Pardon me, if I appear cynical. As I pondered the title of this essay, I immediately thought of all the standard oxymoronic terms that so many of us become familiar with over time.

1. jumbo shrimp
2. military intelligence
3. deafening silence

Ethics in the workplace? As Chatsworth Osborne, Jr. would say, "Surely, you jest?"

The American workplace is the occupational equivalent of Chernobyl. I haven't come by this assessment cavalierly. Since officially joining our nation's Proletariat 28 years ago, I've seen American workers summarily relocated from the sky box to the port-o-potty. Consider the following.

As a roly poly child growing up, I was often the target of countless calorically referenced barbs. However, no one fired them as gingerly as our neighbor, Mr. Gill. He was so thoughtful and kind, I never took his teasing seriously. Forty years ago, Mr. Gill was the spitting image of the American worker.

Upon his graduation from high school, Mr. Gill immediately went to work at the Chrysler Plant, on the eastside of Indianapolis, Indiana. He spent his entire working life there. Our neighbor was a company man all the way. He drove a Chrysler. His wife, a stay at home mother, whom was the primary role model for two well mannered children, drove a Plymouth and his son's first car was a Dodge.

Mr. Gill was loyal to Chrysler and the corporation responded in kind. He was punctual and his attendance record was impeccable. The good natured man was hard working and task oriented. In return, Chrysler rewarded him with a reasonable salary, two weeks paid vacation, health benefits for everyone in his family and a pension at retirement. The company made it possible for his wife to stay at home. As a result, Mrs. Gill was able to work domestically and she always provided an adult presence, whenever her minor offspring were unsupervised. Neither one of his children fell victim to unplanned teenage parenting. His daughter went to college and his son, upon graduation from high school, went to work at, you got it, Chrysler. Every, in the words of Jimi Hendrix, "white colored conservative" at Chrysler made truckloads of moolah and resided on the opposite side of the city, where the Bourgeoisie lived. At Chrysler, every one, to paraphrase Leslie West, "of them dudes was a gettin' their kicks," and all was placid and serene in the "Crossroads of America." Similar scenarios were played out in city after city, across the United States.

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