We did the planning work on the cheap, often “on the come,”
in order to develop the more profitable and stable engineering work. Americans
don’t intrinsically believe in planning in most situations. Usually, except in
the case of rural land developers, engineering is considered a requirement.
The firm was sailing along. Then we discovered a glitch, a “fly
in the ointment,” a burr resting dangerously under the saddle blanket, or, as
they say in the South, a “wast-nest” in the outhouse.
Our engineer couldn’t get along with the clients. He got on well with most folks, but not the ones who signed the checks. Most of us
who had worked to develop the work now found ourselves spending an inordinate
amount of time refereeing disputes.
The trick, we learned, was to keep him, the engineer, as far
away from direct client involvement as possible. Others with better human
relation skills filled in as direct contacts. Ron McConnell proved exceptionally
good at this. Thus, we were able to keep the ship on course with just a minor
trimming of our corporate rigging.
The firm took on another partner, the best land-planner that
our state has probably ever known. His name was Jack Castin, a native of Oklahoma,
a graduate of Notre Dame where he attended on a football scholarship, and he
was a fine and pleasant fellow. He had attended the University of Oklahoma
graduate school of urban and regional planning with Tom and Jim. There, he
became a legend as a magician with pen and sketch paper. He brought those
skills to our firm.
There followed some heady times. I didn’t know it, but my personal
life was about to some uncharted seas. I suppose when two people live in the same building,
even if for one it is part-time, they are bound to meet, like two ocean vessels
on a misty morning.
Someone should have sounded the foghorns.
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