The Amish Clockmaker (3 page)

Grossdaadi
had been such a whiz at business, buying this place—house,
barn, and store—back in the 1950s and turning what had been a dilapidated old clock shop into the shiny new Zook's Feed and Tack. Over the years it had become a solid company with a good reputation, a fixture of our town and indeed of Lancaster County.

Where things had gone wrong was when the time came for
Grossdaadi
to step down and let his only son—my father—take over the running of the business. That had always been the plan, despite the fact that
Daed
obviously hadn't inherited his father's gifts in this area. While the job required skills in sales, accounting, inventory control, and purchasing,
Daed
was far more suited to his position of leatherworker, which he'd held for years. Creative, artistic, and introspective,
Daed
could spend hours in his workshop at the back of the barn, turning out not just sturdy but beautiful, high-quality leather items for the tack shop. Put a grainer or a mace or a scoring iron in his hand and the man was a natural, but give him a calculator or a purchase order or an account book and he was completely lost.

Nevertheless, my grandfather handed over the reins when it could be put off no longer, and then for five long years my father ran this place, despite his lack of business skills, with my grandfather trying to help from the background and quietly suffering in silence as many aspects of the store began to decline. To put it bluntly,
Daed
nearly ran Zook's into the ground. Between his inability to delegate and manage time, his poor record-keeping, and his countless errors in judgment, the store took quite a few hits and profits plummeted.

That was why last December, just a month after Amanda and I were wed, Grandfather announced that
Daed
would no longer be in charge; I would. The decision itself hadn't been a huge surprise to anyone, as we all knew I seemed to have inherited my grandfather's knack for this kind of work, not to mention that I was the only one in the family who enjoyed it as much as he did. Neither of my older brothers had been interested, especially once they were grown and married and given other opportunities through their wives' families. I had always been the obvious choice.

The surprise of
Grossdaadi
's announcement hadn't been about the “who” but the “when,” given our respective ages. After all,
Daed
had just turned fifty-five, far too young to retire. And I was only twenty-four, barely old enough to take on such a huge responsibility.

Fortunately, rather than being hurt or angry by my grandfather's decision, my father had seemed almost relieved. He'd known how badly things were
going—and he'd missed his prior position as the store's sole leatherworker. He returned to his workshop at the rear of the barn as I stepped into the manager position, and we had all quickly been able to find a new balance. The transition was achieved with a minimum of fuss, and life remained peaceful at home and at work, for the most part.

But that didn't mean the job of digging out from under the mess my father had created was an easy one. It had taken me several weeks just to figure out where we stood. After that, I'd spent many an evening with the books and many a morning on my knees, asking the good Lord for a miracle, for something that could save the business and bring us back into the black.

Then, as if in response to those prayers, two huge opportunities arose at once, both of which had the potential for providing us with a much larger customer base. First came the news that our biggest competitor, an
Englisch-
owned feed store about ten miles away called Waggoner's Animal Supply, would be going out of business at the end of the summer when the owner retired. That would leave a huge number of locals in need of a new source for their animal feed and tack. Second, construction finally began on what was to become a fancy new resort next door to our shop. It would be a good while before the hotel was up and rolling, but eventually it would bring a surge of tourist-heavy foot traffic, something we'd always tolerated but had never thought to take advantage of or encourage.

With these two developments staring me in the face, I found new hope. I dug in and began to research both opportunities, exploring how we might best attract and serve the customers from Waggoner's, especially if I could get that store's management to work in cooperation with us. I also looked into what types of merchandise we could add to our inventory that would fit within the parameters of a feed and tack store and yet appeal to the resort's
Englisch
tourists.

The tack portion of our store had always carried equipment and supplies for horses and other animals—everything from leather straps to cowbells to dog shampoo. But now it was time to start thinking bigger and broader about what we could offer. Amanda had been a big help with that, pointing out the number of Amish-made goods, such as quilted placemats or wooden toys, that featured animals in their designs. She believed we could add a line of such items to our stock and the tourists would snatch them up. We already carried Amish-made birdhouses, and those were a huge hit among the
Englisch
. If other Amish-made, animal-related items sold half as well as the
birdhouses did, we'd be doing great. More than eight million visitors flocked annually to Lancaster County—that was twenty visitors a year per resident—so I knew the math regarding this expansion idea was on my side.

The biggest impediment I could see to our plan was the limited amount of space we had to work with. Waggoner's was wide and spacious and visually appealing, while Zook's was small and cramped and stuffed with goods from one end to the other. If we wanted to hang on to even a small portion of Waggoner's customers, then we had no choice but to grow—and fast. We had enough unused land beside and behind the store to make that feasible. And we had just enough cash reserves to afford the construction, as long as we moved on it immediately. But those reserves were dwindling weekly, so we had to act now or it would be too late.

All of my careful research and planning told me this would be a smart move, and when I presented the idea to my grandfather, he understood exactly what I was saying and approved one hundred percent. But then there was my father who, with his lack of business instincts, couldn't see the point no matter what proof I offered—even after I met with Mr. Waggoner and he and I agreed that if I would buy the bulk of his used fixtures and his nonreturnable stock, he would promote our store to his customers via flyers and coupons and personal recommendation up until the day he closed. Being an
Englischer
, he also talked about putting the information into his online newsletter, sending out an e-blast to his mailing list, and utilizing social media, but I didn't know much about all that. What I did know was that he was a good and fair man, and that the solution I was offering him worked out beautifully for us both. Now that he didn't have to worry that his customers would be abandoned, he could thoroughly enjoy his retirement, and I could be fairly certain many of them would at least give us a try.

