Swiss Army Knife

by Chris Jonnes

In August of 1986 or 1987, shortly before Nels sold out his interest in American Polywater, the Board of Directors met for their annual meeting. The Board consisted of Nels Jonnes (Chairman), John Fee (President), and Chris Jonnes (Treasurer). Nels had reduced his involvement in Company operations over time to the point that it consisted of a daily walk-through. He no longer had an office in the building. Therefore the meeting took place in John’s large corner office.

As apparently all great men must have some unique idiosyncrasy, John’s is messiness. Biblical messiness. He never files anything or throws anything away. His office was a maze of paper stacks, empty lunch sacks, equipment prototypes, Polywater packaging, black banana peels, desiccated apple cores, and other detritus. So while the office was big, it was cramped wall-to-wall with junk. One had to walk around or climb over stuff to get to a chair, then had to lift whatever was on the chair and set it aside somewhere else to sit down. Nels and I forged a path to the two chairs facing his desk. John sat at his desk facing us. In this triangular configuration with Nels to John’s left and me to his right the meeting began.

Not untypically, the meeting progressed with Nels in disagreement with some aspect of how the Company was being run. I forget the topic, but somehow Nels had wrestled the conversation away from the notoriously long-winded John, and was expounding his opposing opinion most vehemently. Those familiar with Nels will recall his tendency to become animated when discussing a topic of interest. Nels was now sitting forward on his chair, rocking back and forth and gesticulating wildly with his arms.

One of the items in John’s cramped quarters was a very large floor-standing potted plant, a small tree really. This plant was to Nels’ immediate right, and I noticed that the plant and Nels’ flailing right arm keep trying to occupy the same space. Those familiar with Nels will recall his tendency toward irritation at annoying sounds, tapping motions, or the like. At some point during the repeated contact with this plant, Nels had had enough. I watched with fascination as he suddenly reached into his pants pocket, pulled out his trusty Swiss Army knife, opened the blade, gripped a large portion of the plant between thumb and blade, and snipped it off clean. He tossed the offending branch over his shoulder into the gaping industrial chasm and kept right on talking without skipping a beat.

This was not his office. This was not his plant. To this day my tongue still bears the teeth marks that kept me from a fit of hysteria.