I have a recurring nightmare about concrete, stemming from an experience I had as a summer student worker in 1984.
The man who hired me was short on cash, but long on the drug-induced drawl that suggested an affinity for black-light posters and psychedelic music. He lived on a small acreage in the Fraser Valley, and wanted to put a concrete floor in his barn.
He hired me to take advantage of my younger back, and my 18-months experience as a concrete labourer, where I had worked alongside experienced cement finishers who trained me in the basics of the trade.
The site was ill-suited for concrete. The dirt floor on the barn was mostly peat, and had not been properly tamped. The area offered poor drainage, and my boss was too foolish to hear my advice on site preparation. He also refused to rent proper tools, and disagreed with my calculations on how much concrete we needed to place as a
minimum depth for a floor.
It makes me queasy dragging myself through this memory. Cement is so permanent. The quality of the job is all about the work done before it sets up.
After that, you have several dozen years to gape at your errors or admire you work.
As a concrete worker, I spent more than one unfortunate day running a jackhammer, tearing out someone else's mess.
When the time came to pour the cement, my calculations proved correct, and we had about half the required concrete to cover the area at the appropriate depth. The burned-out boss rejected my recommendation to spread it to the proper thickness, finish one edge, and do the other half when he could afford it. I was instead told to rake the material thinly around the barn as best I could.
I desperately re-worked it using a rake and a two-by-four.
Around then the thin layer began to set, the concrete lost its workability, and the job was officially a huge mess.
I took my pay in cash, and drove away leaving him standing by his old Ford, appropriately grooving out to Marvin Gaye's What's Going On? as his significantly more sentient wife stood by scowling.
I have a list of questions I choose from when interviewing new clients. Some of them are pretty standard, and others a little off-beat.
The idea is to stimulate discussion which might uncover important trigger points in understanding an investor a little better, especially (but not only) when it comes to money. I was impressed by the response to a recent, fairly milquetoast question.
Question: "Tell me about an investment decision which went really well for you?"
Answer (without hesitation): "Having children."
Investing, and raising kids is like working with freshly-poured cement. Most of the work is at the front end, preparing and nurturing before the results set in. If done right, the end product is beautiful and
lasting.
If done sloppily, the next 90 years or more could be marred by scarred results, ill-equipped to withstand changes in the weather.
These parallels run deep. Good site preparation (with concrete) is like a thorough investment research. If the placement goes well, the results benefit for many years ahead.
A good home life, (like cement) makes a good foundation to build a life on. A child's years are relatively few, but a constant point of reference thereafter. If her home is built on a solid foundation, she can sleep through storms, be they meteorological, financial or otherwise.
Concrete, and investments, aren't
children.
But they do talk back in their own way. If we do the hard work up front, we can
expect a smooth and lasting finish.
Mark Ryan is an advisor with RBC Wealth Management, Dominion Securities (member CIPF) and can be reached at