Even then my father still didn't agree. My
grossdaadi
passed away about the time I started taking measurements and drawing up plans for the expansion, but at least I'd already obtained his approval—not that it made any difference to
Daed
. From the moment my idea began to become a reality, he and I had been butting heads—and my mother, as a good wife, had taken her husband's side, even though I could tell she was ambivalent about it. Now the two of them stood united against me, terrified I was being foolhardy and would end up leaving us with no store at all and not a penny to our names. They kept harping on the fact that the construction costs would deplete all our reserves and make us dependent on the expanded store's success. My
response was that if we kept doing things as we had been, those reserves would soon be gone anyway.

Bottom line, what they couldn't see was that there was nothing foolhardy about any of this. I'd been cautious and meticulous and diligent every step of the way, and now I was as sure as anyone in my position could be that this was the right move to make.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of my little brother, Noah, who came dashing into the tack store with just a few minutes to spare, sweaty and breathless—no doubt from having rushed around getting ready and then running all the way down the drive to get here. I noticed
Daed
wasn't with him and was about to ask whether or not he'd be coming when I thought better of it. Either he would show up or not, and that was between him and me. There was no reason to drag Noah into the middle of it.

I gave my redheaded little brother a smile and a light punch to the shoulder before directing him toward the register, where he joined in with the happy throng and was soon juggling a giant muffin, a steaming cup of coffee, and a handful of paper napkins. The rest of the crew finished trickling in, and then we were ready to start.

My cousin Virgil, a skilled carpenter, was the foreman of the work crew and the one to lead us in prayer. There in the store, we all stood clustered together, heads bowed, eyes closed, each one speaking to God silently in his own way.

I prayed for safety and harmony and good weather, and I thanked the Lord again for this tremendous opportunity. I also asked Him to soften my father's heart in this matter and to guide me in reconciling with him. So strongly did I feel that God could and would do just that, I opened my eyes before the prayer time was over, half expecting to see my
daed
standing before me with outstretched arms.

He wasn't.

With a hearty “amen” from Virgil, the room sprang back to life. As the men began to get organized, I looked around and realized my father was still conspicuously absent. That thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.

Speaking over the chatter, Virgil began to address the group, and everyone quieted down as he explained the order of events and the various duties each person would be performing today. Most of these men were experienced in construction and didn't need much by way of instructions, but the expansion of an existing structure was a bit trickier than the erection of an entirely new one.

This building was in the shape of a large rectangle, the front two thirds containing the retail store and the back third containing an employees-only section that housed a small administrative area, an ancient bathroom, and lots of heavy-duty fixtures that dated back to the fifties, when this place used to be Raber and Son Clockmakers. Our plan was to expand in two directions—out and back—which meant relocating two of the building's four existing walls, not an easy task. Making matters even more complicated was the fact that those walls were currently lined with large, heavy shelving units from one end to the other.

Over the past few days we'd been able to empty those shelves, shifting their inventory to the barn to get it out of the way. Now we just needed to dismantle and remove the empty shelving units and cover up the remaining inventory with tarps to protect it from the dust and flying debris to come.

At the same time all of that was being done, the rest of the men would be outside getting a start on marking out the measurements and laying down the footings. We had a lot to do, but my hope was that by the end of this day the interior would have been dismantled and the footings and foundation poured.

Efficient and experienced, the men broke into groups and got down to work. My job was to help carry the dismantled shelves back to the barn. After my last trip, I remained there for a few minutes to make sure everything had been placed correctly. All was as it should be, with the older wooden shelves propped against the wall and the newer metal ones piled up under the eaves.

As I stepped outside, I couldn't help but glance over at the big resort hotel construction site next door, just now coming alive with activity for the day. It hadn't exactly been a picnic for us these past few months, living and working in such close proximity to so massive a project. Amanda complained about the dust that coated her clean laundry as soon as she put it out on the line.
Mamm
didn't like the coarse language and loud voices of the workers.
Daed
hated the sound of the machinery when it backed up, the piercing
beep-beep-beep
that went on all day long. My concern was for our current customers, who were also being inconvenienced by the noise and the dust, not to mention the frequent road congestion out front. We did what we could to minimize the aggravation, but we'd all be glad once it was over.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Early in the planning stages for the expansion, I'd initiated a conversation with the foreman at the site—a brusque, muscular fellow in his early forties named Kenny
McKendrick—who had told me they were doing the work in two phases, with the first phase scheduled to be completed in about a year and a half. At that point they would open for business while moving on to the second phase, one that did not involve the main structure and would take an additional year or so.

Startled, I told him I couldn't imagine any construction project taking more than a few months, but he acted as if it were no big deal. With a laugh, he'd added that his last job—on a bigger, even fancier resort—had ended up taking five years.

I supposed that shouldn't have surprised me, given the lack of a work ethic we had observed among the crew. Often it seemed that for every one man laboring diligently over there, two or three more were standing around doing nothing. Part of me wondered if all that fancy machinery had made them forget how to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty.