Jeeps, Pretty Ladies & Wine

By Don St. Pierre Sr.

This story is one of business adventures, baseball, international travels, escapades with the fairer sex, and most of all the love between a father and son.

Across 4 continents, 20 countries and 5 different businesses the author moved himself from the dirt floor farmhouse on an island in Quebec, Canada where he was born, to becoming the largest importer and distributor of wine in China.
His business acumen and accomplishments at Beijing Jeep and ASC Fine Wines in China are the stuff of legend, besides being taught as a MBA case study at Harvard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543940923

Book preview

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CHAPTER 2:

WINDSOR, ONTARIO, CANADA

Besides looking spiffy in his uniform, my dad was also a hard-working guy who wanted to provide for his family, so when he returned from the war, he immediately left the island in search of work, leaving me, my kid brother and mother behind.

He learned a trade called steam-fitting (nice words for an unlicensed plumber) and when I was nine years old, he landed a job at the Ford Motor Company engine plant in Windsor, Ontario. He returned to Quebec to collect the family and we all packed up and headed to Windsor … Including two of my mother’s sisters, their husbands and three kids. All 11 of us moved into a converted printing shop at 776 Langlois Ave.

The five bedrooms were three-quarter partitions as walls and we had a small kitchen, a small sitting area and one bathroom. But, for the first time we had heat, electricity and running water. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

I was enrolled in fourth grade at De La Salle grade school and immediately searched out baseball buddies and, even at that age, pretty girls. Must have been my French blood. But, I immediately had two problems: I was better than all of my schoolmates at baseball (which they resented) and I spoke broken English with a French accent. My mother tells the story of me coming home from school one day with cuts and bruises and demanding, I don’t want to hear any more French in this house. I’m always in fights every recess and after school, when kids call me The little froggie. Mom agreed, and told all the relatives No more French whenever Don is around." They complied because she was tough.

When I was twelve, my dad scraped up enough money to satisfy his burning dream of owning his own house (called a wartime house, supported by the government because of his veteran’s status) and we moved to 1530 Aubin Rd., where I attended St. Bernard’s grade school.

My dad actually dug a basement in the dense clay by hand under that house and I was a of little help because I was always off to baseball practice when he asked me. This time I fit in fine with the St. Bernard’s kids (who first nicknamed me Saint, a name that has stuck with me to this day with old friends). In the meantime I had become a good basketball player, played point guard and soon became captain of the team while continuing to play baseball with anyone I could find.

Many of the St. Bernard’s kids remain good friends to this day, but one old friend stands out. Bill Heb Hebert was the toughest son of a bitch I have ever seen in a fight … Other than Cassius Clay a.k.a Muhammad Ali who I saw fight live in Baltimore, Maryland many years later.

A bunch of Windsor, Ontario buddies. Bill Hebert, John Harcarufka, Me, Brian Hogan, Al Meyers. 2008. All alive today, except Brian.

Although I was a very good athlete, I shied away from physical contact and fights. At a church dance one night where I was chasing (and catching) a guy’s girlfriend, the guy (named Twinner because he had a twin brother) called me outside to kick my ass. I was scared shitless until Bill said Saint, it’s time for you to stand up and fight and if you don’t, I’ll kick your ass myself.

I went out and proceeded to beat the living shit out of the guy thus ending the chicken shit phase of my life.

Heb was also a decent football player and a little later decided that I needed to learn how to play football. We would, just the two of us, go out to the Ford test track and block and tackle each other for hours and hours. Much later in high school Heb made honorable mention on the All-City (all-star) team and I made first team All-City as a middle linebacker … For those of you who don’t know, the toughest guy on the football field is always the middle linebacker. So, the student passed the teacher, but the student wouldn’t have been shit without the teacher. He did piss me off in one case though; the first love of my life, Susan Stone, who lived a street over, liked him much better than me, breaking my young heart.

Aside from a few not-very-passionate kisses from Susan, I had to go elsewhere for my first sexual experiences. The Watchner sisters lived a few houses down the block and were willing accomplices when I was but the tender age of 12. I thought to myself, This is big time fun and set off on a lifelong quest for more.

CHAPTER 3:

EARLY FAMILY LIFE AND YOUNG DON

Me and my buddies decided that the best girls in Windsor lived on the Westside even though we all lived on the Eastside, a good 20 miles away. We, and the pretty Westside girls frequented the Spruce Gardens. Believe it or not, a Chinese restaurant, that served the best chips (french fries) and gravy anywhere.

I first spotted Pat Collison at a beach party in Colchester, a small resort town outside of Windsor. I was 17 years old, and Pat was the prettiest girl in Windsor. Although she had a steady boyfriend at that time (and many admirers), I decided to chase her. I started my pursuit by following her up the long stairs from the beach that day in Colchester while bouncing small stones off her shapely ass all the way up. Then, uninvited by the driver or Pat, I jumped into the car she was riding back to Windsor in and squeezed in beside her. She completely ignored me that time but I knew I had got her attention.

