The news is full of federal firings.
Have you ever been fired?
I have.
Twice.
The first time, it was by a phone call to my Damascus Hilton room in Syria. I was participating in a Middle East Travel seminar. I would be back in three weeks, but Gov. Roy Barnes couldn’t wait. Resign or be tossed. I faxed my resignation on hotel stationery.
I was chairman of the Georgia Telecommunications Commission, and I was booted in a blitz that cleared the entire board. Roy replaced me with his campaign chairman, Kim King. Today Roy and I laugh about what wasn’t funny in 1999.
The next time, I had just finished my stint as chairman of the University System of Georgia’s Board of Regents. My term was up, but I anticipated being reappointed. Gov. Nathan Deal had another idea. He put Georgia Power’s president, Paul Bowers, in my at-large seat.
Regents are appointed by the governor, and that was that. To humor myself, I said, “Well, Lord, I have prayed for more leisure time, and Gov. Deal gave it to me.”
The first time that I ever heard the word “fired” was in 1955. My dad came home and announced, “Margie, I’ve been fired.” I didn’t know what that meant. I wondered, “Did my daddy get burned?” No, but I learned his paycheck had gone up in smoke. There were five to feed in that little house on the corner on Younce and Bamboo streets.
Big Dink had decided earlier that, if he was going to be able to afford college for my sisters and me, he would have to bring home more money. His boss, Bob Harrison Sr., caught wind of the soon-to-be NeSmith Funeral Home and showed my daddy the door. The firing was justified.
In his early days of self-employment, Daddy saw his $100-a-week paycheck plummet 50 percent. He paid himself $50 per week and his only employee, Rodney Poppell, $40. But we survived, and the three NeSmith kids went to college.
Fifty years ago, I was in a New Orleans elevator with two people. One was a friend and the other a stranger. Robert Williams, publisher of The Blackshear Times, and I introduced ourselves to the man whom we didn’t know.
The other newspaper publisher said, “I’m Dean Singleton from Graham, Texas. And one day, I’m going to own me a daily.” Robert and I learned that Dean had seven weekly newspapers in the Lone Star state. But he made it clear that his obsession was to own a daily.
Fast-forward a few decades, and Dean didn’t own just one daily. I lost count when his empire eclipsed 75 dailies and 100 weeklies. His publishing assets surpassed $1 billion.
But I have digressed from firings.
From the elevator, Robert, Dean and I walked into the lobby and found seats where we could visit. It was clear that the 20-something-year-old Texan was going to trade up his rural “ponies” for bigger-cities racehorses. Over Coca-Colas, Dean shared a business strategy that would be admired by Elon Musk and President Donald Trump.
When Dean bought a newspaper, he announced to the staff, “You are all fired.” And then he followed up, “But we are going to need some good people to run this newspaper. If you’d like to apply, I will be interviewing first thing in the morning.” The slackers didn’t show up.
I’ve been involved in dozens of newspaper acquisitions. I have never used Dean’s tactic. Up front, our associates knew what would get them fired:
1. Lying
2. Stealing
3. Abusing people or property
Over the years—when associates broke rules—they expected to be fired. And when the Great Recession hit, my partner and I decided no one in our company would be adversely affected before the two of us. We slashed our pay in half. In 2009 we forfeited our full paychecks. And we remained on half-pay until we retired. Our core belief has always been: “It’s all about people.”
But back to Washington.
Who among us hasn’t complained that our federal government was a bloated bureaucracy?
Griping about Washington has been a national pastime. President Trump and Elon Musk are doing—in a chaotic and indiscriminate fashion—what Congress has failed to do for decades. Perhaps Grandma’s adage is applicable: “What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger.” You would hope. But it’s still people’s lives, families and mortgages.
In 1972, when I borrowed $3,000 to start investing in newspapers, my banker advised, “The most successful businesspeople must wear three hats: a dreamer, a manager and an SOB. Few people are willing to wear that third one.”
Maybe that’s one of the reasons why I’m not a billionaire.
And that’s one of the billions of reasons why President Trump didn’t ask me to wield DOGE’s chainsaw.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
