WHERE SMALL TOUCHES ADD UP TO DELIGHT AND PLEASURE

My wife is big on “quality of life” touches that affect our sense of living. They don’t have to be big expenses, either, as many of her yard-sale finds demonstrate.

The concept hit me while changing the bed the other day in my gratitude regarding a new set of striped flannel sheets, unlike the old floral patterns.

Just wait till we slip in, I thought. Oh, the sweet anticipation!

START FILLING THE GROCERY CART … WITH BOOKS AND VIDEOS

As I blogged during the summer of 2014, the No. 1 topic of discussion across much of New England concerned the dramatic battle for control of the Market Basket supermarket chain. In an unprecedented reaction to moves by one-half of the family owning the company to sell the popular stores to more expensive rivals, its management, devoted workers, trusted suppliers, and loyal shoppers united to bring the enterprise itself to a halt. A grinding halt. And it worked.

After months of earlier rebuffs and daily headlines, the part of the family actually running the stores announced an agreement to buy the entire operation from its hostile relations.

It was a complicated story, with some long-festering feuds in the not-so-recent background. The kind of story that’s bound to show up as movie adaptations. Maybe even as a television mini-series. Maybe not Dallas in Boston, but as rich in its material.

We’ve been waiting for the book-length analyses, and the first one is finally making the rounds: We Are Market Basket (the title comes from a slogan at the time) has been published by an American Management Association affiliate.

Authors are frequently advised to “know their audience,” with the implication of tailoring their work to assumed demands. In this case, the book can be seen aiming at two audiences: New Englanders who remember the revolt and likely participated in some part of it, and then business majors and managers around the world. It’s both a strength and weakness for the volume.

Reading the text, it’s easy to see which part was written by which coauthor: Lowell Sun newspaper reporter Grant Walker drafted the day-by-day narrative, while associate business professor Daniel Korschun provided the chapters on business management. It’s all good stuff, though a bit repetitive, as one might expect from daily news reports that have to recap earlier developments. And I started wishing Walker had more sources to draw on. Still, they underscore the point of their book.

As the subtitle says, The Story of the Unlikely Grassroots Movement That Saved a Beloved Business, this was a remarkable event. Korschum uses it as a platform to argue for an awareness of stakeholders in a company – not just stockholders. It’s a theme Bernie Sanders has been pressing in his presidential campaign, and he’s not alone it saluting its importance. Workers, suppliers, and entire communities have investments of one sort or another in the companies that operate in our presence. For Market Basket, with prices typically 16 percent lower than its major competition, customers have a definite reason for supporting the stores, which, as it turns out, are remarkably profitable, despite or (as Korschum argues and others of us believe) because of their culture of contrarian instincts.

You can read the book for the reasons why. The list of down-to-earth practices throughout the operation, where the lowest level workers are encouraged to find ways to improve the business, is worth the read alone. You won’t walk through any store quite the same afterward.

My interest in the topic goes back decades before this, as I saw the operations of a smaller but similar grocery operation run by my then-girlfriend’s father. His own father had started out with a produce cart that went door to door. Besides, my own inclination has been for smaller, typically family, operations rather than monolithic corporations – as I demonstrate in my novel Hometown News and pursued for most of my employment as a journalist.

As I was perusing We Are Market Basket, I kept thinking of business books like Tom Peters’ In Search of Excellence series. They’re fun to read and make their point, though there just might be more to the story. In this case, I definitely feel there is.

Yes, when we come to the stakeholders argument, we can look to John Henry Patterson’s benevolent leadership at the National Cash Register Co. in Dayton, Ohio, or the glory years of the cereal makers in Battle Creek, Michigan, or Aaron Feuerstein’s moves in the aftermath of the Polar Fleece fabrics’ devastating factory fire in Malden, Massachusetts. Essentially, these provide similar models of enlightened leadership along the stakeholders’ ideal. But this book also leaves me wondering about the next generation after Arthur T. Demoulas’ leadership – he is, after all, pictured riding a white horse. So there’s a need for a management text on maintaining leadership a generation or two down the pike, which this book glides over as one of simply maintaining the historic company culture. There’s a lot of repetition on Market Basket’s culture in these pages, perhaps to drive the point home or, as I suspect, perhaps because of slack editing. But will that culture be enough?

