Get That Feeling: The Story of the Serial Entrepreneur

By Ian Fuhr

When Ian Fuhr started out as a businessman 40 years ago, the secret of his success was already cemented in two traits – humility and a desire to break the rules. A spirit of fearlessness, fun, honesty and respect has underscored his every venture, which spans the music industry, discount department stores, a labour relations consultancy and, eventually, South Africa’s biggest beauty chain, Sorbet.

In Get that feeling Ian shares the principles that have guided him over the years and takes the reader through the arduous but fulfilling process of building a pioneering people’s brand that was born on a dream and built on a ‘feeling’. By emphasising customer service and putting people before profit, his vision holds valuable lessons for entrepreneurs who are keen to make a sustainable contribution to South Africa’s economy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pan Macmillan South Africa
• Release date: Jul 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781770106086

Book preview

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‘With the soul of a true entrepreneur, Ian has set out on a journey that has culminated in the creation of a truly inspirational brand. Sorbet has become a leading light and teaches that – with passion, creativity and feeling – putting people before profit and service before reward are the purposeful ways to change the world!’

– Robbie Brozin, founder of Nando’s

First published in 2014 by Penguin Books

an imprint of Penguin Random House South Africa (Pty) Ltd

This paperback edition published in 2018

by Pan Macmillan South Africa

Private Bag X19

Northlands

2116

Johannesburg

South Africa

www.panmacmillan.co.za

isbn 978-1-77010-608-6

e-isbn 978-1-77010-609-3

© Ian Fuhr 2014, 2018

© Foreword Reg Lascaris 2014, 2018

Photographs © as per their individual rights owners

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Proofreading by Katlego Tapala

Design and typesetting by Triple M Design, Johannesburg

Cover design by publicide

Author photograph courtesy of Sorbet

This book is dedicated to the entire Sorbet Community,

including our citizens, our franchisees, our support staff,

our suppliers and the many thousands of loyal guests

who have enthusiastically supported our brand over the last 9 years.

I have been privileged to be a part of this incredible journey

and I look forward to an even more exciting road ahead.

I trust that you will all ‘get that feeling’.

Yours truly

Ian Fuhr

Contents

acknowledgements

foreword

1 Only statues stand still

2 The chosen one?

3 Music makes the world go round

4 Freedom first, then work

5 Step into the shoebox

6 Playing with the big dogs

7 The good, the bad and the bottom

8 Be truthful to the truth

9 What about the unshared values?

10 Journey of self-discovery

11 Confronting hard-core racists

12 Return to Super Mart

13 Message from the massage table

14 Get in, get out and get on with your life

15 Sameness is a disease

16 The dark days

17 The kids come to play

18 Building the brand one guest at a time

19 And then there is the night

20 The future is pregnant with promise

Acknowledgements

David Williams – For guiding me through this book as an educator, a mentor and, ultimately, a friend. I’m so very grateful for your unflagging encouragement and your valuable editorial direction.

My late parents – Kenneth and Fay Fuhr for bringing me into this world and laying the foundation for the journey that lay ahead.

My children – Brent, Jade and Courtney for going way beyond what any father could reasonably hope for. You guys are a never-ending source of joy. I pass the baton with deep love and gratitude.

Alon Kirkel – A son-in-law in a million.

Sandy Roy – My wife-to-be, who taught me the true meaning of love and turned my life around.

My siblings and in-laws – Rodney, Denise, Toby, Laurence, Zonk, Tony and Molly, whose unwavering love and support have helped me to understand the intrinsic power of a close family.

Rudi Rudolph, Debra Rosen and Robyn Zinman – My trustworthy and passionate partners without whom Sorbet would not have risen off the ground.

Steven Blend – A true friend, confidante and financial adviser, who is always there … no matter what!

The Bull Herd – Stephen Goldberg, Jonathan Kaplan, Robert Segal, Gary Kaplan and Glenn Budler. Thank you for the endless hours of fun and friendship. A toast to ‘more of the same’!

Brenda Schneiderman – A long-standing Sorbet citizen whose commitment to the brand knows no bounds.

Bruce Copley – A remarkable mentor whose lessons in life remain deeply etched in my mind.

Ebrahim Patel – A partner for over 30 years in Super Mart and still today with the Lion Park. A man of integrity, who taught me that Jews and Muslims can work exceptionally well together.

Foreword

Warts and all is hardly what you’d expect in a book about pioneering entrepreneurship in the beauty business. But then, Ian Fuhr is full of surprises and his book is full of insights that extend way beyond the salon sector and the growth of his Sorbet Group into a national brand.

The subtitle, The story of a serial entrepreneur, might just as easily be Confessions of a serial entrepreneur. I doubt if any other senior figure in South Africa’s retail industry has owned up to shoplifting in his youth or launching into discount retailing with no idea about gross profit.

In his view, ‘only statues stand still’, and this urge to move into new areas took Ian into various industries before his emergence as the entrepreneur who created South Africa’s first national chain of beauty salons.

He started at the bottom. (I know from personal experience that university drop-outs so often do.) But it’s typical of the man that he moved from selling LPs at a record bar to the launch of his own music business and record label. From a zero-base, his record business became the biggest seller of African music in the country.

With his brother, he also helped to change the face of South African retailing through the launch of the K-Mart discount chain (the SA clone of the US original).

He gives us sidelights on South African history, as well as insights into business.

Ian’s account of his own growth as an individual and an entrepreneur is remarkable for both its unvarnished honesty and quiet humility. The book is narrative-driven rather than ego-driven. It’s an easy read with a good balance between the achievements logged up in a 40-year business career, as well as the failures which are set out without excuses or self-serving post-rationalisation.

Of course, would-be entrepreneurs are interested in lessons and real-life examples of how a business copes with setbacks. Get that feeling doesn’t disappoint. It provides plenty of instruction from the school of hard knocks.

Business tips are woven into the narrative. I loved the one minute’s silence held with staff members when a sale was lost because they were out of stock and had failed to anticipate demand. ‘Joke breaks’ to relieve the tedium of long management meetings also raised a smile.

I found myself applauding the comments about the necessity for building the right organisational culture – one that emphasises service and a team ethic. I was equally impressed by the author’s priorities … service before reward; building the brand before building the profits.

Of course, some business-school lecturers might tell you something similar. However, the insights have special relevance when they come from a self-funded entrepreneur with the courage to apply the principles in ‘the dark days’ and then watch ‘money disappearing into a deep, dark, bottomless pit’. At one stage, so much money went into this black hole that Sorbet’s future was in doubt.

Ultimately, the Sorbet saga is a major success story, and it’s all here … the growth of the chain to 100 stores, the development of the Sorbet Society Loyalty Programme, the success of its franchise model, the relationship with Clicks, the launch of the Drybar express hair salon concept, and innovations such as the creation of an ethnic hair salon brand. Sorbet is now preparing for international expansion and further brand extension opportunities are being explored.

Get that feeling will hopefully inspire a new wave of South African entrepreneurs to go into business, manage risk and achieve success. But this is not only a book about entrepreneurship. It is also a reminder of the huge strides South Africa has made in the past 35 years.

Ian looks back to a time when there was no commitment to real service in sectors serving the black majority. Back then, some shoe shops refused to allow black South Africans to try on shoes. If they wanted to check whether they were buying the right shoe size they were told to put their feet into the shoebox! If the box was big enough, the shoes would be big enough.

We’ve come a long way since then. Though he’s much too modest to say so, Ian Fuhr played his part in that progression. He concentrates on business issues and the Sorbet story, but we should not forget that just a few decades ago it took courage to step out of line and criticise the status quo. The Sorbet Group founder was one of those who stepped up to the challenge … and succeeded beautifully.

Reg Lascaris

Johannesburg

June 2014

1

Only statues stand still

‘Why don’t you open a chain of beauty salons?’

The sound of her voice brought me back. I had been drifting. The soothing rhythm of her strong hands as she massaged the muscles of my tension-filled back had sent me into a semi-conscious state. I had been a client of Liz Goldberg for a few years now and I seldom missed my weekly massage appointment.

‘What?’ I mumbled, trying to clear my head.

‘Why don’t you open a chain of beauty salons?’

At first, I thought she was joking. Me? Beauty? Definitely no synergy there.

‘You’re kidding, right? What do I know about beauty? I wash my face with Lux soap a couple of times a week and even then I sometimes forget!’

She laughed, but stuck to her theme. ‘I’m dead serious. There’s a huge gap in the beauty salon business in this country. It is a fragmented industry with hundreds of small operators, just like me, and most of them are not in a position to build a branded chain.’

‘But no one will take me seriously,’ I protested. ‘What would an ageing man like me be doing in a woman’s world? And I most definitely don’t have the looks.’ I cringed at the thought of my face on an advertising billboard promoting a new beauty business. ‘We would surely want to attract female clients … not chase them away.’

She chuckled again. ‘The point is that you understand business and you have loads of experience. Trust me. Business is business, whether it’s beauty salons or retail stores. All you have to do is change the playing field.’

Now that struck a chord with me. Changing the playing field was an appealing challenge.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, as I went back into relaxation mode and she continued kneading the stress out of my neck.

