Territory Manager

I once again apologize, this is a long story. There are a couple of sub plots that I thought were necessary, so it did get long. There is some sex, but not a lot. If you are looking for a quick, heavy sex story, this is not it. There are lots of great authors that do that much better than I can.

If you do read it, I hope you enjoy it.

TERRITORY MANAGER

I wondered what this meeting was going to be about. I was actually slightly nervous, walking into the familiar back office conference room. This was a place I had been many times before. I was also curious. There had been some gossip about changes at B&B, but no one knew what exactly. I glanced in at Mr Bellows office as I walked by. Door part way open, overhead light off, desk light on. For some reason it appeared a little more vacant than normal.

There was a large rectangular table in the conference room, this was where we had our monthly sales meetings. I sat on the far side with a view of the back parking lot. Next to me was Marcia. Across from us were Kevin and a few others. At the front of the room stood Mr Bellows, his son Ted, and a tall smiling gentleman I had never seen before.

That morning I had mentioned to Crystal that I was a little worried about the abruptly planned company meeting. We got the email at 5:30 last night, for an 8 AM meeting this morning. Normally our meetings are on Fridays, not in the middle of the week.

"Oh Roger," Crystal replied. "What are you worried about? Your sales are up, you are doing a great job. Mr Bellows thinks the world of you." She went on. "You worry too much"

She was right. My business was way up and it was less than six months ago that Mr Bellows, Arthur, had told me during my review that I was 'important to the business'.

Things were going well for me at B&B. And Crystal and I were doing great also I thought. I just guess I didn't want anything to change. As I contemplated this, that Wednesday morning in the conference room, the door closed and Arthur Bellows stood.

"Everyone, thank you all for being here on such short notice. Especially you, Louisa, I know it was a long drive for you." He began. Arms clasped behind his back he took a moment to compose himself before going on.

"As you all know Ted has taken on a larger role with our business," he said nodding to Ted Bellows, his son. "As our business has grown, thanks to your strong sales efforts, we need to keep up with changes in the business environment." He went on.

At this point I noticed the tall man edging towards the front of the conference room table, asserting himself into the fringes of the spotlight. For whatever reason, I could tell I did not like this guy. Cocky, smarmy looking. I studied him. I didn't trust him.

"So with that, I will be retiring at the end of the year and Ted will take over. I'll still be around. But effective mid December, Ted will be president of Burton and Bellows." Mr Bellows announced.

With that, the younger Bellows, Ted, stood, shook his father's hand, and addressed the group. Ted is quite different from his father I had observed. A nice enough person, but he's a CPA, slightly introverted, intelligent, but in the building material industry it's a lot about personal relationships. This did not seem to be Ted's strength.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I can not tell you how proud I am of this group. The growth we have made in our business over the last few years is outstanding." Ted told us. He was not the natural orator his father was either, but he seemed sincere.

I noticed the tall man continuing to inch his way toward the front. He had a phony smile on his face, nodding at Ted's comments, occasionally donning an expression of solemnity and gazing upwards as if in heavy contemplation of Ted's words.

"And with that," Ted went on as he turned toward the tall stranger, "I would now like to introduce you to our new Director of Sales, Gordon Dobler."

The tall man grasped Ted's hand, shook it, all but ignoring Arthur Bellows, and turned to address the group.

Uh oh, I thought.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

To say my life was bumpy growing up would be an understatement. We lived in the city, my mom, my sister and me. I remember a little bit of my dad but he left us by the time I was six. My mom was bitter that he left and never really came out of it. I guess it turned me bitter too.

We would be socioeconomically firmly somewhere between lower middle class and poor. We had food, but three meals a day were certainly nowhere near a guarantee at our house. Holidays and birthdays were a source of stress for the family. I learned early to manage my expectations to help limit my disappointment.

But it still hurt to see the smiling families on TV at Christmas with their decorations and heaps of wrapped presents.

The other thing you always saw in these scenes was a father. That was just one more disappointing thing that was absent in our house.