On another front, there’s a volume yet to appear that puts the Market Basket experience in perspective with other leader-defined companies. Yes, we love our heroes, but they’re hardly the stuff of corporate America these days. More often, they’re anonymous and invisible. What kind of executive would be needed to fill Arther T.’s shoes?

And there’s another round of writings that might relate Market Basket to other family-owned companies and their survival or failure in moving from one generation to another. Family ownership issues have become a distinct subset of a business school curriculum. You don’t get fired from being a brother or a sister or cousin or grandkid — it’s a lifetime position.

We Are Market Basket skims over the earlier family conflicts that erupted into ugly, protracted, and costly court battles only years before the events at the heart of this book. To understand the bitterness of the most recent round, I’d love to see a volume – or at least one more open to both sides – more detailed than what this one presents. Not that the other side made itself in any way sympathetic in the 2014 accounts. Even so, the events were not quite as black-or-white as they seem to appear. An astute reader senses the authors’ desire not to antagonize their sources, meaning the book’s told basically from one side.

Another fascinating dimension also appears in corporate ownership that’s not quite split evenly 50/50. Television viewers may remember an episode of Ed Asner’s Lou Grant series where the newspaper was threatened by such a division – not that much different from the Seattle Times, actually, where one percent held the sway vote.

When it comes to Market Basket, we have one crucial family voter who switched. Why? Everyone wants to know.

So I’m still hoping for a more definitive volume than this entry. Maybe by the crack team from the Boston Globe, which could throw far more reporters at the story than the suburban Lowell Sun could – reporter/author Welker at least had the advantage of having the Demoulas family grocery stores originating in Lowell and putting their headquarters one town over, in Tewksbury, but he was a Lone Ranger in the face of a large reporting and editing staff in Boston.

Another of the case studies waiting to happen would look at Market Basket since the uprising. Can it sustain the large debt load and still maintain its generous employee bonuses and profit-sharing, along with its low prices? A year-after report by the Globe found that the company is indeed prospering in its rebirth. But long-term questions remain.

Will the fuller story ever come out?

For me, more and more, I’m looking for another current example, somewhat the way scientists want an experiment that can be replicated — another stakeholder over stockholder victory.

In the meantime, we’re still shopping – almost religiously – at Market Basket.

TAKING A FALL IN AUTUMN

Autumn typically stresses my allergies to a point that many years I’ve been knocked down for a week or two with “flu-like symptoms,” as one physician diagnosed it. (Not that he had any magic shots or pills to speed my recovery.) Some rounds have meant being unable to stay awake long or finding myself chilled to the bone, unable to warm up. Shortness of breath, dizziness, and loss of appetite are also common. Responsible work, please remember, is out of the question.

A routine of preventative medications in the past decade or so has allowed me to largely elude the malady, but this year I’ve been hit.

As illnesses go, this is quite tolerable, as long as I’m not trying to do much of anything. It simply means lying low and drinking liquids.

An upside does appear, though: for me, it’s the reading orgy that can accompany the recovery.

Do other writers (or readers, for that matter) feel obligated to tackle certain periodicals or books before getting to our guilty pleasures? Or is it just me?

Don’t get me wrong. For instance, nobody forced me to subscribe at a bargain-basement rate to the New York Review of Books, but after several appeals, I caved in – and then the issues began to pile up.

I hadn’t really followed this periodical since the early ’70s and was curious to see how much it was sticking to its earlier biases. (Yes, I’m using that term.) Happily, I’m finding a broader range of thought than I’d remembered. What has taken some readjustment involves the depth of the articles. Each one carries an assumption that we are somehow conversant in an esoteric topic that is apparently an earmark of intelligence or a solid education or … well, I dive in anyway, realizing I seldom know enough to challenge the author’s line of argument. It feels like being swept along in a tide.

This is also reminding me of a hierarchy of intellectual discourse in writing.

If the New York Review of Books is at one level, the New Yorker seems to sit a step lower, and the New York Times on a step below that. New York and Vanity Fair magazines, along with the Boston Globe, Washington Post, and a handful of other newspapers sit a step lower – and they’re all well above the median level today. As for the rest of us out in the sticks?

Admittedly, I felt a little pressure here. My wife repeated her request I pass the issues on “when you’re finished,” and that meant intact editions rather than my usual filet strategy that cuts a magazine apart, clips out articles of interest, and pitches the rest. (Saves space, for one thing, and puts pieces I want to address in appropriate files, for another. Plus, in the old days, we used to mail clippings of interest to each other – remember that, back before email?)

