Yes. My father, he had a stroke about 1950 and all of sudden he became
interested in the underwear business. We used to have a board of
directors meeting— the board of directors was my father, our attorney,
myself and our accountant. I decided I was going to build a plant in
Arizona— [text missing] I had been
helping out in the shipping room when they got behind and I would see
all these big orders going to California. So one morning it just
occurred to me that there wasn't any boy's or men's underwear made west
of the Mississippi river. So what happens to Spring City if somebody
builds an underwear plant out west—we'd lose all that west coast
business. So I got Ben Kohler, our controller over at Spring City—we
found out that we were shipping about half of everything we shipped out
to the west coast. After WWII all of Penney's big expansion was out on
the west coast. They had 36 stores in L. A. and
they were all big ones. I talked to my dad and we had a board of
directors meeting that we ought to build a plant in Arizona. Well we
agreed that I should go out and take a look anyhow. Well I sent George
Dyer, our manager in our New York office. He and a Sears Roebuck land
management—or the people that found the locations to build new stores.
They went out and they started at El Paso, Texas and they went all the
way up the west coast to Seattle, then they back tracked down and they
called me from Phoenix, and they said the place to build was Phoenix,
Arizona, because it's overnight to L. A., and you can ship east as well
as you can west, and the transportation is good. California was highly
unionized and they had an inventory tax—a floor tax. Arizona had a very
low tax rate plus they had a Right-to-Work law and practically no unions
in Arizona. We had never had a union any more than you people did. I
think I ought to interject here that Everett contributed as much as I
did to our not having a union. He used to say, "As long as you can keep
them talking without fighting—" no, it was "As long as you're talking
you won't be fighting." He made that statement onetime on the Senate
floor. It was something about shipping—he was on the Agricultural
Committee and he went up to Canada. At that time we were not shipping
any grain to Russia. Everett was part of the Senate group that went to
Canada and they made an agreement where Canada could ship grain to
Russia. I heard him make a speech that we ought to ship grain to Russia.
He used that statement on the Senate floor, "As long as we're talking we
won't be shooting." I often think of it, especially right now with all
the meetings coming up with the Russians. When you stop talking that's
when somebody's liable to start shooting.
Getting back to Phoenix. I went out and I bought 25 acres of ground and
started to build a plant and my father, having had that stroke, said
that he had never agreed to build a factory in Arizona. He said that if
we built that factory out there then the one we had here in Spring City
would be standing idle. Fortunately we had made a deal when I agreed to
go to Arizona with Penney and Sears. I told them both that my father was
objecting like hell to my building this new plant out there and they
became as excited as all hell about having a plant where they could have
overnight delivery instead of 3 to 4 weeks, plus the fact that the
freight rate was $11.50 a dozen from Philadelphia to L. A. From Phoenix,
it was 90¢ a hundred. Round figures, 30 dozen underwear made a hundred
pounds, so instead of the 35 or 40¢ a dozen freight; 3¢ a dozen freight.
That was our profit—more than our profit. So we had another board of
directors meeting and my father accused our attorney and our
accountant—he fired them right off the board of directors just like
that—he said that they took out the record of the minutes and retyped
the record of the meeting where we had agreed to built the plant in
Arizona. He told me he would either buy me out or I would buy him out,
and that he would give me a year. I said, "How much do you want for it?"
He said, "I want what it's worth, you know what it's worth more than I
do. You tell me how much you're willing to pay me, I'll either take it
or we'll liquidate." My father owned 83% of the stock at that time and I
owned 17%, so there wasn't much question about whether it would be
liquidated or be sold. He was calling the pitches. I went down to see Everett real fast. Everett and I sat down
and we talked and we decided between us what I ought to offer my father.
We arrived at a figure of $2,500,000; two and a half million dollars.
I had to borrow $2,200,000, so I went down to the bank in Philadelphia
that we had done business with. We had never borrowed—oh maybe we would
borrow a half million or a million for a month or something like that.
They said they wouldn't loan me the money, said we were paying too damn
much money, said the business wasn't worth two and one-half million
dollars, said we were paying my father too much money. I said, "What do
you mean too much money, what establishes a price is a willing buyer and
a willing seller; that establishes the price of anything." I went back
to Everett again. I said, "Everett, they won't loan me any money." He
said we would go over to Winston-Salem and talk to Archie Davis. Archie
Davis and Everett and I sat there and went over all the figures, and
Archie Davis says, "Everett, if you think that's o.k. we'll go along
with it." So Archie Davis came up to Philadelphia with Everett and we
went down to the Philadelphia National Bank. Archie Davis was trying to
tell Philadelphia National Bank that they should loan us the money, that
Wachovia would participate with them; they would go 50/50 on the loan;
they would back up Philadelphia National Bank. Well these staid old
Philadelphia bankers—while they were sitting there talking, somehow we
got around to talking about fox hunting. Oh, I used to go fox hunting
over with the Radner Hunt over here, and this Bob Potts and Maurey
Dorrence of Philadelphia National Bank belonged to the Radner Hunt and I
used to fox hunt with them every Sunday morning. I'd take my horse down
and we'd hunt every Sunday morning—we were talking
about fox hunting—so Bob Potts said to Everett, "Did you ever go fox
hunting?" Everett said, "Oh yes! I used to go fox hunting, we'd stand in
the corner of the fence there and we'd go out with some dogs and we'd go
along the creek and chase the fox out and I'd . . .