It was May 2004, I was 50 years old and I hadn’t been working since I had left the Edcon Group at the end of the previous year.

Five months was by far the longest working break of my life and I was itching to start a new business. Problem was that this time I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I wanted something completely different. With each of my start-ups over the previous 28 years, I always moved into a totally new industry.

I often pondered the wisdom of that strategy. And I was not alone. My family, friends and colleagues would regularly question my sanity. Wouldn’t it just be easier to stick to your knitting and do what you know best – run retail discount stores?

But that didn’t appeal to me anymore. I’ve always felt that only statues stand still. The stimulation of change was very powerful, and attracted me to uncharted territories where I thrived on trying to upset the status quo and challenge the conventional wisdom of a different industry.

One of my favourite songs of the 70s was ‘Rock the Boat’ by George McRae. It became my theme song for life and business. What was the fun of business if you couldn’t rock the boat and make some waves?

I also knew that I wanted to take all my experiences, the good, the bad and the ugly, extract the powerful lessons I had learnt and then put them to use in my next entrepreneurial venture. But most of all, I was driven by the desire to create and build a fresh new brand.

In each of my previous ventures, I had something in mind before I left or sold the existing business and started a new one. Something had always happened: a strange twist of fate, an unexpected phone call, an insignificant comment from a random individual or a passage in a book I was reading. Something would spark a new idea and lead me down a completely different path.

This time I was struggling to find that spark. But I was still confident that, in time, something would happen that would re-awaken the entrepreneurial juices.

So let’s go right back to the beginning.

2

The chosen one?

Through no fault of mine, I was born in Vanderbijlpark, about 50 km south of Johannesburg, in July 1953. Somebody once asked me why I was born in such a small town. I responded that I wanted to be close to my mother. My parents were both born in Johannesburg into families that had emigrated from Lithuania.

My father, Kenneth Fuhr, a salesman in a furniture store, spotted a business opportunity in Vanderbijlpark when the Iscor steel plant was opened in the area. He predicted that the many foreign tradesmen who had been brought in to run the huge plant would need furniture for their new homes. He got hold of an investor, Booysie Levin, to put up the cash and took a 50 per cent share of the new business. So in 1948, when my dad was 30, he moved his wife and four kids from Johannesburg and opened a furniture store in Vanderbijlpark, called Westcliff Furnishers.

Three people worked in the shop: my father, my mother and a delivery guy who, believe it or not, delivered furniture on a bicycle. They all worked pretty hard and soon they had a viable business.

I arrived five years later. Child number five, the last-born. Vanderbijlpark was not a cool place for a nice Jewish boy. Even at four years old I must have realised that my future prospects there would be limited to say the least. I was never given credit for this but I’m pretty sure I was partially responsible for convincing my parents to move back to Johannesburg in 1957.

The truth, however, is that my father was a hard-working and creative marketer. The success of his store attracted the attention of a Johannesburg businessman, Israel Katz, who bought Levine’s half. With Katz as his new partner, my father opened another store in Vereeniging, a town not far away along the Vaal River.

Katz then offered to incorporate the two stores into his newly formed furniture business. My father agreed and took a position in Katz’s company. We all moved back to Johannesburg, where my father became Merchandising Director of Russell and Co, a chain of furniture stores that became a household name across South Africa.

My father became a marketing legend in the furniture business. His ability to design and buy the right furniture and his creative marketing strategies earned him the respect of his colleagues, his suppliers and his competitors. Years later, I met the Ellerine brothers, Eric and Sydney, who had built their own furniture and property empire. They told me that as young entrepreneurs, they had looked up to Kenny Fuhr of Russells as the doyen of the furniture business.

In 2007, 11 years after my father passed away, I received a document fromDoug Lawson, who had joined Russells in 1958. He was the artist who drew the furniture that my father designed. The following note accompanied some of the original drawings that he had sent:

Ken Fuhr probably added more to the company than anyone else. He had the ability to anticipate the needs of his customers and his creativity separated Russells from the rest. Perhaps the most interesting of his designs was the Potomac range of kitchens.

At the time, furniture retailers were selling very ornate free-standing kitchen dressers. Although built-in kitchens were taking off in the USA, Ken knew that most of his customers did not own their own homes and they would be reluctant to buy anything that would become a permanent fixture in the house. They needed to be able to move furniture from one house to the next. To accommodate these needs, Ken decided to produce a ‘movable American kitchen’. It was an immediate smash hit and ultimately changed the way South Africans furnished their kitchens.

I still remember the Potomac Kitchen we had installed in our Emmarentia home.

