In 1985, another homebuilder and I joined forces in a limited partnership and began building custom homes in the Monterey area of Central California. John and I shared all of the essential things about our work—a commitment to quality, a love of building and the long experience it took to build at the level required to be successful in a very competitive construction market.

A partnership is a business marriage and, like any marriage, both parties brought things to the relationship that could not be fully considered in the practical and legal discussions that created the company. There were no major surprises for either of us because of the builders we both were, but, for example, John and I had differing methods of managing our crew. John brought his existing crew, with its existing work habits, to the business. These men (eleven in number when the company launched) had work habits, both good and bad, that forced some adjustments and caused some friction as several of the men, like children suddenly finding themselves with a new stepparent, questioned or tested my authority. Those first few months saw some head butting and testing of wills that invariably worked themselves out.

Almost immediately, an issue came up that did not present an easy answer. The crew preferred working “four 9’s”—that is, working an extra hour each Monday through Thursday, and getting off work after lunch every Friday. This made each workday a bit more productive and I liked that. They liked to use the free afternoon to occasionally have a barbeque, but when John and I went into business together, the barbeque went from a now-and-then event to every week. John and I would buy something for the grill, chips, condiments and a couple cases of beer. It was a good way to end a week and to acknowledge the men for the week’s productivity.

These were hardworking men who, for the most part, tended to be hard drinkers as well. Particularly on a Friday afternoon with a weekend staring them in the face. It became common, after some good food and several beers, for one of them to casually suggest we go hit some bars. Most of men were married and, after a few beers, would often go along rather than go home, and soon I started getting calls from upset wives wondering where their husbands were. I was pleased with the crew and their work was exemplary, but this was grief I did not need. I’m a building contractor, not a relationship therapist, and some of the marital frustration the wives misdirected toward me left me trying to explain where their husbands were or might be doing. Something had to change.