The Day I Pissed Off A Big Shot

Fresh out of graduate school armed with a bright, shiny MBA degree, I landed a job with  Gemini Corporation in the Detroit metro area. Gemini was a progressive, innovative company that manufactured the interior of the stylish motor homes General Motors built in the '70s. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I snagged a job in the accounting department. The company was allegedly grooming me for bigger things, but I was young, impatient, and inexperienced and had to pay my dues as a lower-level peon.

There were a few of us on that level and, on occasion, we had to trade off phone answering duties while the big shots were at lunch. I hated that responsibility. After all, I was an MBA. I figured I should be out to lunch with the top brass.

Delano de Windt II

One of those upper-echelon people was a guy named Del de Windt. He was a young, energetic guy who was the head of Gemini's marketing division.  Del was only a few years older than me and I envied his position as one of the key-players. We kind of got to know each other and on one of the occasions when we had lunch in the employee lounge he told me, "I can sell refrigerators to Eskimos." It was the first time I ever heard that phrase and I figured an attitude like that was why he got so high in the organization at such a young age. Well, there was another reason, but I'll get to that later.

So, one day Del and the big boys were out for one of their lunches and I got stuck with phone duty. I sat fuming at my insignificant place in the bullpen (I was so low I didn't even rate a cube). No sooner did I start eating my lunch than I heard the phone in Del's office start to ring. I ignored it. His phone kept ringing... and ringing... and ringing. Grinding my teeth, I got up and walked over to the Secretary's desk (where I was really supposed to be sitting for my important assignment). I picked up the phone and dutifully said, "Gemini Corporation."

A voice on the line asked, "Is Del DeWindt in?"

"Yes," I said, "He's been sitting in his office watching the phone ring." Then I hung up.

Well, the other reason Del had such a high position at Gemini turns out he was the son of the Chairman of the Board of Eaton Corporation, a Fortune 500 powerhouse. It also turns out the guy I hung up on was none other than E. Mandell (Del) de Windt, Sr., the big guy himself. Oops.

E. Mandell de Windt

Of course, at the time I had no idea who was on that line. Things came to light a few days later. I was sitting at my station grinding away with my mundane job when a guy named Don Burris, the Comptroller (the guy my boss reported to), stepped out of his office and boomed, "WHO WAS HANDLING THE PHONES AT LUNCH LAST FRIDAY?"

Thankfully, nobody remembered; and I certainly didn't feel it was my place to shed any light on the matter. Burris strutted through the bullpen ranting about the fact that someone had pissed off the Chairman of one of the biggest and most important companies in the country and he was, by God, going to find out who did it if it was the last thing he ever did.

Fortunately, the whole thing died down and he never learned the identity of the insolent renegade.

The ensuing 70s gas crisis led to Gemini's demise. I moved on to greener pastures and, afterward, was always a little more careful about my demeanor on the phone.