Consider the frosted doughnut. It does not sell itself.
It is a curiosity, perhaps even a confirmation of Max Weber?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s thesis in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, that successful franchisers tend to take on the aspect of a revival preacher. Their gospel is one of salvation through efficient workplaces. Jesus instructed the faithful to render unto Caesar what is Caesar?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s. William Rosenberg said to render unto the customer whatever the customer wanteth, especially when it comes to doughnuts.
He was one of the first great preachers of the gospel of management, and his words found fertile soil. Temples to his vision, Dunkin?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Donuts, litter the landscape like revival tents. Customers make their morning obeisances of coffee and crullers at more than 5,000 franchised chapels throughout this land, and in 37 other countries.
Thus sayeth Rosenberg: ?¢‚Ǩ?ìA person does not build a business; a person builds an organization.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù And further: ?¢‚Ǩ?ìThe customer is the boss.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Heed his words: ?¢‚Ǩ?ìGood enough is never good enough, is it??¢‚Ǩ¬ù ?¢‚Ǩ?ìShow me a person who never made a mistake and I will show you a person who never did anything.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù One of his parables: ?¢‚Ǩ?ìConsider the fragile snowflake that flutters slowly to earth and disintegrates; however, if enough of them stick together they can paralyze an entire city.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Finally his charge to the congregation: ?¢‚Ǩ?ìMake time for doughnuts.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
Rosenberg was born, much like another man with a message, a Jew in straitened circumstances. He grew up in suburban Boston. As a young man in the Depression, he dropped out of school and delivered groceries and telegrams for Western Union. One summer day he dragged a block of ice to the racetrack to sell cracked ice to hot race fans and made $171 in one night, a small fortune for a poor adolescent. When he was 21 he was national sales manager for Jack and Jill, a New England ice cream company. After working in a shipyard during WWII, he cashed in war bonds and borrowed from relatives to start a business selling food at work sites from trucks and taxis fitted with stainless-steel shelves. His Industrial Luncheon Service was his first great marketing ministry. Within a few years he was running nearly 200 trucks around New England and in New York. Then he ran in-plant cafeterias and vending machines.
Soon, he received another series of revelations: revenues from the trucks came mainly from sales of coffee and pastries. Taking inspiration from Howard Johnson?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s, and its 28 flavors, he opened a stand-alone store that offered 52 varieties of doughnuts, one for each week of the year. Like any great religious leader, he thus linked his liturgy to the progression of the seasons. Although the first shop was called ?¢‚Ǩ?ìOpen Kettle,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù by 1950 it was named ?¢‚Ǩ?ìDunkin?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Donuts.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù By 1954 there were five shops, and the next year he started franchising the operation as a way of bringing in new capital. As with many religions, franchising was once considered a scourge, and was borderline illegal in many communities. Would that the wisdom of those elders had not gone unheeded; thanks to Rosenberg and his fellow pioneers at McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken, the nation?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s palate has become depressingly uniform. The International Franchise Association that he founded in 1960 now counts some 30,000 members.Big Sign
By the early 1960s he was rolling in ?¢‚Ǩ‚Äú well ?¢‚Ǩ‚Äú dough, not ceasing his hard-baking ways but easing off enough to purchase a stable in New Hampshire, which quickly became the largest producer of pacers in New England. Meanwhile his doughnut fortunes ?¢‚Ǩ‚Äú well ?¢‚Ǩ‚Äú rose as he took the company public, overcame multiple cancers, took his sons into the business, started selling so-called bagels, and generally insinuated himself so completely into life in America, at least, that one can only hope there is some vulnerable point in this happy pastry death star that will destroy it completely with one shot. Of course not.
Rosenberg died at 86, still happily consuming his own product, apparently not killed by it, and still professing the gospel of the doughnut.
When interviewed recently by a peevish Chicago anchorwoman who insisted that his product would condemn the nosher?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s soul, or at least his heart, to a fatty perdition, Rosenberg adopted the aspect of the Latin poet Terence, who urged, Ne quid nimis, or ?¢‚Ǩ?ìModeration in all things:?¢‚Ǩ¬ù ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWhy ma?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢am, there?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s nothing in these but eggs, flour, butter, and a little sugar. Nothing in them will hurt you a bit. Just don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t eat a box of them is all.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù