Club Mead

In the fall of 1989, my oldest son, Doug and I attended a franchise and business opportunity show at the Anaheim Convention Center. At that show, we discovered The Beauty Industry; specifically, for the first time we considered hair salons as potentially a good business to pursue. The salon industry in the US was approaching $50 Billion in total revenues, salons often had good individual unit economics, and the industry was highly fragmented providing a potential for consolidation (Regis Corporation was the largest salon operator in the nation with less than 4% of the market; at the time, there was no clear number two). After spending the next nine-months learning about the industry, it seemed like an interesting opportunity.

By the spring of ’90, I had acquired a handful of $8 haircut salons known as ProCuts and located in the bay area of Northern California. My salon education had now begun in earnest. Next, we developed our own unique salon brand which we called ‘American Hair Force’ (only First Class Seats at American Hair Force; “We’re ready to take-off when you are”; “Low Hair Fares” and etc.). We started opening American Hair Force Salons in Las Vegas and Sacramento. Opening salons from scratch provided an even greater level of education.

By the summer of ’93 we had determined that the best way for us to grow our business was to acquire other salon chains; and, strong early results, allowed us to secure institutional money to fuel our acquisitions. We were pursuing several different acquisition possibilities and were about to close on a Utah based salon chain known as ‘Haircuts Plus’ (“HCP”), when Richard, the seller called me on the phone, one day before the closing; I was apprehensive when he started the conversation off with “Ted, there’s just one more thing I need to tell you before we close”. “Oh boy!” I thought, “Here we go with another 11th hour Deal-Ectomy”. I was wrong, he wasn’t trying to change the deal; but what he said next caught me completely by surprise.

“Looks like we’re all set to close our deal tomorrow,” he continued. “Each year, we conduct a contest among all our stylists to see who can sell the most products.” “You and every other salon owner” I thought to myself. “We usually have about twenty winners, who happen to be our top-twenty stylists,” he explained. “The prize they win is three-days and two-nights with me on my personal houseboat at Lake Powell”. “The trip is scheduled for two-weeks from today”. “Yes!, I’m sure I can fit that into my calendar,” I thought as I waited for the anticipated invitation. But there was no invitation coming; instead, Richard explained to me that since he was confident the deal would close before the scheduled trip and since I might not want to disappoint the top twenty stylists in our new company, he had reserved two rental houseboats along with two jet skies for us to use for our own trip if we so desired. (He made it clear that his houseboat and jet skies were no longer available.)

Well, we got the acquisition done on schedule and immediately started planning for the houseboat trip. Anybody that knows me knows that I’ve always got at least one boat on hand; I picked two of them to take on this outing; a Supra ski boat and a little ‘go crazy’ jet boat. We got the boats ready and at the appointed hour departed on the nine-hour drive from Anaheim to Powell. Blair (a VP in our company) pulled one boat and I pulled the other. Bernie, the general manager for HCP organized all of the meals and assigned each of the contest winners to bring something from the menu; she also formed car pools for the six-hour drive down from SLC to the lake. We agreed to all meet at the marina store to board our rental boats on the appointed morning.

Blair and I drove to the lake the night before and pulled into the parking lot at the marina well after midnight, so we just climbed inside the Supra ski boat with our sleeping bags and slept on the seats. As the intense desert sun woke us up way to early the next morning, Blair set up to stretch and yawn, still in his bag, when I heard him declare, “There’s goes one”, (as if we were on a elk hunt or something and he had just spotted a trophy bull, or even ‘Big Foot’). As I peered over the side of the boat, I could see a girl with major streaks of blue in her hair walking towards the marina store wearing a tee-shirt that declared on the back, “Get A HairCut!”. I was sure Blair had made the correct call; she was obviously ‘one’, one of our new employees; one of the best at HCP! I was anxious to get to know her and the rest of this elite group of stylists.

Of our twenty guests, up till now, Blair and I had really only officially met one, Bernie. In her capacity as General Manager she had been most impressive and helpful showing us around the company. She was being helpful again as she introduced us to each of the stylists as they began to congregate around the store; it was an eclectic group, each was anxious to know what to do with all their ‘Stuff’; and equally anxious to size up the new owners.

