sort of relationship.
“Go to Seattle,” my dad said. “You and Sheri have a new life to start there. We can handle things here.”
As I sat with him, two emotions were warring in my heart—overwhelming sadness and unresolved bitterness. My father had never been a good provider for the family. He had stumbled through a series of mind-numbing jobs, always chafing against the system. And now his life might be ending, before he had taken control of it.
I squeezed his hand and said an awkward good-bye.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” I said to my mother as we waited for the elevator.
“Howard, you have to go,” she insisted.
I felt as if I were sinking, as all the strength and energy and optimism seeped out of my body.
When the elevator came, my mother gave me a hug and said firmly, “You must go.”
I stepped inside, and as I turned, I saw my mother’s puffy red face, bravely trying to smile. As soon as the doors clicked shut, I fell apart.
Sheri and I kept to our plan of driving to Seattle, but a cloud of worry and dread traveled with us. I called home at every stop. Gradually we learned that my father’s prognosis was better than we thought. The tension eased, and we could throw our hearts into creating a new life together in this city we had barely started to explore.
I MMERSE Y OURSELF I N THE C ULTURE
We got to Seattle in the midst of a lively annual outdoor arts and music festival called Bumbershoot. The mood was upbeat and wild and adventurous.
We had picked out a house in the Capitol Hill part of Seattle with a big deck, but because it wasn’t ready, we spent that first week with the Baldwins. They pampered us, cooking gourmet dinners every night, driving Sheri around the city. They even put up with Jonas, our 100-pound golden retriever, who took to swimming in their pool.
Although it took Sheri about a year to feel really at home in Seattle, it took me about twenty minutes. At Starbucks, I hit the ground running.
When I start something, I immerse myself totally in it. In those early months I spent all of my waking hours in the stores, working behind the counter, meeting the Starbucks people, tasting different kinds of coffee, and talking with customers. Jerry was committed to providing me with very strong training on the coffee side.
The last piece of my education—and definitely the highlight—was learning how to roast coffee. They didn’t let me do that until December. I spent a week at the roaster, listening for the second pop, examining the color of the beans, learning to taste the subtle differences among various roasts. It was the fitting end of an intensive training. I felt as if I had been knighted.
I probably surprised the people at Starbucks with how impassioned I was about coffee. When I worked in the store behind the counter, they were constantly testing my knowledge and how much I believed. I always had a good palate at blind tastings. Word got out.
Not surprisingly, there was resentment from some members of the company that Jerry Baldwin had hired an outsider. I could sense that I had to prove myself—prove that I was worthy of the gestalt of Starbucks. I tried hard to blend in. For a tall, high-energy New Yorker in a quiet, understated city, that wasn’t easy. I was used to dressing in expensive suits, and at Starbucks the informal dress code tended toward turtlenecks and Birkenstocks. It took a while to build trust. Still, I was hired to do a job, and I was overflowing with ideas for the company. I wanted to make a positive impact.
The atmosphere of Starbucks in those days was friendly and low-key, but we worked very hard. Christmas was our busiest season, and everybody in the office went to the stores to pitch in and help. One day I was working in the Pike Place store during the busy season. The store was packed, and I was in place behind the counter, ringing up sales, filling bags with coffee beans.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “Hey! That guy just
“Go to Seattle,” my dad said. “You and Sheri have a new life to start there. We can handle things here.”
As I sat with him, two emotions were warring in my heart—overwhelming sadness and unresolved bitterness. My father had never been a good provider for the family. He had stumbled through a series of mind-numbing jobs, always chafing against the system. And now his life might be ending, before he had taken control of it.
I squeezed his hand and said an awkward good-bye.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” I said to my mother as we waited for the elevator.
“Howard, you have to go,” she insisted.
I felt as if I were sinking, as all the strength and energy and optimism seeped out of my body.
When the elevator came, my mother gave me a hug and said firmly, “You must go.”
I stepped inside, and as I turned, I saw my mother’s puffy red face, bravely trying to smile. As soon as the doors clicked shut, I fell apart.
Sheri and I kept to our plan of driving to Seattle, but a cloud of worry and dread traveled with us. I called home at every stop. Gradually we learned that my father’s prognosis was better than we thought. The tension eased, and we could throw our hearts into creating a new life together in this city we had barely started to explore.
I MMERSE Y OURSELF I N THE C ULTURE
We got to Seattle in the midst of a lively annual outdoor arts and music festival called Bumbershoot. The mood was upbeat and wild and adventurous.
We had picked out a house in the Capitol Hill part of Seattle with a big deck, but because it wasn’t ready, we spent that first week with the Baldwins. They pampered us, cooking gourmet dinners every night, driving Sheri around the city. They even put up with Jonas, our 100-pound golden retriever, who took to swimming in their pool.
Although it took Sheri about a year to feel really at home in Seattle, it took me about twenty minutes. At Starbucks, I hit the ground running.
When I start something, I immerse myself totally in it. In those early months I spent all of my waking hours in the stores, working behind the counter, meeting the Starbucks people, tasting different kinds of coffee, and talking with customers. Jerry was committed to providing me with very strong training on the coffee side.
The last piece of my education—and definitely the highlight—was learning how to roast coffee. They didn’t let me do that until December. I spent a week at the roaster, listening for the second pop, examining the color of the beans, learning to taste the subtle differences among various roasts. It was the fitting end of an intensive training. I felt as if I had been knighted.
I probably surprised the people at Starbucks with how impassioned I was about coffee. When I worked in the store behind the counter, they were constantly testing my knowledge and how much I believed. I always had a good palate at blind tastings. Word got out.
Not surprisingly, there was resentment from some members of the company that Jerry Baldwin had hired an outsider. I could sense that I had to prove myself—prove that I was worthy of the gestalt of Starbucks. I tried hard to blend in. For a tall, high-energy New Yorker in a quiet, understated city, that wasn’t easy. I was used to dressing in expensive suits, and at Starbucks the informal dress code tended toward turtlenecks and Birkenstocks. It took a while to build trust. Still, I was hired to do a job, and I was overflowing with ideas for the company. I wanted to make a positive impact.
The atmosphere of Starbucks in those days was friendly and low-key, but we worked very hard. Christmas was our busiest season, and everybody in the office went to the stores to pitch in and help. One day I was working in the Pike Place store during the busy season. The store was packed, and I was in place behind the counter, ringing up sales, filling bags with coffee beans.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “Hey! That guy just
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