By sixth grade I was considered a problem kid at school. I was rebellious, angry and a troublemaker. I got in lots of fights. Truth be known. They weren't all my fault. I was one of the smaller kids and I became a target for bullies. The difference between me and the other targets was that I would not often back down.

Towards the end of my sixth grade year I was out on the playground after lunch one day when a group of seventh graders surrounded me. There was one big kid in the group, Charlie Rutherford. For some reason he didn't like me.

"Hey Winters," He said to me. "Looks like you're wearing third hand clothes again." He taunted.

His gang laughed at that. I tried to continue walking, He was wrong about the clothes, they were only second hand. Rutherford stiff-armed my shoulder half spinning me and I was now facing him.

"I wasn't done talking to you, you little midget asshole." He sneered at me, his fat cheeks turning red.

Normally by this time I would've hit him, but I was on school property and I could not afford to get kicked out of this school. I tried to stay calm, stepped around him and continued across the playground.

Whump, I was knocked to the ground. Rutherford had swung his book filled backpack and hit me square between the shoulders. My chin had impacted the cement surface of the playground and was now bleeding.

With a blinding rage I got to my feet, spun around, and faced my bully. His buddies had created a bit of a circle and we were clearly in the center of this impromptu arena.

Charlie Rutherford had to be six inches and at least 50 pounds heavier than me, but I had a blind hot rage going. That rage simmered in me most of the time. With a little bit of prompting it could easily erupt.

And it did.

By the time the teachers had grabbed me Rutherford's face was a bloody mess. I had bitten his left ear and it was dangling by a thread of skin. My hands and face were covered in our combined blood. He was sobbing.

I was sent to the principal's office.

Fortunately someone, and I didn't know who it was, had reported the circumstances of the fight to the teachers. It was clear that I was not the instigator. Nonetheless the beating I had given Charlie Rutherford had to be addressed.

I sat in the outer office waiting for Principal Chalmers to call me in. The secretary had let me into the office restroom to wash up and put a bandaid on my chin. I was dreading the outcome of this confrontation with Chalmers. If I get kicked out of this school my mom was going to kill me.

Finally I was summoned back to the principal's office. I sat in the wooden straight backed chair opposite Principal Chalmers desk. Chalmers was studying his computer monitor, likely reviewing my extensive file. After a few moments he turned his gaze upon me and spoke.

"Roger, why don't you tell me what happened on the playground today." Chalmers addressed me in a neutral voice.

I sat and thought, trying to assemble the correct words. After a moment I told him the truth.

"I was minding my own business and Rutherford picked a fight." I said. "I was just defending myself." I added.

"Defending yourself!?" He exclaimed. "Charlie Rutherford is in the hospital." He told me. "You could've walked away and avoided the whole thing." He went on.

"I tried." I said. "He knocked me down when I tried to walk away." I told him.

Principal Chalmers studied me silently. He then turned toward the monitor. He must have been reading my school file. I saw him give a slight nod as he read something.

"Fortunately for you, young man, others have corroborated your story." He told me. "But that boy was hurt badly." He paused again and said to me, "Roger, you need to straighten up. You have been in a lot of trouble ever since you've been at my school. I have every right to expel you. But I'm going to give you one last chance. Here is what I want you to do."

Principal Chalmers had an old friend, Roosevelt McBee. 'Mac' as he was known, ran the Boys Club near downtown. They had a successful boxing program there. Chalmers said it would teach me discipline and be good for me. I could either sign up for the program at the Boys Club or be suspended for fighting and potentially be expelled.

This was an easy decision. The following day I found myself in the boxing program at the Boys Club.

Everyday after school I would take the green line bus down to fourth avenue and walk two blocks to the crumbling brick Boys Club on second.

Roosevelt McBee was a large no nonsense man with a battered face likely from years of being in the boxing ring. I quickly learned he was fair, but took exactly no shit. He had a firm set of rules and if you were in this Boys Club, you had better abide by Mac's rules. Period.

Day one for me at the club I learned all this. My first half hour each day I was there doing some type of chore at the Boys Club. Sweeping the floor, picking up towels, whatever Mac needed that day. I didn't even have the fifteen dollars a month to belong to the club. Mac made me earn it by helping him on one thing or another.

