Mentors: Woody Peebles

One of the influential people in my life was Woody Peebles. Woody worked at Admiralty Marine down on Shelter Island in San Diego, California. Woody lived on the ocean side of Point Loma in a beautiful, two story home that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. My memory is slightly faulty but I think he was one of the principals, or maybe the owner of, an electronics company called Wavetek. When I started working at Admiralty he was no longer involved with Wavetek and was essentially retired. Woody didn’t need any money; he was well off and I think he hung around boats just to be near people. He was an outgoing personality and chatted a lot.

Woody was an electronics genius, which is different from electrical wiring like the Saturn 5 is different from a bottle rocket. We didn’t work together at first. He did electronics and I worked in the mechanical side of Admiralty Marine. The shop began selling a lot of Onan generators and also installed Electroguard corrosion control systems. Woody was having a hard time keeping up with the growth in that end of the business so I’d get pulled off my mechanical duties to help Woody.

Helping Woody was about as much fun as you could have and still call it work. In the morning we would load up the truck for our day’s jobs and take off from the shop like we meant business. Within a block or two Woody would say, “I’m a little hungry. Want to stop and get breakfast?” Of course I did. We’d pull into a restaurant, settle into a booth, order coffee and shoot the breeze. That would be my second breakfast but I could eat all I wanted and never gain weight.

After an hour or so we would go to the actual job. At noon we would knock off early to beat the lunch rush and we haunted The Red Sails Inn nearly every day. They had a really good house salad with a great salad dressing that made me wheeze. Must have been the nitrates. Rosie was our waitress. We would ask which table was Rosie’s and then go sit at that table.

Besides eating, Woody would take the time to explain complex electronic circuits to me while we were supposed to be fixing some poor bastard’s boat. He was forever drawing out circuits on napkins that had nothing to do with the job at hand. It was like a free, college-level electronics course so I lapped it up. I learned about wave soldering, circuit board etching and to think of a printed circuit board as one component, a single part, instead of a collection of electronic bits.

Woody was never in a rush; his concept of time was a revelation to me. Before Woody I was always on someone else’s time, hurrying and stressing to not be late; pressing to meet some other guy’s idea of how long a job should take. I didn’t own my time. Woody had an entirely different way of marking time. He would step into or out of the workday with ease. Sometimes he would just leave the job we were on, “I’ll be back later.” and off he would go.

Working with Woody made me realize that my time was as important as the next guy’s. Jobs weren’t something you did in a fixed amount of time. In fact, time itself became irrelevant and you measured success by completing the work, not beating the clock. If we were taking too long on a particular job I’d start fretting and Woody would say, “Don’t worry about it, I won’t charge for my time.”

This fungible sort of timekeeping was a fundamental change in my concept of income. Before Woody, I was always trying to work more hours to make more money. Once I learned that I could bend time to my will I no longer needed an hourly job. I didn’t need a business to pay me by the hour. In fact, the hour, my benchmark for self worth, was nothing but a man-made denomination. Days weren’t 24-hours long any more, there was only breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My new way of thinking made it possible for me to quit Admiralty Marine and start a boat repair business. I still kept track of my time and charged by the hour but the pressure was off, I could always adjust the bill later. Customers didn’t tell me how long I had to do a job, I told them what I was going to charge them regardless of the hours involved. I may have run out of time on a job but I never fell behind again: I was always right where I should be.

Woody and I left Admiralty Marine around the same time. I started Gresh Marine and tripled my income on the very first day and I was still billing half of what Admiralty was charging for my time. Woody hooked up with Wayne and Walt, also known as the Gold Dust twins. The Gold Dust twins were independent operators who had a loose affiliation when one or the other needed a second set of hands. The three W’s formed a company called Associated Marine but it was mostly in their minds. Each W did their own thing and would bill each other if they assisted on a job.

Woody must have missed me because after a year or so the three W’s asked me to meet with them to discuss a merger. I went to the meeting. The deal was, Associated Marine was going to rent a building at a marina on Mission Bay. All four of us would split the rent, insurance and other business costs. We would still be independent operators with the added benefit of having a crew you could call upon if you needed help for a big re-wire project or a new boat build.

