The more I got to know the company, the more I appreciated the passion behind it. But over time I noticed one weakness. Although the coffee was undeniably the best, the service sometimes smacked of arrogance. This came from the extreme pride that Starbucks people took in their coffee. Customers who enjoyed the new flavors and blends were happy to discuss them with store employees, but first-time customers were sometimes made to feel ignorant or neglected.
I wanted to fix this. I identified myself so closely with Starbucks that I perceived any of its shortcomings as my own. So I worked with employees to improve their friendly customer service skills and developed guides designed to help our customers learn more about coffee. Meanwhile, I was thinking about how to make excellent coffee available to a wider range of people than the elite handful of coffee gourmets who visited us.
Vision is when you see what is hidden from others
Italians, like no other, appreciate the subtle pleasures of everyday life. They figured out how to live in perfect harmony. They understand how to work, and they also know how to relax and enjoy life. They are passionate about everything. Nothing is average. The infrastructure in Italy is disgusting. Nothing works. But the food there is absolutely incredible. The architecture is breathtaking. Fashion is the standard of elegance throughout the world.
I especially loved the light of Italy. It intoxicates me. It gives me vitality.
And what this light is shed on is just as dizzying. You are walking along a gray street in an unremarkable residential area, when out of nowhere an incredibly bright figure of a woman appears in a half-open door, hanging colored laundry in a courtyard surrounded by flowering plants. Or suddenly the merchant will lift the metal blinds, and a luxurious display case with goods will open: freshly picked fruits and vegetables, lined up in smooth, shiny rows.
In retailing and food preparation, Italians have a reverent attitude to every detail and insist that only the best will do. In late summer and autumn, for example, you can find fresh figs on any counter. The merchant asks: “White or black?” If the buyer asks for equal parts of both, the merchant takes a simple cardboard tray and covers it with three or four fig leaves, then selects each fig individually, squeezing it to ensure the correct degree of ripeness of the fruit. He stacks the fruit in four rows - three white, three black, three white, three black - carefully places the tray in a bag and hands it to you with the pride of a master.
The next morning after my arrival, I decided to go to the exhibition; it was located a fifteen-minute walk from my hotel. I love to walk, and Milan is an excellent place for walking.
As soon as I started my journey, I noticed a small espresso bar. He dove inside to look around. The cashier at the door smiled and nodded. The tall, thin man behind the counter cheerfully greeted me: Buon giorno!, as he pressed a metal lever to whoosh out a huge stream of steam. He handed a tiny porcelain cup of espresso to one of the three men standing very close together at the counter. Next came the freshly prepared cappuccino, topped with a head of gorgeous white foam. The barista moved so gracefully that he seemed to be grinding beans, pouring espresso shots and boiling milk at the same time, chatting cheerfully with customers. It was amazing.
Espresso? - he asked me, his eyes sparkling and holding out a cup.
I couldn't resist the temptation. He took the espresso and took a sip. The strong, exciting taste burned my tongue. After three sips it disappeared, but the warmth and energy remained.
After walking half a block, on one of the side streets, across the street, I saw another espresso bar. There were even more people there. I noticed that the white-haired man behind the counter greeted everyone by name. He turned out to be both an employee and the owner of the establishment. Both he and his clients laughed, chatted and enjoyed every minute. It was obvious that these visitors were regulars, and that the environment was familiar and comfortable.
In the next few blocks I came across two more espresso bars. I was mesmerized.
It was on that day that the ritual and romance of Italian coffee shops was revealed to me. I saw how popular and lively they were. Each had its own unique character, but there was also a certain connecting thread: a friendly relationship between customers who knew each other well and a barista who did his job with talent. At that time, there were 200,000 coffee shops in Italy, 1,500 in Milan alone, a city similar in size to Philadelphia. They seemed to be on every corner, and they were all crowded with people.
