From Mom and Pop to What?
One day I heard my father on the phone with some Hollywood movie mogul who wanted several pounds of sturgeon and smoked salmon shipped to him for a party the following week. “Sure,” I heard my father say. “Send me a check and when it clears the bank, I’ll send you the fish.” This method of order fulfillment could take several weeks, so the movie mogul got his fish somewhere else, somewhere more accommodating, more trusting.
This was long before synthetic ice gels, insulated Styrofoam boxes, FedEx overnight shipping, and, most important, credit cards. My grandfather, my parents, and my aunts and uncles were cautious people who had lived through the Great Depression. They knew that even “the biggest”—doctors, lawyers, Hollywood moguls—could bounce checks. And once a check bounced, there was the inevitable awkwardness of trying to get the no-goodnik on the phone—maybe several calls would be necessary—to get him to “make good” on the “rubber.” Of course, such phone calls would inevitably lead to losing the customer, who was either too embarrassed or too offended that the fish man would bother them over a bounced check.
I didn’t need an MBA to change and improve shipping at Russ & Daughters. Credit cards and overnight deliveries did that. But I did need help to institute an ambitious change in management style—if we even had one at all. I wanted to go from a mom-and-pop, etzel-petzel company to something that vaguely resembled an actual business. My first and biggest challenge was our employees. Starting with me.
I was increasingly unhappy with the role I was playing, or perhaps had created for myself, at the store—being responsible for just about everything. The hardest task was managing employees whose interests were not always the same as mine. Grandpa Russ’s challenge had been different: he had a family that acted like employees. My energies were devoted to getting employees to act like family, to firing and to hiring from a shrinking labor pool, and to supervising and motivating.
Keeping the employees happy often meant dealing with their personal problems: an unhappy marriage, crushing child-support payments, unpaid debts, substance abuse. Too often I returned to the role of lawyer to untangle an employee’s legal mess. And all this was on top of my everyday role in the store as teacher, psychologist, father figure, taskmaster, and dispenser of rewards and punishments.
In an attempt to extricate myself from this situation, I hired a business consultant, a sharply dressed, preppy-looking young man who had no familiarity with our type of small retail business and had never been inside an appetizing store before. He made up for his lack of experience with an infectious optimism and self-confidence. He claimed to be a disciple of a person he referred to as “the great Edwards Deming.” I had absolutely no idea who Edwards Deming was. Turns out he was a business management guru who singlehandedly turned around the postwar economy of Japan and changed the perception of “Made in Japan” from inferior goods to quality products. His methodology was taught at Harvard Business School. So, over the objection of my business partner—my wife, Maria, who thought the whole idea was stupid—I hired this young consultant at great expense.
Maria; our store manager, Herman; and I attended many meetings with our consultant to get management on the same page with respect to goals and methods. Then a series of meetings was held with everyone else in attendance—our staff of lox slicers and kitchen workers. The concept was to motivate employees so that management emerged from the bottom up rather than from the top down. Everyone, no matter what their job, should be invested in quality control and in productive operations in a happy work environment. The means of getting to our desired goals required an understanding of flowcharts, bone charts, operating manuals, organization tables, mission statements, and checklists. At the end of each meeting, everyone counted to three and clapped their hands. If this happened in unison, it was evidence that we were coming together as a group and that we would quickly and easily achieve our goals.
After a year of weekly meetings and many thousands of dollars paid to our consultant, we had pretty well mastered the in-unison handclap. But Maria was right: most of the staff never understood what flowcharts, bone charts, mission statements, and operational manuals had to do with slicing lox or filleting herrings. And I was still responsible for everything.
Special Projects
In March 2001 Niki came to work with us at Russ & Daughters. Niki and Maria formed an alliance: “From now on,” they told me, “Niki will be in charge of special projects.” Russ & Daughters never had someone in charge of special projects. I didn’t even know what “special projects” meant, unless it referred to someone calling up and wanting two hundred schmaltz herrings cleaned, filleted, and ready for pickup in an hour.
I wanted Niki to learn the business the way I had—by working the counter for ten hours a day, six days a week, slicing lox and filleting herrings, filling in the showcase, making salads in the kitchen, whatever it took. In my head she was the heir apparent and would ultimately run the store, but she couldn’t supervise our employees unless she knew what they were supposed to do, when they were supposed to do it, how they were supposed to do it, and how long it should take.
When I first came into the business, I had fierce arguments with my father about whether I would work five days a week (my preference) or six days (his, of course). The ten-hour days were a given; I didn’t even bother to bring that up. But to my father the workweek issue was nonnegotiable. I ended up working six days a week, ten hours a day, with two weeks’ vacation a year, for many years. I thought Niki should do the same. Maria and Niki disagreed. I knew I was going to lose this one; that alliance was too strong. As a compromise, Niki worked behind the counter when the store was very busy; otherwise she applied herself to “special projects,” which turned out to be the development of a website and Internet shipping business. This took a bit of getting used to on my part, I have to admit.
