Werner was a talented young man. Not so much book smart, definitely street smart. His talent was understanding people. Their fears, desires and prejudices. This talent was displayed on the streets in small towns and villages surrounding Vienna in the late 1920's and early 1930's, as Werner bought and sold goods as his means to earn a living. Werner's family was Jewish, however they were not observant. At the time, many Jews thought of themselves as Austrian and not as a separate people. In fact, those Jews that were obvious and didn't pass were looked down upon by many of their own culture.
Around this time, an angry man was stirring up dissatisfaction in Austria. He and his men in brown shirts would go from town to town to spread their hatred and anger to those persons susceptible to such words. A proud people that were being marginalized by war reparations imposed upon them by the victors of WWI. Their hatred was vile, however it struck a chord with common folk that saw their once profitable businesses and farms being destroyed by hyperinflation and lack of financial support by the banking community.
Werner happened to witness one of the speeches and was amazed at the unprofessional and unpolished orator of the hate. He turned to a man next to him, in a brown shirt, and started to critique the style and tempo of the oration. He commented on the disjointed thoughts and lack of coherence of the speech. The man in the brown shirt listened, observed the crowd slowly dispersing during the speech and asked Werner if he would meet with the orator after he was done. Although Werner was slightly taken aback by some of the rhetoric, he agreed to meet with the angry little man giving the speech.
Over some schnapps and beer, Werner repeated his comments regarding the previously given speech. He suggested some improvements that might benefit this little man and assist him in his quest to manipulate his audience to his viewpoints. It was then agreed, that Werner would become the speech writer for this angry little man. Werner would be compensated for his time and would receive bonuses according to the increase in the crowds and favourable response.
In 1993 I was fortunate to embark upon an adventure that would shape my view of business and how North American and foreign cultures transacted negotiations. I went to Kazakstan to negotiate oil and gas contracts with the recently formed CIS Kazak government, on behalf of a small, but well funded corporation. Although I had never worked overseas, my talent for negotiating was recognized by the president of this corporation. I'm sure he thought this would be a one time trip and I would then be relegated back to negotiating oil and gas agreements in Western Canada, but his high priced consultants had been unsuccessful for 3 months already and he was willing to try something different. My family background was Russian and many of the persons in power were ethnic Russians, a hold over from the Soviet regime. From the moment I was there, I just knew what to say, when to say it and who to say it to. Call it instinct, call it arrogance, call it "talent", call it dumb luck - whatever "it" was I had "it". After 6 months of long drawn out negotiations that took place in Almaty, Atyrau, Uralsk and Aktau in Kazakstan; Istanbul, Brussels and London in Europe - the company I worked for was ready to pull the plug on negotiations for a deal with the Kazaks. It was just after January 1, 1994 that I sat down with the president and gave the most outrageous promise of my life. I asked him to give me one more chance to get a deal. This time we would do it my way only. I didn't want anyone to come with me. I would only return to Kazakstan with my translator. We wouldn't show up with the 20 people normally acting on behalf of the corporation. No lawyers, no accountants, no economists or engineers. Only two "goofs" with a time limit and credibility with the Kazaks from many nights of vodka and cigarettes. The president agreed, only because I was so outrageous in "promising" him that we would get the deal. I believe to this day that my strategy was correct. By showing the Kazaks that our company was ready to walk if a deal was not forthcoming on this "last" trip, they had gotten the message that there were no other concessions to be conceded by our company. Within one day of returning to Almaty, we had a deal. The call back to the head office was awkward. The president didn't believe me when I told him our good news. After sending copies of the final agreement to our head office to be reviewed by the "smart" guys, we had the go ahead to sign final documentation. This official signing was an elaborate affair held in the Prime Ministers main conference room. To say I was way over my head is an understatement. I was signing a formal document next to the second most powerful man in the Kazak government. I looked down at my hand as I signed the agreement and was curious as to why my hand was not shaking. My hand shook most times, but not then, not that time.