At this point in my life, I had already put in enough time on houseboats to be pretty much qualified as an expert. I had also been involved in a large number of business acquisitions as well. That having been said, I hereby declare; without equivocation, that that houseboat trip turned out to be, hands down, the worst executed houseboat trip ever! What could go wrong, did you wrong! And at the same time, it was the absolute best team-building activity imaginable! Blair and I developed relationships on a personal level with the key workers at HCP; relationships that turned out to be both strong and lasting; they were/are special relationships.

So you ask, “How can this be; both the worst houseboat trip and the best team building process in one package?” Well, let me take a shot at an explanation. For starters, lets look at the numbers; twenty stylists, six watercraft (two ‘marginal’ houseboats, two ‘beat-up’ jet skis, one ski boat and one jet boat) with only two experienced boat-drivers (Blair and yours truly). The perfect recipe for trouble! Now let’s consider the preparation, we had no familiarity with the lake and had made no plans as to where to camp. As we navigated out of the marina and blindly searched for a satisfactory spot to make camp, picture in your ‘mind’s eye’ what the ‘Keystone Cops’ might have looked like piloting our ‘Armada’. (The good news; nobody drowned and only one jet ski sank, (but was ultimately salvaged).)

Once we had identified a campsite we managed (with remarkable inefficiency) to get our armada safely secured to the shore; now picture two Spartan-ish houseboats (these boats were clearly the ‘bottom of the line’) completely overrun with ‘Stuff’ (twenty Hair Dressers brought whatever they thought they might need without limitation or restraint (“Where can I plug these in?”)). And, somewhere amongst the ‘Stuff’ was our food along with the “china, cutlery and stemware” (not). At the end of what was one of the most grueling days I’ve ever spent on a lake, I finally sat down (on somebody’s suitcase) for a bite to eat. I was graciously handed a paper plate (that was slightly thicker than the one-ply napkin which accompanied it); when my main course (pork-n-beans) was scooped onto my plate, I had to quickly support the plate with both hands in order to prevent its collapse and maintain control of my precious supper; as far as I was concerned, that was the best pork-n-beans I’d ever had! Truly, this was not a well planned houseboat trip!

On the other hand, when it comes to a team building experience, this trip was legendary! Blair and I lived with these twenty key employees around the clock for three-days and two-nights. There was no time or opportunity for posturing or putting on airs. Blair and I were stripped to our core personalities by the demanding (and potentially dangerous) circumstances. We spent 100% of our time (not spent satisfying minimal personal needs like eating, sleeping and etc.) tending to the needs of our guests. We took on the title of ‘Cabana Boys’ to the delight of those we served as we drove boats, fueled jet skis, taught beginners how to ski, shared after dinner stories and etc. We were not ‘Suits’ from the office, we were their ‘Man Servants’; working to solve their problems while sharing the same environment. As a result, we created lasting bonds and friendships.

(One of my favorite memories involved teaching a stylist, less popular among her peers, how to drive our jet-boat using, shall we say, “advanced techniques” and at the same time serving a little ‘Humble Pie’ to a couple princesses… While watching two of the more popular girls having fun driving the jet-boat; I noticed they went out of their way to exclude one of their associates from joining in; they wouldn’t let her in the boat. So, at a latter time, when the two of them were back on shore, I offered to give the two girls a special boat-ride; they were excited to give it a try and quickly climbed into the boat. I was in control of the boat and suggested that they each position themselves in the front where they would get the best experience. I then maneuvered the boat to the back of the houseboat where the less popular girl was hanging out watching our every move, I could tell she wished she could be included in what we were about to do. I called her by name (by now I knew all of their names and most of their personalities), “Would you like to join us for a ‘hot boat ride’?” I called out invitingly. I could see her excitement as I maneuvered in to pick her up (I also noticed my two passengers roll their eyes a bit as she stepped into the boat). “Here, sit next to me”, I directed her to the exact seat I wanted her to occupy so she might get the very most satisfaction from what I next had in mind. Off we went, full speed ahead! As we zigged and zagged along the smooth water in the cove we had picked as our temporary home, each turn was punctuated with screams of delight from the front of the boat (my third passenger was more subdued, but the twinkle in her eyes and her giant smile told me all I needed to know; she was having a special experience). Those who have ridden with me in a jet boat before know exactly what was coming next. I pointed the boat straight ahead at full speed, pulled the throttle back to neutral and then slipped the jet nozzle into reverse, adding just the right amount of power to push the nose of the boat down enough to cause a wall of water to cascade over my two ‘hip’ but unsuspecting passengers, washing them into the bottom of the boat yet barely effecting the driver or my shy passenger. After the boat came to a stop, I traded places with my special guest and suggested she give it a try. She was delighted to at last be invited to drive the boat; while the two in front were busy trying to just put themselves back together. Oh the humility that suddenly entered the equation! It was a grand experience!)

