It is not unusual for smaller accounting firms to develop reputations for having a particular industry specialization. M.R. Weiser was known for handling many old, established family offices, New York City based family-owned retail businesses as well as family charitable foundations. Some of the younger partners were attempting to expand beyond that core base of clients. Stanley, mentioned in Part I, was one of those partners. He was one of the few partners who had clients outside of the New York City area, and they were primarily in the telecommunications and cable TV industries. Stanley liked to disparage my “big eight” audit experience, referring to me with terms such as “elitist”, “too good for us”, etc. However, of all of the clients to which I was assigned, most of them were his. One of those clients was Sunbelt Cable TV based in Lake Worth, Florida. Being the senior accountant for this audit I needed to get a thorough understanding of the cable TV industry making me one of the firm’s defacto experts in Cable TV. This proved to be very fortunate.

Stanley had a client who was interested in investing in, and/or purchasing, small cable TV companies. Let’s call him “Sarg”, because while I do not remember his name, I do remember he was a Sergeant in the Marines – he wouldn’t let us forget it. The new financial projection spreadsheet we created (see Part I) was perfect for this purpose. We were able to create financial and tax forecasts for his potential cable TV acquisitions including the potential returns on his investments. As one of the cable TV “experts”, in addition to being one of the creators of this spreadsheet template, I was involved in each of Sarg’s transactions.

In the early 1980s the cable TV industry was in its very early stages. Thanks to government deregulation in the 1970s many small cable TV companies began to pop up all over the country, especially in rural areas where broadcast TV signals were weak or non-existent. As a result, investors saw an opportunity to purchase and consolidate these small companies, and then package them for ultimate sale to larger companies. The behemoth cable conglomerates of 2022; Verizon, xfinity, Cablevision, TimeWarner, Fox, etc. came from this period of consolidation. Sarg, who was based in Brentwood, Tennessee, was one of these early investors.

After a potential deal was negotiated between Sarg and a cable company Weiser would send a team of 2 or 3 accountants to perform what is called a “due diligence” audit. This would be done to ensure that the details provided by the cable company were accurate. Since I was now one of the defacto “experts” I was always a member of these teams, usually as the senior member. Our role was to review the financial records as well as ascertain the correct number of customers (called “subscribers”). Since most of these cable companies were in very rural areas of the country, we had some interesting and memorable experiences.

Wolfpen Hollow and How to Speak Southern
One of these cable companies was in a very small town called Bulan, Kentucky. Bulan is as rural as rural can get. It is located in the deep woods of Kentucky and the nearest major airport is in Lexington, Kentucky over 2 hours away. Its population is just over 1,000 people. This is exactly the type of cable company that was being acquired by Sarg and others. I am assuming that Sarg is now very wealthy as the 1980’s and 1990s were the “boom years” for these cable company acquisitions.

Since the Bulan company was so small it only required one person to do the due diligence audit, so I went alone. When I arrived at the Lexington Airport, I was picked up by Sarg’s assistant. Sarg did not have a large company. He had a small office in Brentwood Tennessee with only 2 employees; an office manager/bookkeeper and his assistant, whose name was SueAnn. I can only describe SueAnn as a very charming, blonde southern belle about 20 or 21 years old with a very thick southern drawl. She looked and sounded like she came right out of a country song. She even drove a great big gold Cadillac complete with a hood ornament. As I mentioned earlier, Lexington is over 2 hours away from Bulan, so we had plenty of time for discussion. Being from the South and never having traveled outside of that area of the country, SueAnn had many questions about New York City. We were traveling along Kentucky State Route 15, which is an open 4-lane highway when a truck who was passing us on the left apparently didn’t see this humungous Cadillac and tried to switch lanes almost hitting us. SueAnn slammed on the brakes and her right arm immediately swung over to me and smacked me in the chest as if to protect me from the potential crash (which did not happen).

