12Milt had a private office built on a platform above the factory floor, and glassed in so he could monitor the activity. But he also had it double-glazed so it was almost soundproof.
I walked in on him one morning in mid-November. There was hardly room to move around, there were so many mail sacks. Jesse, our new mail clerk, was just hauling in another one.
“More orders?” I asked.
“That was the morning mail,” he answered, indicating the sacks stacked on one side of the room. “These are the telegrams.”
“Don’t get a hernia, Jesse,” Milt called out from behind his desk. “We need all hands on deck.”
Good-natured Jesse just smiled. “We got enough orders to float a battleship, that’s sure.”
To Milt I said, not without an edge, “We’ll never fill them all. Admiral.”
In fact, we had product
