I served with the Colonel.
There. I said it. I don’t know if I’m proud of it or not, but
it was a part of my life I can’t deny happened.
In the mid-1960’s I took a job at a local drive-in fast food
restaurant in Fort Worth. My position was
to run a subsidiary business within the store serving a pressure fried
chicken. I didn’t know anything about
this chicken from Kentucky except it wasn’t like any fried chicken I’d ever
tasted. But it wasn’t bad. One of the perks was I could eat all I
wanted, and to a growing teenager, this was as good as money.
About six months into the job, my manager (a kid a year
younger than me) quit, and someone from an office somewhere showed up to
promote me. Other than that, nothing
changed. I still did all the work, and
I still worked both shifts. About two
months into being a manager I was asked why I hadn’t hired someone to help
me. For some reason I replied, “Why
hire someone we don’t need?”
The powers that be liked that answer and told me I was just
the person they were looking for to run the new free-standing store they were
building. It was located near where I
was living, and it included a big raise.
(I was making $1.05 per hour and would be raised up to $1.25, which was
minimum wage at the time.) This was big
money to me.
The new store was a challenge for the company to open and it
took longer than expected to get the new equipment to work properly; however, I
was right there with the problems and helped to get them solved. What I didn’t realize was the real
challenges would come when hiring new staff to be trained to operate the
restaurant. Wow. What a learning curve. Since the store was located just a few
blocks away from my high school (yeah, I was still in school at this time) most
of the applicants were people I knew.
And I knew I didn’t want THEM working for me. It took a while, but eventually we were staffed and trained.
Opening day saw a rush of hundreds of customers wanting to
try this strange new chicken, and everyone was up for the task of sending them
on their way with bags, boxes, and buckets filled with food. It was hard work, but we were successful,
and it didn’t go unnoticed by the area supervisors.
For many months I kept a tight reign on the operation. Every day I inspected each person’s
appearance to make certain the required “uniform” was worn, and all the men
were wearing their ribbon bow tie. I
also made certain the building was cleaned every day in every corner and that
everything not in use was in its proper place.
It was a lot of extra work to do this, but I figured if I kept it clean
from day one, it would be easier to maintain than having to do it all at once
every month or so. This actually paid
off.
The store had been open for about ten months and several of
my employees were getting very tired of the cleaning routine. I can’t really blame them. I hate cleaning as much as the next person,
but if they were cleaning, then I was cleaning. I didn’t exempt myself, and this is what probably prevented a
mutiny. Then I received a phone call.
“The Colonel is on his way over!” A store manager across town called to let me know he had received
a surprise visit from The Colonel, and the results weren’t pretty. Several employees were fired on the spot,
and the manager was taking a pay cut. I
almost panicked. I had less than thirty
minutes to prepare, so I went to each employee, explained the situation, and
hoped for the best.
I had never seen the Colonel before other than his likeness
on the buckets of chicken, but I would have known him anywhere. Few persons were ever as distinctive
appearing as the Colonel. White hair,
white beard, white suit, black ribbon tie, and a gold handled cane. His image is forever burned into my brain.
He walked in with an entourage of what I now call “Yes”
men. The Colonel stared a me for a
minute until I finally got up the courage to introduce myself and offered to
show him around. He grumped out some
words my direction and began his own inspection of the place.
The first thing he did was put on a pair of white gloves and
reach above the door to wipe a finger across the sill. Nothing.
He looked surprised. He then set
one of his men to counting the cash register and comparing it to receipts. It was to the penny. He grabbed a chicken drumstick and gave it a
tug. The bone slipped out
properly. He lifted up several of the
floor mats in the kitchen and found a clean floor under them. He examined the food storage facilities and
came out of the rooms looking puzzled.
He even watched as one of the staff prepared the chicken for the cooker
just to see if it was being done the official way. Then he motioned me over to one of the booths and asked me to sit
down.
“How much warning did you have there, boy?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Tell me the truth, now.
I know it took longer than twenty minutes to get this place clean like
this.”
“Yes, sir. I started
cleaning it the day we opened almost a year ago. All I did today was tell the workers you would be stopping by.
I was dismissed to help with the customers (it wasn’t busy
at that time, but there was still some traffic) while he interviewed each of
the employees. Later he had me join him
again.
“Well, I believe you told me the truth. I’ll see to it everyone here gets a 20-cent
raise for doing things the right way.”
He then reached over and grabbed one of the ribbons of my bow tie and
pinned a likeness of himself onto it.
“I don’t give many of these away.
Don’t lose it.”
That twenty-cent raise kept the employees happy about cleaning
the place for about two weeks, but still with Twinkies costing a nickel a
package, it was a lot of money.
I never saw the Colonel in person again, but I still
remember his words to me, “Don’t lose it.”
I didn’t.