She quickly pulled her arm back and became very embarrassed. She apologized and said in her southern accent, “I’m so soorrry. It was just a reflex. You see, I have a little black child (she pronounced it “cha”) at home who always sits in the front seat.”……. “Oh. That’s ok”, was all that I could think of saying. I had so many questions and didn’t know what to say. My mind was reeling. I guess she wasn’t too young to have a child, but wasn’t she too young to have a child old enough to sit in the front seat? And why did she feel compelled to mention that the child was black? I must admit that I did possess certain stereotypical impressions about white Southerners, and I was sure that interracial marriages were not that common in Tennessee and Kentucky. I sat there in silence for a number of minutes, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I had to ask the obvious question. “So, SueAnn,” I began. “Did you adopt?” She turned and looked at me with a very puzzled face. “What are you talking about?” she asked. I gulped at my obvious indiscretion and said, “Well, back there when we were cut off you put your arm out to protect me and then said you did that out of instinct because you had a little black child at home. So, I was wondering if you adopted your child.” I could feel my face burning with embarrassment for asking such an inappropriate personal question. After a pause, she smiled and then giggled which turned into a roaring laugh. She laughed so hard I thought she would lose control of the car. “I don’t have a child, silly.” My embarrassment became intense. In her drawl, she once again said, “I have a black cha” but then went on, “…c.h.o.w…..a dog”. I wanted to jump out of the moving car. SueAnn was a good sport though, and my naivete and difficulty understanding “southern”, as she called it, became fodder for fun while I was there.

We finally arrived in Bulan and found the address of the Cable TV company. It was a house. The company was owned by one man and his employees were his wife and two sons. The large satellite dish used to receive the broadcast signals was in their backyard. Their dining room would be where I would do my work, and I immediately realized that I was overdressed. I probably came off as someone trying to impress at best, or to attempt to show my superiority at worst. Neither was true. I was just a naïve young auditor from New York City carrying a briefcase and standing in his dining room. I tried my best to show as much deference and respect as I could. After all, it was his company, and this was their home. He had arranged all his financial records, tax returns, contracts, etc. stacked neatly on the dining room table waiting for me to review. It was time for my next faux pas.

Being a good accountant who always uses a pencil and not a pen I had my stash of them ready to be sharpened. I asked if he had a pencil sharpener. “Heck, yeah, son. Here you go.” And threw me his pocketknife. SueAnn had to turn away to hide her smile. I went on digging deeper, “I will have to make copies of some of these documents. Is there a copy machine?” “What do you think, son? Of course there is. It’s just down the road a ways, about 3 miles at the library.” While this was all true, I couldn’t help but think that they were all having a bit of fun at my expense.

Part of our due diligence audit is to verify the number of subscribers that were reported to our client. In a larger company, this would require reviewing billing records for a sample number of subscribers and following the payment flows into the company bank accounts. However, for a company such as this one in this very poor town of Bulan, Kentucky, many of the payments are made in cash and hand-delivered to the office (i.e., the house). Therefore, the only way to verify the number of subscribers was to actually count them. This was known as a “tap count”. As is still the case today in many communities the cable wire that comes into each house is spliced from the main line hung on telephone poles. This main line is called the “trunk line”. The splice into the trunk line is covered with a device that looks like a “T” and is called a “tap”. So, if you count all the taps, you can verify the number of customers receiving a signal. The next day, when I was dressed more appropriately, one of the sons drove me around Bulan and I counted the taps.

At one point on our ride, I noticed what looked like someone had spliced into the trunk line without a tap, which means it was probably unauthorized, i.e., someone was stealing the cable signal. I visually followed the unauthorized cable which was strung through trees and led down a narrow dirt road. I asked the driver to pull down that road so I could count the customers who might be stealing the signal. He simply said, “Nope.” Looking straight ahead. “Look”, I said. “I represent the individual who will one day be your boss and I need to know if there is anyone stealing the cable signal.” He looked at me with a very determined glare and said, “I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t care. You see, that’s Wolfpen Hollow (which he pronounced Halla). We don’t go down into the Halla. No one does.” “Why?” I asked. “We don’t go. That’s all you need to know.” Since my job was to verify the revenue received from paying customers, and not investigate illegal customers, (nor was it my job to get shot), I decided that it would be prudent to let this go.

