Gary Moffat is a writer, former publishing executive and 2000 transplant from Chicago whose family launched one of Old Town Auburn’s favorite entertainment venues, Carpe Vino, in 2002. Moffat, who now has a print outlet for his opinions in a regular Sentinel column, has written for the Chicago Tribune, national shelter magazines, telecom industry publications and two self-published Internet newsletters. And, oh yeah, he wrote more than 100 columns on wine for the Auburn Journal. Carpe Vino, his latest venture, is a local magnet for lovers of fine wine, fine dining and fine art.
Advice for the Politically Forlorn
These are tough times we’re facing and the “people” want answers. The people want to know how we managed to get into this mess, and more importantly, the people want to know who is going to lead us back to prosperity. And no one is under more pressure than both our elected and appointed government officials. Everyone from the president of these United States to the mayor of Auburn is feeling the heat.
It’s lonely at the top, especially when the economy stinks, so as a public service and because I really do care, I’m launching this new column—The Savage Spinmeister—which will appear occasionally in place of The Other Side of Auburn. In it, I will present “Advice for the Politically Forlorn,” and serve as a sounding board and life coach/counselor for politicians who are struggling to find the “answer” for demanding constituents.
It is awards season in Auburn, and on Friday evening the Chamber of Commerce will stage its annual “State of the Community” dinner, an event that recognizes the good works of our town’s leading citizens. There are tough choices to be made because so many businesses and individuals have contributed so mightily.
So every year there seem to be deserving candidates who always end up as bridesmaids, never making the final cut. . .the Ron Santos who never score enough votes to make it into Baseball’s Hall of Fame. And then there are award categories that simply lack wide enough appeal to be added to the list, kind of like Texas Holdem’ Poker failing to make it as an Olympic sport.
I’m writing this on Monday morning, my first full day as a consultant to the Sentinel, reporting to Janice Forbes and Bob Evans, the owners of this publication. At this moment in my life, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing because some of the greatest joys in my career have come in the world of print.
I especially love newspapers because they are truly complex, living organisms that require constant nurturing. There are few pursuits that are as demanding or relentless as succumbing to the brutality of newspaper deadlines. And then there is the issue of dealing with the sensitivity of both readers and advertisers, no matter what you say or do—no matter how diplomatic you seek to be—there is absolutely no question you will end up offending someone every time you go to press.
My assignment for the next two months is to conspire with my colleagues on the Sentinel staff to create new and compelling content categories that will help fill unmet information needs of our existing readers, as well as reach out to broaden our base along the I-80 corridor. We’ll be focusing on positioning the Sentinel as an alternative, must-read newspaper that concentrates on exposing issues rather than reporting hard news.
Some mornings I wake up and wonder why I keep my doors open in Old Town, because running a small business is as challenging an undertaking as I’ve ever attempted. Launch your own modest enterprise, and you’ll truly understand the old adage, “The faster I run, the behinder I get.” Every day brings a new twist, unanticipated curveball or sensitive customer encounter.
Here are two examples you may find entertaining.
Giving credit where credit is due: Several weeks ago on a Tuesday morning, I received a panicked call from my son, Drew, who is, in truth, the person who runs our little restaurant and wine venture on Lincoln Way. “Dad, we’ve got a huge problem with American Express.”
It seems that on the previous Friday three couples spent the evening with us and then requested that their check be split evenly over three credit cards. This can be a tricky maneuver, and I always refuse to do it myself. In this instance the charge to an American Express card failed over several attempts, and no transaction receipts were ever generated.
Drew’s panic was based on the fact that our Wells Fargo account showed a deposit of nearly $600,000 from charges over the weekend. A brief analysis revealed the bulk of the deposit was from a charge to a single American Express card. My immediate, explosive reaction (expletives deleted) was, “How could Amex accept a charge of this magnitude from a restaurant without red flags popping up every where? Why didn’t someone call?” Six hundred grand is roughly double our total charges through Amex during the course of an entire year.
It gets even worse. After Drew let me know he had already contacted our customer to let him know what happened and that his card had been credited, he dropped this bomb on me: “They charged us a service fee of more than $19,000!” And the reality is, they can just take the money from our account ... we couldn’t stop them if we tried.
Restaurant mogul Randy Paragary might be able to afford a hit of that magnitude, but I sure can’t and neither could most small businesses. Fortunately, Drew learned how to play hardball from his old man and Amex quickly backed down.
That wasn’t the end of the story, though. We not only got a $19k credit ... we got two ... for more than $38,000.
You can’t please all of the people all of the time: Auburn is the kind of town where people really enjoy going out on the weekends, which puts a ton of pressure on places like Carpe Vino because we have a seating capacity limited to just 32. We try to encourage our customers to dine out during the week—as do many of my restaurant colleagues—but it is what it is, and we often sell out the weekend by Thursday and sadly end up turning folks away.
On a Friday evening not long ago, the joint was rockin’ early. The restaurant was sold out from the get go and the bar was SRO-jammed with the after-work crowd. I remember it vividly ... people shouting above the din, everyone demanding something simultaneously: “Gimme a glass of chardonnay, Rombauer if you’ve got it.” “How about a menu, Gary?” “What kinda zins are you pouring tonight?”
After you have lived in a small town long enough, you start to take things personally.
I guess that’s the point I’ve reached because these days when I read the local newspapers, more and more frequently I can see the faces of the people whose stories are being told. Often I’ll know the person personally, will have met them in my restaurant, or I will know of them through a family member or friend. There is a connectedness that I seldom felt back in the days when I lived in a big city.
