"Little" Sister Pt. 05

We wrapped things up, appropriately enough, on April Fool's Day. I was exhausted. I talked to Sean. He told me I had delegation problems and suggested a Red Sox game. Not having a better idea, I collected everyone that was not nailed down and went to Fenway Park. It was a day game, cold and drizzly, but could have been worse. The Red Sox beat the Tigers, so the small crowd was in a good mood. I cannot say the same about the ballpark food.

After the game I took everyone to an Irish bar. St. Patrick's green was still up (it might never come down), but otherwise it was an ordinary bar. At least the sandwiches were better. We laughed and talked til about ten PM. Without thinking about it, I noted who drank too much, who talked too loudly, who stayed back and watched everyone else, and who kept order. I did a last call and headed home.

As I did my daily notes, I was reminded of the hundreds of times I did notes while in college and grad school. Like my research notes, these involved what people said, what they merely mouthed and my personal observations. Yet, these were much more personal. Sean was right. I could tell who was the leader from who was the water carrier. What was interesting was pecking order.

High on the list was someone that did not go to the baseball game. The organization in Boston revolved around Veronica. Every sign pointed to her as the center of activity. She once put a ring in my nose, so perhaps it was no wonder. I decided to make my appreciation more visible. If nothing else, it would reinforce her status as local boss.

The next day was Thursday. I told Veronica and Vivian to be available after 5 PM. Vivian was a Midwest girl, so she was out of place everywhere. Roni was from Connecticut, so seafood was a way of life. So were bars, but that was a different story. Neither was upper crust, so I chose Union St. Oyster Bar, next to the Capital. The Kennedy's used to hang out there, prior to the 1960 election. The bar was still known for their oysters-on-the-half-shell and steamed shellfish platters.

Four of us—myself, Elspeth, Veronica and Vivian—walked in about half past six. Even on a Thursday, with the Sox on an off day, there was a nice crowd. I hoped for that much. What I did not expect was every eye tracking our movements. At first I put it down to a potential group of females to pick up. My lip reading skills disabused that idea.

I was pegged as a political player, and the others as my aides. Veronica was selected as my Chief of Staff, but no one could place me. I thought it was funny, until the smart phones started turning up names. Elspeth was quickly pegged as local aristocracy, but that was counted in my tally. Veronica was next. She was pegged as an agitator that had come up in the world. Veronica led them to Vivian, since they had been working closely.

The confusion revolved around me. I was (evidently) the one in charge, but my face was not in the local media. Someone tracked FDC, through Veronica and Vivian, which led them to Concord New Hampshire. Still no luck. The first hit was the wedding, specifically the NY Times Magazine coverage. Once they had a name, everything fell out. While this was going on, our tray of two dozen oysters arrived.

As we ate the oysters, I told the table to be prepared for questions. Vivian looked confused, but Elspeth expected something and Veronica lived by the political pulse. I was still applying hot sauce to my next oyster when the first reporter/stringer/information peddler came up. I motioned him close.

"Tell everyone to play some pool while we eat. When we get done, I'll play the winners for some questions—but only winners. I'm warning you, you'll need some stick to get any answers. Shoo. Anyone that jumps the line, you can thump." I winked at the last. Nothing makes a game as interesting as a challenge. They would police each other for me.

Dinner was a bit strained, because everyone knew that we were being recorded. I would have, if I were a political wonk or a reporter. I just told the girls that everything would soon be clear. Half an hour later, it was time to make good my boasts and promises.

Bars breed dart, shuffleboard and pool players. I had some instruction in the game, and some native talent, but I did not expect to win my way out. I did not, but I made them sweat. To the winner, I promised fair answers to three questions, which he could prepare while I visited the toilet. When I returned a video press conference was set up. Things like this could go to my head.

Brighton Bartkowski: This is Brighton Bartkowski. I am speaking to Dr. She-o-vann Richards, Alderman of Nashua New Hampshire and owner of FD Consulting, which has offices on Boston's South side. Dr. Richards, what brings you to Boston today?

Siobhan Richards: Oysters. I let the single word stand long enough to get some titters.