A week or so later when I presented the audit findings and reports to Sarg, I told him about Wolfpen Hollow and the unauthorized tap, and how they would not allow me to investigate. Sarg looked at me with a smile and said that it was a good thing I didn’t go down into the “Halla”. He had visited Bulan right after I was there and also noticed the unauthorized tap. When the son of the owner also refused to take him down the road Sarg told the son to get out of the truck and he would go alone. “This is going to be my company and I’m not going to let anyone steal from me.” He said in his best Marine Sergeant voice. He then drove down the dirt road and took out a ladder to cut the illegally hung cable wire. He heard someone approaching from behind and there was a very large man pointing a shotgun at him. The man did not speak but his message was clear. As Sarg was putting the ladder back into the truck he glanced back at the man who was now walking back to a small clearing and what could only be described as shacks. “Tom, as God as my witness, I am not lying.”, he said. “There were a few cages in the yards and what was living in those cages could not be described as animal or human. I was a Marine in Vietnam (as if I didn’t already know this), and I never saw anything that frightened me as much as that.” I assume the habitants of Wolfpen Hollow had cable service for as long as Sarg owned that company.

Before leaving Bulan, I guess I won over the owner of the company. As I was packing up my briefcase he asked if SueAnn and I would share a shot of whiskey with him and his family. I had never seen clear whiskey before, but I didn’t want to insult him any more than I already had so I agreed. It was 100% pure Kentucky moonshine. When I finished choking, they were all having a good laugh over their new Yankee friend. I guess it was their way of forgiving me or getting back at me, for my NYC arrogance. Even SueAnn had a good laugh. He then handed me a Mason jar full of moonshine as a souvenir of my time in Bulan.

SueAnn drove me back to the Lexington Airport and as I got my bags out of her trunk, she also gave me a present. It was a book titled “How to Speak Southern.”

Hurricane Juan and Catfish:
Our Cable TV team was involved in a number of due diligence audits and each one had their interesting moments, but none as scary as our trip to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. This trip began on October 27, 1985. I remember the date because it was a Sunday and I had to leave for the airport in the middle of watching the NY Giants football game vs, coincidentally, the New Orleans Saints. I was a pretty big NY football Giants fan in those days and they were having a really good season on their way to the playoffs and I was upset that I had to leave the game at halftime. I was completely unaware of the adventure that would begin in a few hours.

Sarg’s next potential acquisition was across the Mississippi River from Baton Rouge. While M.R. Weiser was benefiting from Sarg’s acquisitions, getting audit and tax work with each new purchase (never mind the fees for the due diligence work), Sarg was not very generous when it came to travel luxuries. To minimize the travel costs our flight itinerary from Newark to Baton Rouge had 2 layovers: Atlanta, Georgia and Birmingham, Alabama. He also booked us to stay at a very unglamorous Best Western Hotel. Flying on a Sunday evening was also cheaper resulting in me missing half the Giants game. This due diligence work would require a team of two accountants so Joel, a junior accountant, was scheduled to join me. Our flight out of Newark was scheduled to arrive, after the two stops, in Baton Rouge at 11:00 pm that night. Hurricane Juan had different ideas.

Hurricane Juan was not expected to be a particularly deadly Hurricane as it was predicted to make landfall on Wednesday, October 30th, and be downgraded to a tropical storm by then. Probably because of its anticipated demise, there was not a lot of news coverage about the Hurricane in the New York newscasts, so I was completely oblivious.

