The deal moved fast, and rumors flew among the Sam's employees. First it was that Darryl was buying out Brian, then that the business was being sold, then that everyone would be fired, then that the store would be shut down. The company split into camps; the Darryl loyalists questioned what Brian brought to the store, and Brian's people wondered whether Darryl had the skills to talk to employees. Everyone started watching what they said. The rumors reached frenzy pitch in March, on what some staff later dubbed Bloody Thursday. One by one, 20 employees were called by intercom into Brian's office and fired. Three days later, on a Sunday, Brian finally called a meeting to explain what was happening. The employees learned that Darryl was out. Brian didn't tell them the terms of the deal, though: Arbor now owned 80 percent of the recapitalized company. Sam's Wines was no longer a family business.
Eight days after the deal closed in May, Brian was in his office at the Sam's flagship, practically wriggling with glee. On the floor of the store, he'd already made changes: a discount tent, a different shelf layout, more lighting. He'd also made internal changes, hiring a CFO, renegotiating fees on the company credit card, and starting plans to open more stores in Chicago and then elsewhere in the Midwest. He was packing up his tiny office, getting ready to move into the new space he'd bought with the Arbor money.
Brian also was under an immense amount of pressure, answering to boss-owners for the first time in his life. He'd wanted corporate-style structure, and he'd gotten it. Still, he was finally CEO, finally alone at the top. Alone, except--
Crackle. "Brian, I got the top real estate guy in town in, come meet him."
It was Fred on the intercom.
Brian ignored it.
Crackle. "Brian, come now." Brian gave an exasperated look. "He doesn't work here! What can you do?" And he went to heed the call of his father. The fact that the spotlight was still on Fred seemed to bother him. "He got written up today. My dad," he said a bit later, annoyed.
Brian's been a salesman since he was a kid, and now he's selling a story. He wants this not to be about a family conflict. It's about a tenacious young guy, getting his chance at last. It's about the future of Sam's.
But the future is just a chapter in the story of Sam's Wines. Brian is at the helm of the company because he scrutinized his family business and chose the business over the family. He made what seems like a questionable deal--delivering a third-generation family company into the hands of an outside firm, and cutting his stake by more than half without getting any cash--to escape his older brother's shadow. It's possible that Brian will institute the aggressive growth he wants, and exit the business a rich man whenever Arbor sells it. It's also possible that he'll struggle and the private equity firm will get rid of him. (Brian wouldn't comment on the terms of his employment with Arbor, except to say he has a contract he's happy with.)
Brian and Darryl aren't talking, nor are their wives and their kids. Darryl, who's starting a customer-service consultancy, initially cooperated for this story, but he decided not to sit for a photograph. He didn't want his family's issues in the press. It's Brian who gains by promoting Sam's now.
You can say the brothers could have gone to family-business counseling, or separated their duties, or talked about their goals when they put together their succession plan. You can say they could have been kinder, listened more, found a way to make it work. But it's family. It's not that simple. Ask Darryl why he took the role he did, and it's, "I was always the older brother." Ask Brian the same thing, and it's, "I was always the little brother and he was the big brother, and that didn't change, no matter how many good decisions I made." It's impossible to escape the family dynamic, and changing the destiny of Sam's would have required changing how the family interacted. The Rosens are marathoners, triathletes, knee-surgeried basketball players, and talks about their communication style are not part of the family mien.
Still, it's hard not to see Fred as a reminder of what could have been--in large part because he's refusing to leave Sam's, and can be found at his desk right inside the front entrance every morning. "It made my life a little easier when your own people are your backup people, when your own family is your backup," he says, as close as he gets to being sentimental. He talks about how great it would be if Darryl's or Brian's kids started working in the store and Sam's became the only fourth-generation liquor store around. Either he is dissembling or he doesn't realize the implications of Brian's deal, with the likelihood that the private equity firm would flip the company altogether within a few years.
Fred can't talk for long, anyway; he has work to do. He's no longer technically an employee of Sam's Wines, but there he is, still in his sweatshirt and cap, still coming in at 5:30 to load boxes at the cash register, still barking at employees, and still--even though Lincoln Park has become one of the most prosperous neighborhoods in Chicago--keeping a gun inside a paper bag at his desk ("the new administration wants me to put it away," he says). The fact that both boys went to college and have nice wives and good kids and own their houses and have some money means the Rosen family is doing okay. Brian and Darryl may not be talking, and they may not have their family business anymore, but at least they're still family. As Fred puts it, "They're pissed at each other. That'll pass. They'll all come to my funeral."
