"At two o'clock on a Thursday afternoon in April, our recently anointed president and CEO, Bill Ferry, was scheduled to speak to us in the cafeteria of the Old Building. I left my office on the fifth floor of Building Three a few minutes before two, intending to grab a frozen yogurt before Ferry got started.

Everyone else had the same idea, however, and so I joined a long line of FCI managers, plastic trays in hand, at the food counter. Dick Eggart, just ahead of me, sensed my six-foot-two inches of managerial presence looming above his five-foot-ten inches of financial expertise.

Dick turned and brightened. "Hey, Ron!"

“Hi, Dick. Count a lot of beans today?" I used that distinctive corporate conversational tone that is equal parts honey and venom and that can take years of practice to perfect.

“Yeah, but I'm still waiting for a few numbers from you, Ron."

“I know," I said, wishing I had not asked the question—I was a day late in delivering my next-quarter forecasts. "I'll get them to you tomorrow." I pointed ahead. The line was advancing and Dick was not."