Dorie Jones Yeung, Howard Schultz
How Starbucks was built cup by cup
Translation I. Matveeva
Project Manager I. Gusinskaya
Corrector E. Chudinova
Computer layout A. Abramov
Art Director S. Timonov
Cover artist R. Fedorin
© Howard Schultz, Dori Jones Yang, 1997
© Publication in Russian, translation, design. Alpina Publisher LLC, 2012
© Electronic edition. LLC "LitRes", 2013
How Starbucks was Built Cup by Cup / Howard Schultz, Dorie Jones Yeung; Per. from English – M.: Alpina Publisher, 2012.
ISBN 978-5-9614-2691-5
All rights reserved. No part of the electronic copy of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet or corporate networks, for private or public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.
Show more care than others think is reasonable.
Take more risks than others think are safe.
Dream bigger than others think is practical.
Expect more than others think is possible.
On a cold January morning in 1961, my father broke his ankle at work.
I was seven years old at the time, and a snowball fight in the backyard of the school was in full swing, when my mother leaned out of the window of our seventh-floor apartment and waved at me. I ran home.
“An accident happened to my father,” she said. - I'm going to the hospital.
My father, Fred Schultz, lay at home with his leg in the air for over a month. I had never seen plaster before, so at first it was something strange to me. But the charm of novelty quickly disappeared. Like many of his social brethren, my father was not paid when he was not working.
Before the accident, he worked as a truck driver collecting and delivering diapers. For many months he complained bitterly about their smell and dirt, claiming that this work was the worst in the world. But now that he had lost her, apparently he wanted to return. My mother was seven months pregnant, so she could not work. The family had no income, no insurance, no union compensation—there was nothing to count on.
My sister and I ate in silence at the dinner table while my parents argued about who they would have to borrow from and how much money. Sometimes in the evenings the phone would ring, and my mother would insist that I answer the phone. If they called about debts, I had to say that my parents were not at home.
My brother Michael was born in March, they had to borrow again to pay for hospital expenses.
Although many years have passed since then, the image of my father - prone on the sofa, with his leg in a cast, unable to work - has not been erased in my memory. Now, looking back, I have deep respect for my father. He didn't graduate from high school, but he was an honest man and wasn't afraid of work. At times he had to work two or three jobs just to have something to put on the table in the evening. He took good care of his children and even played baseball with us on the weekends. He loved the Yankees.
But he was a broken man. He worked from one blue-collar job to another: truck driver, factory worker, taxi driver, but was never able to earn more than $20,000 a year and could never afford to buy his own house. My childhood was spent in the Projects, government-subsidized housing in Canarsie, Brooklyn. As a teenager I realized what a shame it was.
As I grew older, I often clashed with my father. I was intolerant of his failures and lack of responsibility. It seemed to me that he could achieve much more if only he tried.
After his death, I realized that I was unfair to him. He tried to become part of the system, but the system crushed him. With low self-esteem, he was unable to get out of the hole and somehow improve his life.
The day he died (of lung cancer), in January 1988, was the saddest day of my life. He had no savings or pension. Moreover, being confident in the importance of work, he never once felt satisfaction and pride from the work he performed.
As a child, I had no idea that I would one day become the head of a company. But deep down I knew that I would never leave a person “overboard” if it depended on me.
My parents couldn't understand what it was that attracted me to Starbucks. In 1982, I left a well-paying, prestigious job for what was then a small chain of five coffee shops in Seattle. But I saw Starbucks not as it was, but as it could be. She instantly captivated me with her combination of passion and authenticity. Gradually, I realized that if it grew throughout the country, romanticizing the Italian art of espresso and offering freshly roasted coffee beans, it could change the perception of a product that people have known for centuries, and appeal to millions as much as I loved it.
I became CEO of Starbucks in 1987 because I acted as an entrepreneur and convinced investors to believe in my vision for the company. Over the next ten years, by assembling a team of smart and experienced managers, we transformed Starbucks from a local business with six stores and fewer than 100 employees into a national business with 1,300 stores and 25,000 employees. Today we can be found in cities throughout North America, in Tokyo and Singapore. Starbucks has become a recognizable and recognized brand everywhere, allowing us to experiment with innovative products. Profits and sales grew more than 50% per year for six consecutive years.
But Starbucks is not just a story of growth and success. This is a story about how a company can be built differently. About a company completely different from the ones my father worked for. This is living proof that a company can live by its heart and nurture its spirit—and still make money. This shows that the company is able to provide sustainable returns to shareholders over the long term without sacrificing our core principle of treating employees with respect and dignity, because we have a leadership team that believes this is the right thing to do and because this is the best way to do business. .
Starbucks touches an emotional chord in people's souls. People make a detour to have their morning coffee at our cafe. We have become such a signature symbol of modern American life that the familiar green siren logo is often featured in television shows and feature films. The 1990s brought new words to the American lexicon and new rituals to society. In some neighborhoods, Starbucks cafes have become a “third place”—a cozy gathering place away from work and home, an extension of the porch leading to the front door.
How Starbucks was built cup by cup Howard Schultz, Dorie Yeung
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Title: How Starbucks was Built Cup by Cup
Author: Howard Schultz, Dorie Yeung
Year: 2012
Genre: Industry publications, Popular about business, Foreign business literature
About the book “How Starbucks was Built Cup by Cup” by Howard Schultz, Dorie Yeung
Howard Schultz became CEO of Starbucks in 1987 and over the ensuing years transformed Starbucks from a small operation with six coffee shops into an international business operating in 50 countries. But the story of Starbucks is not just a success story. This is the story of a team of people passionate about coffee who built a huge company based on values and principles that are rarely found in the corporate world, while maintaining an individual approach to each employee and each client.
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HOW STARBUCKS WAS BUILT CUP BY CUP
Howard Schultz
Dorie Jones Yeung
Howard Schultz CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS & CEO STARBUCKS COFFEE COMPANY and Dorie Jones Yeung
STOCKHOLM SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS IN ST. PETERSBURG Stockholm School of Economics in Saint Petersburg
Dream of a dream
This book is the story of a passionate man. One of those who begins to love without yet finding the object of desire, because for them the meaning of life is to be in love. A person who neglected what is considered to be good - money, status, stability, position in society, for the sake of the opportunity to dream and passionately love life.
Howard Schultz was looking for something that could capture the imagination, deprive one of sleep and make one dream. He found coffee.
And many people responded in kind, because there is such a lack of communication, warmth, and understanding. People are very lonely in this huge world rushing somewhere, you just want to sit down and sip aromatic coffee, exchange a bunch of phrases, catch someone’s eye and... dream.
Understanding this simple human desire gave the world another legend that unites millions of people.
Anna Matveeva, creator and director of the Ideal Cup coffee chain
Prologue
On a cold January morning in 1961, my father broke his ankle at work.
I was seven years old at the time, and a snowball fight in the backyard of the school was in full swing, when my mother leaned out of the window of our seventh-floor apartment and waved at me. I ran home.
“An accident happened to my father,” she said. - I'm going to the hospital.
My father, Fred Schultz, lay at home with his leg in the air for over a month. I had never seen plaster before, so at first it was something strange to me. But the charm of novelty quickly disappeared. Like many of his social brethren, my father was not paid when he was not working.
Before the accident, he worked as a truck driver collecting and delivering diapers. For many months he complained bitterly about their smell and dirt, claiming that this work was the worst in the world. But now that he had lost her, apparently he wanted to return. My mother was seven months pregnant, so she could not work. The family had no income, no insurance, no union compensation—there was nothing to count on.
My sister and I ate in silence at the dinner table while my parents argued about who they would have to borrow from and how much money. Sometimes in the evenings the phone would ring, and my mother would insist that I answer the phone. If they called about debts, I had to say that my parents were not at home.
My brother Michael was born in March, they had to borrow again to pay for hospital expenses.
Although many years have passed since then, the image of my father - prone on the sofa, with his leg in a cast, unable to work - has not been erased in my memory. Now, looking back, I have deep respect for my
to my father. He didn't graduate from high school, but he was an honest man and wasn't afraid of work. At times he had to work two or three jobs just to have something to put on the table in the evening. He took good care of his children and even played baseball with us on the weekends. He loved the Yankees.
But he was a broken man. He worked from one blue-collar job to another: truck driver, factory worker, taxi driver, but was never able to earn more than $20,000 a year and could never afford to buy his own house. My childhood was spent in the Projects, government-subsidized housing in Canarsie, Brooklyn. As a teenager I realized what a shame it was.
As I grew older, I often clashed with my father. I was intolerant of his failures and lack of responsibility. It seemed to me that he could achieve much more if only he tried.
After his death, I realized that I was unfair to him. He tried to become part of the system, but the system crushed him. With low self-esteem, he was unable to get out of the hole and somehow improve his life.
The day he died (of lung cancer), in January 1988, was the saddest day of my life. He had no savings or pension. Moreover, being confident in the importance of work, he never once felt satisfaction and pride from the work he performed.
As a child, I had no idea that I would one day become the head of a company. But deep down I knew that I would never leave a person “overboard” if it depended on me.
My parents couldn't understand what it was that attracted me to Starbucks. In 1982, I left a well-paying, prestigious job for what was then a small chain of five stores in Seattle. But I saw Starbucks not as it was, but as it could be. She instantly captivated me with her combination of passion and authenticity. Gradually, I realized that if it grew throughout the country, romanticizing the Italian art of espresso and offering freshly roasted coffee beans, it could change the perception of a product that people have known for centuries, and appeal to millions as much as I loved it.
I became CEO2 of Starbucks in 1987 because I acted as an entrepreneur and convinced investors to believe in my vision for the company. Over the next ten years, by assembling a team of smart and experienced managers, we transformed Starbucks from a local business with six stores and fewer than 100 employees into a national business with 1,300 stores and 25,000 employees. Today we can be found in cities throughout North America, in Tokyo and Singapore. Starbucks has become a recognizable and recognized brand everywhere, allowing us to experiment with innovative products. Profits and sales grew by more than 50% per year for six consecutive years.
But Starbucks is not just a story of growth and success. This is a story about how a company can be built differently. About a company completely different from the ones my father worked for. This is living proof that a company can live by its heart and nurture its spirit—and still make money. This shows that the company is able to provide sustainable returns to shareholders over the long term without sacrificing our core principle of treating employees with respect and dignity, because we have a leadership team that believes that is the right thing to do and because it is the best way. business.
Starbucks touches an emotional chord in people's souls. People make a detour to have their morning coffee at our cafe. We have become such a signature symbol of modern American life that the familiar green siren logo is often featured in television shows and feature films. In the 1990s, we introduced new words into the American lexicon and new rituals into society. In some neighborhoods, Starbucks cafes have become the Third Place—a cozy gathering place away from work and home, an extension of the porch leading to the front door.
People meet at Starbucks because the meaning of our activities is close to them. It's more than great coffee. It's the romance of the coffee experience, the sense of warmth and community that people experience at a Starbucks cafe. Our baristas set the tone: while the espresso is brewing, they talk about the origins of different types of coffee. Some people come to Starbucks with no more experience than my father, and yet they are the ones who create the magic.
If there is one achievement at Starbucks that I am most proud of, it is probably the relationship of trust and confidence between the people who work at the company. This is not an empty phrase. We make sure of this through programs that promote bonding, such as a health program for even part-time employees and stock options that give everyone the opportunity to become part owners of the company. We treat warehouse workers and the most junior salespeople and waiters with the same respect that most companies only show to senior management.
These policies and attitudes are contrary to accepted tradition in the business world. A company focused only on the benefit of shareholders considers its employees to be “consumables,” costs. Executives who actively cut positions are often rewarded with a temporary boost to their stock price. However, in the long term, they not only undermine morale, but sacrifice innovation, entrepreneurial spirit and the sincere dedication of the very people who could take the company to greater heights.
Many businessmen do not understand that this is not a zero-sum game. Treating your employees favorably should not be considered an additional cost that reduces profits, but a powerful source of energy that can help an enterprise grow to a scale that its leader could not even dream of. Starbucks people are less likely to leave and are proud of where they work. Staff turnover in our cafes is more than two times lower than the industry average, which not only saves money, but strengthens the connection with customers.
