What was going on here? Sure, he’d been a few minutes late, but he couldn’t imagine that all his coworkers had decided he was some kind of superhero simply because he’d dared come last to a memorial service. He played with the idea that D-Bob had circulated a memo describing Gus’ plan for tackling the issue of orphan drugs. Certainly some of them would have thought highly of him for doing that. But he noticed at least six people in the crowd who had fairly major profit sharing in their deals, and his plan was almost certain to depress the company’s income for at least a couple of years. Even if they approved emotionally of what he was trying to do, there was no way they would be this thoroughly enamored of him.
Most likely this was some kind of prank, a practical joke played on whoever was last to show up. But that would have been in dubious taste if this had been a staff meeting. They were at a memorial service. Who would hijack a funeral and turn it into an episode of Punk’d? Aside from the people who actually made the show, of course, and Gus was pretty sure they were all too busy counting their money to waste their time on him.
Before Gus could figure out what to do there was a stirring at the back of the room, and for the first time since he’d come into the building people turned away from him to watch D-Bob climbing up on the bar and clinking two beer mugs together for attention.
One by one the assembled employees of Benson Pharmaceuticals pulled their gazes away from Gus and toward their leader. He waited until he was sure he had everyone’s attention before he started speaking.
“Steve Ecclesine,” he said thoughtfully. “What can I say about him? That he was a dear friend? A great humanitarian? A warm and loving man who cared about this company less because of the money it could bring in than for all the good it could do in the world?”
Gus managed to catch his deep sigh before it escaped his throat. This was beginning to look like it was going to be a very long afternoon. He wished he’d brought some of his work with him.
“It’s true. I could say all those things about Steve,” D-Bob said. “And you know why that is? Because I own this company, so I can say whatever I want. But the flip side of that is that I don’t have to say anything I don’t want to. And I’m pretty sure that none of you want me to take up your time lying about a man many of you despised and most of the rest loathed.”
Gus had been so busy going over a to-do list for the rest of the week that it took a moment for the words to sink in. Once they did, all thoughts of planning his agenda flew from his mind.
“This is not to say that there is no one here who thought of Steve as a friend and who will miss him,” D-Bob said. “That’s one of the great truths of the human race-as my grandmother used to say, for every old sock, there is an old shoe. To those of you who are feeling the loss of a companion and a compatriot, I salute you.”
D-Bob bent down to the bar and picked up one of the beer mugs, which had now been filled with brown, foamy ale. He hoisted it in the air, held it there for a moment of tribute, then lowered it to his mouth and drained half of it in one gulp.
“But for the rest of you, the ones who are here because you felt it was required, or because it was a day away from the office, who knew Steve as a bully and a brownnoser, or a sanctimonious hypocrite who talked about making the world a better place but really only cared about making a better place for himself, let me just say that I understand your feelings, and maybe even share them a little,” he said.
A ripple of assent ran through the crowded room. Gus expected some angry protests, maybe even a walkout or two, but no one spoke or moved. Maybe D-Bob had been overly kind when he suggested there was anyone in the company who actually cared that Ecclesine was dead.
“Even for those of us who do not mourn the specific loss, the fact of Steve’s death must come as a shock to us,” D-Bob continued. “Because it can only remind us of our own mortality. It was the window in Ecclesine’s office that happened to fall out, but who is to say that it couldn’t have happened to any one of us lucky enough to have an office with a view? Or to any of our female employees that Steve might have called in for one of his standard sessions that never quite crossed over to the level of harassment?”
This time the murmur in the crowd sounded a little angrier, as several women seemed to realize for the first time that their experience was not unique.
“We are all going to die,” D-Bob said. “And it is times like this that we must stop and face that fact. That is what this memorial service is for. We come not to bury Steve Ecclesine, not to mourn him, but to let his death serve this great purpose for all of us. We are going to die, ladies and gentlemen, and in acknowledgment of that sad fact, let us seize this moment to vow that until that blackness descends we will live our lives to the fullest. Let us seize every day, embrace every moment, and cherish all that has been given to us. My employees, my friends, this memorial service is for you!”
He raised the beer glass again and saluted the crowd, who cheered loudly and raised their own glasses back to him.
“We love you, D-Bob!” Gus craned his neck to see who had yelled out, but it could have been almost anyone. The assembled employees were all gazing up at him with such affection he might have been their guru or their sainted father.
“I can tell you this death has affected me greatly,” D-Bob said once the shouts and cheers had died down enough for him to be heard. “Following the other tragic losses at our company, it has forced me to deal with the fact that I won’t be around forever to lead you.”
There were shouts of “No!” and “We love you” from the audience. He smiled and shook them off.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got no plans to go anywhere for a while,” D-Bob said. “But even when I do it’s not going to be a bad thing. A company needs new blood. And even though I like to think my ideas are every bit as fresh as they always have been, one man’s mind can only work in certain ways. We need other voices to stay young. And that’s why I’ve chosen this moment to announce a major change I’m going to be implementing at Benson Pharmaceuticals.”
The mass intake of breath from the crowd nearly sucked the light fixtures from the ceiling. Even Gus found that he was holding a lungful of air and he had to force himself to exhale.
“For years our executive structure has been simple and direct,” D-Bob said. “There’s me and then there’s everyone else. Sure, some of you have bigger offices or fancier titles. You’ve probably noticed we’ve got a lot of vice presidents in our company. But in terms of decision making, it’s been you wonderful people coming up with ideas, and me choosing whether or not to implement them. And it didn’t matter if that idea came from a senior vice president or the parking attendant in the garage. A good idea is a good idea and a bad idea can spark a good one.”
The crowd cheered at the sound of D-Bob’s favorite saying, but Gus was still stuck on the earlier part of the paragraph. There was no difference in the company between a vice president and a secretary? Had all his progress been meaningless? Was he simply fooling himself when he believed that he’d really found a place where he was valued?
“Our love of ideas isn’t going to change,” D-Bob said. “No matter what else happens, I can assure you of that. But I’ve realized it’s wrong for me to be the sole decision maker in this company. It’s time for me to start sharing some of those responsibilities, so that if something does happen to me, the company can still go on the way we all envision it. And that’s why I’m announcing that I am stepping aside as president of Benson Pharmaceuticals.”
For a moment, the audience was completely still. Then it erupted into murmurs, and then shouts of “No!” and “We love you!” D-Bob let the noise build, and then held up his hands for quiet.