Wayne, a tall, gangly guy told me that I’d have to raise my rates to make them compatible with the rest of the Associated Marine members. They didn’t want me undercutting them. This meant another doubling of my income. Thus began a several year run of bliss. I loved having a shop to work out of instead of my tiny basement. I met my future wife. I bought a house and my first brand new motorcycle. I spent money as fast as I made it but I was young: that’s what young folks are supposed to do.

Bit by bit, Wayne and Walt sent Woody and I out on more of their jobs. They kept us very busy, so busy we never had time to build our own customer base. I began to realize I had switched from working for Admiralty Marine to working for the Gold Dust twins. Maybe that was their plan all along. Still, the money was good and I was having fun working with Woody so I kept at it.

We never had a receptionist at Associated Marine.   An answering machine handled incoming calls and if anyone of us were in the shop we’d answer and take notes. One day I walked in the shop and Wayne’s daughter was in the office manning the phones. We didn’t pay her much but it was another cost of doing business.

Walt wanted an outboard motor dealership so he managed to get Suzuki to make us dealers. Then we needed inventory. With the Suzuki’s came warranty work, which was paperwork intensive. I became an outboard motor mechanic even though I hated the damn things. These changes happened without my input. I was too busy working on Gold Dust jobs.

Then came Woody’s son, Woody Junior. Junior had lost his sales job and crash landed at Associated Marine. Junior was outgoing and gregarious even more so than his dad. Now when we went to breakfast there were three of us. And here I was thinking I was the son, you know? But Junior was the real son. He knew nothing about what we were doing at Associated Marine yet he was charging the same rate as the rest of us. Three men on a job was a bit much so Woody and Junior worked together just like me and Woody used to. I worked alone.

There was a bit of tension in the air. I felt Junior hadn’t paid his dues and was starting on third base so to speak, a base that had taken me many years of hard work to step on. Besides, he stole my Daddy and talked too much.

The situation gnawed at me and I became disgruntled. I mentioned to Wayne that since Junior was charging the same as the rest of us he should pay one-fifth of Associated Marine’s expenses. This blew up big time. Woody charged into a boat where Wayne and I were working and grabbed me by the shirt. “You little shit, stirring up trouble!” Woody screamed at me. Junior was behind me sheepishly saying, “C’mon dad, leave him alone.”

Woody was old and had a dicky heart. I was young and strong. It would be no contest. I was getting angry at him shoving me around by my shirt. I balled up my fist to smack him in the jaw and when he saw that he got even more enraged. “Don’t raise your fist to me!” he shouted, like he was yelling at his own son. My fist went down on its own accord. I thought it would have been nice if my fist had informed me in advance that it wasn’t taking my side. My initial anger had subsided and I was sad and worried that Woody might have a heart attack. Woody stormed off the boat with Junior staying a safe distance behind. Wayne was dazed, “What the hell was that?” He said. I didn’t understand the situation at the time but I had gotten the attention I desired.

You know how they say to be careful what you wish for? After a week or so Woody cooled off and apologized for shoving me around. He told me that he’d thought it over and that I was right. Junior became a partner in associated Marine and assumed his fifth of the expenses. Junior had breezed into the Majors without spending a day in the minor leagues.

From then on I generally stayed out of trouble and just worked but it wasn’t nearly as much fun as the old days. Woody, Junior and I did a few big boats together but Junior’s work ethic grated on my nerves. Junior became a passable electrician when he applied himself except he was always talking. I didn’t mind carrying Woody because I could do the work of two men. Junior was one body too many. I finally drifted away from Associated Marine and restarted Gresh Marine as an independent business.

I tried to find Woody online but came up with nothing. . He would be around 100 today so he’s probably not with us. Junior is still alive and living in San Diego. When I first met Woody all I could see was dollars per hour. I wanted a job, any job. I wanted to work for someone. I needed someone to tell me what to do next. After Woody and I parted ways I felt that there was nothing I couldn’t do and I feared nothing business-wise. After Woody I never had a job for the rest of my life and I managed to stay busy the entire time. Thanks, old friend.


