Ace Relations

    Bob Wilson’s first job as an engineer was at Thomas Electronics in West Orange, New Jersey, just 13 miles west of New York City.  Having just completed the circuit design of a new product, he was working with George Adams, the draftsman assigned to do the mechanical design.  Adams was a tall, slim, handsome man in his mid-twenties. Wilson, on his way in one morning, was confronted by a colleague who whispered, “Hey Bob, I notice you call George Adams, ‘Ace’.”

    “Yeah?”

    “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

    “Why not?”

    “The guy’s black.”

    “So?”

    “ Well, ‘Ace’ sort of suggests ace of spades and they sure don’t like to be called a ‘spade’.”

    “I see. Well, I don’t think there’s a problem there. If there were, he would let me know right off the bat. Oh, he wouldn’t hesitate, believe me.”

    “Well, your call. I just thought I should say something.”

    “OK, thanks, Jack.”

    Wilson thought about it. Could Adams have asked Jack to intervene? No, he and Adams had an open rapport. Most of the people in the office were engineers like Wilson himself, but Adams was different. He was an engineering draftsman, yet artistic, imaginative, even theatrical, as if a bit of Broadway had hopped the Hudson River. Wilson really enjoyed collaborating with him.

*****

    Adams once borrowed a dollar from Wilson, claiming he didn’t have any ones for the Coke machine. Each time Wilson reminded him of the debt, Adams claimed he didn’t have a dollar to spare, but would pay him back some time later, “Maybe next week.” After a month of this routine, Adams offered to pay him back in installments, thoroughly enjoying the tease: “How about a dime a week?” Wilson stopped bringing it up.

    Months later, Wilson walked up to him holding up a dollar in his left hand. “Hey, Ace, got change for a dollar?”

    “Sure thing.” Adams fished the coins out of his pocket and dropped them into Wilson’s outstretched right hand.
    Wilson put the change in his pocket, took out his wallet, and placed the dollar in it. “Thank you so very much.”  He set the wallet back in his pocket, looked at Adams and smiled patiently. Adams looked puzzled for a moment, then groaned as he lowered his head in his hands. Wilson walked off, happily leaving his colleague in his misery.

*****

    When the Engineering offices were to be moved, Adams was selected to do the layouts. He had gone through several iterations; the latest showed 12 cubicles in a long line ending at the offices of the Chief Engineer, Hans Kort, and Assistant Chief Engineer, Frederick Eagleton. Kort was tall and silver-haired, Eagleton short and balding with just a tuft of hair over each ear. Adams referred to them as “Mutt and Jeff.”

    The openings of the cubicles looked across a wide aisle to a line of windows to the outdoors. The eight-foot wide cubicles formed a string 96 feet long. One morning Eagleton and Kort came to Adams to look at the layout. “Every man has his own office,” explained Eagleton; the arrangement was his idea. “The senior engineers would be up near us and the more junior at the far end.”

    “What happens when someone leaves?” asked Kort. “Wouldn’t we have to move a lot of furniture?”

    “No,” said Eagleton, “all cubicles have the same furniture. It doesn’t move. They just move their paraphernalia. Gives them a chance to update their bulletin boards.”

    “Looks good,” said Kort. He put his hand on Adams’s shoulder. “What do you think, George?”

    Adams knew full well his opinion meant nothing, but that did not deter him. “Twelve cubicles in a line is OK. Every morning a guy can come up the aisle with a wagon and pitch a forkful of hay into each one.”

    Silence ensued. Eagleton glared at Adams. Kort slumped into a sad smile; finally he said, “Hmm, let’s see that last layout again.”

© Richard R. Gilbert    September 2011