Lest anyone think I didn’t like them, that really wasn’t the case. We had absolutely nothing in common save their daughter. However, they had many fine qualities. They were absolutely scrupulously honest, and treated their customers far better than the industry average. While I had my differences in how they raised their kids, I had to admit they did a fantastic job — 13 children all married off and gainfully employed, with no drug or alcohol problems and nobody ever in jail. They were deeply involved in their church and donated heavily to it.
They could also be said to be mean spirited at times, treating family worse than the employees. They had absolutely zero interests outside of the Catholic Church and the family. They certainly considered me to be a burden inflicted on them by God, despite my ace record in sales and management for them, and somehow got the idea I was a drunk and couldn’t hold a job. Again, very complex people, and I spent far more time with them than my own family. I worked for them 14 years before Marilyn and I bought a piece of the pie, along with some of her siblings.
I liked them, but I wasn’t planning on a repeat of my previous history with them. Once was quite sufficient.
Big Bob came in and saw me, and Marilyn introduced me to her father. I shook his hand and he mumbled something to me, and then he kissed Harriet. Then he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and headed out of the room, not saying anything to either Marilyn or me. I glanced at Marilyn curiously, but she just smiled. That was a good greeting, as I recalled.
Marilyn sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen island, so I sat down next to her. It was surprisingly quiet in the house, although I suppose that is a relative term when there are ten kids around. Michael kept running through, and Harriet kept shooing him out. A little girl, Ruth, about two or so, wandered through and Marilyn had to change her diaper, but as soon as that was done, she wandered away again. The newest addition, maybe a month or two old, was Peter, and he was sleeping and rocking in a little baby chair gizmo on the end of the counter. Otherwise, that was it. None of Marilyn’s other brothers were around.
Harriet wasn’t making dinner, since it was Friday. This was always pizza night, for decades! It was a good thing, too, since I was not looking forward to dining there otherwise. Marilyn was without question the worst cook in the world, but she came by it honestly. Her mother was the second worst cook in the world. I always found it significant that every single one of the kids found a spouse (even the girls) who was a massively better cook than what they grew up with. Partly this was because of Big Bob, whose taste buds must have been surgically removed as a child. Salt and pepper were exotic foreign spices. Worse, all meats had to be cooked thoroughly. Forget rare, even well done wasn’t well done enough! If it was at all moist and flavorful, that simply meant it needed to be cooked some more, to make sure it was thoroughly cooked. I planned to take Marilyn to dinner on Saturday night, and make sure I departed on Sunday before supper.
The quiet was short lived. By about five-thirty teenage boys started filing into the kitchen, to be surprised by the new face sitting there. Part of Marilyn’s problem was that after she came along, there were seven boys, all of whom she was expected to help take care of, since she was a girl. By now she was treated as the second mother, only without the respect that their real mother got. Most of the boys treated her like furniture. Then again, in a lot of ways, it was way better than my family, even on the last go-around. Like I said, I generally preferred her family’s company to mine. Two boys were given some cash and sent out to pick up the pizzas. Here’s the list of family members:
Marilyn, my beloved, just turned 19 over the summer. Yes, she was actually older than I was, by a few months. I never let her forget this, that she was an older woman. It made my birthdays so much easier.
Matthew — 18, just out of high school and driving a truck for Lefleur. He was a pretty good guy, cranky as hell at times, but a good friend. He and Marilyn basically bracketed me in age.
Mark — 17, senior at Notre Dame. Very smart, he ended up going into sales for Lefleur. He had arrogance by the bucket load! He made me look humble. He rose to be Number 2 in the firm, and when Big Bob didn’t name him boss in the mid-90s, he took his marbles and went home. He quit and bought a dealership 60 miles away and went into business for himself. There was a huge amount of bad blood over that! Good businessman, and a good person, but not on Marilyn’s or my list of good friends.
Luke — 15, sophomore at Notre Dame. Ended up running the contracting business at Lefleur. Not the most personable fellow. Actually, kind of a rude prick. Half the company wanted nothing to do with him, including me. He had on a cast on his left arm, from playing football. All of the boys were jocks, and over the years there were enough casts and bandages to pay for an orthopedic wing at the local hospital. That always made me think that while they were jocks, they weren’t good jocks.
John — 13, freshman at Notre Dame. Very personable and very smart. John ended up actually running the show at Lefleur after we all bought it. He was a dream to work for. He handled setup and service. We became good friends.
Gabriel — 11, junior high at St. Peter’s. Also very personable and smart. He ended up running sales at Lefleur. I spent half my time reporting to him and the other half reporting to John, but it really wasn’t confusing. Also a good friend. He went to college at Siena for business.
Rafael — 10, elementary at St. Peter’s. Extremely volatile. Worked in sales and accounting for the company, but I can’t say he was any great shakes at either. Half the time I wondered how he managed to survive, but a rising tide raises all boats, so to speak. Most of his positions amounted to where he could do the least damage. Very prickly, and not a friend. He went to college at St. John Fisher for history.
Michael — 6, just started St. Peter’s. Very friendly and a natural born salesman. By 16 he was working for Lefleur in sales, and rose to Number 2 in sales. He died in his mid-40s from cancer. A hell of a nice guy!
Ruth — 2. There was a four year span between the oldest eight and the youngest five, and Ruth was the first of the ‘second family.’ There was actually some resentment among these kids, and most of them wanted nothing to do with the company. Ruth was quite unfortunate, in that she looked a lot like her mother (ugly and morbidly obese) and had the IQ and personality of a rock. Literally! We employed her in positions where she could do the least damage, and then monitored her closely to fix what she still managed to fuck up. She was our flower girl.
Peter — newborn. Peter wanted nothing to do with the company and went to college to become a physical therapist. Nice guy, married a tiny little redhead who was smoking hot, and they had four kids. He was the ring bearer at our wedding.
Still to come, in future years:
Paul — Worked for many years as our dispatcher, but then transitioned to sales, where he proved to be an absolute genius! Nice guy, he married one of our salesladies.
Sarah — Grew up to become a school teacher. When Harriet and Big Bob passed away, she became one of the executors, and was an incredibly meddlesome troublemaker at it. She made very few friends in the ‘first family.’
Miriam — Also became a physical therapist. She was also a meddlesome troublemaker when Harriet died. Harriet developed liver cancer, and Sarah, Miriam, and Ruth would argue over the treatment. Harriet ended up listening to the last one around, so she ended up changing her treatment and doctors several times, to the point where nothing could save her. Then the three of them repeated the process when Big Bob got melanoma two years later.