Oh, I know, maybe this was a fun story, but it’s supposed to be about my mom, where does she fit in? Well, let me ‘splain it.

Over the next few months, Blair and I learned that no matter which HCP salon we visited, we ran into a stylist who had been on the houseboat trip. In each case, it wasn’t just a stylist; it was a stylist who also happened to be one of the “eagles” in that salon (and in all of HCP). In each case, we were greeted with hugs as we shared stories of our adventure (yes, even the two princesses greeted us warmly). We now had instant credibility throughout the company (even with the stylists who were not on the houseboat trip as they felt the camaraderie we had developed with their top performing associates). It became more and more clear just how valuable the houseboat trip had been (Keystone Cops or not). How could we repeat the experience; selectively? Could we do it again capturing the good and avoiding the bad? The question had an obvious answer; I needed to recruit ‘Superwoman’, the world’s greatest host to get this job done right!

Well, in order to gain ‘home court advantage’, for the next year we moved the trip to Lake Mead instead of Powell; (I know Mead “like the back of my hand”, as they say; and with a major airport nearby, it has easier access.) Next, we made sure to rent the best houseboats available. Also, with ‘home court advantage’ came access to two great jet skies, a jet-boat, the Supra ski boat and a thirty-foot Formula “cigarette boat” with twin 502’s & Black-Hawk out-drives (an 80 mile per hour boat). We arranged for our guests to fly into McCarran Airport in Las Vegas (no car pools with long drives through deserts). Once they arrived in Vegas we met them at baggage claim and escorted them to mom’s Newland motorhome (it was way cool, it had a horn system that would blast the tune “On The Road Again” loud enough to be heard a city-block away). Once our guests were onboard, while they enjoyed various refreshments, we took them on a one hour drive from the airport, across Hoover Dam and past the Dam Store, (blasting “On The Road Again” from the horn for all the tourists on the Dam to hear, suggesting to any Willie Nelson fans that just maybe this might be his private motorhome); then into Arizona to a marina called Temple Bar (Temple Bar is the last marina before you reach the spot where the Colorado River exits The Grand Canyon and enters Lake Mead; the same river that keeps Lake Powell full). At Temple Bar, we would transfer our guests to a houseboat we used as a shuttle-boat to ferry everyone the twenty scenic miles along the lake to our camp at ‘Big Sandy’ (the greatest campsite to be found on any lake!). Once we completed this two-hour boat ride, turned the last corner and entered our special cove, our guests could see our camp, including two additional houseboats and all of the boating equipment referred to above, all carefully anchored and secure; it was a paradise in the wilderness (just a few short miles downstream from The Grand Canyon).

Instead of twenty guests like we had the previous year, we now invited 100 guests; we would stagger four groups of 25; each group would stay three-days and two-nights. They came from different parts of the country (including Las Vegas) representing different salon brands which were part of our company. Once they experienced Club Mead, participants would do any thing necessary in order to earn an invitation to return each year. (We repeated the trip eight-years running; a great stylist named Sharmin was on the first trip and earned the right to attend each of the following seven adventures. One night a group of us were on top of one of the houseboats marveling at the stars and getting to know each other better when I asked Sharmin how she managed to insure that she won the trip each year. Her answer, “I win the trip one week at a time; I work every Saturday and refuse to end my shift until I have sold enough product to put me at the top of the list for product sales for that entire week”.)