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Admiral Gordon Smith

From time to time Gresh and I have written about a few of the great people we worked with over the years.  For me, Gordon Smith is at the top of the list.  Gordon was the real deal:  Movie star good looks, charisma, Ivy League credentials, war hero, successful senior executive, successful entrepreneur, and a man who deeply understood what leadership is all about.   I worked for Gordon in the early ’90s, lost track of him for a couple of decades, had dinner with him about 3 years ago, and learned of his passing about a year and a half ago.  Gordon had 92 years on this planet so I guess he got his money’s worth, but knowing he is gone makes the world seem a lot emptier.  He was a little frail when we last met, but he still had his razor sharp mind, his Boston accent, his full head of hair, and his amazing wit and gracious charm.

Gordon Smith as a young naval aviator.

Gordon Smith was a naval aviator (a carrier pilot and commander) who flew 244 combat missions in Korea and Vietnam.  He’d been shot down, he’d been run over by an aircraft carrier after a failed catapult launch (keel hauled, he called it), he’d been decorated for valor numerous times, he was one of the top people in Naval Intelligence, and the list goes on.  I can’t do his Navy career justice here, but I strongly suggest you take 5 minutes and read the tribute one of his fellow admirals wrote.  I’ll give you a couple of links at the end this blog.  Trust me on this:  Gordon Smith was one hell of a man and a true leader.

Commander Gordon Smith in action aboard the USS Oriskany.

How I met Gordon is an interesting story.  I had been laid off at Aerojet Ordnance and I took a lower level job at Sargent-Fletcher, another So Cal aerospace company.   Sargent-Fletcher was a nice company but I wasn’t happy with the culture there and after six months, another offer floated in for a VP-level job in Orlando (it came about as a result of my earlier job search).  So off I went to make my mark in Florida building military lasers, where I loved the work but hated the area.  Central Florida, to me, was heat, humidity, and cockroaches so big they fought you for the covers at night (the Floridians call them palmetto bugs, but you can’t fool me; those things were cockroaches).   I knew I had to get back to southern California.  I don’t mean to insult anyone with my comments about Florida, but it is what it is.  You’re young; you’ll get over it.  Mea culpa.

The call came in from Sargent-Fletcher early one Friday morning after I’d been in Orlando for six months.  They hired a new president (that would be Gordon Smith), he heard about my brief pre-Orlando stint at Fletcher, and he wanted to meet me.  On Saturday, the next day.  It was a redeye flight, I forgot to bring my dress shoes, and the next morning I was in Gordon’s office in a suit and tie and my running sneakers.   We had a good interview and he asked me what I wanted.  I gave my Miss America answer:  A meaningful position, a chance to make a contribution on a winning team, you know, the standard Miss America “I like long walks on the beach and I want to work for world peace” bullshit interview response.

Gordon smiled.  “I mean money,” he said, rubbing the fingers of his hand like he was counting cash.  “How much do you need?”

Gordon Smith around the time I worked for him. His leadership skills were incredible.

Hmmm.  I guess I should have thought about that earlier, but truth be told, I had not.   I gave an obscenely high answer, which I regretted even before I finished saying  it.  I was desperate to get back to southern California, and I just blew it, I thought, by being greedy.

Gordon smiled.  “The number I had in mind was…” and then he offered $2K more than what I had said.   I kind of locked up mentally.   Let’s see, I thought, he asked how much I wanted.  I said X.   He came back with X plus $2K.  I had studied negotiation tactics.  It wasn’t supposed to work that way.  I didn’t know what to say.  Gordon smiled.  He knew.

You should never accept a job offer immediately, but what could I say?

“I’m your boy.”

“What are you doing for dinner?” Gordon asked.  My mind was still thinking about what had just happened.  I had a flight back to Orlando the next day.  I told Gordon we hadn’t made any plans, and he said, “Good, come to my restaurant for dinner.”

“Sure,” I said.  “You already have a favorite restaurant here in So Cal?”  I knew he had just become the president at Sargent-Fletcher.

“I own a restaurant here,” Gordon answered.

“You own a restaurant?”  Sometimes, I can be incredibly smooth.

Gordon’s restaurant was the Nieuport 17, and it wasn’t just a restaurant.  It was one of the swankiest dining experiences in the world.  It had (as the name implied) an aviation motif.  When Sue and I pulled up and gave our keys to the valet, a tall, elegant man in an exquitely-tailored suit approached.  “You must be Joe, and you must be Sue.  I’ve heard so much about you.”  It was Wilbur, Gordon’s Nieuport 17 partner and co-owner.  Wilbur escorted us in to the lobby, which was decorated with photos of famous aviators and astronauts.  Gordon’s picture hung on that wall.  Wilbur saw me eyeing the photos.  My gaze fixed on one autographed by Neil Armstrong.  Yes, that Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon.  “Neil is usually here,” Wilbur said.  “If he’s in tonight, I’ll introduce you.”

