it sprayed with acrylic." He lifted his left shoe onto the stand.
"But they say it gives off oxygen, sir," said the boy.
"Why, the air entering this building is filtered fifteen times. There's nothing that tree could do to improve the air in here," Harold said.
"Oh. Of course not, sir."
When the boy finished shining his shoes, Harold flipped him a silver dollar. The boy caught it in midair, smiled at the man, and watched as Harold disappeared into an elevator to begin his day at the office.
Harold Denken had moved up fast in the corporation.
His straightforward, stubborn mind-set, though born of a basic lack of creativity, was greatly admired in management circles. He believed in setting one's goals - money and power in his case - and then ruthlessly pursuing them, no matter what got in the way. At the office, he had a reputation as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He made sure he was never too useful or popular in any one department, so that the only way he could be removed was through promotion; and although he delegated his responsibilities to others, he learned how to take credit for anything of value they did. Thanks to such simple strategies, he had the time and energy to concentrate on company politics. From the accounting department he moved into the Controller's Office and was only fifty-five years old when he became Chief Executive Officer.
From his new position, Harold immediately eliminated all those jobs he knew to be unnecessary. Under his leadership, the corporation became a lean and mean machine. With what was left of the employees, he formed, as he called it: "... a corporate family with each member involved and responsible for our mutual well-being...." In practical terms that meant the elimination of hourly workers and individual job descriptions, while making salaried employees feel insecure unless they were working long, hard hours to bring up the slack. Eventually, the corporation grew to the point where it had to employ thirteen lawyers just to figure out how to keep all the money at "home." Since everybody knew the goal was money and power, there were no distracting questions of right or wrong, and the corporate machine grew so efficient that it ran itself. In fact, if Harold had been completely honest with himself, he would have eliminated his own job.
Later that afternoon Harold emerged once more from the elevators and started the short walk back to his penthouse. Today, however, he decided to seek a little excitement, and walk through the park. He liked to walk by the underground toilets at the edge of the park and observe the activity there. Easing down the moss-covered concrete steps, he descended into the heavy, humid air of the men's room. Furtive glances between strange men and sudden, compulsive movements at the urinals revealed passions out of control. Of course he never participated, yet the danger and temptation made him feel strong and alive. He thought, "What do these men crave more: their own obscene lusts or someone to take charge and manage their misspent lives?" Visiting this men's room had become one of his favorite hobbies.
This stoic exercise complete, he emerged into the light of day and continued his walk home. He could not help feeling superior to the people scurrying about on the sidewalks. They had not the courage to test themselves in the toilets. But had he the courage to approach any one of them? His only real comrades on the streets were the Automated Teller Machines he came across every few blocks. They were always ready to interface, to give him a few bucks if he needed it. Aside from these, he had neither family nor friends. When he arrived back at his penthouse, there was no one to greet him as he entered the suite. The only sign of outside life was a few scattered tools left by workers, who were in the midst of installing new windows. He was having his windows replaced with the latest, tinted kind that blocked out 99% of the harmful rays from the sun.
It already seemed safer, more comfortable in the apartment.
The next morning Harold was confronted by a cold,howling wind, which pushed him along the sidewalk on his way to work. He thought about returning to his suite to fetch an overcoat, but decided to walk more briskly to warm himself. He reached the office in half the normal time but was winded and sweating. Once again the guard greeted him and opened the door to the lobby. Once again, he ignored the guard and walked straight for the shoeshine boy.
"Hello, Bobby." He put his shoe up to be shined.
"Good morning, sir. How are you today?" the boy said as he applied a thick gob of black polish to the shoe.
"A little out of breath, I'm afraid."
"Could it be because of the tree, sir? It's dying."
The man smiled. "I thought I told you we don't need that tree. In fact, I think I'll have the owners remove it."
"But ... you're not the owner?" the boy asked in astonishment.
"Why, no," replied the man.
"I thought you owned the place!" The boy stopped shining the man's shoe and glared up at him.
"Of course not. I manage it." Harold could see the disappointment in the boy's eyes.
"Then you were just pretending you owned it," the boy said bitterly.
"Nonsense. How could I own a seventy million dollar building? I'm the CEO, the Chief Executive."
"You're just a boss. Someone is over you," the boy said, spitting angrily into his shine towel. But before he could start rubbing the shoe with the towel, Harold pulled his foot back.
"I answer to a Board of Directors," Harold shouted at the boy. "It's the way business operates. Managers and owners are not ...." Suddenly realizing how unseemly it was for him to make excuses to the boy, Harold stopped talking and headed abruptly for the elevators.
For the rest of the day, the incident with the shoeshine boy bothered him. The boy was
so sullen, so disrespectful. Shortly after lunch, Harold decided to leave work early. He
headed directly for the park, where he was drawn to the underground toilets. As he walked
down the grimy steps, he came upon two men together in a corner. The younger man suddenly
bolted up the stairway, but the older man stood where he was and looked right at Harold.
For some reason Harold could only take short breaths, like a huge lump was pressing
against his lungs. The man moved forward and touched him, then whispered close to his ear:
"It'll cost you." Harold slowly opened his wallet and gave the man a fifty
dollar bill. The man moved closer and pressed his stale, open mouth directly over Harold's
pursed lips. Harold's mind went blank. Then only one thought surfaced, over and over
again: money and power! Money and Power.
William Hauck studied mathematical logic at the University of Viena and worked twelve years in industrial automation before realizing the truth about post-Reagan corporate ethics: the politics of the Boardroom are no different than the politics of the Restroom. Giving up both money and power to become a full-time freelance writer, he currently resides in Sacramento, where he is a frequent contributor to the Suttertown News. Recently he finished his first novel, the story of a medieval alchemist's search for psychological perfection.
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