The Little Guy

First posted January 24,2009

This past week I visited a small furniture store downtown. I didn't even know anything about the store until a friend told me the business might be for sale.

This place was the real deal; a family owned, little guy, furniture store. The kind of pre-big box, good old days, Main Street kind of place your grandfather may have worked when he was young.

I was met at the door by the son of the original proprietor, now in his 70's, and still working the showroom floor. This guy was old school like no other. I don't think he uttered a single sentence without a hard sell at the end. Also there in the store was his daughter, who currently owns and runs the business side of things. These were wonderful, chatty, lovable, people. I liked them immediately.

They talked about the old days, about business and furniture, and, of course, about the state of the economy. I mostly listened.

After a few minutes the daughter jumped up and pointed to a big, framed copy of an old black and white photo. It showed a tiny corner furniture store with two adults standing in front, a toddler standing beside them. "See that little guy there? That's my dad here." She proudly pointed at her father, sitting on the barstool next to me. What a legacy. Now, after 90 years, they are willing to entertain offers and sell it all.

After a while, I stood up to go and the old salesman asked if I wanted a tour. "I absolutely want a tour," I said.

The big box stores have a lot to offer: fancy web sites, big sales campaigns, huge showrooms, and walls of flashing television sets. Not to mention dozens and dozens of nicely dressed, smooth talking sales people. But what they don't have, they will never have.

Some days I have a million things to do before the day ends. This day was no exception. But here, for an hour or so, I enjoyed a piece of history, some good company, and being sold wing chairs and end tables by a 75 year old man.