Actually, the word "boss" is a bit harsh. Just like "employer," and especially "manager," none of these really fit the person I am about to write about. At work, despite his age, everyone calls him only by his first name (many don't even know his last name) and never by his title. At the beginning of next year, he will retire for the second time, this time for good. People never say about the person who will take his place, "So-and-so will become the restaurant manager." They say, "He will become Gary."
This continuity, almost familial, is like the story of Bambi. The person who becomes the manager is someone who knows and cherishes the traditions, someone who can truly, to a greater or lesser extent, be Gary. Otherwise, it's the end of our "special" restaurant; something else will appear under our name—it might be great, fun, colorful, maybe even more "correct," but it won't be better. And why is it special? In the spring, when hiring me, Gary explained it by saying the building was originally built for an ice cream shop and was too small for a typical McDonald's. After working there for the summer, I correct him: that's not why. Why? Well, this story begins back in the late 60s in Chicago.
It was there, at a college, that Gary studied botany and—as it's called now—landscape design; he worked in that field before life led him under the golden arches. But even today, four decades later, getting to know their home is like a tour of a botanical garden. I am told about every plant: how it appeared in the house, when it is watered, when it blooms, bears fruit, and grows. I listen and think, perhaps this is also because Gary has no grandchildren and never will? And his children have lived in other states for many years.
One day, the budding designer received an order to landscape a local McDonald's. Gary's team at the time was, frankly, not very good; the workers were constantly drinking, and the boss refused to hire new ones. Gary quit, without even changing his place of work. One day, he simply walked into that same McDonald's, but as a regular employee.
And then begins that great American dream; watch closely.
Gary rises to senior manager and, in less than a year and a half, gets his first restaurant to manage. (That is very fast, even for McDonald's). He is called to lead restaurants in different states, often those on the verge of collapse, as a strong leader. Soon, international experience follows. In the 70s, McDonald's begins its march across the world, and Gary is invited to New York and Florida to train international teams. These were mostly people from South America who took the experience they gained back to their homelands.
In the early 80s, McDonald's, along with Gary, steps into Europe. For nine years, he lives with his family in Germany, traveling to other countries for work.
By the way. Remember our Chicago in the 60s? Another story began there: Gary met his classmate Joan, to whom he has been married for forty-three years now. I feel a little intimidated by such a number—43—but also very happy that there are people who build and cherish a family. Of course, absolute mutual understanding has been achieved over this time. (They tell a story about how Gary was once talking to another manager in the kitchen when someone in the dining area sneezed. Gary paused and remarked in surprise, "Hmm, that sounded just like my wife.") And it's not just mutual understanding. It's respect and a desire to value each other. I think about all this while sitting across from them in a cafe, listening to them tell me something. Never interrupting, only complementing each other. And sometimes—let's be honest—slightly forgetting about me and everyone else in their world for two.
Gary is very lucky with his wife. A woman is usually half of a man's success. Joan is a self-sufficient person, very whole and harmonious. She has a natural talent as an artist. Without ever studying design, she has constantly been bringing creative ideas to life, so their home is also a museum inside. Everything is done at a highly professional level. She even receives orders: for embroidery, handmade dollhouses—which both she and Gary are passionate about—paintings, and the like. I got the feeling that Gary protects her as his greatest treasure: none of my colleagues, even those who have worked at McDonald's for many years, not even his favorite manager, has met Joan. Therefore, I considered such an invitation a great honor, especially since talking to her was soooo interesting and pleasant.
Gary, of course, didn't just travel around Europe for work visits. In the late eighties, he and his wife spent two weeks in Russia—they took away mixed impressions, but the most disappointing thing was that they never got to try Russian food. Gary was in Italy for work. It's hard to believe that this man, who hired me at a small American restaurant, participated in the opening of the McDonald's in Rome, which for a long time (and perhaps still) was the largest in the world! There were 18 cash registers, and Gary talks so deliciously about the salads: he says there was an entire hall of them, made of super-fresh ingredients, and you choose the salad yourself, and they can put not just chicken in it, like we do, but fish and anything else you want.
