Remembering Jim Irelan

Work ethic within an individual can come from many sources. For me, having grown up on a farm in Iowa, I gained most of my early work ethic from my father who gave me chores and demonstrated to me the rewards of “earning.” I would feed and water cattle after school and I was given a percentage after they were taken to market in the fall.  Dad had to wait for his income, so if I ever wanted to be a farmer, I had to learn the system of delayed gratification. 

Soon after we’d sell the cattle at the fall auction, I’d put my cut of the money in the bank then head down to the creek bottom to pick up walnuts. Selling those was easy, because I already had a buyer—my uncle Dave, who gave me five dollars a bushel. I think I only filled a couple five-gallon buckets, but to my uncle that was close enough.

Also throughout the winter I’d trap muskrats in our pond and sell the hides, something I’m not sure could be done today. On Saturdays we usually went to the livestock auction in town, and in those days there was almost always snow on the ground from December through March. If there had been a fresh snow, I’d grab my dad’s scoop shovel out of the back of the truck and walk down nearby Drake Avenue, and some of the side streets, and knock on doors to see if they would like their walk shoveled. I shoveled quite a few walks for five bucks each.

In the summer, while the cattle were now grazing and could feed themselves, my dad would load our John Deere riding lawnmower in the back of his truck and take it to town for me so I could mow people’s lawns. I mowed a dentist office, that same dentist’s home lawn, and several other lawns that I’d gained by referral. This kept me pretty busy during the summer, and there wasn’t much idle time before I started feeding cattle again.

When I turned sixteen, still a sophomore in high school, I decided I wanted to get a “real job.”  I had no idea where to start or who to talk to, but one day after school I happened to be on the city square in my hometown of Centerville, Iowa, and the storefront of Jim Irelan Men’s Wear caught my eye. I knew that Jim employed high school boys, and they were some of the most popular guys in school—and since I wasn’t one of those “popular” kids, I was quite intimidated to even try.

Something within me gave me the courage to go in and ask. I think it was because Jim was also a cattleman, and he knew my dad. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a “connection” … that that might be the edge I’d need. That courage, however, gave way to nervous jitters as I entered the store. 

It was April, 1982, and I stood there inside the door watching this tall, slender, well-dressed man walk towards me. I’d seen him several times before, either at the livestock auction—one of the only men you’d ever see wearing a suit and tie with chore boots—or in his store when my dad was there to buy a suit of clothes. But those times he had been friendly and smiling, and this time he looked more serious, because regardless of how old I was, I was asking to be a part of his business, which was serious.

He told me that he didn’t have any openings at the moment, but that he’d keep me in mind. He did ask, however, if I was involved in any school activities.  I knew that honesty was always the best policy, even though I’d heard that employers liked involvement in activities, because it demonstrated an active, social personality. But I told him that I wasn’t, other than the school newspaper and yearbook, which wouldn’t interfere. He said that he couldn’t hire anyone who was involved in school activities, because when he needed them to work, they needed to be here. Score for me. But, he didn’t have any openings.

A week or so went by, and I believe it was a Wednesday afternoon, because that was the day my dad went to his Rotary Club meetings. Dad came home that afternoon and told me that he spoke with Jim Irelan at Rotary, and that Jim wanted me to come into the store and talk to him.  I quickly realized that I hadn’t told my dad or mom that I had went in and asked Jim for a job, but apparently they didn’t care. I was sixteen, had my own transportation, so why not?

After school the next day I went back in to Jim’s store and met with him, and he told me that the boy he tried to get to work for him was involved in too many school activities, so if I wanted the job, it was mine.  He told me it paid $3.10 an hour, and that he’d want me to work Friday after school until close, and all day Saturday.  Then he turned to Robert Houf, his store supervisor, and asked him if he’d want me any other days. Robert said Monday after school would be good, too. 

He told me that I needed to wear a tie, but that I didn’t have to wear a suit coat. A sweater was okay, too, so long as I wore a tie under it. “I want you to advertise our clothes to the kids at school,” he said. “So I’ll let you have anything here at cost.”

I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was. It was Thursday, and Friday couldn’t come quick enough. I stood there like a dork looking around at the clothes, eager to learn this new trade.  I soon realized, though, that I didn’t have much at all in regards to dress clothes, and that the only tie I had was a clip-on. They told me not to worry about it. Little did I know about the depth of education that I was about to receive… not just on men’s apparel, but many other things as well.

I had been at the job about a week and it was late on a Friday night. The store closed at 9 p.m., and for anyone who grew up in my hometown, the city square was the place to be on Friday night. I stood there watching the cars drive by, proudly adjusting my tie, while many of my friends were out there cruising in their cars, blasting their music loud, and I wanted to impress them.

At that moment Jim walked up behind me, and when I turned around to look up at him—and I and everyone else did look up at him—he looked down at me very sternly, and said, “You need to stay busy. Look over the merchandise. Learn the stock.”  Like the dumb-ass teenager that I was, I said, “Yeah, I pretty much know everything.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Show me the Sup-Hose.”

