Let me take you back a couple years. Come with me as we relearn a
lesson; one that has stuck with me, in my present memory, and inspires me
yet. I don't remember exact conversation, but bear with me as I supply
something that
would sound normal.
We walk into Elida Road Hardware. An old fashioned hardware store.
No automatic door, not a computer in the building. Nothing unusual about
the
day, or the fact that we go to that store. It is one that I go to fairly
often.
As we enter the door, two sounds greet us. The sleigh bells of
yesteryear, the ones that make that sweet, peaceful tinkle as we open the
door. The other sound is the electronic beeper that alerts Andy of our
presence.
"Good afternoon, Ryan," comes the cheerful acknowledgment.
Andy Bianco is a very friendly sort of proprietor. He is of medium
build and height, we'll say about 50, and the smile on his face welcomes
us.
We walk across the old wood floor -- destitute of stain or varnish, and
worn
smooth -- with its squeaky spots, and uneven joints. Andy asks us what he
can
help us with. I tell him we are looking for a spring. He very patiently
replies "I
carry lots of springs, you're going to need to be more specific."
"Beats me what they're called; just a spring for an old-fashioned screen
door."
"That's it. A screen door spring. Right down there." We turn to where he is
pointing, and sure enough, there they are. Andy knows his store, and his
products. That's why I come here instead of Meijer. The service can't be
beat. The price, Yes. But service and satisfaction; No.
I pick up one and follow him to the counter. A keg of peanuts sits
beside the counter, and beside it, another for the hulls. Let me know when
Lowes does that. Covering the counter is a piece of Plexiglas, and under
it, all
manner of business cards.
"Hey got a card? Put one under here. Free advertising space."
"Thanks Andy, but I already have one. See, over here."
"Well, I'll be; you do."
He figures up the price, doing the math in his head. "$1.88, with Uncle
Sam's
share comes to $1.99"
"Put it on Pop's account."
He nods and smiles, remembering that this is the third item this week that
received that verdict.
"Good ole' Pop's account." He chuckles. "I don't know what you boys would
do without Pop's account!"
He hands me the ticket and as I sign it I ask rhetorically, "You really
trust
my signature?"
His reply startles, yet gladdens me. "When I can't trust Jerry Hoover's
boys;
I can't trust nobody!"
We leave, and the brain immediately starts to forget things, in order of
importance. But what Andy Bianco said that day, rang in my ears. And it
rings in my ears today. That's a tall order to live up to. It's a high
standard of integrity. My father made a reputation for that name, and I get
to enjoy the
benefits thereof. But by the same token, I must maintain that reputation.
And that's
serious business.
