Vive la Montréal

MONTREAL -- Imagine Boston translated into French, with an attitude straight out of San Francisco. That's Montréal, our little pocket of Old Europe right here in North America.

I'm making what should be my last trip up here for a while. The project is just about wrapped up. It took longer than it normally would partly because of its size and scope, and partly because of the language thing. They're serious about speaking French up here. It's the law.

But, even if you don't parler, you can get around just fine. This is the city where everything's pretty much OK. One of the main downtown streets, Rue Ste.-Catherine, cuts through the campus of a major university and is home to a large mall and several beautiful 17th-century cathedrals. Also, strip clubs. And not subtle strip clubs, but big, huge, flashing-signs-with-neon-naked-women strip clubs. Mall, cathedral, strip club. Restaurant, electronics store, strip club. That's Rue Ste.-Catherine.

I found myself walking Ste.-Catherine on Wednesday night, because that's where I emerged when I got off the subway. Two young women walked by, smiling, laughing, holding hands. A couple of blocks away, the homeless guy sat with his bucket and his cardboard sign. The sign read, in English, "I need to smoke a JOINT -- Please Help." At least he's honest. I didn't contribute to his stash, but he was good for a laugh.

I found myself oddly surprised at how many of the homeless people have dogs. I saw four or five, bundling up in their makeshift quarters in storefronts, getting ready to call it a night. Nobody seemed to mind.

I turned the corner and fell in behind three large young men, who were smoking and talking hockey. My nose quickly picked up the fact that one of the men, shall we say, was not smoking a Camel. That smell is just as illegal up here as it is in the U.S., but hey, it's Montréal, everything's OK here.

I stopped into an Asian restaurant, where the Hispanic waitress greeted me in French. I ordered my poulet avec riz and was, as always, very pleased with the meal. Food is plentiful here, and all of it is good. Even the fast food seems to be better. Not sure why; it might have something to do with the French thing. Something about a "McPoulet Croustillant" makes it so much better than the typical crispy chicken sandwich.

The architecture is old, but everybody here is young. Even the older people look young, stylish, quick to smile. Billboards for pop stars and new movies and iPods are everywhere. Global warming and "America's war" are big topics of conversation here, especially because so many Canadians are dying fighting our battle in Afghanistan. There are three major political parties in Québec: Liberals, Conservatives, and the Bloc Québecois, which advocates the secession of Québec from Canada, among other things. Most real Québecois are torn on the issue, it seems; they're protective of their culture, but they also think of themselves as Canadian. And the conversation always turns to the laughter of concession when somebody utters the phrase "the Québec military."

I'll fly south tomorrow, leaving behind the predicted ice storm and the 4:30 p.m. sunset. I'll miss it, but I feel better knowing that a place like Montréal exists.

"Technical entrepreneur." Yeah, right

I like cars. I like cars a lot. Over the years, the fact that I like cars has caused me to make some really bad financial decisions. I don't care. I still like cars.

This is why I'm so interested in one of my semi-neighbors. Why a semi-neighbor? Because he paid more than $350,000 for the average suburban house across the street from me in my average suburban subdivision. He doesn't live there. Neither does anybody else. He just parks his cars there. Two in the garage, three in the driveway.

But these aren't just cars. We're not talking about Tauruses and Camrys, or even Camaros and Mustangs. Here's the current roster:

-- Aston Martin DB9
-- Maserati Quattroporte
-- Chevrolet Corvette Z06
-- Jaguar XK-R
-- Jaguar X-Type

You added correctly: That's more than $450,000 worth of cars parked across the street from me.

They're all his; they have actual license plates on them, not dealer plates or temp tags or anything. The 'Vette and the Aston Martin usually live in the garage; the Jags and the Maserati are parked outside, with covers. The Maserati's alarm has been intermittently going off all morning. We're not sure why.

