The recent negotiations between the White House and Republicans in the House brought back some fond memories. During the 1980s, I participated in several union negotiations. Most of the corporate negotiators were mid to upper management employees. However, when negotiating with Farmland Foods, the lead negotiator with the company was a gentleman lawyer from Kansas City, Sewell Couch.
Mr. Couch liked a drink or two after work. His usual hangout was a bar in uptown Denison called The Lounge. Several times during the negotiation season (about every 3 years), I would drive by The Lounge to see if I could spot Sewell’s brown four-door Chevy Cavalier. If he parked anywhere nearby, I would stop in and find a seat next to him. If there wasn’t a seat next to him, I would stand behind him and order a beer. After a couple of sips and striking up a conversation with Sewell, a person on either side would move and offer me the chair next to Sewell. The first thing I did was count the individual single dollar bills, lined up in a layer so they could be easily counted. It didn’t take long to figure out that each bill represented a drink. If five one-dollar bills were neatly layered in front of him, I knew that Sewell had five drinks. If he bought me a beer, he would not add a bill to the pile, but if I bought him a drink, he would add a dollar bill. I learned later from a bartender that the dollar pile ended up as a tip.
I wouldn’t initiate shop talk until Sewell had at least three bills in front of him. He was careful, sober, or not. As we came to know each other, which was in the end very little, he began to call me a latrine lawyer. I accepted that title with pride. We never settled on an agreement with any issue facing the negotiating teams, but our conversations did lead to some persuasive discussions with our respective negotiating teams.
Sewell had a process for presenting the corporation’s proposals, one that I adopted because of its practicality. If the company had sixteen separate proposals, Sewell would present each member of his team, and each member of my team, with sixteen sheets of paper. Each sheet of paper had one explicit statement typed neatly on it. If that issue was taken off the table, everyone threw that sheet of paper away. I didn’t. I often wrote notes on the proposal and kept it for future use. I didn’t invent that procedure. I saw Sewell doing it, and he may have mentioned it at The Lounge during one of our early evening chats.
He told me once that the trunk of his car had a box with several different brief cases in it. As he went from one union workplace to the next, he just shuffled one brief case for another. It was another practice that I adopted for the convenience of being as organized as possible, keeping paperwork separate.
At the end of a negotiating session, everyone pulled out their calendars/planners to agree on a date for the next session. I was the only one without a calendar or planner. He mentioned that I must have a photographic mind because I didn’t need to check future dates to make sure a proposed meeting didn’t run into another. I told him he was correct. “You just wait, mister smartass,” he would say. “Someday you won’t even know what day you’re in.” I laughed. Now, I know what he meant. And I’m laughing again.
A union steward on light duty because of a work-related injury was assigned to clean up detail in the Carroll, Iowa, plant. He was emptying trash in the office when he saw a letter from a vice-president of the company. On top by the letterhead was a statement: “How to get rid of the union.” He turned it over to us and we called a meeting of the vice president, two plant managers and Sewell in Omaha. Each of the four was given a copy of the memorandum. Sewell said, “this is the first I’ve seen this.” When confronted with the memo, the vice-president said, “I’ll turn this over to my legal counsel.” Sewell promptly tossed the letter onto the table and said, “no, you won’t. Without these guys I don’t have a job.” It wasn’t long after that, the VP was fired.
One weekend I had plans to go to Kansas City with one of my co-workers in the packing plant. We intended to golf at a couple of courses in St. Joseph and Kansas City, and take in a Royals baseball game on Sunday before heading back. The night before the baseball game, we couldn’t decide where to eat. We had KC BBQ for two consecutive days and nights and wanted something different. I called Sewell. He recommend The Savoy. If you’re ever in Kansas City and want a high-end dinner, this is the place to go. I have never had a better steak, service, or ambiance. Sewell didn’t hesitate when he suggested it. We beat each other up during negotiations, but respect was paramount between the two of us.
When I graduated with a degree as a paralegal, he was the first person I called. “It’s official, Sewell. I now have a degree as a shithouse lawyer.” Neither of us got the last laugh. We laughed together.
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