But the benefits go even deeper. If people are attached to the company they work for, if they have an emotional connection with it and share its dreams, they will give their hearts to make it better. When employees have self-esteem and self-respect, they can do more for their company, family and the world.
Without intention on my part, Starbucks became the embodiment of my father's memory.
Since not everyone is able to take fate into their own hands, those in power are responsible to those whose daily work makes the enterprise live; bosses must not only steer in the right direction, but also be sure that no one is left behind.
I didn't plan on writing a book, at least not at this early age. I firmly believe that the greatest part of Starbucks' achievements is still to come, not in the past. If Starbucks were a book with 20 chapters, we'd only be in the third.
But for several reasons, I decided now was the time to tell the Starbucks story.
Firstly, I want to inspire people to follow their dreams. I come from a simple family, without pedigree, without income, I did not have nannies in my early childhood. But I dared to dream, and then I was willing to make my dreams come true. I am convinced that most people are capable of achieving their dreams and even going further if they are determined not to give up.
Second, and more importantly, I hope to inspire leaders to aim higher. Success is nothing if you arrive at the finish line alone. The best reward is to reach the finish line surrounded by winners. The more winners you have—whether employees, customers, shareholders, or readers—the more satisfying your victory will be.
I'm not writing this book to make money. All proceeds from its sale will go to the newly founded Starbucks Foundation, which will donate to charitable causes on behalf of Starbucks and its partners.
This is the story of Starbucks, but it's no ordinary business book. Its purpose is not a story about my life, or advice on how to fix a broken company, or a corporate story. There are no guidelines, no action plans, no theoretical model that analyzes why some businesses succeed and others fail.
Instead, it is the story of a team of people who built a successful company based on values and guiding principles rarely found in corporate America. It talks about how we learned some important business and life lessons. I hope they will help those who are building their own business or realizing their life’s dreams.
My ultimate goal in writing Pour Your Heart Into It was to give people the courage to persevere in following their hearts, even when they are laughed at. Don't let pessimists get you down. Don't be afraid to try, even if the chances are slim. What chance did I have, a boy from a poor neighborhood?
It is possible to build a large company without losing your passion for business and individuality, but this is only possible if
everything is aimed not at profit, but at people and values.
The key word is heart. I pour my heart into every cup of coffee, and so do my partners at Starbucks. When visitors sense this, they respond in kind.
If you put your heart into the work you do, or into any worthwhile endeavor, you can achieve dreams that others may think are impossible. This is what makes life worth living.
The Jews have a tradition called yahrzeit. On the eve of the anniversary of the death of a loved one, close relatives light a candle and leave it burning for 24 hours. I light this candle every year in memory of my father.
I just don't want this light to go out.
Part 1: Rediscovering Coffee. Company until 1987.
CHAPTER 1. Imagination, Dreams and Humble Origins
You can see correctly only with your heart. What is important is invisible to the eye.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery. A little prince
Starbucks, as it is now, is really the child of two parents.
One is the original Starbucks, founded in 1971, with a passion for world-class coffee and a dedication to educating customers about what great coffee is.
The second is the vision and values that I brought to it: a combination of competitive drive and a strong desire to help each member of the organization achieve common victory. I wanted to mix coffee with romance, try to achieve what others think is impossible, fight difficulties with new ideas and do it all with elegance and style.
In truth, Starbucks needed the influence of both parents to become what it is today.
Starbucks had been thriving for ten years before I discovered it. I learned about the history of its early years from the founders, and I will retell this story in the second chapter. This book will tell it in the order in which I learned it, beginning in the early years of my life, since many of the values that determined the development of the company were formed in that crowded apartment in Brooklyn, New York.
Humble Origins Can Motivate and Instill CompassionI noticed one thing about romantics: they try to create a new, better world away from the dullness of everyday life. Starbucks has the same goal. We try to create an oasis in our coffee shops, a small place next door to your home where you can take a break, listen to jazz and reflect on world and personal problems or conceive something eccentric over a cup of coffee.