Now, when I turned on my computer, orders suddenly and magically appeared on the screen: orders from people I didn’t know, living in places I’d never heard of. It was terrifying. This wasn’t the way the Russ family did business. If you wanted to buy our fish, you came to the store. If you wanted to place an order over the phone, we had to recognize your voice or know your family. (“My grandmother is Rose Cohen. She told me you’d take care of me.”) Once again, I was just hopelessly out of date. Internet sales are now a very substantial part of our business.
Josh was a little more agreeable to learning the business the old-fashioned way. I spent several years teaching him the Russ business model: Stand behind the counter and always keep a rag in your pocket and your eyes on everything. He was a quick learner, a product of his training as an engineer, no doubt. But my appreciation for Josh and his linear style was put to the test when he approached me one day about investing in a POS system.
I tried to keep an open mind. After all, I had pooh-poohed Niki’s idea to set up a website some years before and was wrong on that one. But this project seemed different. POS is an acronym for “point-of-sale.” Josh wanted to install a computerized sales and inventory management system. I am always suspicious of acronyms, which have the tendency to make difficult and complex matters seem almost babyishly easy and thereby lead the user into a deep, dark, and expensive hole. This project was going to be very expensive. It was also too high-tech for me. People of my age are the cyber-cusp generation. If we have not yet begun our descent into pre-senile dementia, we are able to use the computer for such basic functions as word processing, e-mailing, Googling, and solitaire. Anything beyond that is probably incomprehensible or, at best, a struggle. So the concept of many computers, cash registers, and scales somehow linked together to form an integrated system that would keep track of our inventory was both awesome and terrifying.
My primary concern—putting aside my technophobia—was whether this POS system made sense, given the low-tech, labor-intensive nature of our business and the perishable products sold in our traditional and historic little appetizing store. Would t
his system mean that Niki, Josh, and I would be spending more time in the office and less on the floor watching the products, the employees, and the customers? Would each minute spent in front of the computer mean one less minute to see if the herrings on the bottom layer of the showcase were being rotated to the top? One less minute to notice that a highly paid salmon slicer has, for lack of attention, cut too thick a slice and thrown his mistake in the garbage? One less minute to observe a customer’s body language and reaction to a sample taste of a newly created item?
I was too attached to the “old days, old ways” of doing business to make a dispassionate decision on this POS issue. Grandpa Russ, in his first and only renovation of the store, around 1950, designed an office in the back that measures five feet by seven feet and has barely enough room for one person and one desk. The walls don’t meet the ceiling, and the office is next to the hot and noisy kitchen. There’s a glass-paned window but no lock on the door. It’s not a place where you’d want to spend a significant amount of time. But that was okay with Grandpa Russ. To his way of thinking, one couldn’t be in the office and keep an eye on the registers at the same time. I suppose that’s how I felt, too. I wasn’t enthusiastic about POS, so I let Josh and Niki make the decision about whether to install it.
I was wrong. Again. The POS system freed the Russes from laborious, time-sucking paperwork and tasks such as figuring out sales volume and tracking inventory. The bottom line is that it allowed us to spend less time in the office and more time in the store with our products, employees, and customers.
Lessons were learned. It was possible to make the business more efficient, more productive, and more profitable. The fourth generation of Russes was well positioned and had the educational background to make the necessary changes. In addition to the website and the POS system, Niki and Josh started a blog called Lox Populi, which keeps people in the loop about all things related to Russ & Daughters. Our customers love it. Russ & Daughters can also be followed on Twitter and Tumblr, which I’m sure I’d find impressive if I could figure out what Twitter and Tumblr are. One thing I was sure of: the business was moving beyond my ability to control it, or even to understand how to operate it. I was becoming a dinosaur. It was time for me to get out of the way.
Josh, Herman, and Niki with Hannah Milman and Martha Stewart
(Courtesy of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, Inc.)
Bagel Chips
YIELDS 48 TO 60 CHIPS
6 day-old bagels, preferably a mix of plain, poppy, sesame, and pumpernickel
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Position racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven and preheat it to 325°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Using a sharp serrated knife, slice the bagels as thinly as possible into O’s. You should have 8 to 10 slices per bagel. Divide the bagels between the baking sheets, spreading them in an even layer. Using a pastry brush, brush the olive oil in a thin layer over the bagels. Combine the salt, garlic powder, and pepper in a small bowl. Sprinkle evenly over the bagels.
Bake the bagels until they are just beginning to turn golden brown, 7 to 10 minutes. Remove the baking sheets from the oven and flip the bagel chips over. Return the baking sheets to the oven, reversing their positions so that the one that was on the bottom is now on the top, and continue to bake until the chips are golden brown and crisp, about 5 minutes more.
Taste the chips and adjust the seasonings, adding more salt, pepper, and garlic powder if necessary. Cool the chips completely on wire racks.