Werner worked with the angry little man on the content of his speech, the context of his main points and the tempo of his speech. He taught the angry little man to start slowly at first, almost shy and awkward. This would get the crowd to quiet down and almost root for this angry little man to get through his speech without making too many errors. Then the tempo would slowly build and the man's voice would become louder. People positioned in the crowd would start yelling in response to points being made. The people around these shills would also start to respond, creating a frenzy. The little man would then get totally out of control yelling and spitting his vile rhetoric. Banging his hand on tables, gesturing wildly with his arms. He would blame this group and that group for all of the crowd's ills. It was "their" fault and "their" manipulations and "their" secretive ways. Jews, Catholics, gypsies, gays - they were the cause of this decline in the people in the crowd. He was working them into a frenzy, as Werner had told him it would. And then Werner gave him the cue. The angry little man just stopped. He stood looking out at the crowd, arrogant and looking into the women's eyes. The crowd continued their frenzy as he watched and nodded his head, strutted around the stage and basked in the response he created with the help of Werner.
Werner made much wealth as the angry little man progressed in politics. Werner lived in a most comfortable fashion. But then, things started to change. He was asked to start wearing a yellow star. No disrespect, just a new "rule". He was still being financially rewarded by the angry little man, a man who's "power" far exceeded his stature. Soon he was asked to leave his home for the ghetto. No disrespect, just a new "rule". He was able to buy "stuff" on the black market with his savings, but the compensation was no longer coming from the angry little man. The next day he was rounded up with others in his community and sent by train to a "work camp".
By 1995 I was the Vice President of the company and the Director General of the Joint Venture Corporation in Kazakstan. My responsibilities were mostly political consultations, administration and expat functions. My title had now become who I was. I was no longer that landman negotiating surface access from a farmer, no longer taking mineral leases from 6 am to 12 midnight, no longer negotiating with other companies for joint venture agreements. Now I was talking with ambassadors, meeting with the IMF and World Bank. Traveling first class. Oh yeah, life was "smokin". That is with the exception that I never saw my children from my first marriage. Was losing my second wife through my indiscretions and lack of time spent on our marriage. Basically my personal life was shit, but I was really, really, really important - in my own mind.
And then things started to change. There were new "rules". My authority was being limited, my representation of the corporation was being controlled and restricted. Then one day they stopped paying the Kazak nationals that we had employed. It was around Christmas 1995 and I was informed that all pay to our employees was to stop from this point forward. I was arrogant, self absorbed and egotistical - but I knew what was right and what was wrong. So I went to the ABM-Amro bank where we had our emergency funds for the corporation and withdrew the monies that were in there. My wife and I flew to our office in Uralsk (after paying the employees in Almaty) and made sure that all employees received their pay and bonuses that were owed them. By the time we were in Uralsk my company credit cards had been cancelled and all we had were two plane tickets to Moscow and a few thousand dollars. No translator, no help and in we were in effing Moscow. No easy way back to our home. To say I was a little angry would be an understatement. But, Brenda and I are resourceful and when our backs are against the wall we rise to the challenge. We may have been pissed at each other for our behaviour the past year leading up to this moment. But, we were even more pissed at the persons that tried to "teach us a lesson". They tried to control the wrong people. Armed with a russian/english dictionary, our own credit card with limited credit, a few thousand cash and a united front. We got through customs, took a taxi from the domestic airport to the international airport to arrange our flight back to Canada, found a hotel, had a shower, slept, went to McDonald's, traveled the subway system, went to a large bazaar (flea market) and finally flew back home by Christmas. This may sound easy - but consider that I spoke russian like a three year old when I left Kazakstan, greatly improved my russian under extreme pressure to deal with customs (we had no visa for our stay in Russia, which was usually handled by someone else - someone who actually spoke Russian) and Brenda was in extreme culture shock. That is, until we got to the flea market - where I found out that shopping is the universal language that Brenda was a master at and I had no talent for. We made it home together and committed to rebuild our life together.
Werner kept telling the authorities that he was Hitler's speech writer, they laughed at this man with a yellow star on his clothes. Werner could not believe that after all he done, for his help and guidance, that he was being shipped like all the others to an uncertain future.
Werner survived the Holocost with his street smarts and a renewed faith in his God. He spoke only to his family of his experience and left them with many lessons from what life had taught him.
His greatest lesson for his children was to always use your talents for something you believe in, something that had values attached to its value and always know that what has been given can be taken away.
Today's Blog is dedicated to values and gratitude.
