My previous post was, “What Language are You Speaking.” I told this story to the late Ron Fay. Ron really liked the story.
As Ron co-owned more than 80 Wendy’s® restaurants—all the Wendy’s along the I-4 corridor in Florida—he identified with the problems of the speaker boxes in the drive-throughs.
In addition to owning and managing his restaurants, Ron was on a term rotation of five years as acting president of Wendy’s International. He, Dave Thomas, and a third man who I don’t know of, took turns acting as president. [Ron told me of these arrangements. I presume to have related them accurately.]
Readers might remember the highly successful ad campaign wherein an elderly woman demanded, “Where’s the beef?” It was during Ron’s term as president that this campaign was developed and aired.
In managing his restaurants, Ron was hands-on with the training of his hundreds of employees. I often encountered Ron working the serving line as he tutored his troops in various Wendy’s establishments around Orlando.
Ron was a consistent SuperSlow client at my facility for years. Although he was always cordial, he was very direct and concise with his language. He tolerated no small talk. And he appeared to closely align with my no-nonsense language and precise exercise instruction, especially the clinical atmosphere of the workout area.
Ron was sometimes a bear to deal with, but not near the challenge of dealing with Arthur Jones, so I could switch on my familiar Nautilus demeanor and relate with him on the issues of work ethic and the need for precision in our trades.
Ron silently studied every move that I made during his workouts, and if I ever changed the smallest detail of my technique, he wanted to know why. This included any change I made to the language of my delivery. However, he always waited until after the workout to demand my explanations. He never interrupted the workout.
Ron made and kept his appointments with me. He never missed or was late. Any changes were made directly with him or through his secretary per Ron. He was all business all the time.
Then one day Ron missed his Tuesday-morning appointment.
When someone is perfectly reliable I become very concerned about an aberration—not so much with people who are unreliable. But I did not dare phone Ron about his missed appointment. After all, perhaps I got it incorrectly. Perhaps I missed or forgot his making a change. It had been three days since I had spoken with him. I also reflected on my phonics deficiency. However, I could not fathom how I could be incorrect on this particular occasion.
I waited to see if Ron would attend his Friday appointment. [He had never before deviated from his routine to see me on Tuesdays and Fridays at 07:30 unless the times conflicted with his business commitments AND he had made a change.]
On Friday he showed and I asked him if he had had a conflict the previous Tuesday.
He appeared puzzled as to why I would ask the question, and I told him that he had missed his appointment.
Ron was not indignant, but he refuted my statement. He sternly stated, “I was right here with you.”
I said, “No, Ron, you missed your appointment.”
Ron was implacable and repeated this previous stance.
I then showed him his chart with the missing column of dated nomenclature followed by my notation on the appointment book. He studied these closely.
He sighed and then said, “This is very bad.”
Ron excused himself, stepped outside the building, phoned his wife, Earnie, to meet him at their doctor’s clinic, and drove off in his car.
After Ron and Earnie sat down in the doctor’s office, he died.
Moral of the story; being precise takes its toll on you?
What goes on in this world...
My deepest sympathies, Ken.