Prichard’s Progress
By Trevor Cole

The day before he was scheduled to leave Torstar Corp., sad-eyed David Galloway asked Robert Prichard, the man who would replace him as CEO, to come to his office. When the former University of Toronto president arrived, flashing his famous fundraising smile, which he had put to such beneficial use on behalf of the U of T, Galloway grimaced a hello and welcomed him inside. “Have a seat over there, Bob,” he said, pointing across the modestly appointed room, a perfect extension of Galloway’s dry-baked personality, to a simple chair shoved against the wall, under a group of blown-up snapshots picturing Galloway and his canoe in the wilds.

“Am I the CEO yet?!” exclaimed Prichard, his eyes gleaming brightly.

“Not yet, Bob,” said Galloway. “Tomorrow. Please have a seat, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Prichard, ever restless, roamed the room as if searching for something. “Who d’ya want me to meet?” he shouted. “I’m a meeter and a greeter! Where the heck’s the guy you want me to meet?”

Galloway sighed. “Nowhere, Bob. There’s no one I want you to meet just now.”

Prichard’s face fell. He seemed profoundly disappointed. “CEOs have to meet and greet, Dave! You know that’s why they hired me. I’m a meeter and a greeter!”

“Yes, I know.”

“Helluva lot better than you, I’ll say!”

Galloway nodded grimly. “No doubt.”

“You know,” continued Prichard, his enthusiasm and volume rising, “if I’d been CEO last month, we’d have gotten that TV license. I’d have met everyone I needed to meet, and greeted everyone I needed to greet, and that license’d be in the bag!”

“I’m sure you’re right. Now,” Galloway motioned once more toward the chair under the canoe photos, “if you wouldn’t mind, Bob, I’d like to tell you why I invited you up here.”

Galloway himself sat and waited, his head slightly bowed, as Prichard circled slowly toward his seat, eyeing the simple furniture like a prospective buyer.

“Hafta get nicer stuff in here!” he announced once he’d taken his seat. “If I’m gonna meet people here as the CEO, I sure as hell can’t have ‘em seeing this crap!” Then he slapped the arms of his chair and laughed in a way that made Galloway wince.

“Anyway, Bob,” said Galloway, rubbing his temples, “there’s something I need to tell you before you take over tomorrow. I’m doing you a favour by telling you this, and I want you to listen carefully.” He looked up to make sure Prichard was listening and found the CEO-in-waiting staring back at him expectantly, grinning a little-boy grin.

“Wanna see what a CEO’s handshake feels like, Dave?” asked Prichard eagerly.

Galloway shook his head, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Go ahead, shake my hand,” said Prichard, thrusting his hand forward. Galloway reached out and Prichard gripped his hand firmly, then shook it crisply, twice. It was an expert handshake. “Is that a CEO’s handshake or what!”

“It’s a good one,” said Galloway with a tired smile. “Now, Bob, you know that as CEO, you will be answerable to Torstar’s owners, the five families who, together, control the company’s voting stock.”

“Met every one of ‘em, Dave!” declared Prichard. “By the way, d’ja notice how I use your name a lot, Dave? It’s a special meeter-greeter technique. I also have a great big-room wave. See?” Prichard demonstrated his big-room wave.

“Yes. Now you know, Bob, that as Torstar CEO, you will be expected to uphold what are known as the Atkinson principles, the guidelines established in the will of the late owner of The Toronto Star, Joseph E. Atkinson. Essentially, this means that you run the paper for the benefit of the public first. Profit is to be a secondary consideration.”

“Sorta like at the U of T,” Prichard said, giving Galloway an exaggerated wink.

“Perhaps,” said Galloway. “Now listen. You know that the families don’t get along very well. About the only two things they can agree on are the Atkinson principles, and this.” Galloway held up a tiny black box, about the size of a book of matches.

“What’s that, Dave?”

“It’s a profit inhibitor. Every Torstar CEO has to wear one. They’re planning on attaching yours in a special ceremony at tomorrow’s annual meeting.”

“What’s it do, Dave?”

Galloway shrugged. “Nothing. Unless you stray from the Atkinson principles. Then it zaps you with a pain that will drop you to your knees.”

“Holy cow!” Prichard exclaimed.

“See those pictures?” said Galloway, admiring the photos on the wall above Prichard’s head. “I used to be as happy a man as you.” He paused. “Well almost.”

Prichard’s face darkened with worry. “Will I still be able to meet … and greet?”

Galloway assured him he would. “But as far as the Star is concerned, you won’t be able to profit from it much.”

It was then that Prichard understood the gravity of his situation. He tried giving a big-room wave to lift his spirits, but even that didn’t help.