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What kept Marmot alive was its customers' phenomenal brand loyalty. The true believers managed to find a silver lining even in Marmot's screwups. "Having poor availability can be an advantage: it enhances the mystique that your product is hard to get," says Steve Hitchcock, Marmot's vice-president of sales.

But Marmot's chronic delivery problems and sloppy business practices inevitably took a heavy toll. Reynolds, who had been president of the company until his departure, in 1987, continually had to scramble for investors to tide the company through another season. His departure threw the business into turmoil. Over the next four years Marmot went through three owners before Odyssey stepped forward. The short-lived marriage with Odyssey was a turning point for Marmot. Odyssey was an aloof parent that temporarily relieved its rebellious child of burdensome financial responsibilities. But in Steve Crisafulli, Marmot had a tough taskmaster. He came with 30 years of executive experience in the ski- and sports-clothing industry.

Crisafulli's involvement with Marmot had begun in 1990, when Wall Street investment firm Spear, Leeds & Kellogg briefly owned the company and brought him in as its chairman. Working from his home in Vermont, Crisafulli stayed in the background, but he did insist on one change: the Marmot factory in Grand Junction had to close. "It was the single-least-efficient manufacturing facility I had seen in my life," he says. "The cost of labor and manufacturing of sleeping bags was higher than the selling price." That summer Marmot moved to Santa Rosa, Calif., and began outsourcing from Asia.

But it wasn't until his appointment to the president's office, in April 1991, that Crisafulli zeroed in on Marmot's most intractable problem: delivery. As Cooley notes, "Credibility in the outdoor industry turns on timely delivery. If you miss it by 30 to 45 days, you're history."

The "marmots" -- employees who were true believers in the Marmot cult -- were wary of Crisafulli. The trim, white-haired, 54-year-old executive who pulled up in a Porsche each morning was an interloper among the community of mountaineers who had founded the company; his business background and his appearance cast doubt on his entire value system.

Gradually, Crisafulli cultivated the Marmots' confidence. To alleviate fears that he'd sacrifice Marmot's legendary product quality, he gave veto power to Randy Verniers. Verniers, the pensive, bearded director of product development, is the high priest of Marmot's famous "no compromise" philosophy -- the "keeper of the Holy Grail," as Crisafulli jokes. "If Randy said it wasn't Marmot, it didn't happen," says Crisafulli, who turned to fixing the company. His battle plan was disarmingly simple and sensible.

"The way to run a small business is to concentrate on one or two small things," he asserts. "Most of what you lack in a small business is resources. People often say, 'I don't have enough money,' but the real thing you lack is time. People are doing a once-over-lightly on too many things. Trying to advance on too broad a front, they don't go anywhere. In a military campaign, the way to advance is to hold a broad front and attack in one place. Running a business is the same: anchor yourself down on a broad front, and try to improve in one or two places."

Crisafulli took aim at the delivery problem. In the fall of 1991 he declared that it would be Marmot's highest priority over the next year. The 40-member Marmot staff agreed on a goal of shipping winter 1992-1993 clothes by mid-September of 1992. "Anything that negatively impacts delivery has to wait," he asserted.

The management established interim deadlines, choosing four easily remembered dates by which Marmot had to place orders with its Asian suppliers: Pearl Harbor Day (December 7) and tax day (April 15) for winter clothing, and a manager's birthday (June 15) and Columbus Day (October 12) for spring 1993 product. Marmot had never before set precise ordering and delivery schedules. Three days before December's order deadline, all meetings that might endanger delivery were postponed, and "everyone was running around, asking, 'How are we doing?" recounts Crisafulli.

Managers had to communicate. Director of imports and exports Debbie Bender suggested, and Crisafulli instituted, daily meetings of the 10-member management team. Each manager would identify and head off conflicts that might result in delays. In one case a prototype snap featuring the Marmot logo failed to meet specs. So the committee abandoned it until the following season: to wait for a perfect prototype would delay delivery.

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