The flight, which was full, took off on time, and when we landed at our first stop, in Atlanta, most of the passengers disembarked and very few new passengers boarded. When we landed at the second layover almost everyone got off the plane leaving about a dozen passengers remaining on the flight to Baron Rouge. The flight was delayed in Birmingham for over an hour for “weather-related concerns”, but we ultimately were able to take off. It was a small plane, a DC9 I believe, so the small number of passengers, while noticeable, didn’t register as unusual. Soon after we took off from Birmingham, we began to experience some intense turbulence. It wasn’t an especially long flight, about 2 and a half hours and it was early in the flight that the turbulence became very bad. So bad that the passengers were beginning to murmur sounds of worry. I found out later that the only passengers on this leg of the flight, besides Joel and I, were a young teenage girl and her grandfather, and the news crews going down to cover the hurricane. The closer we got to Baton Rouge the worse the turbulence became. It was so intense that the teenage girl was sobbing and burying her head in her grandfather’s shoulder. A gentleman was sitting behind me who, as it turns out, was a reporter from one of the news crews. As unreal as this may sound, I swear I overheard him giving his last will and testament into his tape recorder. The turbulence was so bad, that people on the plane thought we were going to die.

After a couple of anxious hours, we were on the final approach to the Baton Rouge Airport. I looked out the window and noticed through the torrential rain that we were flying very low. So low, in fact, I could see inside the houses that we flew over. I swear we were flying just over the treetops. Even though we were close to landing, and maybe because we were so close, my anxiety was still very high. Suddenly the plane seemed to roll to the left and I could see another plane on the tarmac so close below us that I thought we were going to hit it. The pilot was able to quickly level the plane off, but then accelerated and began to climb. He was abandoning the landing. After a while, all the passengers began to calm down, but then we could feel the plane circling around. The pilot was going to attempt to land again, which caused a few of the passengers to voice and yell their disapproval. They wanted the plane to land somewhere else and not in the middle of a hurricane. “He has no business trying to land this plane!”, yelled one passenger. Despite these protests, he did attempt another landing, and while it was very bumpy and scary, the pilot landed the plane safely.

It was now past 1:00 am, and while Juan had not officially made landfall, Baton Rouge was battening down the hatches (pun intended). Getting off the plane and walking through the airport it was obvious that everything was shut down. I didn’t know if that was because of the late hour or because of the hurricane. I was concerned that if it was the latter, the Hertz window would be closed, and we would not be able to pick up our rental car. I was relieved and impressed that the Hertz agent was waiting for us. She already had on her coat and once she gave us the keys to the car, she immediately closed down the counter. She was anxious to get home to safety.

With our map and directions to the Best Western, we made our way through the pouring rain and wind. Technically Hurricane Juan had not made landfall, but Baton Rouge was experiencing intense wind and rain from one of the tails of the storm’s rotation. People in this part of the country are used to Hurricanes and they know how to prepare. We made it to the Best Western only to find that it was completely shut down. Doors were locked and duct tape was crisscrossed over all of the windows. Joel and I just looked at each other as if to say, “now what?!!”

On our way to the Best Western, I noticed a low-budget motel a few miles back. If we didn’t want to sleep in the car we had no choice but to check it out. It was a pay-by-the-hour flea bag motel. Rooms were $5 per hour or $20 for the night. There was no lobby to speak of and the clerk sat behind bulletproof glass in a booth in the parking lot. Again, we had no choice, so we each paid $20 and went to our rooms. To say that they were disgusting would give disgusting a bad name. There was about a 2-inch gap between the door and the floor allowing the water from the rain to pour in. The mold smell was almost unbearable. I slept in my clothes above the covers. I had a fitful couple of hours of sleep and the next morning I was thankful I put on my shoes to go to the bathroom. They literally stuck to the floor. I was out of that room very early, but Joel was already waiting for me by the car. He had the same experience, and we couldn’t get away from this place quickly enough. 