Well, back to that matter of keeping up, especially when we have our own local and regional issues to address, in addition to our individual specialized interests.

I got caught up with the backlog of New York Reviews and a few other magazines. And then it was on to a stack of books. Huzzah! Huzzah! Without getting into the list, let me just say what a pleasure it is to read a volume straight through, within a day or two, as God or at least the author intended – rather than having to do it by bits and pieces over long stretches of time. (Do I need to mention there are many books around our house still waiting for the final, uh, consummation? Not all mine, by a long shot.)

Well, I am feeling better now, thank you, and there’s a long list of home repair and garden projects to do before cold weather kicks in. Life really depends on maintaining a balance, doesn’t it? Or is there a better way?

WHERE’S THE HONOR OR ADVANTAGE?

Once upon a time, being Speaker of the House of Representatives of the United States was an esteemed and quite powerful position.

For one thing, I never previously realized my hometown carried the name of the third speaker. Nor did I realize that Massachusetts had been the source of more of the officeholders, eight, than any other state. (In contrast, Virginia and Ohio provided the most presidents.)

I do remember finding family postcards of the Missouri mansion of Champ Clark, who was Speaker 1911-1919, and being told, in reverential tones, that one of my great-great-grandfathers had somehow been in charge of his affairs in this native state. Not that I’ve ever followed up to confirm the story. Maybe it was a cousin?

Curiously, though, despite all of its prestige, only one president – 0ur 11th – ever served as Speaker. That was James K. Polk, who led the House, 1835-39, before landing in the White House, 1845-49. In that election, he defeated another Speaker, Henry Clay. (For the record, Gerald Ford had been only Minority Leader before becoming president through Richard Nixon’s resignation.)

Looking back, though, the last reference to the position with any general air of full respect from both sides seems to invoke Tip O’Neill, 1977-87.

That’s three-plus decades ago.

For someone with the ambitions of Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan, these factors have to come into play as he considers Republican Party calls for him to run for the Speaker’s gavel. Even without the current toxic situation, it would add up to a dead end. Or, at best, a final step.

Let’s see how long reason holds out in the end.

ARE THOSE SEAMS TURNING INTO TECTONIC PLATES?

Only weeks ago, I wrote on the longstanding seams in the Republican Party and wondered about their coming apart. (Here’s what I posted.)

Since then, in the dizzying developments in the party’s inability to name a new Speaker of the House of Representatives, along with the mystifying field for the presidency itself, it’s now possible to ask whether those seams have become tectonic plates – the kind that are about to erupt as a very destructive political party earthquake rather than simply ripping apart.

The so-called Freedom Caucus is being called the “kamikaze congress,” one that would rather see the Capitol blown up than do anything for the good of the country. The more moderate or more mainstream Republican congressmen, meanwhile, are awakening to the fact that their party can’t govern in its current state – whether they align themselves as a Reality Caucus with a core of moderate Democrats is making for some fascinating discussion.

As a blogger without insider information, I can only watch all this from a distance. Keeping up with the news, much less digesting it and relaying any conclusions, is exhausting. So here we are, following a big drama. Who knows how many acts there will be or how much figurative blood will be shed. It’s that, or comedy, but I can’t see anyone here laughing anytime soon.

PRIMARY CAMPAIGN TRAIL NOTES

Last weekend, at our town’s annual Apple Harvest Day festival, as I passed the Democratic Party booth in the array along Central Avenue downtown, someone mentioned that Rick Santorum was in the crowd.

“I’m not sure I’d recognize him if I saw him,” I confessed. Not having a television does limit my awareness in some ways.

“Oh, you’d know him if you saw him. He’s taller than me,” my informant said.

As it turned out, I did catch glimpses of the former U.S. senator from Pennsylvania moving through pedestrian jam. It was his blue sports coat and khaki pants, mostly, that said GOP hopeful – or possibly, staff. Still, he was talking to an aide, rather than shaking hands and greeting potential voters. Could it be? What would I say? Or ask, pointedly? Besides, we were being carried along in opposite directions.

Later in the afternoon, at a booth where I was volunteering, I was given a business card at the end of a pleasurable bit of small talk. The next day, reading the news, I learned that this was Santorum’s host for the event. Little did I know that over breakfast just downstream, the candidate had received an earful from two Planned Parenthood supporters.