Yesterday we did a team building event at the final game of the Red Sox home stand. I was hoping for a home run ball from Papi, but no joy. Tonight, I am announcing the new heads of my Boston team: Veronica VanKampen and Dr. Vivian Wright, MIT and Dartmouth. Vivian is our number cruncher. Veronica handles the brass knuckles. That brought some laughter, as intended, but it died, also as intended.

BB: You are an Alderman in Nashua New Hampshire. Much of your business is in Concord New Hampshire and Manchester New Hampshire. In Boston, you are best known for mediating a real estate deal in Roxbury. What brings you downtown?

SR: Same answer as the first time, oysters. Wink. This bar is almost two hundred years old. I grew up in a house that's older, but I'm unusual. I wanted my team to get a taste for history. It does not hurt that it's a political bar. FDC does political consulting, so we may wind up here on occasion. I wanted them to know that a bar is a bar, even if JFK used to have a regular booth.

BB: What are your plans after Boston?

SR: That's a question for which I have no definitive answer. I will go back to Nashua. I recently purchased some acreage there, with a very old house, which I call Cloudrest. A great deal of work must be done to make it livable. Fortunately, there is a lot of help available and interest in a well documented restoration.

This spring I hope to establish a river dock—it's on the Merrimack River—and a good path from the dock to the main house complex. There is an overgrown orchard to prune and many maple trees for next winter. The land was tree harvested about 1800, so there are a large number of two hundred year old trees. Some should be thinned. The house itself is going to be designed by contest. I'll give you the online information.

Other than that, I plan to watch my people do their jobs.

That was the end of the interview. I had no idea what would become of it. The first thing B Bart asked, off the record, was if I really grew up in a two hundred year old house. Vivian, who knew it well, laughed. Elspeth had pictures ready, plus the article in the architectural quarterly. When he asked if I had anything to do with the merry-go-round wedding, I felt like patting him on his pointy little head. Next time shooting pool would not be the standard to earn an interview—unless I wanted a softy.

Friday I was serious about upgrading the office space. I rented the 4^th floor of a building. Sean supplied me with a construction foreman (New Jersey was between projects). Mimi supplied another couple of hundred prospects, which we boiled down to three or four good workers. I turned down so many, I was afraid that the well would dry up. Mimi told me that my reputation was gold, that people were begging for a heads up on my jobs. Strange. I turn down 99%, but the 1% gets all the attention.

I turned the floor into advertised space for my consulting/lobbying firm and unadvertised space for the security people. It was about 60/40, but security was growing faster. Mimi was referring all her ex-military officers, SP and MP to us.

I took out an option on another floor, just in case. Security was not just growing, it was a cash cow. It turns out business owners like ex-military personnel doing their security. They seem to think it implied a willingness to use deadly force. Whatever floated their check. We were not earning it.

In all, things were far beyond my ability to keep track. Sean was giving me a great deal of top drawer consulting time at bargain basement prices. Without it we would have been lost. I mentioned I pirated two of his consultants. One, Hank Johnson, was now FDC's Chief Financial Officer. He hired half a dozen ex-quartermaster types, plus a couple of non-Ivy League MBAs. We would be contracting out next tax season.

It was so confusing, I finally called a conference. I reorganized everything into divisions, patterning on Richards Enterprises. In Concord there was the lobbying division and the legal division. In Manchester, there was a civic consulting division. In Boston we had statistical consulting, a (new) lobbying division, a legal liaison division and security, under Richard Harold. In Nashua, we had a small division for my personal use.

I had a lawyer draw it all up as a Delaware company, FDC LLC, with myself as managing director. My two best Concord people, Doris Miller and Howard Cockerham, Elspeth, Vivian, Veronica, Hank Johnson and Richard Harold were my Board. They all received 5% shares, for 35% the company, while I retained 65%.

I thought it was small change, but 5% of anything was more than some had ever owned. They had the authority to run things, which is what I told them all to do. As a parting gift, I gave them all PDAs on an integrated platform George designed for Silicon Valley. I almost felt badly about going to Nashua, with no intention of answering for a month.

Almost, but not quite. I was tired.