By this time, the storm’s tail had blown through, and the next batch of wind and rain was not forecasted to hit until late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. We still had a few hours before we were scheduled to arrive at the cable company’s offices, so we decided to give the Best Western another try.  While the duct tape was still on the windows in anticipation of Juan’s arrival, the hotel was open.  We got our rooms and we were able to get a couple hours of sleep and something to eat before heading across the Mississippi River. Again, Juan was making it difficult for us as one of the two bridges from Baton Rouge over the river was washed out, but we finally made it to the client.

Our work was scheduled to take about 2 days. Our flight home was scheduled for Tuesday evening, however, we completed most of the work during that first day on Monday. The rest of the work did not require 2 people so I told Joel to see if he could get on a flight that night and get out of Baton Rouge. He did just that. I finished the work on Tuesday morning and my flight left that night without incident. Turns out, that I was very glad I stayed.

I had always wanted to try authentic southern-style cooking in a restaurant in the south. Jeanmarie and I once had barbeque in Florida at a place called Tom’s Barbeque. It was some of the best ribs I had ever tasted and while Florida is in the south, it’s…..well…..Florida. I asked the clerk at the Best Western to tell me her favorite restaurant that serves real southern cooking. I don’t recall the name of the restaurant, but I do remember her saying. “You must have the catfish.” I had never eaten catfish before, and I couldn’t wait to try it.

I was about to enjoy an amazing meal, but there was one more incident that added to my already disastrous trip to Baton Rouge. I found the recommended restaurant easily enough. It was on a city block and did not have a parking lot. I needed to either find street parking or a garage. I was able to find a very tight spot on the street about a block away. It was 1985 which means we had lived in Jersey City for a couple of years, and I considered myself a master at parallel parking. I had been able to get myself into and out of many tight parking spots in Jersey City, so this was not a challenge for me. Before rear view cameras were ever even thought of for cars, when we parallel parked we used the “tap method”. By “tap method” I mean gently pulling the car backwards or forwards until slightly tapping each car which gave a sense of how much room there was to maneuver. These taps were so slight they made no marks. This was a very common practice in Jersey City. So, as I swung my car into this very tight spot on this street in Baton Rouge I did just that. I tapped the Cadillac behind me to gauge how much room I had. Well, this technique was not a thing in Baton Rouge and the very large good ‘ol boy with a cigar dangling out of his mouth whose car I just tapped happened to see me do it. He proceeded to unleash a string of profanity and threats to my well-being. I was able to show him that there was no marks or damage on his bumper. He walked away continuing to shout obscenities about God-damned Yankees.

I did eventually get to go into the restaurant and ordered the catfish platter that came with a bunch of side dishes. This was one of the best meals I had ever had. I absolutely loved it and continue to say that catfish is my favorite fish dish.  However, nothing has ever come close to the catfish at this restaurant. It was a great way to put a couple of trying days behind me.

Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains,……..:
Once again Joel and I were going on an adventure to rural America. This time we are visiting Welch, West Virginia in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Welch is an old coal mining town whose better days were behind it. In the early 1890s, it was a very prosperous town in a prosperous West Virginia county. It was not unusual for these old coal mining enclaves to fall on bad economic times during the oil and machine boom years of the mid-20th century. Efficient machines began replacing workers and the switch to oil significantly reduced the price and usefulness of coal, especially after World War II. Welch was not immune to the relentless march of progress. As it became emblematic of the poverty of these mountain communities in the 1950s in 1961 it became famous as having the first American citizens to receive food stamps under the new poverty legislation at that time. As per Wikipedia, with political fanfare, the Secretary of Agriculture under John F. Kennedy personally delivered $95 worth of food stamps to Mr. and Mrs. Muncy of Welch.

When Joel and I arrived in 1985 things had not improved. It was still a very impoverished area of the country with many of its inhabitants living in tar paper and tin shacks and other hovels. But! They did want their MTV. Their monthly cable TV bill was considered as necessary as their electric and gas bill. Since they were high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains the only broadcast television signals they could receive were from local TV stations. There was no other means of entertainment, so when cable TV arrived it opened them up to the world. Our client, Sarge the Syndicator, was going to purchase their cable TV company, package it together with other companies he purchased, and sell them for a profit.

