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January 6, 2009

What Norman Vincent Peale and a small-town barber have in common

Ten Keys to Success

by Scott Ventrella
Ridgefield, Connecticut

As a business consultant I advise companies on how to make the most of their resources in this turbulent economy. What I share with them is a philosophy inspired by the two men who influenced me the most in my life.
    First there was Dad. He was a businessman too, although he might not have called himself that. Bob Ventrella was the proprietor of a small, old-fashioned barbershop. You know the kind, with a candy-striped pole in front and gold lettering on the window that read Bob’s Barbershop.
    My father acquired his tonsorial talents from his older brothers, Pete and Tony. When Dad came back from serving in the air force in the South Pacific during World War II, he opened his own place. The way he saw it, a good barber would never be out of work. Men’s hair grew no matter what the economic climate might be. In fact, when a fellow was out of work was exactly when he needed to look his sharpest.
    For Dad, the customer always came first. If a kid rushed in late before a dance that night, Dad thought nothing of staying past closing to do a last-minute crew cut. If customers complained—which they rarely did—he’d bend over backward to give them the look they wanted. He believed the single most important thing for a businessman to remember was to always treat people right. Dad could listen quietly as someone poured out his problems or talk up a storm to put a customer at ease. “People have to be able to trust their barber,” Dad used to say.
    With seven children of his own, Dad knew how trying a visit to the barber could be for kids. That’s why he installed an old carousel horse next to the barber chair. A kid could sit on the horse, grab hold of the plastic pommel and imagine he was Roy Rogers while Dad clipped. The boys in our town grew up thinking that having a haircut was synonymous with getting a pony ride.
    Dad kept a slew of good magazines and comics to read and an old soda machine in back. For a dime you could get a Coke or a root beer and cool off while you waited. Folks debated sports and complained about the weather. People congregated at Bob’s Barbershop as much for the company as the cuts.
    Then came the late 1960s. Dad never imagined what a cultural revolution would do to hairstyles. But suddenly men didn’t want their hair cut short anymore and kids my age didn’t want it cut at all. Business slowed to a standstill.
    Dad didn’t want to change his job. “It’s what I know best,” he said. “And I like being my own boss.” So at the age of 46, after a quarter century of hands-on experience, he swallowed his pride and went back to barber school. He learned new cuts and how to style a man’s hair with a blow dryer. He set up a sleek new establishment at the mall, with music and modern chrome chairs. Now the sign in front said: Mr. V’s Style Bar. But the shop still operated on the principle that the customer comes first.
    The place was a huge success. In time two of my brothers joined Dad there, following in the family footsteps. Although I admired my dad’s work, I had other ambitions. In college I studied business, and my first job after graduation was with a consulting firm. I started in the mailroom and worked my way up. Soon I was making calls at companies and studying their procedures to suggest improvements.
    To my surprise I thought of Dad. So many of the principles of good business were things he did intuitively. Putting the customer’s needs first, coming up with innovations to improve service, embracing change with enthusiasm and creativity. Things that couldn’t be quantified with data and graphs. That couldn’t be taught. Or could they?
    That’s when I came across a book by Norman Vincent Peale, The Power of Positive Thinking. I was looking for material for the Sunday school class I taught at church. The book said optimism, confidence and determination were the keys to success in life. No surprise there. What was a revelation was that those qualities stemmed from a person’s faith in God. Moreover, the book showed how a person could develop these practical as well as spiritual disciplines.
    Ever since that time I’ve tried to incorporate Dr. Peale’s principles in the workplace. I do this because I know that it’s good business. But as I discovered, it’s also good faith. God wants us to be our best. I grew up with a fine example of that. A small-town barber who never let circumstances defeat him, and who brought out the best in people—with his words and with his scissors.

The above article originally appeared in the July 2001 issue of Guideposts. To subscribe to Guideposts click here.