What kind of person do you have to be to dream of such a place?
From personal experience, I would say that the more humble your background, the more likely it is that you often develop your imagination, being carried away into worlds where anything seems possible.
In my case this is exactly the case.
I was three years old when, in 1956, my family moved from my grandmother’s apartment to the Beivo neighborhood. The quarter was located in the center of Canarsie, on Jamaica Bay, fifteen minutes from the airport and fifteen minutes from Coney Island. At that time, it was not a place that terrified everyone, but a friendly, spacious and green area with a dozen brand new eight-story brick houses. The elementary school, P.S. 272, was right on the block and had a playground, basketball courts, and a paved schoolyard. And yet it never occurred to anyone to be proud of living in this quarter; our parents were what are now commonly called “working poor.”
Still, I had many happy moments as a child. Living in a poor neighborhood gave me a well-balanced value system, as it forced me to get along with a wide variety of people. About 150 families lived in our building alone, and they all had one tiny elevator. All the apartments were very small, and the one our family started living in was also cramped, with only two bedrooms.
My parents came from working-class families who had lived in the eastern borough of Brooklyn for two generations. My grandfather died young, and my father, who was then a teenager, had to quit school and go to work. During World War II, he was an army medic in the South Pacific, New Caledonia and Saipan, where he contracted yellow fever and malaria. As a consequence, he had weak lungs and caught colds often. After the war, he changed a number of jobs related to physical labor, but never found himself, did not define his plans for life.
My mother was a powerful woman with a strong character. Her name was Elaine, but everyone called her Bobby. She worked as a receptionist, but when we, her three children, were small, her energy and care were entirely devoted to us.
My sister, Ronnie, who is almost my age, went through the same ordeal as me as a child. But I was able to somewhat protect my brother, Michael, from the economic difficulties that I myself experienced; I led him in a way that his parents could not guide him. He accompanied me wherever I went. I called him Shadow. Despite the eight-year age difference, Michael and I developed a very close relationship, and where I could, I was his father figure. I watched with pride as he became an excellent athlete, a strong student, and finally succeeded in his business career.
As a child, I played sports games with the kids from neighboring yards from dawn to dusk every day. My father joined us whenever he could, after work and on weekends. Every Saturday and Sunday, at 8 am, hundreds of children gathered in the school yard. You had to be strong, because if you lost, you were out, and then you had to sit around for hours watching the game before you could get back into the game. So I played to win.
Luckily, I was a natural athlete. Whether it was baseball, basketball or football, I would rush onto the court and play hard until I got good results. I organized baseball and basketball matches for national teams, which included all the children in the district—Jews, Italians, and blacks. No one ever lectured us about species diversity; we experienced this in real life.
I have always had an unbridled passion for everything that interests me. My first passion was baseball. At that time, in all areas of New York, any conversation began and ended with baseball. Relationships with people and barriers between them were created not because of race or religion, but according to which team they supported. The Dodgers had just moved to Los Angeles (they broke my father's heart; he never forgot them), but we still had a lot of baseball stars left. I remember returning home and listening to detailed match-by-match radio reports coming from the open windows of the courtyard.
I was an avid Yankees fan and my dad, brother and I went to many games. We never had good seats, but that didn't matter. Our very presence took our breath away. My idol was Mickey Mantle. I wore his number, 7, on every jersey, sneaker, everything I owned. When playing baseball, I imitated Mickey's postures and gestures.
When Mick retired from the sport, it was impossible to believe that it was all over. How could he stop playing? My dad took me to both Mickey Mantle Days at Yankee Stadium, September 18, 1968 and June 8, 1969. Watching him being honored and bid farewell, listening to his speech, I was plunged into deep melancholy. Baseball is no longer what it used to be for me. Mickey was such an integral part of our lives that many years later, when he died, old school friends who had not been heard from for decades called me and offered condolences.
Coffee played a minor role in my childhood. Mom drank instant. For guests, she bought coffee in a tin and took out an old coffee pot. I listened to his grunt and watched the glass lid until the coffee flew into it like a skipping grain.
