Copyright 1995(c)

                        AN EYE FOR DETAIL
                         By B. J. Higgs

     In one of the ironies of life, the first cell of the intruder
worked its way into the recesses of gray matter that was Arthur
Shaw's somewhat impressive brain. It attacked while he napped in
his comfortable office chair after lunch -- the power nap that
allowed Arthur to function like a well-oiled machine, if not doing
everything himself, at least meticulously checking everything.   
     Arthur Shaw had an eye for detail; everybody said so.
     Born in 1942, he was of an age which distrusted machines, and
checked all details personally in a laborious tedium which drove
colleagues, secretaries and clients to distraction. Arthur believed
that the reason he had a solid client base consisting of one lone
client with a number of interests was that he was meticulous.
     Barton Box Company had its fingers in everything from soup to
nuts, and Arthur represented Barton exclusively. He was on a first-
name basis with its corporate big-wigs, from the President down to
its lowliest officer throughout the state, and colleagues said he
had represented Barton's interests since dinosaurs roamed the
earth. Some of his more irreverent colleagues said, in fact, that
was actually when Arthur became Barton's attorney. They did not say
it in Arthur's hearing.
     If a complaint had 19 pages and a secretary made five copies
of it for him, he would count each page in each copy. Arthur seldom
sent out anything that was not letter perfect, and would re-draft
a document as many times as it took, sometimes changing no more
than the placement of a comma. He still dictated one-on-one to his
secretary in an age when everyone had a pocket-sized recorder and
used it. 
     Arthur was just as meticulous in his business contacts as in
the preparation of his documentation. He would ask his secretary
to place a call and then remind her to do so again, 30 minutes
later, if she failed to reach the party sought. Arthur's secretary
had to be thick-skinned, because the recipients of such repeated
calls frequently became annoyed at the constant interruptions.
Eventually, everyone Arthur wanted to talk to talked to him,
because he wore them down. One former secretary, certainly not old-
school enough to show the kind of respect Arthur demanded, was all
but famous in the field for having suggested Arthur see if his own
finger would bend to the telephone buttons as she had work to do.
It gave her a certain notoriety as she sought another job when
Arthur terminated her on the spot. Although many had quit and many
more had been fired, she was among a select few to suggest that
Arthur was perhaps not the most efficient of attorneys.
     Attorneys who went up against Arthur were often embarrassed
by him over their own screw-ups. Arthur did not make screw-ups and
his secretary, if she knew what was good for her, did not either.
His client, in its many guises, was well satisfied in Arthur's
ability to do it and do it right. Arthur attributed his success to
his attention to detail, and secretly believed himself perhaps the
only person capable of such exactitude. He checked and double-
checked, and his forehead would squinch up and he would complain,
"No, no, no, this is wrong," when he found an error. 
     Among the bank of legal secretaries in town, Arthur was
perceived as difficult. When he finally found a secretary whose
philosophy matched his own, she remained with him for more than a
decade. She did not indicate by word or expression that she saw
anything amiss in placing the same call to the same party half a
dozen times during the day, by word or deed, either to her boss or
to the caller. She addressed him as Mr. Shaw and she made his
coffee. She was completely adequate, and Arthur developed a certain
fondness for her over time. Arthur, of course, called her Stella.
     Arthur was not without his virtues. He remembered Stella's
birthday, and sometimes remembered to ask about her family. He was
courtly in a way that had almost been forgotten in the fast-paced
world of 1995. He was charming and handsome and he had breeding.
His family lineage was above reproach, the father and at least two
brothers all practiced law, once in the same firm. Arthur's father
had been meticulous, and it was a trait he was proud to emulate.
Arthur did everything in the way he perceived to be the right way,
and usually it was.
     Occasionally, Arthur's secretary would change a tense or add
or delete a word in a pleading so that it made more sense, but she
did so with care. One never knew when Arthur had phrased
something in a given manner for a reason, and he had no patience
with being second-guessed. Arthur did not commend her when she
guessed right, but he never failed to berate her if she guessed
wrong. Nonetheless, he bought her lunch on Secretaries' Day and he
gave her a generous Christmas bonus, and even if he seemed
distracted when she asked for one or another special concessions,
such as the time her daughter went in for surgery, he never failed
to arrange his schedule to give her extra time off or to send a
bouquet of flowers to the hospital. 
     Stella, over time, was shell-shocked. Having questioned
Arthur's instructions infrequently, usually only to learn he had
intended to do just what he did, she seldom questioned anymore. So
when he told her to get the President of Barton's box plant on the
phone, she automatically dialed and asked if Mr. Landers was
available for Mr. Shaw. When Landers came on the phone, she patched
him into Arthur's office. Seconds later, Arthur came through the
door looking like a thundercloud.
     "You got Landers!" he accused.
     "Yes, sir?" said Stella. 
     "I didn't want Landers," he said.
     She looked nonplussed. "I'm sorry, sir," she finally managed.
"I must have misunderstood you." Arthur's secretary didn't get to
be his secretary with those nice Christmas bonuses and the easy
work pace which allowed for untold re-drafts by establishing her
own independence, after all. "Who would you like me to get, sir?"
     "I want you to get Bates," said Arthur, as though he were
annoyed at having to repeat such simple instructions. She promptly
dialed and buzzed Arthur when she had Mr. Bates on the line.
     "Mr. Bates is on two, sir," she said over the intercom.
     "What?" said Arthur. "Oh, okay."
     Soon he came back into her office looking confused himself.
"Bates didn't want to talk to me," he said.
     Stella again looked confused. "I'm sorry, sir," she said.
     "He said I called him. Did you call Bates?" he demanded.
     "Yes, sir," said Stella.
     "Why?"
     "Well, you... I'm sorry sir. I thought that's what I
understood you to ask me to do," said Stella, on unfamiliar ground
and back-pedaling as quickly as possible.
     "Please don't place any more calls unless I ask you to," said
Arthur, and retreated, once again, to his office.
     Former secretaries and colleagues who had been the recipient
of Arthur's half dozen calls a day, all placed by the malleable
Stella, didn't actually take delight in the diagnosis of Arthur's
condition some six months later. Instead, they queued up to bid for
representation of Barton and its many interests.
     Stella wondered if the constant attention to detail had
anything to do with one's infection with Alzheimer's Disease, and
sent Mr. Shaw a bouquet of flowers on his 62nd birthday, while he
was still living at home with his much-younger wife, and before it
became necessary to institutionalize him. 
     When shown the flowers and card, Arthur asked only, "Who is
Stella?"
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