At a speaking engagement in Monterey late week, someone asked me
who was the best manager I had ever worked for and why. I don't recall having
ever been asked that question and it took an uncomfortably long time for me to
conjure a response. Like many I think I was mismanaged more often than not, but
many of those pronouncements are unreliable because of the extreme immaturity
involved. After more than a few awkward moments a name floated to the surface.
I snagged it out of the murky pond and blurted out the name, John Ramirez.
Of
course, John Ramirez. He was the bar manager at El Torito Bar & Grill back
when the restaurant first opened its doors in Tucson during the fall of 1980.
Man, we were busy from the opening bell. People were queued out the door on
most nights. Naturally Margaritas were the drink of choice and typically we'd
have five or six blenders whirling simultaneously throughout much of the night.
It seemed like every other order was for a carafe of frozen Margaritas or
strawberry Daiquiris. For years the lounge was the place to be seen.
About
the only thing I learned in my two-year stint behind El Torito's bar was how to
relax in the face of a thirsty throng. You can move just so fast before
beginning to resembling a bubbling, stumbling carnival performer pushing out
questionable drinks. When I learned to take a more laid back attitude my drink
making improved, as did my disposition. Oh, mind you, I was still surly and
borderline rude, only by then I had learned to be offensive with a smile on my
face.
Ah,
but back to John Ramirez. John was a hands-on sort of manager who had a great
feel for the business. Moments after the last guests were herded out and the
front doors locked, John would crank up the Doors on the stereo, marking the
end of another triumphant night, or at least another night that we all
survived.
We
did whatever John asked us to without much hesitation, largely because saying
no to him didn't seem like a viable option. He was too fair and even-handed to
grouse at. If it was my turn to clean out the top-loading cooler, so be it. As
the youngest member of the bartending crew I probably drew a disproportionate
number of cleaning shifts. If shenanigans were afoot with the other bartenders,
I knew nothing of it.
But
these are not the reasons why I hold John Ramirez's management style in high
regard. He did something each night that I recall vividly, something that made
me want to excel as a professional. To some it may seem like an insignificant
gesture, but I remember how motivating it was to others and me.
Every
night, after handing him my timecard he'd make a point of looking me in the
eyes and thanking me for a job well done. It wasn't lip service, it was genuine
and I greatly appreciated the pat on the back.
Now
nearly a quarter of a century later, I can't recall what he looked like and I
had to fight like the dickens to even remember his name. But even now when I
leave work at night I occasionally think to say thanks to the folks I work
with. I often get a perfunctory "No problem," or "sure sure" in response.
Once
in the while, though, I'll catch someone's eye and realize that they
appreciated my comment.
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