Today, though, was a red-letter day for the staff. They were getting a visitor. Someone who wanted to do business with them. This was such an unusual occurrence that the firm’s president, Herman Mehr, an elderly attorney who ordinarily showed up at the offices only for the nonattended annual shareholders’ meeting, was today sitting at the ornate half-century-old chairman’s desk waiting to see me.

“Mr. Mehr,” I began, “I’m your competitor. I distribute brochures to all the hotels in New York. Here are photos of my displays and a list of my clients. You’re in none of these hotels. You’ve just got one old rack in the Commodore and one in the Taft. Yet you’ve got all the airlines and I don’t. I tried to get them from you, but I couldn’t. Sooner or later, though, we both know you’re gonna lose them when someone up at marketing walks into a lobby and finds out your whole service is phony. Plus, you’re obviously paying the driver plenty to run around and give out the packets, which are only getting thrown away. Why not pay the money to me and I’ll give you real distribution?”

“I’ve got a different idea, young man,” he said. “You seem full of energy. Why don’t you just give me a hundred thousand dollars and buy the company, and you can do whatever you want? Then we can close down this money-losing operation, make a distribution to shareholders, sell the corporate assets, and fund everyone’s pension plan so me and the girls can retire. Is the old man moving too fast for you?” He chuckled.

Mr. Mehr was practically dancing around the desk. Like Sleeping Beauty waiting for the prince, he must have spent decades, waiting, hoping, and praying for a competitor to emerge to buy him out. Now the prince had finally shown, and he was thrilled. “Let me see the books,” I said.

The books showed that even though Timetable hadn’t raised their prices in a decade, they were still taking in thousands a month from the airlines. All this money, though, was being spent distributing the brochures to hundreds of rural cities the airlines didn’t even fly to. The balance was going to pay for the loft and the elderly dowagers who answered the phone, did the books, and sent out the bills. My free basement in the Bronx could easily replace the loft and an extra half hour’s work a month could more than replace the output of Timetable’s aged clerical staff. That would instantly put us in the black.

“Why are you distributing to all these rural towns?” I asked.

“Because we always have,” he rejoindered.

“But why? You’re distributing for the big airlines and they don’t fly anywhere near these places.”


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