On June 8, 1978, Steve Adams hired me as an accountant for Pacific Health Resources. It was located in the deserted section of downtown Los Angeles on the California Hospital Medical Campus. I would spend the next 21 years reporting to him. This would be my longest apprenticeship. The lengthiest stretch with a father figure. Our birthdays were one day apart. He set the groundwork for my accounting twist. I found shortcuts to solve problems.

During the interview he told me, “I’ve been with the company for about a year. I had been working for one of the big eight CPA firms and quit to travel to Europe and Asia for six months. I was worried that I would be considered unreliable.” I loved his honesty. I was infected with the travel bug, too.

“I see you worked for Signal Insurance.” His ashtray was filled with ten cigarette butts. 

“They were going into receivership so my job ended.” I didn’t tell him that after the Signal gig ended, I was at Lytton Savings which ended abruptly after two weeks. I was a petrified unemployed 26-year-old.

My work ethic flourished under Steve’s guidance. I received excellent annual reviews and was promoted to manager after four years. Steve was a patient and understanding teacher. He never played favorites at work.  I never hid my sexuality and didn’t fear talking about my boyfriend Scott. He accepted me without judgement.

I loved my work but never considered it a career. I enjoyed my longevity and the family feel with my co-workers. I felt such gratitude that I worked for a company that respected me and let me be out as a gay man.