State of Nebraska

I’m sitting in an Embassy Suites hotel bar in Lincoln, Nebraska as I write this. Come and be here with me. For those who have never been in an Embassy Suites, their point of differentiation is all about bringing the “outside” in. Instead of just a hotel lobby and elevators — there’s an atrium that not only has a huge waterfall with (what looks like) fake rocks, but a kind of stream that flows through the entire hotel complete with big goldfish (probably more exotic than that — but that’s what they look like to me).
I was checking out the fitness center, conference room (that I’ll be speaking in) gift shop, etc when out of the corner of my eye I spied a duck. He was on the edge of the stream and had his little beak tucked in his feathers like he was some kind of contortionist or something. Kind of freaked me out. I thought, oh, that’s a nice, weird touch. But then the little guy blinked. Swear to god. It is a real duck. In a hotel lobby, next to a man-made stream filled with goldfish. In Lincoln, Nebraska.
Eric, Jeff and Chip are the ducks names (I just found out from the bartender). Seems the Assistant General Manager had “too many ducks” at home and brought the boys here. The real challenge (according to Aaron Shmitz) is keeping the ducks away from the fish. And keeping kids from the ducks. They clip their wings so they can’t escape easily. The ducks, not the kids. Makes sense. Apparently the fish die pretty quickly so they have people come in and replenish (like those companies that water the plants in huge companies or landscapers that rip out wilted flowers and replace with fresh) regularly.
Okay…I admit it. I love animals. I’m the kind of person that would ram my car into a tree rather than hit a squirrel. There, I said it. I feel bad for these fish that are giving their short lives for ambience at a large hotel chain. For the ducks who endure spastic toddlers and elevator noise (ding) and Husker fans on game day. But I do love the attention they’ve given their brand. I’m so conflicted. I’m in a state of Nebraska.

A jury of my peers

Last week I was working with a client that was lamenting over their success compared to their peers. Their urgency for change was driven by it. Almost every sentence, at one point, began with, “Well, compared to our peer group.” So I asked them. Who are your peers?
According to www.dictionary.com, the definition of a peer is: a person who is equal to another in abilities, qualifications, age, background, and social status.
The client’s definition was any financial institution in the US of the same asset size. Period. Didn’t matter if they were only serving taxi drivers in NYC or the Air Force Base in New Mexico or educators in Racine, Wisconsin. They considered them peers. Didn’t matter what products of services they offer - or don’t - or what their unique field of membership needed. The big concern was growth and how they measured up to their peers.
I think this is the center of the problem with American business — capitalism - the pursuit of happiness through the dollar bill. As Peter Drucker (the greatest thinker of our time) said, “It is not necessary for a company to get bigger. It is necessary for it to get better.” So why the obsession with growth? The second most popular phrase among my clients today is: “If we don’t grow, we won’t survive.” Look around your neighborhood. I’ll bet you can find tons of small business (as in they only have one location) that have “survived” for decades. But how can they be? Shouldn’t they be all over America like Starbucks to be considered a success? Shouldn’t they have infiltrated every corner of the market and pushed OUT the mom-n-pop shops like WalMart did? Isn’t it just a matter of time before they bite the dust if they continue to shun growth? Aren’t they looking at their peer data? Probably not. Instead, they are looking at and have always focused on THEIR values and THEIR goals.
My first boss was Mr. Beazely. He had a goal of bringing English style fish-n-chips to Northeast Portland. He valued family and the servant mentality. He was very good friends with Bob Farrell (of Farrell’s ice cream parlors) who valued the same. I was 15 years old when I went to work for ‘Enry Beazely’s. He got brand. It oozed from every pore of the organization. I had to dress like a serving wench, complete with humiliating hat. The boys were dressed like some kind of swash buckler that looked like they could work at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. Mr. Beazely was a stickler for cleanliness and friendliness. We cooked all the food in full view of the customers. He was fond of saying that the front counter was like the tide — you never turn your back on it. He would secret shop us all the time — and I mean he personally would pop in, with his lovely wife and friends of theirs to dine. You never knew when he was going to be there. If something wasn’t right — there were no words of discipline — no scolding. He simply would wash his hands, tie an apron around his waist and gracefully fix it.
If everything was perfect — he would shake the hand of each employee upon leaving and thank us for a delightful experience. Wow. I would walk through hot coals for that man. The coolest thing he did — that reflected his values the most was on Thanksgiving day. The restaurant was closed, of course. He invited the entire crew to the store for breakfast - which he insisted on cooking for us. After all, we cooked for him the rest of the year and he was thankful for that - he truly valued us as people.
Mr. Beazely retired a few years back and chose to close his restaurant. His work was done. They threw a party for him and kids came by (as adults now) that hadn’t seen each other in 25 years to celebrate this man. Last year he died. Did he die a failure or a success? You decide.