THE GOOD FIGHT
Like in some dime-store Western novel, trouble blew in with a stranger. About 11 1/2 years ago, I returned from vacation to the newspaper where I worked in North Carolina and saw some dweeby-looking guy walking about the newsroom as though he had full run of the place. The next day, I saw another and began wondering if the paper's basement housed a mad scientist who was creating geeks from the body parts of dead chess club members.
Sadly, the paper wasn't so lucky. The poo-bahs soon told us that the strangers in our midst were consultants who would "help us become more efficient." Naturally, this could lead to "some workers" losing their jobs, but those of us who worked hard had little to fear. It was the first of many lies that the "Reorganization Committee" -- or as I called them, "The Gang of Five" -- shoved down our throats.
The first hint that we were sliding into an Orwellian Bizzaroland came when The Gang of Five began issuing a company newsletter that ostensibly was supposed to be a conduit of straight talk about what was going on. Here's a sample of the straight talk: "Power is organized thought expressed through intelligent effort." That, folks, is gibberish; it might as well be the babblings of a toddler whose parents are motivational speakers. See, I can rearrange the words, and it makes just as much sense: "Intelligence is the organized effort to express powerful thought." "Organized effort is power from intelligent expression and thought."
That mantra made no sense, but it was a powerful tool for a dark purpose: It helped drive down the language. It made it possible for The Gang of Five to use language to conceal rather than reveal. Soon, it was only a short jump to such statements as "You know, sometimes it's a good thing to lose your job." Why? Because some of us were in "low-value jobs," and it was in our best interests (little did we simpletons know) to go out and find our "true value" in the job market. To say that the newsroom responded with contempt to such mallarkey is a gross understatement.
It would have been nice if we had been able to stage armed resistance; with North Carolina's broad interpretation of the Second Amendment, that might have even succeeded. But as it was, we were doomed, and by the end of October 1995 about 90 workers, including me, out of 450 were laid off.
Though I was far from happy to lose my job, I at least agreed with the logic behind the decision to let me go. I was young and I had no family and no mortgage. I was not in desperate need of the health benefits. My prospects of recovery were better than others.
Cut adrift from the American work force, I decided I had to resort to guerrilla tactics. It wasn't my idea to get laid off, and I had done little to deserve it. As I saw it, any means I used to job the system was fair game.
This logic led me to The Letter. To collect unemployment, I had to make two good faith efforts a week to find a job and keep records of whom I had contacted. I could not turn down a suitable job and continue to collect unemployment. Well, the state of North Carolina and I were at odds about what was "suitable." The state seemed to think that anything that paid above $13,500 a year was suitable. Wanting more shelter than a cardboard box, I was after a higher salary.
So I began sending my resume to newspapers with a cover letter that was similar to the following:
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing in response to your job opening on the Observer's copy desk. I think you will see from my resume that I am amply qualified to contribute to your paper's continuing success.
As you might have heard, the (name of paper where I worked) recently eliminated about 90 positions in a reorganization. Beyond belief, my job was one of those cut. But my loss of employment had more to do with the carping of inadequate co-workers and obviously threatened superiors than it did with performance.
I can bring many things to your newspaper. Not only am I an experienced copy editor, I am a man of destiny. I eagerly look forward to purging your copy desk of any taint of inferiority.
I await your contact, at which time I will tell you under what terms I will join your staff.
Sincerely,
John Parnell
I would have loved to have seen the paper that would have contacted me after getting that. But that wasn't the point. The point was I stuck to the letter of my agreement with the state. But maybe instead of being in "good faith," it was in "good enough faith."
Sadly, I never did take revenge on The Gang of Five, though I did have ideas. Paul, a fellow casualty of the layoffs, and I would have lunch once a week to get much needed laughs and plot outrageous payback. The best idea we had dame when we were eating at a bohemian dines. This diner had a bulletin board that was full of fliers for poetry slams, bookreadings band performances, etc. Since we knew that one of The Gang of Five had just bought a new house, we thought about putting up a flier that said, "POETRY SLAM!! Come to (address of the new house)! Bring you best verses, and throw them into the arena! Aging performance artist pretending to be outraged homeowner will greet you at door. Ignore or tip him -- your choice."
I look back on those times with no real fondness; nobody who has lost a job would do so. But I did feel like I had made the best of a bad situation, and, in a slightly demented fashion, fought a good fight.
