A Throwback

A Throwback

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Hall Of Fame: The Script


With apologies, I have been out of commission for the past two weeks.  For all of you who have expressed concern, as I have been off the air, I am fine.  I have been unable to sit and write, and today, finally, I am somewhat mobile.

Rather than wait until I gather my thoughts, and then, put them to paper, I dug deep into some archival stories I had written, and present one article as a vehicle to return to normalcy.  Forgive me.  

This is an updated and edited portion of a piece I had written several years ago- an older self-introduction.

I am James Robin Mullen - the last male in the Mullen family.  At this point in my life, I am 74 years old.  And quickly closing in on one more.  A few years ago, in one of my surgeon’s notes, he described me as “a very pleasant 70 year old gentleman well known to my service, with a desmoplastic melanoma and multiple skin cancers.”

Well, what the hell kind of description of me is that?  I have lived a life.  A full and uncommon life.  And it has been crowded with love, laughter, pain, sorrow, guilt, remorse, failure, success, and almost 30 years of melanoma. I have seen myself as good, bad and ugly.  Others have called me crazy, funny, charming, brave and even amazing.  Hopefully, by now, you will have formed you own opinion.  I just don’t want to be boring.  That would be the worst.  Unimaginable.

I might be most times, a gentleman, but I am much more than pleasant.  I might be pleasant at times, but I am certainly ragged around the edges.  I am encouraged, when we have been in very rough waters, to be “chipper”.  That would be my cohabitant lecturing me.   “Nobody likes a grumpy old man”.   There have been times, in the middle of chemotherapy when I have not been in control of any of my bodily functions.  The outpouring of vomit and diarrhea were wondrous to behold - and absolutely disgusting.  The gagging, cramping and pain were beyond endurance.  “Be chipper”.  I tried.  

There have been many times that I was not at all “pleasant”, and my language at times, did not touch on “gentlemanly”.   But my beautiful bride, Kathy, would nudge me, irritate me, console me, love me, and make me laugh at our predicaments.   As I have survived years of cancer treatments and their side effects, she has borne witness to it all.  She has never given up on me and has allowed me, through the most unstable and unpredictable of times, to live the richest of lives.

So you see, the surgeon's notes in no way captured who I was, who I am, and who I mean to be.  He missed the humanity.  He did not know who it was that was sitting in front of him.

Who I Was

Business was, and continues to be my life's great passion.  Directly from college, I spent 20 years with CIL, a subsidiary of chemical giant ICI, a British conglomerate.  I was in their management training program throughout that time, working in a variety of departments, each time for no more that 2 years.  One was expected to learn, do, improve that department and then move on.  Needless to say, I learned most every facet - from the order desk, to internal management,  to sales and marketing,  to branch management, and even to the boardroom, as Assistant Corporate Secretary.  I sat on three other Boards and helped craft strategy for each business.

Those years were highlighted by two acquisitions, their mergers, and the need to establish the expected profitable growth.  The challenge of bringing three companies together was given to me.  I was given the task of creating a plan and given the full authority to manage the combined Ontario business.  It  was energizing and actually fun.  There were long hours and tough decisions to be made, every day.  But there is nothing more energizing to me, than working at something you love.  I was in heaven.


After several years, as I was happily entrenched in my new capacity.  We had trimmed our costs and improved our profit.  Meanwhile, our head office staff were taking an easier route.  Several of our top executives had snuggled into their lofty positions and wanted nothing more than to enjoy the salary, comfort, and perquisites of which they had been bestowed.  They were not, apparently, interested in the serious task of major reconstruction.  The future of my parent company did not look sunny.  Corporate malaise.  A risk-averse community.  I could not be a part of it.

And just then, Abitibi knocked on my door.  They were owned by the Reichman family, at that time, the richest on earth. Their empire included massive construction and timber businesses, along with many smaller ventures.  They also owned vast real estate holdings in New York City.  They were heavily invested in Canary Wharf, a newer multi - use construction venture in London.  They were players. 

They wanted me to help them sort out a merger that had not gone well for them.  It was somewhat serendipitous, as I had, for the first time in my career with CIL, witnessed massive cracks in our most senior management's resolve, to move the business forward.  We had paid a handsome sum to a California consulting firm, to help us make decisions on the best way to reshape and improve our financial outlook for the foreseeable future.  We were involved in explosives, ammunition,  plastics, chemical manufacturing, chemical distribution, agricultural products, paint, chemical plant construction and on and on.  

We needed to slim down and focus.  Our most senior management were in agreement, but did not have the wherewithal (cojones) to make the required organizational and structural changes.  I became disillusioned and disappointed at the lack of willpower.

The Reichman family ownership included Price-Daxion, a trans-Canada paper and packaging distribution business, with multiple locations, in every province.   And then they purchased their largest rival.  And the trouble began.  The rivals could not coexist.  They were unable to resolve the culture clash that followed.  Abitibi was bleeding money from this merger, and badly needed help.

