chance meeting

Afternoon in the town of Naas.
Bright and breezy.
I stepped from the Costa cafe onto Main Street and who did I meet.
Why if it wasn't Ron Baines.
(Actually it wasn't Ron Baines. That's not his real name. But you know what Heelers means. - Ed note.)
Former printer at the Leinster Leader.
Turfed out of his job by the Johnston Press the new British owners of the company a few months before I was.
He'd been working for the Leinster Leader for fifty years.
They told him he was finishing with no advance warning and without so much as a word of thanks.
He was to finish that very day.
Classy classy people the Johnston Press.
Life is local, as they say in their motto.
And some of us never forget.
After his firing I wrote a letter to management which among other things warned them that treating a man in this way would bring the newspaper into disrepute.
That was just before the b-----ds fired me.
Hilarious, no?
So here we were.
We hadn't seen each other in a few years.
Ron and I shook hands.
"Any regrets about the Leinster Leader?" I asked him.
He shrugged.
"For three months I was inconsolable," he told me. "I was walking around the streets like a man possessed. I was horrible to my family. Really, really horrible. Then it passed. I got on with life. The good thing is I've spent all the time since then saying sorry to my family. They love that. I went to the Labour Court about my job. It was funny. The Chairman of the commission told the management: You're not in England now; We have certain redundancy laws in Ireland; You'd better come up with a better offer for this man or I'll come up with a better offer for you."
We stood for a moment in silence.
"You're richer than they are Ron," I said. "People in the community respect you and your family love you."
He grinned.
"As I was leaving work the day they told me to go," he said. "no one from management came near me. Not to say a few words, not to say goodbye, nothing. I thought to myself: I'm not just slinking out the door. I went up the stairs. Knocked on the three doors. Went in to each of them. Said: Well, I'm off, after fifty years, cheerio. And that was that. They've all left the company themselves since. One way or another."
I nodded.
Classy people indeed.
You know gentle travellers of the internet, there's an odd justice when people start the Hire-um and Fire-um game.
The ones doing the hiring and firing can themselves never be at peace.
The standard that they use is the standard they are measured by.
During their own short careers they spend most of their time looking over their shoulders for fear they'll be treated the same way they've treated everyone else.
They never know who is going to be next.
I kid you not.
"Why did they do it James?" Ron said suddenly.
"Do what?" sez I.
"Let so many people go?" said he.
"Umph," I said.
Another silence.
"They got rid of a whole heap of people from advertising," he recalled, "and they were the ones who'd been bringing in the money. It made no sense."
I sighed.
"Why did they do it James?" he said again. "They must have had some reason for their actions."
"They did it because they've no values," I said simply. "They'd paid 140 million for a newspaper that was bringing in a million a year. It was a stupid price to pay. And the way they treated us was the price of them. It was a measure of their class. Some idiot bank, from among the corrupt banks that are currently threatening to collapse the world economy, some idiot bank I say, lent them the money to make the purchase. They were left trying to make back their investment by firing long term staff and hiring cheap newcomers. The Leinster Leader had existed for 120 years. It was making a profit. It had weathered ten recessions, two world wars, the War On Terror, and the first onslaught of internet competition. It could have existed for another 120 years no problem. But only a few of us foresaw that members of our own management were quietly giving themselves shares in the company and that they'd want to sell out those shares to a bunch of Brits who didn't know any of us from Adam. That was the problem. Our own management didn't want to spend fifty years working for a living. They wanted to cash in their shares and play golf."
Ron looked rueful.
"But here's the thing," I went on. "The people who sold out the company aren't all doing so well. Every now and then I hear one of them is terminally ill or mentally deranged or something else. May God forgive me for exulting in the downfall of my enemies. Such a useless shower. I'll tell you this. They certainly haven't all gotten to enjoy their ten millions. I don't need to be vengeful. I know God will see to it they get what they deserve. Which would you prefer Ron, to be on your death bed with ten million in the bank or to be like us, healthy and free and honorable?"
We chatted for a while longer, saying many many many interesting things.
When I left him, I felt the beginnings of a new peace.
Yes.
I'm finally letting it go.