Gordon joined us and asked if we’d like a tour of the restaurant.  It was awesome.  All the wait staff were dressed in some sort of pseudo-Navy nautical uniform.  The chefs and their helpers damn near snapped to attention when we entered the kitchen.   It was “Good evening, Admiral,” and “How are you this evening, Admiral?” all around.  All hands were on deck.

When we (we being me, Sue, and Gordon) sat down for dinner, Wilbur came over and asked if he could join us.  “I haven’t had dinner yet,” he explained.  Sure, no problem.  Wilbur asked what we liked best from our prior visits, and I explained it was our first time in the Nieuport 17.   Wilbur showed some surprise, and then he held his arm up and snapped his fingers.  Suddenly, there were at least eight waiters and waitresses at our table.  “Bring Sue and Joe a sampler of everything on the menu,” Wilbur ordered, and the wait staff went to battle stations following those orders.   We weren’t hungry after sampling literally every main course, but hey, I couldn’t be impolite.  We both went with the chicken with Morel mushrooms.  It was heavenly.

I spent four years at Sargent-Fletcher, and on every one of those days I couldn’t wait to get to work in the morning and I always stayed late in the evening.  I hired on as the QA director, and then one morning Gordon called me to his office to tell me he had just fired the engineering director.  “Wow, that’s a bold move,”  I said.  “Who’s going to run Engineering?”  Gordon looked at me and smiled.  I knew.  I had a new job.  “Okay,” I said, “but who’s going to take over Quality?”  Gordon continued to look at me and smile without speaking.  Okay, so I’d be wearing two hats for a while.  A year or so later, I had another call to come to Gordon’s office, and he told me he had just fired the Operations director.  “Wow,”  I said.  “Who’s going to run the plant?”  Another Gordon smile, and now I was wearing three hats.  I loved that job, we had the plant back on schedule in short order, and Gordon kept showering me with raises.  His idea was to pay people more than they thought they were worth.  It worked.  But that wasn’t the best part. Gordon would tell me what he felt the company needed; he never told me how to go about making it happen.  He knew how to lead. Find the right people, pay them more than they think they want, then get out of their way.   It was awesome.

Here’s the link about Gordon’s career I mentioned earlier.   If you would like to read about Gordon’s decorations for valor (including the Silver Star), those are here.  Rest in peace, Admiral Smith.  You earned it.


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The Best Boss I Ever Had

Gresh and I have done a couple of blogs about great guys for whom we’ve worked, and in thinking about that last night I asked myself:  Who’s the best boss I ever had?  The answer was both immediate and easy:  Captain Omer McCants.  I was a young lieutenant in Korea and Captain McCants was an old man (he was a 28-year-old Captain).  Captain McCants was my battery commander and he was a major influence on my approach to work, leadership, and life in general.  While remembering those good old days, I did a Google search and this appeared:

Nah, can’t be, I thought.  But it was.  Captain McCants retired as a Lt. Colonel and went on to do other great things.  Watching the video above instantly took me back 45 years, and listening to the “old man” was about as enjoyable an experience as I’ve ever had.   I think you’ll enjoy it, too.  There are several videos about Colonel McCants (check the link below the video when you go to the page) and my advice is to listen to them all.  I did.  You can thank me later.

Gresh and I have talked about adding an ExNotes page with links to our “Back in the Day” stories about the great guys we’ve known, and we’ll get around to that in the near future.  I’ve been around some great leaders.  Do you remember the movie Apocalypse Now and the guy Robert Duvall played, Colonel Kilgore?  There actually was a Colonel Kilgore in the US Army and I reported to him (he was nothing like the guy Robert Duvall portrayed).  I worked for a couple of company presidents in the aerospace business who changed the way that industry worked, and I’ll tell you about them at some point.   I know Gresh has amazing stories, too.  I’ve heard them.  Stay tuned, folks.  There’s more good stuff coming.