Within 10 months of my being hired, the company was featured on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The company suddenly went into an involuntary chapter 7 bankruptcy. I was now jobless and living in the city, which I hated. I went to turn in my keys, and the principal asked me where I was going. He asked me to stay on for several months, and I liquidated his inventory and carried his coat and briefcase to legal meetings and court. He was a good man. He had been set up. He was abandoned by 90 percent of his ''loyal” employees within a week of the announcement. People who used to sit on hold for 10 minutes to speak to this man called me on the phone to steal the inventory I was liquidating and called him everything but late for supper. I was going nowhere as long as he wanted me around.
After three months we could no longer justify my position. I returned to my miserable apartment and was cracking open a beer when the phone rang. It was Robert ''Slug” Ryan from Gloucester — one of my father’s many good friends. ''Want to cut fish with me for the summer?” he said. I couldn’t resist. ''Yup.” ''Be here Monday at 5 a.m. and bring your own boots.” A paycheck and a reason to get the heck out of the city! I had wings under my feet as I headed for Gloucester the following Monday morning.
About a month later, the son of my father’s partner, Jim, walked through the door one morning — with his boots on. He had been at Merrill Lynch and had been about as happy as a clown at a funeral there. He joined me on the cutting bench. We had worked together for those nine years through high school and college. He knew the drill.
In the first week in August, Jim and I were sitting in the foreman cubicle at about 4:30 a.m. — as always — drinking coffee with the foreman and planning the day when Slug walked in. He was in his work uniform — as always — and his shoes were
untied — as always — and he looked at us and asked us if we wanted to buy the company. I said, ''Hell yes.'' He turned and walked out of the building. This ritual went on for a good two weeks.
Now please understand, the company was essentially three open stalls on the Massachusetts state fish pier employing three full-time and 11 part-time employees who worked about 25 hours per week cutting small fish for the local retail trade. To the naked eye, the business was not much to look at — to me, it was Heaven on earth. At the helm of my own fish business at the ripe old age of 24? You’ve got to be kidding me!
After the two-week ritual, Slug told us to go home and get dressed; we had a meeting at the bank. We sat across from the president of the bank (a friend of Slug’s), and he proceeded to ask us what our working capital needs would be, what the capital expense (CAPEX) budget was, and what our revenue projections were for the upcoming year. Well, Jim had gone to Harvard so I looked at him. Jim knew that I was the one chomping at the bit to buy the business so he looked at me. Ultimately, we both looked at our shoes. Short meeting; back to the fish stalls.
Two weeks later we returned to the bank. Documents surrounded the conference room table. Slug had personally guaranteed the loan to buy himself out. Jim and I had to come up with $500 a piece. A quick call to Dad made that possible, and we were off to the races!
Not so fast. Slug had given 10 percent of the company to his foreman — Francis Lewis. Francis was a bull of a man who worked harder and faster and longer than the rest of the workers. He was a good man, and he could run the operation. He was going to do just that while Jim and I figured out what we had gotten ourselves into. And Francis made the coffee...
Almost exactly 30 days into our new endeavor, Jim and I arrived to work at 4:30 a.m. to find a dark building. We opened, and since neither one of us knew how to work the percolator, we stared balefully at the coffee machine and waited for Francis to show. By 6 a.m. we were worried. By 6:10 a.m. I had called his home and been told he was dead. He had suffered a massive heart attack the night before. Talk about shock and awe. What were we going to do now? We called together the crew, and I told them what had happened and basically said that we had two options: wrap ‘er up and call it a day, or hit the floor and have them teach us how to make it work. I hadn’t finished speaking before the back room man broke for the back room and the others grabbed their gloves. There was no quitting in this crew. So we went to work.
By the end of year one, Jim and I had been averaging about 75 hours per week in the plant, we had managed to bring in some new business to reach almost 40 production hours per week, and we made $35K. We thought we were rock stars! Of course we had no girlfriends, no friends outside of our business, no non-fish-related activities, and no clothes that did not stink of yesterday’s catch. But we had made it. That was 1985. Life was good.
Fast forward to a game of Texas two gun in 1989 when Jim and I traded written offers to buy each other out until he decided to take the money and run. Replacing Jim was my childhood hockey defensive partner and best friend. Two moves through a 10,000 square foot facility to a 40,000 square foot facility and a massive high volume roll-out of a 28 stock keeping unit (SKU) product line with Tyson Foods take us to 1998, when my father passed away very unexpectedly. He had left his job in Boston and bought a small frozen sales business in Gloucester (from Slug). We were very close but still running our own shows, independent of one another. This was very difficult for me. Dad always had the answer. Dad was always there. Dad made sure I didn’t get hurt. Now he was gone.