He taught me a couple of things at the club. Number one, under Mac's supervision I began to learn discipline. Number two, he showed me how to work out and got me in top shape. Number three, he taught me how to box. And I became good.

Since I was less than sixteen years old when I started, I boxed in what is called Silver Gloves at 114 pounds. There was a large boxing club in the north part of our city, the Park Street Community Center. They were the Golden Glove franchisee for our area. Each year the Golden Glove regional was held at Park Street. I boxed Silver Gloves here and did well, winning more of my fights than I lost.

But Golden Gloves was the big thing. If you won regionals you got to go to nationals. That was my goal.

One other positive thing came out of my Boy's Club boxing. Charlie Rutherford and any of the other bullies at school left me alone. There were a few kids from my school who were members of the Boys Club. My boxing ability must have become known.

I continued training at The Boys Club and at age sixteen I became eligible for Golden Gloves. I boxed at 141 pounds. My two best friends from the Boys Club also boxed at the regional tournament. TJ boxed at 178 and Oscar was in the 152 pound category.

My first year at Golden Gloves, my junior year of high school, I lost my second match. The winner of my weight class was a Mexican kid. I studied him. He was fast and he knew how to box. Oscar lost his second match too, but TJ made it to the finals before he lost. We all pledged to work harder to get better for next year.

At regionals the following year I kept my weight down and stayed at 141. TJ was now boxing at 201. Oscar broke his hand two weeks before regionals and could not participate.

I boxed well and made it to the finals. My opponent was the defending champ at 141 pounds, Martin Gomez. I remembered him from last year. I knew he was quick, but so far, my strategy was a straightforward aggressive attack that would quickly put my opponent off balance.

I used that strategy against Gomez and at first it seemed to work. I even had a first round knockdown. I was confident, but then he changed his approach. He kept moving, staying out of range of my attacks while occasionally lashing out with his whip-like jabs.

I went the distance with him, but my frustration at his superior skill angered me and I actually performed worse as the fight went on. The Judges' scorecards showed a clear victory for Gomez. I was angry. When he went to touch gloves after the decision had been announced, I acted like an asshole and ignored him.

Later I found myself sulking in the visitors' locker room. TJ had made it to regionals, and though I was happy for him, I was still so pissed I had lost. Some of the guys came over to talk but I wasn't in the mood.

Finally Oscar came by.

"Roger, sorry man," he told me and patted my shoulder. "Hey, Martin wants to talk to you man." He said.

"Who?" I said, but I knew who he meant.

"You know, the guy you just fought. He's a friend of my cousin and a nice guy." Oscar said. "He just wants to talk to you for a few minutes. Okay if I bring him in?"

I said nothing, Oscar left and five minutes later returned with Martin Gomez.

"Hey man, I just wanted to tell you that you are a hell of a boxer." Gomez told me. "I've fought a lot of guys so far and man, you are the toughest I've met. I'd never been knocked down before, even last year at Nationals, you did it in the first round tonight." He said.

With that I looked up to make sure he was serious.

"Really?" I asked him.

"Oh man!" He said. "That right hand was like a hammer. I saw stars." He told me. "I've never been hit that hard, even sparring with my cousin."

We got to talking and I learned he had been boxing ever since he could put boxing gloves on. He was shooting for the Olympics next year. Last year he was third runner up nationally at Golden Gloves, and was favored to win the 141 pound weight class this year.

One other thing I learned, his cousin was Wilfredo Gomez, the number four ranked WBA professional welterweight.

Suddenly I didn't feel quite as bad as I had just a little while ago.

"I wanted to ask you a favor, " he said to me. "Would you consider sparring with me for the next couple of months before nationals? I really need to workout with someone good. And you're the best around here." He told me.

I agreed and we worked out a schedule. Beyond a great opportunity to box with a potential champion, I learned that Martin was a very good guy. He and I became friends. When he learned I had no set plans after high school graduation, he told me he'd check around for me. That was nice, I thought.