Bagel Pudding with Prunes and Raisins
SERVES 6 TO 8
3 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 cups half-and-half
1 cup whole milk
4 to 5 day-old plain bagels, crusts removed and cut into ½-inch cubes (about 8 cups)
1¼ cups pitted prunes, halved
¾ cup seedless black raisins
Confectioners’ sugar
Whisk the eggs, egg yolk, sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon in a large bowl until smooth. Whisk in the half-and-half and milk. Add the bagel cubes and toss to coat. Allow the mixture to stand, stirring occasionally, until the bagel cubes have absorbed most of the liquid, about 1 hour.
Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat it to 325°F. Grease a 9-by-9-inch baking dish or spray it with nonstick spray. Stir the prunes and raisins into the bagel mixture. Transfer the mixture to the prepared dish and pour any remaining liquid over the top. Bake for 50 minutes to 1 hour, until the top is golden brown and a tester inserted in the center comes out clean. If the top is browning too quickly, tent it with aluminum foil. Cool the bagel pudding completely on a wire rack, then dust with confectioners’ sugar.
9
The Legacy
A Burden or a Blessing;
Kvetch or Kvell
It seems that not too long ago I was considered by my customers, my employees, and my suppliers to be “the kid.” As in “Hey, kid, I want the same kind of sturgeon your mother gave me.” Or “Hey, kid, your father and uncles always paid their bills within a week. It’s ten days. Whassup over there?” But now I am one of the old men in the ever-shrinking world of appetizing. I am officially retired, except for writing this book (which, I’ve discovered, is harder than selling retail) and adopting the mantle of schmoozer in chief.
I have passed our family business on to the fourth generation of Russes—my nephew and my daughter. This is what I call success: the ultimate validation of having the next generation want to do what you have done most of your life. What words of wisdom can I impart? What direction can I provide as a path to success? How can they benefit from my experience when their own experiences will bring different challenges? A neighborhood that has gone from pushcart to posh; a customer base that has evolved from Jewish and local to ethnically mixed, urbane, young, and far-flung; a labor force that continues to change, reflecting our nation’s immigration patterns; and an ever-evolving display of products: the old familiar ones that change with the times or that disappear entirely, and the new ones that keep our business fresh and relevant. Perhaps I can show them where the minefields are hidden, having stepped on quite a few of them along the way. But I cannot give them advice about a future I do not fully understand. They are better educated and better equipped than I am to take Russ & Daughters into the twenty-first century. So what’s left for me to teach them? Our yichis. A trip to Beth David Cemetery in Elmont, New York, is in order.
Location, Location, Location
As far as graves are concerned, the Russ family plot on the corner of Mount Judah and Washington Avenues in Beth David Cemetery is as good a piece of property as you can get. Besides being in a corner spot, it contains an old yet still vibrant oak tree, a breath of life in an otherwise lifeless community. Under the tree there’s a stone bench with enough room for three Russes to sit comfortably in the shade and gossip about the more permanent inhabitants.
“You’ll come mit der kinder, haf a bissel to eat, make a wisit. Plenty room, you’ll enjoy.” In 1955, that’s how Joel Russ explained his most recent real estate purchase to his three daughters. They understood that the room he was talking about was not a new house but the twenty-nine grave sites in this shaded corner plot, enough for him and Bella, their three daughters and their husbands, the seven grandchildren and their future husbands and wives, with a little left over. “What’s not to like?”
This real estate purchase was one of many that Grandpa Russ made without first consulting his family. Over the years, not even his wife knew where or when they would next move. How many attempts did he make to get the family out of the Lower East Side until he finally succeeded? His daughters said there were “too many to remember.” When asked if they
ever objected to this authoritarian decision making, they replied, “Papa knew best” and “Papa was always trying to do better.” They never thought that this might be Papa’s attempt to keep control of the family—even from the grave.
This visit to Beth David is Niki’s and Josh’s first. It provides the appropriate backdrop for my delivery of the speech I have been preparing for the past few years as the business transitioned from the third generation (me) to the fourth generation (them). They should know where the Russes come from, about our struggles along the way, and about our failures and successes. They haven’t yet been beaten up by the world of retail. They haven’t had to deal with competition from an appetizing store on every block. They haven’t spent years waiting for customers to trickle in from uptown and the outer boroughs while our own neighborhood was drowning in crime and drugs. They haven’t had to take money from their own pockets to make payroll when the city dug up the street in front of our store in the middle of the Great Depression.
My mom and dad, behind the counter
I tell them about my first visit here, under somewhat different circumstances. When I left the law firm where I was a litigator to join the family business, I expected a less hectic, more meaningful life. Instead, I was soon overwhelmed by the constant petty annoyances, stresses, and hardships of retail, by having to stand on my feet behind the counter ten hours a day, six days a week, waiting on some of New York’s most difficult customers. This was nothing like practicing law. That was a piece of cake compared to this.
Russ & Daughters Page 20