Ultimately, I bought his business from his estate and merged it into my own. There really was no other option for me, and I was proud to carry on what he had built. As the integration began, I was facing probably the largest business decision of my life. My 40,000 square foot facility was crumbling from the inside out. It was close to 100 years old and built to withstand the bombing of London, but the water damage inside was winning the war. I had to move.
Having researched all available existing space within 100 miles of Gloucester, and having unsuccessfully attempted a management buy-out of one of my large competitors, I began to contemplate a new facility. At the time, I was offered government bonds at one quarter of one percent lower than the London Interbank Offered Rate (LIBOR), which in 2003 was less than two percent. I was also offered a ''deal I couldn’t refuse” from a substantial multinational bank with the scruples of a Yankee carpetbagger. I was about to build my dream facility: 67,000 square feet of state-of-the-art fish processing horsepower.
I was so enamored with the architect that I hired his friend to build it then compensated him to manage the project. The fox was guarding the hen house, but they were ''great guys” — I trusted them. Did I need an independent project manager? Hell no! Not with this team. My chief operating officer (COO) could manage the business and the building project. We were one big happy family, right? While I was at it, I hired an ex-senior VP from one of the largest retail brands in America to flood us with orders! To boot, I let her ''staff up'' to handle all the business she was going to bring in. We were on a rocket ship heading to the Moon!
If only the rocket ship would have left the launch pad.
Chapter 11 bankruptcy reorganization — I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I have three girls — they were 8, 10, and 12 when we filed. I told them everything. I was in the paper. The sheriff delivered a summons to my wife at the house in front of the kids. I had sold my house and poured the proceeds into the business trying to stave off the reorganization. We moved into a dump of a rental house that we shared with rodent tenants. I sold two other properties and liquidated all my financial assets. The bank immediately turned hostile; not that they had ever been friendly since the day we closed the deal. They brought me to court every date the judge would give them.
My life was hell. It was 16 months of gagging on my toothbrush in the morning. I lost 46 pounds. I broke down twice in my kitchen and got out just in time so the kids didn’t see their father lose it. It was an unimaginable experience.
As you can tell from my story, owning a small business is not for the faint of heart. It is not just a casual endeavor, but a complete lifestyle. Depending on the small business owner’s personality, it can be treated either as an intellectual chess game or as a full-on contact sport. Regardless of the small business owner’s personality, though, one thing is for certain: if you don’t live your small business, particularly while it is taking root, you’re very unlikely to survive. To survive and thrive as a small business owner, you need the number one ingredient on the label: entrepreneurial passion. Entrepreneurial passion is the secret sauce to any successful small business. It’s what kept me going.
When I was asked to write this short, I put some serious thought into what entrepreneurial passion looks like and how a budding small business owner can channel that passion into a thriving business. I have identified six crucial entrepreneurial passion factors that I feel every small business owner needs to possess if he or she is going to have a rewarding lifestyle as a small business owner. Take a look at these and see if you’ve got what it takes.
See more at http://www.smallbizmadesimple.com/
About the Author
Bill Stride founded Good Harbor Fillet Company in 1984. In 1998 Good Harbor acquired Midship Seafoods. In the interim, Bill turned down an offer to sell his business and was turned down in an offer to acquire a major industry competitor. Both events helped shape Bill’s opinions and attitudes regarding his personal relationship with his business. In 2003 Bill embarked on the construction of his ''dream plant.” He brought all the enthusiasm and none of the experience he had for the fish business to the construction project. The results were disastrous, leading to a 2004 chapter 11 bankruptcy filing — and ultimately a successful reorganization. Bill's career continues to develop and unfold as he is now engaged in looking at new businesses in other industries in conjunction with his financial partners, Creo Capital Partners of California.
Bill attended St. Paul's School in Concord, NH, and Trinity College in Hartford, CT, and graduated with a degree in American studies. Bill was a two-sport captain in high school (football and baseball) and captain of the hockey team at Trinity College. Team sports has played a key role in his development as a businessman and a person. Bill has three daughters and a strong marriage and remains active in team sports and skiing.
Contact Bill at bill@smallbizmadesimple.com.
