A Man Short - 'An Insider's Tale of T.G.I. Friday's in the 1980s'

ONE

The Working Map

“Jeff Ryan’s here, we didn’t think you were going to show,” bellowed Vaughn Taylor as he rose from his chair to shake my hand. “Come Ryan, follow me. You’ve met Betty Baker, our trusted Administrative Assistant. That’s your desk next to Blaze’s. You guys will be traveling in the same direction so we thought it wise to bunk together. He’s not here today, been up in Philly grinding away. Go ahead, set your briefcase down, and let’s meet your fellow dirt jocks.” “Shake hands with Sherwin Bliss and Claus Von Blucher. We felt that we needed to hire a couple of Texans for morale purposes. They will be working out west where I can keep a close eye on their progress. Then we’ll spring ‘em loose. “Howdy Ryan,” they drawled. “Say hello to Tom Bewlinski, The Silver Fox.”

“Welcome aboard…my friends call me Bewly.”

“Ryan, we thought the best way to get you started would be to spend the week with this guy out in Los Angeles. You can learn from one of the best, right Bewly? You can grab your things at The Crowne Plaza. The plane tickets are on your desk. Gentlemen, do more than you get paid for and later on you get paid for more than you do.”

Bewly pulled underneath the hotel’s porte cochere, his silver and blue 280 ZX anxious to make the twelve mile sprint to the airport. He asked as I jumped in, “Have you checked out the lounge, Ryan?”

“Hadn’t had time, just got in last night.”

“We’ll stop in on Friday when we come back. Blaze and the rest of the guys will be there. You’re going to see some good looking dollies.”

Safely inside Terminal 3C, Bewly issued his first edict of the day, “Ryan, we have a few minutes, why don’t you grab a copy of The Dallas Times Herald, Friday’s made the Business Section. I’m going to run a quick errand. See you at the gate.” In a flash, the capricious Bewly vanished amongst the harried pedestrian horde that was Dallas Ft. Worth International Airport, DFW to our fellow road warriors.

At the precise moment the flight crew embarked on their ceremonious walk to the jet-way, a panting Bewly plunked a half-dozen roses atop my over stuffed briefcase and proffered a question, “How’s the talent this morning, Ryan?” “Outstanding, a bumper crop,” I extolled. Bewly whispered in agreement, “That’s LA for ya, let’s wait and board last.”

After seeing to it that each stew received a rose, we hunkered down in opposing aisle seats, one row north of the smoking section, the Boeing 727 now a buzz with curious passengers, none more than a balding salesmen-type wedged uncomfortably in his window seat to my immediate left. Sporting a Budweiser tumor tediously held up by bright yellow sansabelt slacks, he leaned toward me and in a low voice asked, “Where have I seen your friend before? An episode of M*A*S*H? A guest shot on Knight Rider?”

Not wanting of a lengthy conversation with a talkative stranger, I gave my shoulders a shrug as if to say “maybe?”

Undeterred he continued, “You guys cannot be married?”

My response was polite yet guarded, “You are right about that.”

Facing forward, he offered a final lament. “I’d give my right arm to be single again.”

Our post takeoff nap was interrupted by a melodic sound Bah-da Bah-da-da-da Bah-da bah-da-da-da and then singing- Monday Monday so good to me Monday Monday it was all it was meant to be as our bubbling flight attendant braked the beverage cart at our row. Bewly, the master lothario, chimed in, “Great song, haven’t heard that in awhile.” “Then see The Big Chill, super flick by the way. The flowers are wonderful, made our day. You guys must be with Friday’s. The menus on the middle seat gave it away,” said the flight attendant. Bewly held up the Unabridged Dictionary of Food and Drink for her to examine. She gasped, “My God, the Mushroom Burger on a toasted English Muffin, orgasmic. Whoops, didn’t mean to get carried away. Speaking of movies, a little birdie told us that Tom Cruise was reading a script entitled Cocktail and that a few of the scenes were to be shot at the original Friday’s in Manhattan. What say ye?” As she helped Bewly lower his tray, he doubled down, “Yes, do you have an inny or an outy?” Without batting an eye, our flirtatious flight attendant unfastened a button with the dexterity of a surgeon and flashed a world class inny at Bewly’s baby blues. After depositing two Chicken Kiev’s and Beef Tips over a bed of rice for our man on the window, she made her way to the next row of passengers. Bewly turned to me and said, “Ryan, never in my wildest imagination did I ever think I would become rock hard from looking at a woman’s navel.”

After lunch, we had a chance to peruse the article in the paper about Friday’s, in particular a section that struck a chord.

Viken Dane President and C.E.O. of T.G.I. Friday’s Inc. in remarks to the Danish Society of Kings.

“So Bewly, what do you think?” I asked inquisitively. Bewly responded rather vociferously, “His comments, both prophetic and ominous, come on the heels of the company netting $74 million from a public offering. In other words we are ready to swing for the fences. Not that we weren’t after Curt Carlson hitched his wagon to the company several years ago although internally Friday’s wanted to acquire Chili’s when it was on the market, only the timing did not feel right for our suitor from Minneapolis squelching further interest. Friday’s operates under the premise that volume solves everything. Look at the sales on Newbury Street in Boston, six million dollars a year out of one hundred ninety seats, our national average is the highest in the industry and stores in Woodbridge, N.J. and Westbury, Long Island are running on jet fuel. Our second concept, Dalt’s is making a statement at Sakowitz Village and we may be able to dot the earth with Fast Friday’s, if the concept is as promising as they say it is. If you are wondering what this Viken dude is like, well he is both an ogre and a czar wrapped into one, but we are damn fortunate to have him. The fucker firmly believes that there is nothing outside the four walls of your restaurant that influences your volume, “The Four Walls Theory.” Time after time he has been proven right. Ryan, here is the rub. We are all about company owned stores, however, you will find yourself explaining away ad nauseam, the two shoddy franchise groups in existence, one in Ft. Worth and the other in New York City.” The slovenly acquaintance in the window seat hastily pardoned himself and headed for the loo. There was an undeniable smudge on the seat of his trousers, which prompted Bewly to go in a different direction with his thoughts, “Remember Ryan, never trust a fart.”

Friday’s had opened a unit in the relaxed waterfront community of Marina Del Rey in 1977 and followed up with a second on Canoga Park Blvd in Woodland Hills three years later. Beginning with this trip to LA, the company was looking for more bang for its buck out of this sprawling market and was counting on us to fill in the blanks. We had a lot of ground to cover so, the next day, Bewly thought we ought to get rolling at 10 a.m., reasoning that most of the rush-hour traffic would have cleared out by then. Riding shotgun, Bewly handed over The Working Map, probably the most valuable in-house tool that we produced on the road. It was this finished product that reflected our work in the field and that was brought back to headquarters. In actuality, several maps were marked up while underway, while the clean map was back at the office ready for final drafting. Blaze was the best cartographer of the group, with meticulous handwriting, multi-colored highlights, the works.

What was on these maps? Highlights of residential neighborhoods in the form of dollar signs. For example, Beverly Hills would receive $$$+ for Upper Crust, Thousand Oaks $$$ for Upper Middle, Brea $$, and on down the line. M/F 400 would signify an apartment complex with 400 units. Marina Del Rey had over 10,000 boat slips so we drew a sailboat and put the corresponding number next to it. C.B.D. in big block letters stood for Central Business District. Arrows pointed towards new growth. Major retail and office complexes were identified, as well as dinner houses, hotels, and even industrial areas. Call it an exercise in the process of elimination if you will, as, once complete, we would know where not to build.

It was not uncommon to drive 1000 miles or more to finish what we came to accomplish,...