Finally, one day at the Spruce Gardens (A few weeks later) she gave me her phone number and shortly after we started dating. We went steady after about six months, while I continued to chase plenty of plan B girls.

One night, after a particularly hot and heavy session at the famous park and neck spot overlooking the Detroit River, she said, My parents say it’s time we get married and if you don’t agree we are finished.

I thought Fuck! but said OK.

So on July 11th (my baseball number), 1964 we got married and because Pat, at that time, worked for Pan American World Airways, we were off to London, Rome, Barcelona, Paris and Athens on our honeymoon. Although Pat seemed to look down on me in the early days, as she had a good job (manager of Pan Am’s Clipper Club first class lounge at Detroit Metropolitan Airport) and I had failed as a baseball player and was just starting my business career as a low-level mail boy at Ford Windsor, she was basically a good girl, well-liked by my parents and buddies. So we persisted, but with me covertly continuing my bachelor ways off and on. Naughty boy!

Then, the most important thing in my life (still to this day) happened. On November 5, 1967 Scott Allen St. Pierre was born. But, he was Scott Allen for only a few days because the more I looked at him and held him the more I liked him, so, I said to Pat, "I want to change his name to Donald (after me) Allen (after my best buddy, Al Meyers). Although announcements had already gone out on Scott Allen, Pat agreed and his birth certificate now reads Donald Allen St. Pierre.

When he was one year old I began bouncing rubber balls off his chest until he learned to catch them. At three years old I was throwing him ground balls in the backyard and teaching him how to swing a bat. Soon after he was born I told Pat, no more kids, I like this one too much.

She got her tubes tied.

Many years later I would tell my Chinese employees that I had always followed China’s one-child policy even before China had the policy. I kept him out of T-ball in Windsor to avoid the screaming parents and unnecessary pressure at a young age. He was a model kid growing up, never causing me or Pat one iota of trouble. He was a good student (later great student) and later still, a very good athlete and thinker. You will hear much more about him throughout this story as he became my business partner and de facto boss eventually, while always remaining my best friend.

Back to Pat. Foremost, she was and is a good mother in spite of my wanderings.

Her love for young Don equaled mine and she did everything in her power to care for him and raise him properly, while continuing to work in the airline industry in Detroit.

If there was a bad guy in our marriage it was me, not her.

The early days at the Detroit Country Club, Al Meyers, Pat and me.

CHAPTER 4:

HIGH SCHOOL AND FATHER RONALD CULLEN

Everybody in Windsor knew that the best high school was Assumption, an all-boys, private school run by the Basilian Order of Priests … Best in terms of academics and sports, especially baseball. Assumption was so good in baseball that there was no competition in Windsor, so they (and later we) played all of our games in Detroit against the best Detroit high school teams, consistently beating most of them, largely due to our two outstanding pitchers, John Upham and Junior Stolarchuk.

In the summer of 1956 after finishing grade school, I got an invitation to a baseball try-out at Assumption run by the legendary coach, Father Ronald Cullen. I made his team at that first try out and played ball for Fr. Cullen for the next five years of my life. But, more than a coach, he became my mentor and asskicker when I misbehaved (not infrequently, I might add). He taught me the value of learning and executing the basics of baseball (getting in front of the ground ball, hitting the cut-off man, playing the game on your toes ready to charge, back up, move left, move right, etc), doing all of the little things right, being strong-minded, tough, thinking ahead, anticipating and perhaps most importantly, teamwork.

These were lessons I have applied all of my life, in business and personal relationships. As a freshman, I made the senior varsity team, batted either third or fourth and for most of my five years, led the team in batting average. Fr. Cullen was also my football coach on the junior varsity team in 1956 and 1957 where the emphasis in that game was on being tough. Then I moved up to senior varsity, where I was co-captain of the 1960 team and first team All-City middle linebacker, not easy at only 5 foot 9 and 170 pounds.

1960 Assumption offensive team. I’m 3rd from the right.

In 1957, Fr. Cullen had converted me from a quarterback to pulling guard on offense and linebacker on defense, because I was too mean to be a quarterback, he said. I liked both of these positions because there it was legal to knock the shit out of people. Back to baseball.

Fr. Cullen knew how to motivate me. One summer, we had two playoff games on consecutive days: one in Windsor against our own B team which we would win easily and one in Detroit the next day against a strong, all-black team with a lights-out pitcher named Howie Tyler. In the Windsor game I was clowning around, showing off for my girlfriend in the stands and in the middle of third inning he pulled me off the field and benched me. I was embarrassed and really pissed off.

The next day we had the second game in Detroit. I was still steaming mad from having to ride the bench the day before, and came to bat in the 1st inning with the bases loaded. The pitcher left one over the plate and Bang!, a Grand Slam home run. But I wasn’t done…not by a long shot. I finished the day five-for-six, with two homers and nine RBIs.