Of course I was caught. He knew I wouldn’t know what he was talking about. He followed by saying, “Walk around the store. Open cabinets, open boxes. Learn the stock.”

The way I saw it, Jim Irelan taught me the art of salesmanship, and Robert Houf, his store supervisor, taught me the art of customer service (as well as how to tie a tie—no more clip-ons).  It was a pleasure watching Jim sell a suit, especially to a man when his wife was present. He could pour on the style, and entertain them with a funny comment or two.  My favorite, which he used quite a bit, was when a man tried on a suit or slacks and they were a little too snug, and he’d say, “You need a little more room around the grocery department.”

But Jim wasn’t always the best example when it came to customer complaints. He’d argue with them tooth and nail, and he despised returns.  But, he’d say, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  That’s where Robert came in best. He was very keen about making sure the customer got what they wanted, and never tried to sell them something they didn’t.  If a customer walked out of the store without buying something, Jim would darn near chase them down the street. It was almost comical.

Robert opened the store at 9 a.m. every day, and closed it at 5 p.m. or later, depending on whether or not there were still customers in the store, and of course 9 p.m. on Fridays.  They never closed a minute before, regardless of how slow it was. There was a lot of commitment and pride to the business.  Jim, however, usually rolled in around 9:30 a.m., and he’d leave around 3 or 4 in the afternoon.  There were times he’d stay until close, if we were busy.  But it wasn’t because he wasn’t working. He ran a registered Angus cattle farm, too.

Jim was a busy man. At that time I didn’t know much about his earlier life, but I know that he was from that “Greatest Generation” that grew up during the Great Depression.  I recently learned that when Jim was a young man, that he’d milk cows in the morning and in the evening. At that time there was a men’s clothing store in Centerville called Elgins, where he worked, but on his way to work he’d deliver milk to customers on a route that he’d established.  He’d then work in the store all day, and go back to milking that evening.

Jim once told me about a dish washing job that he had after working at the Elgins store all day, which was just around the corner from the store, in a basement restaurant, the same location where my mother once operated a beauty salon.  He’d get off work, go down and wash dishes for a few hours, then go home and milk cows.  He didn’t make any money washing dishes, he’d said, but the owner gave him all the beer he wanted to drink. I suppose in those days, for a young man, that was probably a pretty good way to afford a beer. I often wondered, however, how sober he was when he milked the cows. I was too afraid to ask him.

One great memory of working in the store during that era was the overhead music.  Though I don’t remember the call letters, there was a radio station in Des Moines that played classical and Big Band music. That was Jim’s music, especially the Big Band. He despised any other genre, and I’ll never forget the day when that radio station changed its format, and the best we could get was a local country music station. “That crap’s not Country,” he’d say. And whenever he’d get near the overhead speaker, he’d shake his head.  I’m not sure he ever got used to it.

Another trademark of Jim that was so impressive to me was his investing.  When Jim first arrived at the store, he usually sat down in a chair near the back and read the Des Moines Register and the Wall Street Journal.  Though I don’t know what all he invested in, he did share that he owned some stocks, had put some money in some diversified funds, and that he had bought municipal bonds that helped build some of the area schools.  At that time I didn’t have a clue what any of it was, but after I graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in business, and a minor in accounting, I often thought about Jim and the entrepreneurial example he was for our community.

Though sharply dressed every day in a suit and tie, I doubt many would argue that Jim’s favorite business, or hobby, was his registered Angus cattle. Though he was proud of a lot of things, he bragged about them the most. And on the slow weeks in the summer, Jim would give me work on the farm scooping manure out of his barn with a tractor and loader, then dumping it in a spreader and pulling that around the pastures. It was quite a contrast, but it was a terrific example of how a man should be prepared to do anything, and that nothing was beneath him.

I worked for Jim off and on over the course of three to four years, the latter which was full time.  A few years later I ended up working as a buyer for a clothing store chain, Mona’s Big and Tall, in Des Moines, Iowa—a job I couldn’t have got without my experience at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear.

After working for a few weeks for Mona’s, Frank Mona was quite impressed with my knowledge. Not that there weren’t other men who had worked for men’s clothing stores, and he’d employed many, but the point was, I was only twenty-two years old. Frank sent me all over the upper Midwest opening new stores, filling them with the right kind of merchandise, and even interviewing and hiring employees.  One time I even helped terminate a difficult employee, a man more than twice my age.

I met frequently with clothing salesmen, and even went on an annual buying trip to San Diego, where we attended a Big and Tall Men’s convention at the famous Del Coronado resort hotel. None of this, and I mean none of it, would have been possible without the knowledge and training I received from Jim Irelan and Robert Houf. During the Christmas season at Mona’s, especially on Black Friday, all of the office personnel, including Frank himself, had to go to one of the three store locations in Des Moines and help out on the sales floor.