But I didn't realize how limited the family budget was until I was older. Occasionally, we would go to a Chinese restaurant and my parents would start discussing what dishes to order based solely on how much cash was in my dad's wallet that day. I was filled with anger and shame when I learned that the summer camp I was sent to was a subsidized camp for underprivileged children. I no longer agreed to go there.
By the time I started high school, I became aware of the mark that a person living in a poor neighborhood bears. Canarsie High School was less than a mile from the house, but the road there led along streets lined with small one- and two-family houses. I knew that the people who lived there looked down on us.
I once asked a girl from another part of New York on a date. I remember how her father’s expression gradually changed as he talked to me:
Where do you live?
“We live in Brooklyn,” I replied.
Bayview Quarter.
There was an unspoken opinion about me in his reaction, and I was annoyed to sense it.
As the oldest of three children, I had to grow up quickly. I started earning money quite early. At twelve I was selling newspapers, later I worked behind the counter at a local cafe. At sixteen, after graduating from high school, I got a job in the shopping district of Manhattan, in a fur store, where I had to stretch animal skins. The work was terrible and left thick calluses on my thumbs. One hot summer I worked for pennies at a knitting factory, steaming yarn. I always gave part of my earnings to my mother - not because she insisted, but because my parents’ situation caused me bitterness.
Yet in the 1950s and early 1960s, everyone was living the American Dream, and we were all hoping for a piece of it. Mother drilled this into our heads. She never finished high school herself, and her greatest dream was a college education for all three of her children. Wise and pragmatic in her own rough and stubborn way, she instilled in me enormous self-confidence. Again and again, she gave great examples, pointing to people who had achieved something in life, and insisting that I, too, could achieve anything I wanted. She taught me to challenge myself, create uncomfortable situations, and then overcome difficulties. I don’t know where she got this knowledge from, since she herself did not live by these rules. But for us, she was hungry for success.
Years later, during one of her visits to Seattle, I showed my mother our new offices at Starbucks Center. We wandered around its territory, passing through different departments and work areas, watching people talking on the phone and typing on computers, and I could just see how dizzy she was from the scale of this action. Finally she came closer to me and whispered in my ear: “Who pays all these people?” It was beyond her comprehension.
Growing up, I never dreamed of owning my own business. The only entrepreneur I knew was my uncle, Bill Farber. He owned a small paper mill in the Bronx, where he later hired his father as a foreman. I didn't know what I would end up doing, but I did know that I had to escape the struggle for survival that my parents waged every day. I had to get out of the poor neighborhood, out of Brooklyn. I remember lying at night and thinking: what if I had a crystal ball and could see the future? But I quickly pushed this thought away from me, because it was too scary to think about.
I knew only one way out: sports. Like the kids in the movie Hoop Dreams, my friends and I believed that sports were the ticket to a better life. In high school, I only took classes when I had nowhere to go because everything I was taught in school seemed unimportant. Instead of studying, I spent hours playing football.
I will never forget the day I created the team. As a badge of honor, I was given a big blue “C”, indicating that I was a complete athlete. But my mother couldn't afford the $29 jacket with that letter on it, and she asked me to wait a week or so until my father got his paycheck. I was beside myself. Every student in school planned to wear such a jacket one fine, predetermined day. I couldn't show up at school without a jacket, but I didn't want my mother to feel even worse. So I borrowed money from a friend for a jacket and wore it on the appointed day, but hid it from my parents until they could afford the purchase.
My greatest triumph in high school was becoming a quarterback, making me an authority figure among the 5,700 students at Canarsie High School. The school was so poor that we didn’t even have a football field; all our games took place outside its territory. Our team was not of a high level, but I was one of the best players.
One day an agent came to our match looking for a striker. I didn't know he was there. However, a few days later, a letter arrived from a place that seemed like another planet to me - from Northern Michigan University. They were recruiting a football team. Was I interested in this offer? I rejoiced and screamed with joy. This event was as lucky as being invited to an NFL4 tryout.
In the end, Northern Michigan University offered me a football scholarship, and that's all they offered me. I don't know how I would have been able to achieve my mother's college dream without her.
