September, 2006

Personal Best

The way to beat the boxes is one customer at a time.

By Greg Brooks

This is a retail story, but hang in there; it’s relevant even if the last consumer who darkened your door wore an “I Like Ike” button.

I’ve lived near metro markets most of my life—Denver, Chicago, San Francisco, Washington, D.C., and now Louisville, Ky. But 20 years ago my parents retired to Montrose, Colo., and when my wife and I inherited their townhome last year, we decided to keep it.

Montrose is west of the Rockies at the southern end of a long valley between the Grand Mesa and the Uncompahgre Plateau. I use the term “valley” loosely. Irrigated farms along the river produce peaches and world-famous Olathe sweet corn, but beyond that, we’re talking rocks and dirt.

When my folks arrived, Montrose was a town of 7,000 ranchers and retirees. But 50 miles south in the San Juan Mountains, Telluride has become the new Aspen. The population of Montrose is now 45,000 and it’s a “gateway” community: The rich and famous fly here and hop shuttle vans to their ski chalets. If you can’t afford to live next to Sylvester Stallone, you can come down the mountain and buy a home in Ridgway for under $1,000,000, or continue on to Montrose and live along a Jack Nicklaus golf course for a mere $400,000.

The boom attracted Wal-Mart in the ’90s, which decimated local retailers. Home Depot followed and the lumberyards all went under the wings of Alpine Lumber, UBC and Foxworth-Galbraith. Downtown is coming back, but it’s all restaurants, boutiques and fly-fishing stores.

Locally owned retailers who sell day-to-day goods are virtually gone, and Abel’s Ace Hardware might well have been one of them. It isn’t.

One block off Main Street, Abel’s is a classic hardware store with low ceilings, stacked shelves, and nails by the pound. I go to Abel’s first, but not simply to support a local business. I go because of Ron and Jeremy and Bette.

Last Friday I needed a 50-cent spring to fix a storm door. Jeremy caught me before I got to the bins. I think he’s only been on the job a few days; we found the spring but he wasn’t sure he’d written the SKU correctly on the envelope. Fortunately, Ron was right around the corner straightening an endcap. Ron is one of two or three veterans who are always on the floor.

“Hey, Ron?”

“Ron’s not here.”

Jeremy grins. “Leave a message?”

“Yup, leave a message.”

Ron checks his work. “That looks fine. As always, you got it perfect.”

Jeremy’s confidence grows visibly.

On the way out, I grab a needle-nose pliers and a clipper to cut the spring.

I didn’t think they’d be $12 apiece and they probably aren’t at Depot or Wal-Mart. So what?

Bette is the best cashier in town according to last year’s “Best of Montrose” awards. She treats everyone like she’s known them forever, and some she probably has. She’s been at Abel’s as long as I’ve been buying there, and my guess is that she’s close to 70 (sorry, Bette).

As she rings me up, she asks if I’m interested in an Ace credit card. My turn to grin. “Didn’t we just have this conversation last week?”

“Yes, and we’ll probably have it again next week.” When I leave, she wishes me a wonderful weekend and means it.

According to experts, Wal-Mart and Home Depot are revolutionizing supply-chain efficiency. I don’t know about Abel’s or the three lumberyards. I just know the people there care about their work and like to have fun at it.

When I can get that, I don’t worry much about revolutionary efficiencies.