The manager at the store where I worked could not believe how well I could fit men in suits. He had men working there who were decades older than me who still had issues. I had tailor’s chalk in my coat pockets ready to go every day, and that store manager begged me to come to the store and work for him. He assured me I’d make more money on commission, but I’d already been down that road, and I had my eyes set on moving up the corporate ladder.

I worked that job a little over a year and had been taking night classes at a community college, working towards my business degree. I knew that I had to go to college full time if I was ever going to get my degree, which so many companies required for advancement.  I moved to Kansas City, Missouri to attend the University of Missouri-Kansas City’s Bloch School of Business (named after Henry W. Bloch, the co-founder of H&R Bloch tax services).

I was excited to attend college full time, but I needed a part-time job to pay my general expenses.  Because of my experience in men’s clothing, I landed a job selling men’s suits on commission at J.C. Penney in North Kansas City.  The manager there was quite impressed how I hit the floor running, and how I spent my time “learning the stock.”  I think he was more impressed, however, that I already had tailor’s chalk in my suit coat pockets.

After I graduated college, my first job was with Investors Fiduciary Trust, doing investment accounting for Piper Jaffray Mutual Funds out of Minneapolis. It was my first real step into the world of big business, working downtown Kansas City on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, wearing a suit and tie, and working toward that first promotion. The major part of my job was to perform a series of accounting steps that led to the actual net asset value of a mutual fund. 

Once I came up with this figure, and it was approved by my supervisor, I typed it into an electronic system which uploaded it into an SEC database. It became that day’s recorded “NAV” for that fund, which would appear in the financial sections of every newspaper, including the Wall Street Journal. So many times I could picture Jim Irelan, sitting in that chair in the back of the store, reading his WSJ, and wondered if he ever invested in Piper Jaffray funds.

About a year after I started that job, I acted upon the encouragement of one of my college professors to pursue a career in writing. I had been attending a professional writing group every week, which consisted of Kansas City Star writers, magazine freelancers, poets, and novelists, all who encouraged me as well.  One of those members was the late Dan Quisenberry, who after retiring as a relief pitcher from Major League Baseball, became a poet. He and I had coffee every Thursday, where we shared our writing, and he assured me I had what it took to be a professional novelist.

Though it took some time to get where I am today, it’s interesting to look at my novel, THE TRUE FATHER, and see how much of that comes from my work experiences, including my time at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear. The accountant who becomes disenchanted with his job, the descriptions of men’s clothing, and the experience on a cattle ranch watching calves being born—if you’ve read that novel, it all becomes clear after reading this blog post.

Most of all, however, I don’t think I could be where I am today without the level of work ethic, professionalism, salesmanship, and personal style, which I first obtained at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear. Though I got Work Ethic 101 from my father, for sure, I got a much stronger dose of it from Jim and Robert. There is not a day that goes by that a part of who I am doesn’t go back to those days in that small town men’s store.

A few weeks ago I was sad to learn that Jim had passed away. I was not surprised, however, that he lived to be 96 years-young, and that only a few months before his health started failing him, he still dressed up and went up to the store, still tended a garden, and still played around with his registered Angus cattle. I had just had a book release in October and had been doing some touring, so I was lucky to be able to get away.  I had a book event the day before his funeral in Emporia, Kansas, but I had this strong yearning to go and pay my respects.

I was happy to be able to reunite with Robert, who now owns the store, and also Jim’s grandsons. The two oldest, Jimmie and Jeff, are about my age, and when they were teenagers, and they came home for the holidays to see their grandpa, they’d work in the store with us. It was good to see them again, all grown, Jimmie now and investment banker for Wells Fargo and living in New York City, and Jeff and attorney for John Deere and living in the Quad Cities.

Along with their younger brother, Brian, and their father, Jim Sr., they gave a wonderful tribute to their grandfather. Though I didn’t know him like they did, they sure expanded on the man that had made such an impression on me in my early years. One thing they all mentioned, which was no surprise, was his work ethic. It was definitely one of his greatest strengths, and a major part of his character. And if not for him, I often wonder what kind of man I’d be today.

R.I.P. Jim Irelan.

Steven Law is the author of THE BITTER ROAD (Goldminds, 2013) and EL PASO WAY (Berkley, 2013). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

Comments

[Jean Beeler]

Hope all his family, including Ann, read this tribute. Well done!

[Steven Law]

Hi Dave.... great to hear from you. We had a nice visit when I was in Newton. Interesting enough, one time Jim Irelan tried to expand his business and opened a store in Newton, but it was short lived due to suspected theft, as I remember, which ruined his trust and he dropped the idea of having a chain of stores. Thanks for you comment. I hope you enjoy THE BITTER ROAD.

[Dave Gale]

Steven, Centerville isn't that far from Newton where I talked to you at our Hy-Vee store while you autographed your book "Yuma Gold" for me 2 years ago. I like how you've woven your early life into your book "The True Father". I enjoyed reading the book and how you have put into it many of life's problems, thoughts, and experiences. It really makes you stop and think as you're reading the whole story. I'm now getting ready to read "The Bitter Road". Don't stop writing. Dave Gale