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My uncle, Alvin, died this past April. It was a major loss that triggered some powerful memories for me. Second only to my father, my uncle had been my closest business colleague for more than 20 years.
Uncle Alvin was a major influence in my life. Our relationship was very close, with abundant, unconditional love. He was my mom's only sibling and a major coach, guide, comfort, and teacher to me for as long as I can remember. Since he had two daughters and no sons of his own, the relationship my brother and I had with our uncle was special.
I remember when I was young how he taught me to shake hands -- with an appropriate strength of grip and sustained eye contact. He told me how clean fingernails and polished shoes were marks of a gentleman. And when my parents traveled, it was always at his home that I would choose to stay. Each morning, he would say prayers facing the photograph of his late father on his tall bureau. I would watch him shave and put on long socks with garters, so his calves would never show.
BUSINESS RELATIONS. He loved to laugh, and we would share jokes -- always appropriate, never offensive nor too off-color. At family dinners at his home, he sat at the head of the table, and I would always sit to his immediate right. It felt like a seat of honor. One Thanksgiving dinner, I admired his new silk necktie. He immediately removed it and gave it to me. He was my uncle -- warm, gentle, kind, and giving.
Years later, in business, he was a former partner, turned largest customer, for my dad and I. His company was retail, and ours was wholesale distribution. He insisted that I call him "Alvin," not "Uncle Alvin," in business settings. I found this difficult, even disrespectful, to the man I loved so dearly. But he insisted that it was more professional, so I acquiesced.
When he had a problem with an order that was late or in error, however, he never observed proper protocol working through the channels of our organization. Instead, he called me personally. This seemed more uncle-like than customer-like, and I was confused. When I respectfully called him on it, he explained that it was "strictly business," and as our largest customer, he expected preferential treatment and the right to leapfrog the organization. He would call me personally, sometimes questioning a half-penny difference in price on an invoice. Yes, once upon a time, some wallpaper was priced to three decimal points.
TRUE CALLING. He was a conscientious and diligent businessman and put in long hours, but there was an absence of passion when he talked about business. I don't believe he really loved his work. For him, it seemed little more than a means to an end, a means to financial security. He had joined his mother and ailing father in the business as a young man right out of school because it was what he had to do -- from a sense of personal responsibility and parental respect, rather than desire.
This was confirmed after he exited the business and took a second career that involved counseling others in financial difficulty. An empathic and compassionate man, it was in this setting that he experienced a keen reward from giving to others. Certainly, this was his true calling.
I've seen this scenario play out in countless family businesses. Years ago, a dear friend of mine also entered his family's company out of obligation. With prestigious undergraduate and graduate degrees, he was called upon to join his father. Saddled with long hours and missed family holidays, he was seldom gratified. When he could finally exit, after a more-than-30-year sentence, he became a teacher and a coach. He's in his mid-60s now, and when I ask him about retirement, he rapidly dismisses it, telling me how much he loves what he's doing.
NEXT GENERATION. Both these men were running their own marathons -- not for three or four hours, but for 30 or 40 years. Their finish line? The exit door from the family business. And the irony? While both were more than ready to "let go," neither one had a son or daughter who wanted to enter the business. Furthermore, Uncle Alvin passed away on the day of the famed Boston Marathon.
Today's younger generation and their parents hopefully have it right. These days, fewer and fewer seem to enter their family businesses out of a sense of duty and obligation to their parents. And the parents will be more likely to build an exit strategy for themselves that does not, of necessity, rely on their children.
Most, I believe, will encourage and enable their children to fulfill their own dreams, allowing them to love the work they're doing, not simply enter the family business because they believe it is the "right thing to do." For those that are still presenting their children with an obligation, as opposed to an opportunity, my uncle's personal marathon should be a cautionary tale as their children approach the starting blocks.
Paul Karofsky is Executive Director Emeritus of Northeastern University's Center for Family Business, and a member of the Family Firm Institute. A former third-generation family-business owner, he's currently the principal of Transition Consulting Group in Boston, where he advises families, businesses, and educational organizations
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