The job initially offered was, in fact, smaller in scope than the one I had, but the offer and future upside was too interesting to refuse.  If I could right their flagship operation in Toronto, then the presidency would be offered.

I told Kath, and our girls, about the offer, over dinner, and we discussed the danger of leaving a life I knew well, after nineteen years and eleven months, to take on a business in jeopardy.  I had a legitimate opportunity to become president of CIL.  But, that opportunity looked  to be in a too-distant place.  

I knew I could set this new business on a good path.  I had done just that in my present job.  The previous three people who had tried to merge the businesses, had failed.  None had lasted three months.  The pressure was unbearable, I had been told.  Other than pure financial gain, there was not much upside.  The proposition was risky.  I was unsure.  And then one of my daughters said, "Daddy, you told us not to be afraid of anything".

I accepted the offer the next day.  CIL countered and I told them I had given my word.  They understood, and after 19 years and 11 months, I moved on.

Some ten years after I left CIL, the business began falling apart.  Today, CIL no longer exists.   Totally gone.  Apparently, I had made the right decision.

At Price-Daxion, I had to quickly learn a whole new business.  I talked to all the staff, individually.  I work in the warehouse and rode with the drivers on their deliveries.  I outworked everyone, to hopefully cultivate their respect, gain some of their knowledge and uncover the unseen inner dysfunctionality.  The billing and delivery error rates were over 30%, and we had to turn things around quickly.  There was no P&L.  It was a business with no profit.  Hemorrhaging losses.  The challenge honestly excited me.  For me, it would be like conquering Everest.  Obviously, without the extreme cold and lack of oxygen.  Lots of work combined with some creativity and positive leadership would hopefully lead to a successful enterprise.  

Every day, from sometime before 7 am until sometime after 6 pm, I worked with our staff, and from 6 to 7 my secretary brought me up to date on the paperwork that had come in, and helped me prepare all that needed to be answered and all that needed to be sent out.  She was an angel.  She took her job seriously and was dedicated to helping me succeed.  Few people would leave their family as she did, for the hours required to help the third manager try to right the business.  She arrived shortly after me, each morning, in the dark, and left just before me, in the dark, to head home.  I could not have survived without her.

After three weeks, I had formulated a model for what I thought a successful distribution business should look.  I needed to get the three Vice Presidents who responded to me, to somehow buy in to the plan and spearhead the necessary changes.  They managed the sales, distribution and administrative functions.  And the task before us was daunting. 

This was the fun part.  Devious, almost.  I called them in for a Friday meeting at 6pm.  I knew that would get their attention.  Everyone wanted to bail early on a Friday, and I was not going to let that happen.  I also didn’t want to take valuable working time away, during the day, when the business needed so much help.   I started by stating that the solution seemed so obvious to me.  If our error rate was over 30%, then go home for the weekend and come back early on Monday morning with a list of the 30% of each of their staffs who were making the errors.   And we would terminate them that same day.

 I saw the inevitable glances at each other.   I’m sure they were thinking that this man is an idiot, until one of them gathered his courage and said that is not how it is.  It is not that simple.  Apparently I didn’t understand.  Everybody was involved in making mistakes.  Oh, says I.  Then who would be in charge of all those people who don’t know how to do their jobs properly?  Now they realized the trap.  Perhaps it was them that I was going to release.  there was a sudden tension.   I had their total undivided attention.

Of course I did not fire any of them.  And they were relieved and grateful to hear that I would help them create plans to get their departments trained and improve this business - thoroughly and quickly.  They would return Monday and we would commit, together, and get started.  Simple things came early.  We changed our commission base from sales to profit.  If we made no money, neither should the salesforce.  We trained our order desk staff to up-sell.  If the order could not be made large enough to generate a profit, we courteously gave the customer the name and number of our largest competitor.  It was basic stuff.  And the business began to buzz.

In seven months, we turned a profit for their first time since the acquisition.  Our three VP's had really stepped up to the tasks and we, together, had made the owners’ vision a reality.  A profitable reality.

The hours were exceedingly long and the internal company politics were difficult to say the least.  But the personal satisfaction was so rewarding.  I took my first week of vacation after a non-stop year.  Our family headed to Mt. Tremblant, north of Montreal, for a week's skiing.  My company provided us with a lovely chalet and paid our expenses for the entire week.  Apparently, owners appreciate profit.

In a few short years, I was promoted and was given the responsibilities of managing the entire business, with eleven locations, from Victoria B.C. to St. John's, NFLD.  I was surrounded by wonderful, caring Branch Managers and Vice Presidents.  They were as dedicated and hard-working as anyone could be, and we made a great team.  And a most profitable company.