Fr. Cullen said with a smile after the game, You are pretty good when you are mad, kid. I owe the man a lot. He died in 2012 at 97 years old, still mean as all hell but a wonderful man.

Father Ronald Cullen, Baseball coach 1956-61, and football coach 1956-57. Circa 2000.

CHAPTER 5:

SAINT, THE MAILBOY … AND ONWARD

No matter how much I loved baseball, or how hard I practiced, I just couldn’t crack the code to make it to the Majors. Because I wasn’t good enough. There are five talents in baseball: run fast, strong arm, great hands, hit for high average, and hit home runs. Unfortunately, I had only two of those talents…great hands and hit for average. Not good enough. So, after part-time jobs loading Coca-Cola trucks by hand and later with a fork-lift, bagging groceries, delivering newspapers, picking tomatoes and tobacco (a killer job) and other odd jobs, it was time to start a career in something else. So, because my dad was a long-time Ford of Canada employee, and more importantly, one of my drinking buddies knew the personnel manager (not renamed human resources yet), I got a job delivering mail at Ford Windsor for something like C$200 per month.

As good luck would have it one of my mail drops was to the department that handled Ford’s international vehicle business. These guys, mainly engineers, traveled to exotic places like the Philippines, Australia, Venezuela, Mexico and other exotic countries.

I would start my shift an hour early, then run my ass off making sure that the mail got to wherever it was supposed to go, then I’d go to the International Vehicle Division and sit for hours listening to their stories about cars and exotic places (and erotic women). I was fascinated by this whole new world and wanted in. I was a hard worker, and I moved up quickly from mailboy to engineering release writer in the department to which I previously delivered mail, to CKD specifications writer which now put me in the supply business at Windsor Export Supply (WES), to unit supervisor, to section supervisor, to group supervisor in the specifications section -- all within two years. CKD stands for Completely Knocked Down which means to a non-car person, that the car is shipped in about 1200 parts to assembly plants around the world.

The opportunity to travel came quicker than I thought when Dick Hansford, a tough, smart, no-bullshit guy from Ford HQ in Dearborn, Michigan came to Windsor to Shape up you Canucks at WES. Windsor Export Supply, much like the name implies, was Ford Motor Company’s supplier for parts for all their vehicles around the world, outside of the US or Canada.

Dick and I hit it off immediately.

And even though I was about four rungs down on the management totem pole he started to give me special assignments.

One of my favorites was overseeing the building of - and relocation to- a new office building in downtown Windsor (while ensuring that his private bathroom did not appear on the blue prints).

Then, as group supervisor in the CKD specifications section, I somehow became a Mexico expert on the supply of CKD components to build Ford Galaxie 500 cars in Mexico. Dick called me in and said, OK, you are in charge of the Galaxie 500 launch in Mexico. Get your ass over to Dearborn tomorrow morning and sit in on Lee Iacocca’s U.S. new model launch meeting. Pay attention, keep quiet and get your ass to Mexico to coordinate their launch.

So, in 1965, at 24 years old, off I went to Dearborn in search of Lee Iacocca’s conference room in the Glass House, i.e. Ford’s World H.Q.

I should point out that I never finished college, nor do I have a degree…. except from the school of hard knocks. I did take some night course while working at WES… Philosophy and Economics at the University of Windsor, Computer Programming at Henry Ford Community College in Dearborn and Drafting at Cass Tech in Detroit.

And my Law Degree comes from the school of hard knocks and common sense.

CHAPTER 6:

LEE IACOCCA

Lee Iacocca was the president of the Ford Motor Co. and in those days Henry Ford II, The Deuce was the chairman and main shareholder. Iacocca was already a legend in the automotive industry, and his work at Ford had made him Detroit royalty. He had a reputation for ruthlessness toward fuck-ups but was just as quick with a pat on the back or an atta-boy over a drink for good performers.

Lee Iacocca in the early days at Ford.

I soon found out how true that reputation was.

I was ushered into a room for the meeting with about 100 nervous-looking guys in crisp white shirts and striped neckties. It was a huge conference room with a mahogany table that seated about 45 people with additional chairs on an outer ring for another 50 people. I was one of the 50 on the outside ring and frankly, scared shitless to be in the presence of Mr. Iacocca and all the big shots around the main table. Lee starts off in typical fashion saying So what the fuck is going on for Job One? For you non-automotive readers, Job One is the first car produced for a new model year and, once announced, that date is sacred. People will just about kill to make that date, or they may be killed if responsible for missing it.

Sitting at the main table were about 30 guys (no ladies in those days) responsible for manufacture or procurement of various components or groups of components of a car. Engine, axle, transmission, doors, quarter panels, instrument panels, seats, exhaust systems are good examples of these many components. Lee starts off with the engine guy who explains in four to five minutes how he will be ready for Job One. He gets about halfway down the left-hand side of the table, to the interior door trim panel guy, who says, I can’t make it.

Lee says "What did