Employees affected: 30*
Annual cost: $60,000*
Start-up cost: $90,000*
*Estimated
Mid-November, 1987: The wags at Perceptronics Inc., a maker of military training devices, say it must be in the water -- how else could they explain the spate of new babies? Devra Weltman, then working as an internal auditor, recalls that chief financial officer David P. Nelson had once raised the possibility of adding some sort of child-care assistance to the benefits package. Nothing came of it. Weltman, finishing up her undergraduate studies and eager to carve a role for herself at the Woodland Hills, Calif., company, brings the idea to her father, CEO Gershon Weltman, who greets it with interest. Devra tells personnel to put her on the routing list for anything related to child-care assistance. She also begins sending for books and pamphlets.
December: The word is out, and women are telling Weltman that nothing short of an on-site center will do; child care is difficult to find in Greater Los Angeles, they say. An expectant mother stops into Weltman's office to urge Devra on. "If you don't get us this child-care center, and soon," she says, teasingly, "this baby's going to end up in your office!"
January 1988: Weltman makes her first semiformal pitch to Nelson and president Amos Freedy. "We're losing people," she says. "One woman took on a consulting contract for a while after she adopted a child, but now she's not working for us at all. Maybe we could have kept her if we'd had something to offer her." Nelson and Freedy free Devra from her duties to delve into the research. Weltman begins visiting child-care centers.
January 29: Weltman meets with Sandy Burud, president of Summa Associates Inc., a Pasadena, Calif.-based consulting firm. Burud agrees to help Perceptronics choose a child-care assistance program. That includes helping conduct a needs assessment and later, helping with construction, licensing, staffing, marketing, maybe even operation. Burud says an on-site center for a company the size of Perceptronics should accommodate about 30 children, or about 10% of the work force. She says a September 1988 opening date is not only feasible, but desirable: parents are most receptive to changing their child-care arrangements at the beginning of a school year.
But the big topic is liability. Burud assures Weltman that Perceptronics need not worry: insurance coverage will cost $150 to $180 per child, or, in this case, about $5,000 a year. Afterward, Weltman reports to Nelson, who agrees that "liability won't be the swing issue" on a go/no-go decision. "It'll rest on the cost-benefit analysis."
February: Weltman's on the road again, touring various child-care centers. She's begun thinking about space. Because Perceptronics rents facilities in a cluster of three buildings, she will not only have to select an area that is suitable to the company and the state regulators -- who require 35 square feet per child inside and 75 out -- but also acceptable to the building owners. Late in the month, Burud appoints colleague Choral Nasser Brown to handle the project.
Early March: Weltman and Brown meet and agree to a two-step plan: first the development of a sample budget, followed by a needs-assessment survey of the work force. "Let's hope it shows us whether child care will help us recruit and reduce absenteeism -- and gives us some idea of how it will affect things we can't measure, like morale and productivity," Nelson says. Before the the month is two-thirds gone, Brown produces the budget. Lots of figures are soft, but she tells Perceptronics to expect an annual operating subsidy of up to $2,000 per child. Weltman discusses the budget with Nelson, who is now more explicit about his concerns. "As a defense contractor, we're going to have to be sure this won't jeopardize our profits. And I'm going to have to look at how other government contractors are dealing with this. I'm not against pioneering, but if nobody else is doing this, I think we ought to examine why."
Late March: The pace quickens. After another round of visits to day-care centers, Weltman selects an architect. She touches base with the building owner again, this time to obtain blueprints to show the architect, and to discuss the possibility of turning part of a parking lot into a playground. To Weltman's pleasure, he is completely supportive. A week later, Weltman meets with the architect, who asks questions she can't easily answer. Will this be a structured program, or will the kids determine their own activities? She'll have to decide these things before he can design the structure. Nonetheless, he says he can meet a September deadline.
April: Weltman and CFO Nelson distribute the needs-assessment survey. There's an air of excitement; Weltman finds herself reading through each survey as it is handed in, enjoying the many positive responses. Still, definitive results won't be available until the end of the month. Then, the company will either commit to child care or abandon the idea. "We're not going to dabble," Nelson tells her. "We're not going to commit blindly, either. But if everything continues to look positive, we'll go forward. And if we go, we're really gonna go."
May: The numbers are crunched. Encouraging as the results had seemed initially, Weltman and Nelson decide that establishing an independently operated center is not wise. "Disappointing as it is," says Weltman, "I've got to be realistic. We're going to have a bit of a baby boom in five years, but going ahead now is a little too much for us to handle."
August: Weltman remains on the stump for child care, but now she's lobbying neighboring companies that might want to invest jointly in a program. "We hope to have something concrete put together before the end of the year." And remember the woman who jokingly threatened to drop her little one in Devra's lap if something weren't done to alleviate her child-care problem? "The baby spent most of the summer in my office," says Weltman, laughing.