Eventually, our business was sold to a U.S. company, and the expected turmoil resulting from an infusion of different ideas, reorganization and innumerable meetings, left the business in minor chaos.  Several senior managers were to be fired, with no cause, other than that they were not personally liked by one of my new superiors. 

Again, I moved on.  That was the second business I had left, voluntarily, both on matters of principle.  The plans both companies intended to implement were, in my mind,  not good for the business, or for our employees.

My decision to leave, abruptly, would cause immediate short - term financial stress for Kath and me, but she always supported my decisions, and she believed in me, no matter what.

The skills that I had accumulated and the opportunities we had, to try out new ideas, over almost thirty years, would eventually lead me to the best job (for me) imaginable.  Another company requiring a turnaround lay in the United States - a bigger pond - and a massive change for me and for my family.

I entered into the United States under an H1B1 Visa, which allows highly specialized people to work  for the sponsoring company. It was the first step to taking the President’s position and gaining part ownership at Affiliated Paper Company, located in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  The company was losing money in their management of a co-op type of arrangement with independently-owned  paper, packaging and chemical distribution across the U.S. Canada, the U.K. and Japan.  They had previous knowledge of my management in Canada and asked if I would take on the challenge of righting their ship, in return for a share of the business.

After fixing the profit leaks with APC, we renamed the company AFFLINK, a hybrid of Affiliated Paper and our new electronic member link.  We began modernizing  the systems and began creating some real wealth in the business.  Our years in Tuscaloosa were enriching in every way.  The business blossomed.  Our involvement with suppliers and customers gained strength.  We were able to form a co-op program with the University of Alabama and access students from the M.B.A. program.  We created community ties and donated time and funds to Hospice of West Alabama and its guardian, Julie Sittason.  And our personal lives flourished.  The girls finished high school and college, and moved on to bigger and better lives.  Kat and I lived in a wonderful community, had spectacular neighbors, and traveled the world.  I have, since then, always considered Tuscaloosa, Alabama, my home.

We eventually received an unsolicited and healthy offer, and sold the marketing portion of our business to a publicly traded company called Performance Food Group.  I stayed on as President for five years, under contract, the only condition of the deal.  It was a somewhat rocky period as the parent company kept wanting to play in my sandbox.  I was, by then, used to calling all the shots, and their input was always under-appreciated.  We were their most profitable business.  And they continually wanted  more profit.  Often, at the expense of our staff.  But their own internal business was suffering.  It was poorly run.  We, acrimoniously, parted company.  I was struggling with cancer and chemotherapy.  They wanted someone younger, and more amenable than me.  And they got their wish.

Two years after I left, Performance declared bankruptcy and was sold to Blackstone for 10 cents on the dollar.  Sad for everyone involved, except Blackstone.  AFFLINK lost about a third of its customers, who left the group and formed a new alliance. 

After I retired (sort of), I formed my own consulting company called NEXTEP PARTNERS.  I took on some work, including helping a company called SMA get off the ground.  When two of the principals asked me to meet with them in Palm Desert, I  agreed to work with an old and dear friend, Dick McGann to support his efforts.  So long as he was in agreement.  He was, and as always, I loved the buzz.  Many of their customers and potential customers were familiar to me, so the opportunity was custom-made.

A few years later, I suffered an AVM and my ability to work anywhere abruptly ended.  I would have been mentally up to most challenges, but traumatic head surgeries left me quite badly scarred and not particularly pleasing to look at.  Forced retirement so to speak.

I have maintained my company and while I have not been active in marketing its value, I am not yet ready to close its doors.  I continue to believe I could help someone improve their profitability and likely will, until the day I die.

Now lets go back to the gift of cancer.

I have spent the past two weeks with my left foot elevated, unable to walk any distance without the occurrence of some severe swelling.  My two cauterized wounds have somehow interrupted the blood flow, and the pain has traveled from my leg.  It has now become a pain in the ass.  My friend tells me that  I have a fat left foot.  Not very nice.  Chubby, or a bit puffy?  No.  Just fat.  How rude she can be sometimes.  And she smiles while she tells me.

This past Wednesday I received my third infusion.  The side effects to-date, have been negligible.  Hopefully, it stays that way.  

This blog has been in the bank for some time.  I have not been able to sit for any length of  time, to type.  So I provided you with an older, unused text, to fill the gap.  Sorry.  We will see how this week progresses, before I promise a time to be back.

The Tysons are coming to help us out next week.  Kat will be in her last week of teaching.  I am looking forward to the company.  Two more adults, two children and two dogs.  Our house will be wild.  And I am not sure when, or if, I will have time to write.  We will see.

Soon, hopefully, we will be visited by our friends.  Our door is now open for you.  And so is the bar.

Thank you for your kind wishes and continuing concerns.  We do need a little luck here.

jrobinmullen@gmail.com