Although it happened many years ago, I’ll never forget the meeting. Three of us sat in a row in front of the broad, polished, mahogany desk of one of the company’s senior vice president. Both his dimensions and his demeanor were intimidating. He was about 6’ 2” and 370 pounds. His head was the size of a watermelon. He had a deep southern drawl and a John Wayne swagger that was not an act.
The mountainous VP leaned toward us, elbows on his desk, sausage sized fingers slowly folding together into a contemplative clench and bellowed, “Have you men ever plowed a field behind a mule?”
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