"CRAZY BOSSES"

Upon entering the workforce in 1974, I hoped for an uplifting experience. How soon I became disillusioned.

“CRAZY BOSSES”

Some bosses are nurturing and inspiring. All too often they intimidate and disappoint. Upon entering the workforce in 1974, I hoped for an uplifting experience. How soon I became disillusioned.

         Anyone wishing for a great boss has likely been let down by the unqualified and overbearing, unpredictable or downright mean. For example:

         — A program supervisor goes AWOL during a crisis, leaving 22-year-old me in charge of a major governmental research project. Major snafus ensue.

         — The company president starts brainstorming at 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve, ordering all staffers to work until 8:30 that snowy Cleveland night. Thanks, Mr. Scrooge!

         — This same man accuses me of having sex on the “client” couch in his private office. Turns out, it was his business partner who was being naughty just to spite him.

         One of my all-time “crazy boss” anecdotes involves a trip to Philadelphia for an industrial photo shoot during a labor strike.

         “Don’t worry. You’ll get into the factory,” my arrogant fearless leader said.

         “But they’re on strike,” I protested.

         He waved off my concerns: “Just don’t screw up.”

         At the Philly airport I rented a station wagon for the photography crew, and we headed to the site—a gritty area near the docks where scenes from “Rocky” were filmed. The closer we got, the more anxiety I felt. The main gate was guarded by some two dozen burly, grizzled workers. No picket signs, but they were definitely on strike. As our car approached, we were swarmed by angry men. They leaned on the car, grumbling and cursing.

         “Hey, guys, how’s it going?” I asked the ringleaders within spitting distance. “We respect your strike, but we have to take some photos in that building, OK?”

         “Not today you ain’t,” one guy said. “Hey, we got families,” said another. “Get the hell outta here,” said a third.

         I overheard talk about one of their crew “decking a cop” the day before. Still I persisted, again asking if they could let us through for just an hour or so. That’s when some strikers started rocking the station wagon. My photographer leaned over and said: “There’s $25,000 worth of gear in this car. Shut up and go.”

         So we did. I called my all-knowing employer from a phone booth a few blocks away (Yes, this was before cell phones.), explaining that we couldn’t get on site because of the strike.

        “Can’t you shoot a long-distance photo?”

       “What good would that do? The equipment is inside the building.”

       “Right. OK, then come on back.”

        How I wanted to say: “I told you so.” But even a crazy boss deserves a break now and then.

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