Getting Started
When I tell people about my backyard conversation with Pete Buck, explaining that I had agreed to open a submarine shop even though I didn’t know how, they frequently ask me, Weren’t you afraid of failing? Failing never entered my mind. If other people had opened submarine sandwich shops I thought there was a reasonable chance I could do the same thing.
The next morning I drove my dad to work so that I could borrow his car. Pete said the first step was to find a small store, and while I really didn’t know how to do that, it didn’t take me long to find exactly what I thought we needed. It was right around the corner from United Hardware, where I was employed as a stock clerk. I called the landlord and arranged to inspect the shop on Saturday, when Pete could join me. That afternoon I reported to work at the hardware store as I did every workday until we rented the first location.
It would take a few months before Pete and I realized that I hadn’t done a very good job of finding our first location. When I looked for available shops, I just drove up and down the familiar streets without even considering other parts of town. I simply didn’t know any better. I didn’t know there were certain characteristics that made one location better than another. Consequently, I didn’t know what was wrong with the location we were about to inspect, and neither did Pete. I had worked at the hardware store for several years and never noticed the location before. I should have realized that if I hadn’t noticed the location customers would have a difficult time finding it, too.
On Saturday the landlord met us at the shop shortly before noon. We walked inside and found approximately 450 square feet of space. Pete and I were impressed: The store was clean and neat and we wouldn’t have to do much to get the place ready for business. The ceiling and tile floor were in good shape. We would have to add a counter for making sandwiches, and build a partition to block off the storage space in the back of the store, but we had already figured as much. Otherwise, the shop looked acceptable to both of us.
“What do you think, Pete?” I asked my partner in earshot of the landlord.
Pete said, “How much is it again?”
“One sixty-five a month,” the landlord responded.
Pete nodded yes. He liked it.
“Okay, let’s have a lease drawn up,” the landlord continued.
“Lease? What’s that?” I asked.
The landlord explained that the lease was a legal document that spelled out the terms of our agreement and would establish the rent at $165 a month for two years. It was a protective measure for both of us, he said, adding that it would cost about $50 to hire a lawyer to prepare the document. “We’ll split it,” he said.
Neither Pete nor I knew anything about leases, and all I could think about was the $25 that we’d have to pay the lawyer. That was 2.5 percent of our capital, and that was more money than we could afford.
“I think we’ll just take it without a lease,” I responded.
The landlord didn’t object. Of course, he was a guy with a crummy location that he needed to rent. On the spot we paid him $330, the first month’s rent and a month’s security deposit. He handed us the keys, and that’s how we rented our first store. It took about five minutes.
As soon as the landlord collected his money he was on his way and Pete and I were left to design the restaurant. That took us another five minutes. We knew we needed a spot for the cash register, space to prepare the food, a partition to block off the storage area, and a counter for customers to lay down their money. I would recruit a friend from high school to help me with the construction. Pete reminded me that we’d also need an outdoor sign, a cash register, and some miscellaneous equipment, and that was it, perhaps another five minutes spent discussing restaurant design before we left and locked the door behind us. We ate lunch together, discussed some other ideas, and Pete drove back to Armonk.
It’s easy now to say that we rushed into the deal, or that we were carried away by the excitement of our new enterprise. I certainly should have conducted a wider location search and I probably should have signed a lease. However, we were just getting started, and college was opening soon so it was important to take action. Rather than sitting around making plans for the rest of our lives we decided to just go ahead and do it. Pete and I were, and still are, the type of guys who like to make decisions without belaboring things. From my perspective today, taking action is a good quality and I’m glad we took that first location. Sometimes, knowing less and actually doing something is far better than knowing everything and never doing anything at all.
The Submarine Sleuths
Funny thing, until I was face-to-face with our first customer, I had never made a submarine sandwich. Nor had Pete. We enjoyed eating them, and we knew they consisted of meat, cheese, vegetables, oil, and bread, but we had absolutely no experience making them. So it was important that Pete took the time to drive my mom and me to Portland, Maine, where we decided to research the fine art of making submarine sandwiches. Although we were familiar with Mike’s in upstate New York, we needed to experience another taste profile, and also watch the process of making sandwiches.
Pete had grown up eating submarine sandwiches at Amato’s Italian Deli, and he remained fond of their product, so he suggested that we visit his parents in Portland and spend some time hanging out at Amato’s. My mom decided to join us, and we appreciated her company, especially because she knew much more about food than we did.
We arrived in Portland in time for dinner and decided to begin our research the next day around noon. From outside Amato’s front window we gained a vantage point from where we could watch the action behind the sandwich counter. After a few minutes we decided to go inside to gain the experience of being a customer. We ordered our sandwiches, paying attention to the entire process of ordering and making the sandwiches. We then took our sandwiches outside and resumed peeking through the window. We paid particular attention to the process of cutting the bread, laying in the meat and cheese, and applying the oil. One of the things we noticed was that Amato’s people poured oil onto each sandwich from a gallon can. Our trio, in spite of our inexperience, thought that was clumsy. We immediately decided it would be better to transfer the oil into smaller containers, the size of a small pitcher, then pour from the containers onto the sandwiches, thus making the operation a little easier. Later we discovered our idea also added expense and created inconsistency!
There was only so much we could learn from Amato’s. They only sold two variations of sandwiches—ham and salami—so we decided to visit several other sandwich shops that day. We bought sandwiches at each shop, observed their operations, and evaluated what we perceived as the pros and cons. Between visits we compared notes.
Within twenty-four hours, our research, sparse and unscientific though it was, provided what we thought was sufficient information to make some key decisions. Essentially, we had two prominent profiles to consider for our business: Amato’s and Mike’s. The two had little in common and that was a plus because it gave us different perspectives. Mike’s variety of sandwiches included cheese and tuna. Amato’s sold only the two sandwiches. We liked variety, so we stuck with our earlier decision to sell seven different cold sandwiches.
We preferred Amato’s taste profile, but we also preferred Mike’s bread. Amato’s used a nine-inch soft roll, but Mike’s was a foot long, and that sounded good to us. Amato’s added a larger variety of fresh vegetables to their sandwiches. Mixed with oil, the fresh vegetables added flavor to the sandwich, so we decided to include them. The foundation of an Amato’s sub was like an Italian salad without lettuce, and that
