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"Anyway, with the newly elected board of directors, things will be different for everybody. You took a long gamble." "Not so long. Not when you knew what they wanted to hear. It just took a little timing." "Still, I didn't think they'd elect you secretary of the union. It just doesn't figure." Walter Towne chuckled. "Doesn't it? I don't know. Everything's been a little screwy since the switchover.
Since every member of the union owned stock in the company, every member had the right to vote for members of the board of directors. But in the early days of the switchover, the idea of a board of directors smacked too strongly of the old system of corporate organization to suit the men. The solution had been simple, if a trifle ungainly.
You know who's grown richer and richer since the switchover. Throw him out, and you too can be rich." He paused for a deep breath. "You want the code word to unlock the machines? All right, I'll give it to you." He swung around to point a long finger at the fat man sitting there. "The code word is TORKLESON!"
But since the switchover seven years ago, you and your board have forced me to play the cheap products for the quick profit in order to give your men their dividends. Now the bottom's dropped out. We couldn't turn a quick profit on the big, important accounts, so we had to cancel them. If you had let me manage the company the way it should have been run " Torkleson had been slowly turning purple.
Walter could almost remember those days with Robling, before the switchover, before that black day when the exchange of ten little shares of stock had thrown the Robling Titanium Corporation into the hands of strange and unnatural owners. The door was of heavy stained oak, with bold letters edged in gold: TITANIUM WORKERS OF AMERICA Amalgamated Locals Daniel P. Torkleson, Secretary
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