Two weeks before Golden Gloves Nationals after our sparring session Martin handed me a slip of paper.

"My uncle works here. He told me they need a guy for the warehouse. Sounds like a good company," he said. "My Uncle John wants you to call him next week." He added.

I looked at the slip of paper 'Burton and Bellows Building Materials - John Gomez 509 952.....' Hmm I thought. Can't hurt to call him.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Three weeks later I was hired at Burton and Bellows Building Materials. I called John Gomez just as Martin suggested, met the owner Arthur Bellows, and was offered a job. I began working in the warehouse.

The company sold lumber and other building products. I knew nothing about any of this type of stuff when I started. But I learned. I observed something else the more I worked here.

Most people were lazy. And it didn't take much effort to look better than my average co-workers.

After my first year Mr Bellows gave me a raise and talked to me about my future.

"Roger," he began. "There is a career path for you here at B&B. I have received positive reports on how you are doing. I have seen it too. Keep it up and I promise that as long as I am here you will have a job." He went on.

It was probably because I was raised with no father or adult male in my life, other than Mac, but Mr Bellows positive words were very important to me. I became loyal to Arthur Bellows.

One evening after five o'clock I was just finishing loading a delivery truck for the following day. I was the last one left in the warehouse. Mr Bellows walked over.

"Roger," He asked. "What do you think about moving to an inside sales position in the office? You know the products, you work hard and I need another inside person on the phones. What do you think?" He looked at me.

I told him I would love the opportunity.

"Starting on the first of next month, you will be training on the order desk with John Gomez." Mr Bellows said. "And Roger, your salary, effective on the first, is $40,000 per year."

Forty thousand dollars! I didn't know what that meant compared to the eighteen-fifty per hour I was making now, but it sure felt like a lot.

One of the things I noted about working in the office was that you dressed differently than in the warehouse. It was more professional. No more overalls and torn jeans. I observed that the acceptable attire was mainly khakis and polo shirts. I began to dress that way for work.

It took me a while to understand the computer system and to be able to reference inventory. The advantage I had was I knew the products from my time in the warehouse.

One evening after most of the people had gone home Mr Bellows asked me to join him in his office. I always looked forward to this type of time with Mr Bellows. We had good discussions and I always felt better after talking to him.

"How do you like working inside sales?" He asked me once we sat down in his office.

"I'm learning a lot about sales." I told him. "I like it. I'm also learning about our customers. I never realized how different our customers are, and how we need to treat each of them differently based on their business." I commented.

Mr Bellows nodded as he heard my reply. One of the things I appreciated about him was that he seemed to really pay attention when I said something. That made me feel good, as if what I said mattered.

"Roger, you are beginning to really understand our business," he said. "That is good. I have people that have been here ten years or longer that may not really understand things as well as you." He told me.

"I have another question for you, on a different subject." He told me. "What are you doing with your money?" He asked.

My money I thought. Why was he asking me about my money?

"Um," I mumbled. "Saving it mostly." I said.

"Good, good." He nodded. "My boy, our city is set to see increased population growth. And with population growth there will be demand for real estate. One thing you may have learned in business is that prices always follow demand." He went on. "In the next few years real estate prices are going to increase dramatically here."

What he said made sense, I was just unclear why he was telling me all this.

"Roger, I think you should seriously consider buying a house in the area." He told me. "In fact I will be happy to co-sign on the mortgage if you need me to. Here is the realtor I have used. Call him, I urge you and find something soon." He said.

I hadn't even thought about a house, but what Mr Bellows said made sense. I thanked him and decided to take his advice and start looking at houses. I will call this realtor tomorrow, I thought.

Another thing I needed beyond the house was a girlfriend. I had dated some since high school, but nothing long term. There had been my share of pickups and one night stands, but nothing serious.

I guess I kind of felt that my career was going well, I may buy a house, it just seemed natural to have a more serious girlfriend relationship.

Over the next few months some events in my life began to happen. I did buy a small two bedroom - one bath house on the south side of town, not far from where I grew up. Mr Bellows helped me with the mortgage loan and the negotiations with the realtor.