We had a melting pot of people on our adventures. One night after mom and Wally had fed us dinner, a few of us where sitting around a driftwood campfire when I challenged all those in our circle; “Let’s go around the campfire and have each of you sing your favorite song; but sing it in your native tongue”. With coercion from me, they finally agreed; we started with James, he sang an Irish Brogue which was fun and served to break the ice. Next, Lilly sang in Vietnamese; she was a “boat-person” who barely escaped Vietnam with her life; I don’t know what she sang, but it touched my heart. Allis sang in Dari, she and all of her family scattered around the world as they fled Afghanistan, leaving everything they had behind, being indefinitely separated from their loved ones according to who could get a visa and for what part of the world. Others included Charlie from Argentina and Olga from Russia who sang beautiful songs in their respective first language. Each of these diverse world citizens made a good living ‘dressing hair’ in the good old USA. This was a very special time! A time which demonstrated what a wonderful industry the beauty industry really is and what a great country we’re all blessed to have as our home.

With all that has been said, the very best part of Club Mead was mom and Wally (Wally was mom’s fifth husband and my third step-father; and my Explorer Scouts Leader many years earlier; years before he asked me for my mom’s hand in marriage). Mom and Wally were in charge of the meals, but did so much more. Included on the menu were items such as ‘ranch style breakfast’ (bacon, ham, eggs, French toast, hot cakes, soufflés and etc.); Dutch-Oven dinners with all the trimmings, including various desserts. (And the paper plates were the very best!) Mom and Wally were the final authority in the center houseboat (if momma ain’t happy, ain,t nobody happy); this is where we had our gatherings and this is where we took our meals. And, this is where there was always a group of stylists talking with mom, peeling potatoes for her or helping with some other kitchen task and giggling as mom worked her way through her repertoire of ‘corny jokes’ (for example, here’s one of her favorite Convalescent Hospital jokes… “this old lady was living in a convalescent hospital and had her eye on a good looking ‘old boy’ who had recently moved in down the hall; but the ‘old boy’ didn’t pay any attention to her so, one night when he was in the TV room watching his favorite program, she took off all of her clothes and stepped between him and his show, ‘stark naked’. ‘Hey ‘old boy’, how do you like my new dress?’; the ‘old boy’ looked her up and down and replied, ‘it could use a little Pressing!’…).

Each year, mom and Wally brought their own boat, an 18’ Bayliner; Wally would always have a waiting list of stylists who wanted to go on the next ‘Wally Tour’. From time to time, he would announce the departure of the next ‘Wally Tour’, load up a gaggle of stylists and head out on the lake toward the Grand Canyon. Wally would keep his ‘hunting eye’ on the shoreline and adjoining hillsides looking for whatever he was looking for that would inspire him to bring the boat into the cove and close to the shore. Once close to the shore, he would start making guttural sounds I suppose intended to mimic animal sounds and low and behold, a burro would appear and often start hollering back at Wally (somehow, Wally was able to pull this off fairly regularly).

The Wally tour was the antithesis of a ride in the Formula. The Formula was there for emergencies; for example, if a group of stylists needed ice cream bars, it was a problem; we didn’t have ice cream bars in camp. That was an emergency! We could load up in the Formula and in a twenty-minute ride cover the twenty-miles back to Temple Bar where we could find ice cream bars a plenty! Problem solved! Or, if mom needed something from the Temple Bar store to complete our dinner, no problem! Just fire-up the Formula!

Everybody grew to love mom and Wally! One year, the stylists in Northern California invited mom and Wally to attend their Christmas party. At the beginning of the party, the master of ceremonies was making introductions and asked mom and Wally to stand and be introduced. Of course those in the crowd who had been to Club Mead went crazy as they clapped, whistled and screamed their approval. As the noise level subsided Wally (who was well into his 70’s) looked around the room and commented “I’m having a hard time recognizing you girls with your clothes on!” Of course, that ‘brought the house down’.

Club Mead was one of the finest adventures in which I have every participated! Without mom and Wally, it would have been just another campout. There are literally dozens of participants who have shared with me their delight to have been a part of Club Mead. It became an important part of the culture of our company. And so, it was an easy and broadly embraced decision throughout the company, when the decision was made to rename our salon company Opal Concepts after my mom. Thanks mom…

(If you know someone who was a ‘Club Mead’ participant, please pass this story along to them and let them know we would love to hear from them (in the form of a ‘comment’) any memories they might be willing to share with my mom.)