During my last school spring break, my parents took me to this incredible place. We drove almost a thousand miles to Marquette, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We had never left New York before, and this adventure captivated them. We drove through forested mountains, endless plains and fields, past huge lakes. When we finally arrived, the campus seemed like the America I knew only from movies, with trees budding, students laughing, flying discs.
Finally, I wasn't in Brooklyn.
Coincidentally, that same year, Starbucks was founded in Seattle, which was even more difficult for me to imagine at the time.
I loved the freedom and open spaces of college, even though I felt lonely and out of place at first. I made several close friends my freshman year and roomed with them for four years, on and off campus. Twice I sent for my brother, and he came to visit me. One Mother's Day, I hitchhiked to New York to surprise her.
It turned out that I was not as good a football player as I thought I was, and after a while I stopped playing. To continue my studies, I took out loans and worked part-time and during the summer. At night I worked as a bartender, and sometimes I even donated blood for money. Nevertheless, these were for the most part fun years, an irresponsible time. With draft number 3325, I didn't have to worry about going to Vietnam.
My major was communications and I took a course in public speaking and interpersonal communication. During my final years of college, I also took a few business courses because I was starting to worry about what I would do after graduation. I managed to finish with a B average of 6, putting in the effort only when I had to take an exam or prepare a report.
Four years later, I became the first college graduate in our family. For my parents, this diploma was the main prize. But I had no further plans. No one ever told me how valuable the knowledge I gained was. Since then, I often joke: if only someone had guided me and guided me, I would have really achieved something.
It took years before I found my life's passion. Each step after this discovery was a big leap into the unknown, more and more risky. But getting out of Brooklyn and getting a college degree gave me the courage to keep dreaming.
For years I hid the fact that I grew up in Projects. I didn't lie, I just didn't mention this fact because it wasn't the best recommendation. But no matter how hard I tried to deny it, the memory of the early experiences was indelibly imprinted on my mind. I could never forget what it's like
it's being on the other side, being afraid to look into a crystal ball.
In December 1994, an article about the success of Starbucks in the New York Times mentioned that I grew up in a poor neighborhood in Canarsie. After her appearance, I received letters from Bayview and other slum areas. Most of them were written by mothers who raised perseverance in their children, they said that my story gave me hope.
The chances of getting out of the environment I grew up in and getting to where I am today cannot even be measured. So how did this happen?
At first I was driven by the fear of failure, but as I dealt with the next challenge, the fear gave way to growing optimism. Once you overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, the remaining problems scare you less. Most people are able to achieve their dreams if they persevere. I would love for everyone to have a dream, that you build a good foundation, soak up information like a sponge, and don't be afraid to challenge conventional wisdom. Just because no one has done it before, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.
I can't offer you any secret, no recipe for success, no perfect roadmap to the top in the business world. But my own experience tells me that starting from scratch and achieving even more than what you dreamed of is quite possible.
While recently in New York, I returned to Canarsie to take a look at the Bayview for the first time in almost twenty years. It looks good, except for a bullet hole in the front door and fire marks on the telephone switchboard. When I lived there, there were no iron shutters on our windows, and we didn't have air conditioning either. I saw several children playing basketball, as I had once done, and a young mother walking with a stroller. The tiny boy looked at me and I thought: which of these kids will break through and make their dream come true?
I stopped at a high school in Canarsie where the football team was practicing. The warm autumn air, the blue uniform and the shouts of the game brought back a flood of memories of past fun and excitement. I asked where the coach was. From the very midst of massive backs and shoulders, a small figure in a red hood emerged. To my surprise, I came face to face with Mike Camardiz, a guy who played on my team. He took me through the history of the team up to the present day, telling me how the school finally managed to get its own football field. Coincidentally, that Saturday they were planning a ceremony to name the field after my old coach, Frank Morogello. For this occasion, I decided to make a five-year commitment to support the team. Where would I be today without the support of Coach Morogello? Perhaps my gift will allow some athlete, obsessed as I once was, to jump above his head and achieve what others cannot even imagine.