Maybe he’d had enough for the day?

~*~

As I’ve mentioned, our telephone’s been ringing with presidential primary campaign pitches. Some of them are robo-calls we promptly ignore. Talk to us in person, or else!

And then there are the surveys, sometimes several a day. Some of them are legitimately neutral, but others, well … let’s just say it’s quickly obvious who’s paying the bill.

Sometimes it’s a bit amusing, like the one from a first-time questioner working for the Carson camp. She stumbled through her script but had our sympathy. It’s how you learn the process, after all.

But then there was one that started asking if we were “strongly likely,” “somewhat likely,” “somewhat not likely,” or “strongly not likely” to vote for Trump, Carson, Bush, Kasich … and then suddenly turned to questions solely about Bush. Wait a minute! You claimed to be an independent research firm! What about the dozen or so other hopefuls on the GOP ticket?

At least this one wasn’t turning to a pitch for donations.

~*~

Considering the number of phone calls we’re getting from so-called opinion research outfits, I am concerned about the validity of the results. If a few people are getting the equivalent of “voting early and often” in the opinion sampling, what’s to preclude toying with the results? Why not say something that spins the outrage or anxiety? Why not boost a marginal candidate? Why not jump on a hot-air balloon for a short ride? Or try to deflate it?

More to the point: the only result I truly care about takes place in the election booth. Why can’t we concentrate on the issues until then, rather than the artificial horse race? (Or, in this case, elephant race, for the most part?)

WHERE ARE THE CANDIDATES’ OFFICES?

In remarking about the failure of the presidential candidates to get out and do the ground-level face-to-face meet-and-greets that are the foundation of New Hampshire’s first-in-the-nation primary, I’ve failed to notice a conspicuous change in this particular campaign. I live in a county seat, one of ten in New Hampshire, and usually by this point in the campaign, we’d have prominent campaign headquarters downtown.

Not this time.

No, it finally dawned on me. Nada!

(Well, since drafting this, we got a phone call saying Hillary just opened an office here, just not downtown. Still, something’s akimbo.)

In fact the Republicans, who ought to be the most active in staking out territory, had only eight offices across New Hampshire by mid-September – all in Manchester, the largest city, an hour away from where I live. Much more from the further reaches of the state.

Contrast that to the Democrats: eight offices for Hillary Clinton alone, at the time, four for Bernie Sanders, and two for Martin O’Malley. Fourteen in all. And Joe Biden’s still waiting in the wings.

The local office is where a candidate’s organization offers literature and answers questions to passers-by, does its phone-banking, encourages supporters to meet, plans canvassing and visibility events. It’s where each candidate gains visibility – and credibility – every time a driver or pedestrian comes past.

Maybe the Republicans think advertising will fill the gap. It won’t. Each region of my adopted state is different. I’ll leave it at that.

I’ve also mentioned the lack of living room meetings and am surprised to see the only ones listed on the Republican side are all in Scott Brown’s Rye home – that is, the former U.S. Senator from Massachusetts. Hardly bread-and-butter invitations to the faithful, right?

LOOKING AT THE GOP WHITE HOUSE HOPEFULS

Looking at the pack, I wonder how many voters can even say something about each of the names on the full slate. Even in simply determining each candidate’s state, as a starter, or the major offices he or she’s held.

That’s even before the question of finding some significant way one stands out from the rest.

I’m even asking if they’d make a decent Cabinet, put together.

Here’s hoping things start to get lively. Let us see who they are. Really are.

NOT BY A LONG SHOT

A surgeon is more of an artist than an administrator.

There’s nothing to make me think he can lead a management team, much less a host of competing political and economic interests. Artists, after all, tend to act as soloists or move in small circles. An operating room remains a small stage or studio, all focused on one event, unlike the chaotic forces erupted in the Oval Office.

Before aspiring to the White House, could he show us how he’d function as a big city mayor? Or a small-state governor? Or even as a senator or congressman?

Let’s put this in context. An operating room is much, much smaller than the Pentagon. And the Pentagon’s only part of the Executive Branch.

Ben Carson’s not ready for prime time here. Not by a long shot. No matter how much we might like him.

By the way, his is the first — and the only — GOP bumper sticker we’ve seen on a New Hampshire car to date. This is turning into a first-in-the-nation presidential primary quite unlike any we’ve encountered before.