Boss Life (37 page)

I'm back in at nine a.m. on the day after Christmas. In 2013, I'd like a lot more data on our customers. I decide to start tracking both our inquiries and sales by client type. Not what kind of company they work for, but whether they are a big boss, the assistant to the boss, a corporate buyer, or one of the dozen other categories that I identify and add to FileMaker. I suspect that the types we call “low-level assistant” never lead to a sale. I can't prove it, but next year I'll know for sure.

On Thursday, we get a call. Surprise, surprise, it's the CEO of Brand Advantage, Mark Jones. They still owe me $7,448. Is he going to pay?

“Paul, I'd love to pay you. But I don't think it's gonna happen. We're shutting down after the New Year. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I just wanted to call you, not leave you hanging.”

I give him half-hearted thanks for his consideration. He takes this as his cue to explain how Brand Advantage flamed out. He'd been in advertising for years and became a specialist in promoting brands at sporting events. Then he headed out on his own, figuring he'd be getting the big bucks. He opened his doors in April and persuaded some clients to sponsor a series of events in the fall. We walked into the middle of an unending disaster. None of his clients renewed their contracts, and some haven't paid him. He's going to shut down and go back to being an employee.

I make sympathetic noises, wish him luck, and hang up. Maybe he's lying to get out of paying me what he owes. Maybe he was never cut out to be a boss. Or maybe he's just unlucky. Like Mike Vogel, his business model required a lot of things to go right from the beginning.

—

ON FRIDAY
, Will and I have our last meeting of the year. We share chuckles over incidents that weren't so funny at the time; then I ask if he has any New Year's resolutions. He does:

“I want to move us to something more like a production line. When we have everyone building their own tables, it's a mess. A bunch of guys always end up needing one of the machines at the same time, and everything is out of adjustment. And the guys are walking all over the shop all day. It's a huge waste. I want to get all that under control.”

I think about this for a minute and then point out that the older guys aren't going to like it much. They've got Heroic Solitary Craftsman baked into them at this point. I don't know whether they'll tolerate that kind of change. We agree to give it a try and see how it works out. But not until next year.

—

MONDAY
,
DECEMBER 31
. Everyone's here on New Year's Eve, I presume to hear my decision about bonuses. I give them the numbers. Dan sold two jobs last week worth $35,749. That brings our total for December to $184,333, and our total for the year to $2,102,261. We also picked up more cash last week—we've had positive cash flow for the entire month. My bank balance stands at $217,427. Because of that, everyone will each see an extra five hundred dollars in their paychecks. This news prompts some smiles, but everyone remembers the much larger bonus they got last year. Too bad. There won't be any bonus for me. I want plenty of cash on hand for 2013.

Before I go, I shake their hands, thanking them for their work during the year. I'm especially grateful for Dave Violi, who put in 360 hours of overtime, and Will Krieger, who rose to my challenge and did a superb job. I'm delighted to thank Andy Stahl, who kept pace with the shop, and to congratulate Dan and Nick for beating their 2011 sales totals. I thank Emma for all her help with my Middle East trip and for keeping the office running smoothly. I thank Bob Foote for keeping the work moving out the door and managing the helpers. I thank Ron Dedrick for his good craftsmanship and cheerful attitude; Sean Slovinski, Tyler Powell, and Kristian Scheld for working hard and doing a nice job. And I steel myself and walk over to the corner of the shop where Steve Maturin is smoking a cigarette. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate your hard work.” He shakes my hand, but, as usual, says nothing. Just a nod.

On the way home I think about the problems I've left unsolved. Steve Maturin is gloomy all the time now, even though his work is still impeccable. Dan is doing better as a result of Bob Waks's training, but he's still not consistently hitting my targets. He ended up with $647,056 this year. Nick sold $1,034,273. I ended up with $420,932. I'm not sure how I'll be able to retire from sales and get to $2,400,000 next year without a different salesman.

I haven't heard anything from Dubai since I sent the last proposal in September, but we shipped Eurofurn's November order and we've been paid. I think Will's vision for more specialization on the shop floor and a streamlined production process has much more potential than any adventures on foreign shores. If we can keep the shop busy with orders, anyway.

I'll start 2013 with $178,948 on hand. I'm up $41,794 from the beginning of 2012. When I come back to the office on Wednesday, I'll reset all the sales and production numbers to zero, start my twenty-seventh year, and see what happens.

F
EBRUARY 2015

As I write these words, I'm starting my twenty-ninth year as a boss. They were all challenging and kept me very busy. And except for 2012, they lacked a narrative arc. So what do my very eventful year and the other years have in common? This: I never knew what the next day would bring. I still don't. That's what I was trying to get across in this book: the unpredictable nature of running a small company. The way that ordinary duties interact with randomly occurring events, and the way big decisions need to be made with incomplete information. More than anything else, I've had to be flexible and ready to respond to any challenge. And that's been fascinating. I suppose if my business had become successful and had grown to the point where I could hire people to do all the day-to-day stuff, I might grow bored. I'm not there yet. I still go into the office every day, say hello to Nick and Dan (who are doing very well), and walk around the shop floor to see what's happening. And that's a great gift. Despite vast economic forces arrayed against us, my little workshop is still alive, still putting out high-quality work for happy clients.

I swore in the Introduction that I wouldn't be giving you any lessons. Now you know why. I'm sure that many of you, more experienced in financial, managerial, or legal matters, were appalled at the errors I made. Fair enough. There's only one thing that I know will work for everyone. Get help. Find someone who knows you, knows your business, and who is willing to consult with you frequently. It's preferable to have more than one mentor, just in case your preferred source of advice is wrong. Running a business can be a very lonely experience. I assure you, nobody's troubles are unique. And fellow business owners are happy to share what they know.

In my years writing for
The
New York Times
, I exchanged e-mails with hundreds of readers. It was fascinating, and I've missed that exchange of ideas. If you think my advice can be useful, please write to me at [email protected]. I'll do my best to help.

One last thing: thank you for reading my story.

In December 2009, I came to the conclusion that my business was about to fail. I turned to the Internet to see if I could prepare for the experience of closing my doors, and found no useful information. I wrote to Loren Feldman, then an editor at
The New York Times
, and offered to document my experience. His invitation to write for the
Times
started my second career as a writer. I'd like to thank him for his guidance, support, and friendship.

This book would not exist without encouragement from Paul Lucas, my agent. In September 2012, he asked me whether I had ever considered writing a book. Not really, I replied, but I would be happy to give it a shot. I don't think he was picturing the story you just read, but he patiently helped me complete my first draft, and has been my champion in the publishing world.

My business would never have survived its early years without the unflagging support of my father, Anthony Downs, and my brother, Tony Downs.

And I'd like to conclude with thanks to my wife, Nancy Bea Miller, and my children, Hugh, Henry, and Peter. Even when I exposed our private lives and finances to the world, they have stood with me.

Paul Downs founded his business in 1986, fresh out of college. He's been at it ever since, and has no plans to shift gears.

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