From the age of zero to twenty there was a gruff old man who worked at the factory where I was raised. R ran the laboratory with an iron fist. My father might be in charge of the rest of the factory, but God help him if he crossed R in his laboratory. R had worked at the factory long before my father became manager and for a few years after he was moved to become vice president of the company. R knew every job in the place. He had worked them all. He knew every concrete block, every inch of pipe and electric wiring. My father got along well with R. In many ways they were much alike. He recognized that the tough old Swiss…