Like in some dime-store Western novel, trouble blew in with a stranger. About 11 1/2 years ago, I returned from vacation to the newspaper where I worked in North Carolina and saw some dweeby-looking guy walking about the newsroom as though he had full run of the place. The next day, I saw another and began wondering if the paper's basement housed a mad scientist who was creating geeks from the body parts of dead chess club members.
Sadly, the paper wasn't so lucky. The poo-bahs soon told us that the strangers in our midst were consultants who would "help us become more efficient." Naturally, this could lead to "some workers" losing their jobs, but those of us who worked hard had little to fear. It was the first of many lies that the "Reorganization Committee" -- or as I called them, "The Gang of Five" -- shoved down our throats.
The first hint that we were sliding into an Orwellian Bizzaroland came when The Gang of Five began issuing a company newsletter that ostensibly was supposed to be a conduit of straight talk about what was going on. Here's a sample of the straight talk: "Power is organized thought expressed through intelligent effort." That, folks, is gibberish; it might as well be the babblings of a toddler whose parents are motivational speakers. See, I can rearrange the words, and it makes just as much sense: "Intelligence is the organized effort to express powerful thought." "Organized effort is power from intelligent expression and thought."
That mantra made no sense, but it was a powerful tool for a dark purpose: It helped drive down the language. It made it possible for The Gang of Five to use language to conceal rather than reveal. Soon, it was only a short jump to such statements as "You know, sometimes it's a good thing to lose your job." Why? Because some of us were in "low-value jobs," and it was in our best interests (little did we simpletons know) to go out and find our "true value" in the job market. To say that the newsroom responded with contempt to such mallarkey is a gross understatement.
It would have been nice if we had been able to stage armed resistance; with North Carolina's broad interpretation of the Second Amendment, that might have even succeeded. But as it was, we were doomed, and by the end of October 1995 about 90 workers, including me, out of 450 were laid off.
Though I was far from happy to lose my job, I at least agreed with the logic behind the decision to let me go. I was young and I had no family and no mortgage. I was not in desperate need of the health benefits. My prospects of recovery were better than others.
Cut adrift from the American work force, I decided I had to resort to guerrilla tactics. It wasn't my idea to get laid off, and I had done little to deserve it. As I saw it, any means I used to job the system was fair game.
This logic led me to The Letter. To collect unemployment, I had to make two good faith efforts a week to find a job and keep records of whom I had contacted. I could not turn down a suitable job and continue to collect unemployment. Well, the state of North Carolina and I were at odds about what was "suitable." The state seemed to think that anything that paid above $13,500 a year was suitable. Wanting more shelter than a cardboard box, I was after a higher salary.
So I began sending my resume to newspapers with a cover letter that was similar to the following:
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing in response to your job opening on the Observer's copy desk. I think you will see from my resume that I am amply qualified to contribute to your paper's continuing success.
As you might have heard, the (name of paper where I worked) recently eliminated about 90 positions in a reorganization. Beyond belief, my job was one of those cut. But my loss of employment had more to do with the carping of inadequate co-workers and obviously threatened superiors than it did with performance.
I can bring many things to your newspaper. Not only am I an experienced copy editor, I am a man of destiny. I eagerly look forward to purging your copy desk of any taint of inferiority.
I await your contact, at which time I will tell you under what terms I will join your staff.
Sincerely,
John Parnell
I would have loved to have seen the paper that would have contacted me after getting that. But that wasn't the point. The point was I stuck to the letter of my agreement with the state. But maybe instead of being in "good faith," it was in "good enough faith."
Sadly, I never did take revenge on The Gang of Five, though I did have ideas. Paul, a fellow casualty of the layoffs, and I would have lunch once a week to get much needed laughs and plot outrageous payback. The best idea we had dame when we were eating at a bohemian dines. This diner had a bulletin board that was full of fliers for poetry slams, bookreadings band performances, etc. Since we knew that one of The Gang of Five had just bought a new house, we thought about putting up a flier that said, "POETRY SLAM!! Come to (address of the new house)! Bring you best verses, and throw them into the arena! Aging performance artist pretending to be outraged homeowner will greet you at door. Ignore or tip him -- your choice."
I look back on those times with no real fondness; nobody who has lost a job would do so. But I did feel like I had made the best of a bad situation, and, in a slightly demented fashion, fought a good fight.
posted by John Parnell at 11:57 AM
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