When I was old enough to understand what was going on around the dinner table, I enjoyed listening to my father outlining his business ­theories to the family and debating issues with my oldest brother, Rodney, who was nearly 11 years older than me and was itching to become an entrepreneur in his own right.

Many of these teachings were deeply ingrained in my mind, but it would only be much later in life that I would recall his wisdom and be able to use his powerful lessons in my own businesses. For example, he would speak of his discounting strategy as an ‘island of loss in a sea of profit’. By this he meant that you could entice customers into your store by cutting the price of certain items and then trying to sell additional merchandise at full profit margins.

I also recall him telling a story about a customer who had bought a radio from Russells. The guy was devastated when he dropped and smashed the radio just as he was about to put it in his car. My father had seen this happen and immediately went outside to the customer and gave him a brand new radio. This story would serve as the catalyst for my deep passion for customer service in the years ahead.

Growing up in the suburb of Emmarentia brings back mainly pleasant memories. I have three brothers and a sister: in running order, Rodney, Denise, Laurence and Tony. To them, I was the baby brother, half playmate and half slave.

Apparently I was an obedient little boy who pretty much did what I was told. I was very close to my mother, Fay, a remarkable and loving woman who dedicated her entire life to the well-being of her family. In my early years, she took me wherever she went. I recall being at her side constantly. Even when she played cards with her friends I would sit on the floor next to her.

Later I would learn that her real name was Fanny and her initials were FL. Of course, the boys at her school teased her and would make all kinds of sexual innuendos. It upset her so much that she changed her name to Fay.

My father was quite different. He was a tough disciplinarian and he could frighten the living hell out of us. My older brothers bore the brunt of this. Fortunately, by the time I came along he had mellowed a bit and the hidings I got were few and far between.

The four brothers played lots of sport in the garden. Whether it was cricket, soccer or touch-rugby, we spent endless days enjoying each other’s company and building a strong camaraderie.

But playing sport in the garden was a risky business. One of my father’s other talents was gardening. He and my mother had developed a deep passion for it in Vanderbijlpark and their hobby blossomed in Emmarentia. They won the Johannesburg Garden Competition in the half-acre category on several occasions and after each victory we would be required to put the garden on show to the public.

Digging up parts of the lawn or ruining the flowers during a soccer game just before the garden competition was asking for big trouble. I have a vivid recollection of a Sunday morning when I saw my brother Laurence crawling around the garden on all fours patching up holes in the lawn, while my father walked behind, kicking him in the arse and yelling, ‘Never again, never again!’

At school I became quite a good soccer player. I played striker and used to have a little black book in which I kept a tally of all the goals I’d scored. From the age of 10 until I left matric, I captained the school soccer team and I was also the opening batsman for the cricket side. And without even realising it, I had started developing some leadership skills. I realised that to motivate the players in my team, I had to make them feel good about themselves and that they were important to the team.

In 1960 Rodney, Denise and Laurence were at Roosevelt High School and Tony and I were at Greenside Primary, two suburban government schools with a high standard of education (for whites only, of course, in those days). Then a Jewish private school called King David Primary opened its doors in a nearby suburb, Victory Park. King David already had a school in Linksfield on the other side of town. The following year my parents, in their wisdom or lack thereof, took Tony and me out of Greenside Primary and sent us to King David. I started there at age seven in Standard One.

To this day, I have never discovered why my parents believed that Tony and I needed a Jewish education. They were not in the least religious. But their decision had a huge impact on my life.

For the next ten years I lived in a Jewish bubble and never really got to meet or interact with anyone of a different culture or creed, never mind a different race group. Apartheid took care of the race separation issue, but religious separation was a choice my parents made, I think, unwittingly.

Of course, as a young naïve boy, I had no idea that there was another, more complex world out there. So I went about the business of making friends, enjoying school and playing sport. It was all good! My recollection of the next five years at primary school is mostly positive. King David also started a high school in Victory Park, to which we naturally graduated, and that was really just more of the same.

At the age of 14 I started playing chess. A boy called Peter Sarnak had emigrated from Israel and joined my class. Besides being a maths boffin, he was a great chess player. He won the South African schools championship when he was only 15. We became good friends and he convinced me to play chess with him.

The two of us played together for days on end. I read all the books on chess I could find and carefully studied the various opening moves and strategies. I lost count of the number of games that we played – it must have been thousands – but I certainly remember the number of times I beat him: twice! And I’m still not sure if he let me win out of sheer sympathy.

Losing to Peter at chess was a habit, but my game improved to the point that playing against almost anybody else seemed easy. I joined the Johannesburg Chess Club and played for the school. In July 1969 I entered the