The guy is a nice enough older fellow, late 50s probably, tall, an ex-Marine who is now, as he puts it, "a technical entrepreneur of sorts." I'm fairly certain that's neighborhood-ese for "Internet pornographer." Occasionally, you'll find his teenage son or early-20s daughter in the driveway, shining the wheels on the Maserati or one of the Jags. (The daughter drives a late-'90s Cavalier, by the way.) He lives in another house elsewhere in our neighborhood with his wife. He occasionally comes to his car-house to "watch TV so it doesn't bother the wife."

Oh, and none of these cars is his primary transportation; he has a Dodge Durango for that. He drives the Aston Martin every two weeks, "whether I want to or not," he says, because the battery has a tendency to run down if he doesn't.

"I like cars," he said to me one Sunday afternoon. He even went out of his way to compliment my car, a car that would be distinguished in just about every field other than his driveway. I was somewhat honored, actually.

When I grow up, I want to be a "technical entrepreneur of sorts."

A cartload of crap

I've been to Racine, Wis., a time or two, but I've never had a need to have any dealings with the Modine Manufacturing Company. I'm guessing my needs for thermal management are covered by my air conditioner and my car's radiator.

I would likely still not know of Modine Manufacturing were it not for a link on my favorite media news site. Apparently Modine was offended by a perfectly accurate headline in the local rag on a story about how the company laid off 50 of its workers recently.

The headline: "Modine fires 50."

Modine President David Rayburn apparently took offense at such a direct headline. He was clearly annoyed that the page designer didn't have enough space to allow the copy editor to write "Modine takes account of the interests of all its stakeholders, relieves 50 workers of further participation."

Rayburn writes:

We thoroughly evaluated every position here in Racine, to determine its place in the new structure, and to eliminate redundancies. We offered early retirement packages, and then made the tough decision to eliminate 50 positions. We acted responsibly. We acted in the best long-term interest of all of our stakeholders - customers, suppliers, employees and shareholders.

Whatever. I write back:

Dear Mr. Rayburn: Fuck you.

Come on, man. Grow a pair. Sack up and tell people the truth: "Because of poor management, unrealistic profit goals, and an inability to anticipate changes in the global market for thermal management, we got to November with a realization that we need to find a way to keep more of the money we're making for ourselves. Because of this, we have determined that 50 of our co-workers are no longer necessary to the operation. Therefore, as the holiday season begins, we have decided to take what we were going to pay them next year and keep it for ourselves. Nothing personal; just business."

Instead, Rayburn figures shooting the messenger is a better plan. "I was very disappointed to see the large headline in the newspaper on Friday, October 27, "Modine fires 50," Rayburn wrote in his letter to the Journal Times of Racine. "These employees' jobs were eliminated, based on a business decision, carried out after careful consideration. It was very insensitive to these employees' hard work and service to characterize their situation in the sensational way you did."

My guess is the copy editor wrote "Modine fires 50" because "Modine shitcans 50" was a character or two too long. I again offer Rayburn an alternative: "It was very insensitive to make such a big deal about our bad business practices. It makes us look like cold, unfeeling bastards who would fire people in Q4 rather than take a risk of our bonuses being lower."

Figuring those 50 jobs averaged about $40,000 a year in salary and benefits, the cuts in Racine saved Modine $2 million for fiscal 2007. This doesn't count the savings from the 45 positions opened by early retirements that were not filled.

According to the AFL-CIO's Executive PayWatch Database, Rayburn earned just shy of $2.7 million in total compensation in 2005. One suspects it never occurred to Rayburn to try to get by on $700,000 next year in order to save these jobs.

There are other ways to keep labor costs down. Measurable performance goals and tough evaluation processes would help minimize dead wood. Realistic profit expectations would keep greedy stockholders and boards of directors at bay. Executive pay is horrendously out of control in all industries; would be nice to see some stockholder outrage against THAT.

Listen, I understand that it's just business. It happens in my current line of work, and it's happening a lot in my former line of work. People get laid off every day. But, Mr. Rayburn, save the bullshit. Just stand up and say, "We fired 50 people today , because we thought our chances to make money would be enhanced by their absence."

Oh well. At least Modine is creating opportunities in China and Mexico.

Meanwhile, here in America, we'll just keep telling the middle class that they're unnecessary.