History of Learfield: When the cat’s away…

It was winter.  I'd been traveling somewhere.  Returned late Friday afternoon, pulled into the parking lot behind 216 and went in the back door.  I had something on my mind and so just went on through, out the front door and left down the front sidewalk to our sports sales office two doors west.  It was dusk; the lights were on in every office.  And although I didn't pay particular attention, people were moving around inside. 

I stepped through the front door.  Silence.  Nothing was moving.  Maybe a typewriter was clattering in the back.  Nip Neidert was at his desk in the front office; his door open to the hallway.  Eerie silence.  So I walked to the back, everyone at their desks and Joyce was typing away.  Ooops, no paper in her machine.  My first clue.  Returned to Nip's office.  He tried to get up, but his feet were straddling beer and liquor cases hurriedly pushed under the desk. 

Yep, a Friday afternoon celebration.  And I hadn't been invited–or expected. 

–clyde