When it comes to businesses that are charming, idiosyncratic, and lovable, Main Street still has a monopoly. To celebrate America's great unsung small companies, Inc asked a host of well-known writers, entertainers, and influential people to tell us about their favorites.
My son's cockatiel eats like a bird, so our stock of millet and black-oil sunflower seeds rarely needs replenishing. On most days, consequently, I have no credible excuse to stop by Feathers, a purveyor of avian supplies in Marlborough, Mass. That makes me ... not sad, exactly, but a little wistful. Several times a week I drive by the pocket-sized shop on my way to Star Market or Home Depot, the indispensable but soulless establishments that keep my household up and running. When I do have occasion to stop at Feathers, though, it's like old home week at the Audubon Society. Twenty or so birds -- some for sale, others familiar store pets -- chirrup, preen, and crack seed from cages and perches scattered around the store. I stretch out my finger and a brazen parakeet sidles onto it, inclining its head so I can gently stroke its chalk blue ruff, so downy tender that it feels almost moist. The faces have changed over the years but at one time or another have included Zinger, a white cockatoo with the flounces of a Vegas showgirl, and One-Eye, a sun conure who -- although partly blind and addled as a result of chickhood trauma -- displayed the pluck and resilience of a Dickens heroine. We didn't move to our neighborhood because it has a store like Feathers in it. But if we ever leave, I will miss it.
Wal-Mart may have trounced Main Street in the battle for consumers' dollars, but in the battle for their hearts and minds it's not even a contender. The best small companies can be charming, idiosyncratic, even lovable. They offer can't-find-it-elsewhere goods (possibly), warm personal service (probably), and something else -- the imprint of distinct human lives on brick and wood and formica. Sometimes they embody the spirit of a neighborhood or of an era. Sometimes they are the source of all earthly knowledge on a given subject. Sometimes they are your friends.
In an effort to celebrate America's unsung small companies, Inc asked a number of well-known writers, entertainers, and others to tell us about their favorite businesses. Their reflections -- some of them surprisingly intimate -- remind us that companies can be great in many ways. The greatest are those that touch their customers' lives.
Jack Welch
Former CEO of General Electric. His memoir is Jack: Straight From the Gut.
Mitchells of Westport, a clothier in Connecticut, has incredible customer service. The store has been around since 1958. It's a second-generation family business owned by two brothers, and their sons are also in the business. Their entire staff -- from sales associates to tailors to delivery people -- are the best. If a customer calls after hours -- say, someone has forgotten to pick up something they need that evening or for a trip -- the phone rings in one of the owners' homes, and they will go to the store, collect the item, and hand-deliver it, sometimes as far as Logan Airport in Boston. Once I forgot my topcoat, and Bill Mitchell met me at the airport with his own topcoat, which was my size. Their sales associates know everything about the customers -- not just what size they wear but also the names of their kids and what business they're in. They serve bagels and sandwiches and wine; there are television sets for customers waiting for alterations and a big area where they entertain children. They do whatever it takes to make the customer happy. I really admire them.
Ben Stein
Writer, actor, and game-show host. The series Win Ben Stein's Money appears on Comedy Central.
My favorite small business is the Watergate Barber Shop, located in the building made famous by the Watergate scandal, in Washington, D.C. I own a co-op in the complex that I inherited from my parents. My father got his hair cut at the barbershop for 27 years, more or less. The barbers are Italian Americans with no pretensions, no fancy-pantsy "hair styling" jive, no high prices, just astonishing skill with shears. They cut my hair in about 12 minutes (I time it) with unerring precision, never nick the mole I have in the center of my still bushy scalp, always make sure to hand me the latest newspapers to skim, and then charge me all of $18, which is what I would pay to park if I got my hair cut in high-end places in Beverly Hills or Malibu, where I also have homes.
My father used to discuss the Redskins at length with the barbers there and called one of them "Coach." Now I wait until I am in D.C. to get my hair cut, and the barbers always say how much they miss my pop. I cry as my hair comes off, and the manager says, "You know, he called me Coach" for the 20th time, and I don't want him to ever stop reminding me of that story, and I don't want anyone else to ever cut my hair.
Bob Dole gets his hair cut there and so do various officials of the Saudi Embassy. One day I was in a great hurry, and a young, well-dressed man of Arab descent allowed me to take his place in the chair. I later learned the man was the ambassador of Oman, an oil-producing sultanate on the Arabian peninsula.
At the Watergate Barber Shop, everyone gets along because we are all so happy about how we are going to look after they cut our hair. Or maybe it's just the natural camaraderie of the tonsorial parlor. In any event, I love it.
Scott Adams
Cartoonist, business satirist, and creator of Dilbert. His most recent book is Another Day in Cubicle Paradise.
When you work at home and you live at home, you need some other place to be. If it's not Starbucks, for me it's ClubSport, in Pleasanton, Calif.
I started going to health clubs when I moved to California, in 1979. I had always exercised, but once it gets above 80 degrees, I don't go outdoors. I get a sunburn standing next to a 60-watt bulb. So I needed a roof. I tried several health clubs and found ClubSport about 10 years ago. Now I go four or five times a week to play tennis or do weights or torture myself on some kind of aerobics machine.
What I think is so impressive about ClubSport is that they really know their customers. They know we don't consider exercise to be optional, so the facility opens at 5 a.m. on weekdays and is closed only on Christmas and New Year's. And they understand how boring exercise can be, so they have an obsession with variety. There's always something new to push or pull or run on. They put in a rock-climbing wall, and they offer a spinning class and some form of fake Tae-Bo, since they can't use the copyrighted word. Every time you turn around there's a new sign: This coming! Learn how to fly!