I don’t remember much about the audit. I do remember that even though Welch was such a poor town the surrounding area of the Blue Ridge Mountains was breathtakingly beautiful and I still can remember the views and scenery. However, once again, it was the trip from Newark Airport that was the adventure.

Joel, who lived in Queens, NY, was going to fly out of NY’s Laguardia Airport The plan was to meet at the Airport in Charleston, WV, (the nearest major Airport), and we would rent a car and then drive the 2 to 3 hours to get to Welch.

There were no non-stop flights from Newark to Charleston at this time. My itinerary was to take a U.S. Air flight to Pittsburgh, PA, and then switch for a flight to Charleston. That seemed daunting enough and became more so when my flight out of Newark was delayed. I don’t recall for how long we were delayed but it was long enough that I missed my connecting flight by the time I arrived in Pittsburgh. My anxiety levels went even higher when I was told that there were no more flights to Charleston that day on any of the major airlines. I asked the U.S. Air agent to check to see if there were any “non-major” airlines that could take me. After some time the agent came back to me and said there was only one flight available from something called McCormick Airlines. I would have to hurry, though, as it was scheduled to leave in a short while. I was quite relieved to hear this as the rental car at the Charleston airport was under my name and I thought that if I didn’t get there Joel would be stranded. (It never occurred to me that Joel could just rent another car, but I digress).

I rushed to the departing gate and when I got there no one was around. I was the only one there and even the neighboring gates were empty. “Did I go to the wrong gate?” I wondered.  I looked at the printout given to me by the U.S. Air agent and it was the correct gate. “Maybe they gave me the wrong gate?” was another thought. Just as I was about to leave to find someone to ask a gentleman in a pilot’s uniform approached me and asked, “Are you Mr. Kerns?” When I nodded he said, “Come with me. You’re our only one.”…..uh……what???

After he introduced himself as the co-pilot and checking my transfer ticket from U.S. Air, he took my bag and I followed him out onto the tarmac to a very small single-engine plane. He put my bags in a compartment that also held maintenance tools and guided me up the small stairway into the plane. “Be careful not to hit your head, Mr. Kerns, and please put on your seatbelt” There were four passenger seats located behind the cockpit which was separated from these seats by a curtain. The co-pilot got into the plane, and we immediately took off. As we leveled off, he introduced me to the pilot. He had to speak very loudly, almost in a scream, to be heard over the very loud engine. He then yelled, “Mr Kerns, there is a small cabinet door to your right. In it you will find something to drink. Please help yourself.” There was a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff Vodka and a couple of empty plastic cups. I didn’t drink vodka and still don’t but under the circumstances……

It was a loud and bumpy ride for the entire 2+ hour flight to Charleston. As we made our final approach for landing, I looked out of the window and when I saw the airport ahead, I was actually glad we were in a tiny little airplane and not a big jet. The runway was perched on top of the mountain and if you missed it, you would fly straight into the face of the mountain. Jeesh!!

After landing I did find Joel waiting for me. U.S Air had communicated with the Charleston Airport who informed Joel as to my delay and when I would arrive. After picking up the car we began our 2 to 3-hour car ride, in the mountains, to Welch. It was on this ride that we were able to view the beautiful scenery as well as the abject poverty of the area. When we arrived in Welch, however, the hotel was very nice, and we walked around the city and it was obvious that it was once a beautiful quaint city in its heyday.

When I reminisce about that trip, I always have a warm feeling for some reason. All the people were very friendly and while the little city had seen better day, in my mind’s eye it is always quaint.

I was, and am, very grateful that I decided to leave DH&S and join a firm like Weiser. I never would have had any experiences remotely close to these trips if I stayed at a large firm. The memories I have of them are fresh even after more than 35 years later.