When Harry Gale Sr. died on April 20th, his son,
Henry was forced to become the CEO of their family business ; The Gale
Foundation, a company based in Italy that sent emergency disaster help all over
the world. There were no specifications
as to the role of Henry in the business in Harry’s will, just for him to “sit
in the main office and stare out into the beautiful valleys of Italy.” And for
eleven years, that’s exactly what Henry did; he woke up every day, put on his custom
double breasted suit, chauffeured to work in his Mercedes, rode the elevator to
the tippy top floor and sat in his
leather chair and watched the grape vineyards that surrounded the building. He had quite a comfortable life.
Before, Henry was not a huge a fan of his father’s work,
mostly because it looked boring, but while sitting in his office, Henry
realized his father had the easiest job in the building. Other than the
occasional signing of paperwork and nodding at pictures of improvement from disasters
sites, Henry didn’t do much. All the work was done on the floors below him; the
grimy gritty labor was below him. He just had to sit on top like a king to
oversee the operation and he was paid handsomely for it.
It was not until Thomas, from Italia Magazine, came into
Henry’s office asking for a photo shoot in the current country the company was
working with, Haiti, that Henry left his office. He and Thomas both flew to
Haiti that week to take pictures at the company’s Haitian building. Even before
entering the building, Henry could sense something was not right. The structure
stood tall and shiny covered in reflective glass windows, amongst the ruble
that was left from the hurricane. Once inside, Henry noticed some shady men in raggedy
clothes in the lobby but assumed they were just homeless people waiting to be
sheltered. After the photo shoot, he walked around to explore the building and stumbled
upon a journal in the main office where his father used to stay when he
visited. The entries were accounts of the days of emergency help on the island.
Charts of water and supplies lined the booklet. Most were stories of heroic
rescues from Harry’s point of view and his thoughts and hopes for the company.
One entry stuck out to Henry, it read:
“Our ‘homeless men’ we have are doing great! Today they
brought back 100 shillings and two gold coins. I had them beg all day because
they didn’t bring me anything yesterday. But this will make up for it. It’ll be
just fine.”
Then it hit him. Henry’s father had been cheating the poor Haitians,
who had barely anything left after the hurricane, into giving the company
money. The men in the lobby were hired by the company to go out every day and
beg for money and the Haitians, with little money but big hearts, would give
the men the last of their change. Then the men would scurry back to the offices
and give the money to a company executive. That money would pile up and be used
for holiday bonuses or company vacations. They had been doing this for years
until the Haitians had nothing left. Henry could not believe what he had been a
part of, what his father had been a part of and his father’s father and so on.
He fled the country and the company the next day and started a new life in the
Bronx.
