Gary Heavin Is On a Mission From God

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Heavin began putting his life back together. He found work selling fitness equipment and consulting with gym owners and settled into life with a new wife. Heavin met Diane Piller during the waning days of his gym business. Diane, who had model-perfect features and the physique of a lifelong fitness fanatic, worked in newspaper advertising. Women's World of Fitness was not only one of her accounts, it was also the place she went to get her aerobics fix. The relationship grew as the business collapsed, and in 1990, the couple married, just before Gary went to jail. "It's kind of a neat thing that we married then because he knew I really loved him," she says. "He didn't have a lot of material things."

The couple soon began plotting their return to the fitness business. Their new gym would be different. Overhead would be kept as low as possible. Rather than investing in every manner of workout machine, the gym would offer a simple fitness circuit that would be quick and easy for members to complete. Instead of operating as close to 24-7 as possible, a common practice in the industry, the gym would close early. Showers, de rigueur at most gyms, were also deemed expendable. And most important of all: It would be women only. Diane came up with the name--Curves--and sketched out a cursive logo on a piece of paper.

If everything worked out, the Heavins figured they'd be able to earn about $100,000 a year. With $10,000 they'd managed to scrape together, they opened the first Curves in 1992 in Harlingen, Texas, where they lived, with Diane as manager. It was immediately clear that the simple formula would work. The couple had estimated it would take 90 days to sell 100 memberships--the amount they'd need to break even. Diane sold that amount in the first week alone. In 1994, they opened a second club in McAllen, and it also did gangbusters. To Heavin, still fired up from his jailhouse religious awakening, the newfound success made perfect sense. "It's kind of like Moses in the Bible," he says. "I spent 10 years in Egypt, which was the old health club business. And then I spent 10 years in the desert; I was a consultant, I was in the equipment business, I traveled around. And then at age 40, it all just came together. Everything we tried, worked. We entered into the Promised Land."

By 1995, the Heavins had far exceeded their wildest dreams. "We had two Curves, a brand-new baby, and we were earning a quarter of a million a year," says Gary. "We were going to live happily ever after." Then he had an epiphany.

Heavin was giving a talk on weight management to a group of women when he realized he'd been scanning the crowd for the face of his mother, who had died when he was 13. "She had just turned 40 and died in her sleep," he says. "My two little brothers and I found her. It was a real traumatic experience." Doris Joy Heavin had suffered from obesity, high blood pressure, and depression, all of which were treated with medication rather than the recommendation that she get more exercise. Heavin grew furious when he thought about it. Perhaps this explained why he wanted to be a doctor, why he enjoyed the fitness business so much. "I had the epiphany that what my life had been about was healing women because of my mother," he says. "And that was what my destiny was going to be."

"I believe you can teach a manager to care enough to make a pretty good cup of coffee," Heavin says. "But it's hard to make a manager care enough to run a fitness club. Only an owner will care enough to do the job."

Heavin would heal women before they got sick. Curves would be the vehicle, and he needed to spread it as far and wide as possible. The question was how to do it. He didn't want to expand by opening more gyms and trusting strangers to manage them; managers, he felt, had served him poorly at Women's World of Fitness. "I want to franchise this thing," he told his wife. Diane, who had come to enjoy her new lifestyle, thought the move was way too risky. "I didn't feel like eating beans again," she says.

Gary understood her fears, but pressed his case. Franchising, he said, made perfect business sense. "I believe you can teach a manager to care enough to make a pretty good cup of coffee," Heavin says. "But it's hard to make a manager care enough to run a fitness club. Only an owner will care enough to do the job." There were spiritual concerns, as well. "We've been given this gift and if we don't use it, it will be taken away," he told Diane. He reminded her that they were required to use the gifts they had been given and to bless others as they'd been blessed.

After sleeping on it, Diane came around. "Okay," she asked, "how do we do this?" Neither of them knew a thing about franchising. Heavin turned to an acquaintance, Gary Findley, for advice. Findley was vice president of franchise sales at the Dwyer Group, a well-established franchiser of residential services such as Mr. Rooter, Glass Doctor, and others, and was a fount of information. Heavin ran a $250 ad in The Paris News in Paris, Texas, and quickly sold his first franchise. After he sold his third franchise, Heavin called Findley. "I've got a little money coming in now," he said, "and I can pay you to come onboard." Findley became Curves' first employee and was soon named president.

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