Lunch with a Captain of Industry

Transcript of Brad Smilo’s interview with J. Packington Paco III

I’m here again to do a follow-up interview with that well-known titan of capitalism, J. Packington Paco. His butler Spurgeon has just let me in. How are you Spurgeon?

Spurgeon: Very well, sir, thank you.

Smilo: Say, that chauffeur you sent to pick me up: is he, er, new to the job? He was having a little trouble manipulating the gear shift on that 1939 Packard touring sedan, and he seemed to get lost a couple of times.

Spurgeon: He is new to the employ of Mr. Paco, sir, and I fear that he is somewhat of a novice as a professional driver. He was formerly an executive vice president of General Motors; the marketing division, I believe.

Smilo: Well, that’s interesting. Is there a shortage of career chauffeurs these days?

Spurgeon: Oh, no, sir. It’s simply that there is presently a glut on the market of corporate executives, and their services are very…economically priced, if I may say so, sir. Incidentally, Mr. Paco has had a luncheon prepared which I think you will enjoy.

Smilo: Hold on. The cook’s not another GM employee, by any chance?

Spurgeon: Not at all, sir. He is the former senior credit officer of Credit Lyonnais; a French gentleman, and therefore extremely competent in the practice of the culinary arts beloved of that race.

Smilo: Sounds wonderful! Ah, and here’s the subject of our interview, Mr. Paco, himself! Seasons greetings, J.P.!

J.P: The same to you, my boy, the same to you! I hope you’re hungry? I’ve asked Hippolyte to put together a little snack for us.

Smilo: Lead on! Folks, we’re now entering the dining room of J.P.’s fabulous penthouse apartment high atop Paco Tower. That’s a gorgeous table, J.P. Mahogany, isn’t it?

J.P: You’ve a good eye, Brad. Yes, it’s Honduran mahogany. An endangered species, unfortunately, so naturally I’ve laid in a few thousand board feet of the stuff in case the table should acquire a scratch.

Smilo: I notice that there’s a window opening onto the balcony…and there are some men out there busy with shovels. What’s going on, J.P?

J.P: Upon my soul, all this snow is a colossal nuisance! I’ve opened two new coal-fired power plants in the vicinity and I have yet to see any increase in global warming. Those are a gang of sub-prime mortgage underwriters that I hired through the bankruptcy court. They’re shoveling the snow off the balcony onto the street below [the distant sound of a car’s screeching tires and a collision with another car is heard]. Hmm. Probably should have had the street closed off. Ah, well…

Smilo: Uh-huh. I thought, for a minute, that they might be convict labor; I mean, what with that deputy sheriff standing out there with his shotgun and all.

J.P: Can’t be too careful with those fellows, you know.

[The former senior credit officer of Credit Lyonnais enters the dining room; in his apron and tall cap, he is vaguely suggestive of Chef Boyardee]

Cook: Ah, Monsieur Paco, you will be starting off with a salad, n’est-ce pas?

J.P: What do you say, Brad?

Smilo: I’m not a big fan of rabbit food, but I suppose I could get it down. Do you have any Thousand Island? [The cook glares at Smilo and stomps out of the room] Say, J.P, your cook was getting pretty red in the face, there. Was it something I said?

J.P: You know these French vittle-wallahs. High-strung purists, the lot of them. Pay him no mind. So, Brad, how can I be of service to you today?

Smilo: I’m sure my audience would be interested in hearing your views on the apparent failure of the stimulus money to create new jobs.

J.P: Oh, the stimulus bill was doomed from the start. You see, the government doesn’t have stockholders. Yes, it has stakeholders, whatever that fuzzy notion may mean – the citizenry, the voters, the people, call them what you will – but their participation in the benefits, if any, that may stem from the government’s operations is vague, tenuous and even frequently imaginary. The government is highly adept at spending money, but it doesn’t measure return on investment the way you and I do, it has no inkling of the productive use of money. And even using its own benchmarks – in this case, the impact on unemployment – it is a total failure.

[The cook enters carrying two salad plates, one of which he sets daintily before J.P; the other he plops unceremoniously in front of Smilo, from a height of half a foot above the table; he snaps his fingers and an assistant – formerly the head of the human resources department of Credit Lyonnais – produces a bottle of Thousand Island dressing]

Smilo: Er, thanks. Moving on to another topic, J.P, what do you think of the problems we’ve seen with airline security lately?

J.P: The inevitable consequence of filtering intelligence through a top-heavy bureaucracy, which consists largely of people who are reluctant to make a move for fear of violating some politically-correct taboo or violating an information firewall. Pots of money in it, of course.

Smilo: How so?

J.P: Shorting airline stock.

[A loud report is heard on the balcony]

Smilo: Gosh! What was that, J.P? Sounds like the deputy took a shot at somebody.

J.P: One of those underwriter fellows trying to pinch some of my valuable carnivorous plants, most likely. Ah, here comes the officer. What happened, Joe Bob? Trouble?

Joe Bob: Naw, not really, Mr. Paco. One a’ them turkey buzzards that’s always hangin’ around the balcony wall took a notion to attack Mr. Mozilo, that feller from Countrywide Home Loans. The buzzard got kinda ambitious, reckoned he might just be able to make off with Mr. Mozilo, grabbed aholt of him and even managed to lift him a few inches off the floor. But I bagged him. The buzzard, I mean.

J.P: Good work, Joe Bob! Carry on.

[The cook enters the room with two sizzling plates]

Smilo: Say, this looks like the main course! Mmmm! Steak au poivre and puffed potatoes! Pardon me, can I have some ketch...

J.P: Hippolyte! Remove that knife from Mr. Smilo’s throat this instant!

Cook: But…you hear what he say? He waz goeeng to ask for ketchup! Ketchup, Monsieur Paco!

J.P: Well, give it to him!

Cook: (Removing his chef’s cap and throwing same on the floor with great vigor)Bah! I am finis! Farewell, forever!

Smilo: Gee, I’m sorry, J.P. I didn’t mean to offend your cook.

J.P: Think nothing of it. They’re a dime a dozen. Spurgeon!

[The butler materialized suddenly, as if from out of the dust kicked up by Hippolyte’s retreating heels].

Spurgeon: Yes, sir?

J.P: Call the New York branch of BNP Paribas and ask for a list of their recent employee terminations. I shall need another cook. And tell them I want someone late of their accounting department. No more hypersensitive prima donnas, if you please!

Spurgeon: Very good, sir.