Francorp Client Jimmy John's Honors Disciplinarian

Troublesome Student Makes Good, and Honors Disciplinarian

Peter Wynn Thompson for The New York Times
James J. Liautaud, right, founder of Jimmy John’s sandwich shops, with James Lyons, who was the dean of discipline at his high school, Elgin Academy in Illinois.
By DIRK JOHNSON

Published: December 30, 2008
ELGIN, Ill. — In the early 1980s, James J. Liautaud was a trouble-making student at Elgin Academy who ranked near the bottom of his high school class. He drank beer. He smoked cigarettes. He skipped class.

Alex Romanovsky/DLA Architects
Mr. Liautaud donated $1 million to his alma mater and insisted that the Liautaud-Lyons Upper School bear Mr. Lyons’s name.
Teachers at the academy, a private prep school, grew so exasperated with his antics that they finally voted to expel him. But the mischievous student had an unlikely defender: the dean of discipline.
The dean, James Lyons, recognized the rebellion as insecurity, and saw what others did not — a student from a financially struggling family, trying to fit in at a prestigious school among wealthier, more polished peers. The dean, who had a working-class upbringing himself, put his job on the line. “If he goes,” he told the faculty, “I go.”
Mr. Liautaud — better known as Jimmy John, the founder of a sandwich shop empire with some 800 restaurants — came back to the Academy this semester for the opening of a building that bears his name. He gave the school $1 million, with one condition: the building also had to bear the name of Mr. Lyons.
“It’s a real simple deal,” said Mr. Liautaud, 44, explaining the motive for his generosity. “Jim Lyons believed in me.”
On a bluff in this old city on the Fox River, the new building houses 12 classrooms, a theater and a library. The high school is now known as the Liautaud-Lyons Upper School.
John Cooper, the head of the school, said educators everywhere could tell stories of dismal students who turned out to be successful in business or the arts. But not many send such a gift.
“He called me up out of the blue and said, ‘Hey I’ve decided to give you guys a million bucks,’ ” Dr. Cooper said of Mr. Liautaud.
At first, Mr. Liautaud wanted only Mr. Lyons’s name on the building. But the school told the sandwich king that it wanted to use his name, too, since his story would inspire many students. There are still a few teachers around who remember Mr. Liautaud and his wild ways.
“It’s all in the permanent record,” Dr. Cooper said, smiling.
A big man with a streetwise charm, Mr. Liautaud delivered the commencement address last year, wearing a T-shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots. He implored the students not to emulate his own academic and behavioral missteps.
Among students at Elgin Academy, Mr. Liautaud is regarded as something of a hero. One of them, Christopher Theodorou, 18, said he ordered food from a local Jimmy John’s restaurant for seven straight days after learning about the donation, a gesture of pride and gratitude.
“And besides,” Mr. Theodorou said, “it’s delicious.”
Mr. Lyons, 74, now retired, said he had spent many hours in the company of young Mr. Liautaud, often because he had violated some rule.
In those days, a disciplinary dean had a little more leeway, and Mr. Lyons was not afraid to capture a boy’s attention by giving his arm a bit of a squeeze. “You wouldn’t get away with any of that stuff today,” he said.
But he also had a gentleness that won over the troubled boy.
“I would just listen,” said Mr. Lyons, who learned that Mr. Liautaud’s parents were going through hard financial times while their son was in school. “He was able to confide in me. He was a pretty good kid. He was just struggling to find out who he was.”
The two men have stayed in touch. They got together for dinner just before Christmas. “You have a lot of students who become successful,” Mr. Lyons said. “But this is one who said thank you.”
Mr. Liautaud said he had “acted like a jerk” at Elgin Academy.
“I was at this fancy school and I felt out of place, so I rebelled,” he said. “But Jim Lyons put his arm around me. He cared about me. He’d say, ‘Jimmy, don’t say that; it’s not classy.’ And he’d tell me I could do whatever I wanted in life. He told me that a lot. And by the time I was a senior, I started to believe him.”
He made it through high school, but Mr. Liautaud said he was not exactly college material. “I didn’t have the grades, and my dad didn’t have the money for tuition,” he said.
He had always wanted to start his own food business. The financial picture at home improved enough that his father offered him a deal. He would lend the young man $25,000 to start a restaurant business. If he failed, he would have to join the Army.
Mr. Liautaud’s business model was to go to college towns and deliver inexpensive food to dormitories. Most restaurants in those days refused to deliver to dorms. He started his first restaurant in Charleston, Ill., near Eastern Illinois University. He now has stores throughout the country, but mostly in the Midwest and Southeast.
With his success, Mr. Liautaud could live in any fancy neighborhood he chose. But he and his wife and two small children live in the central Illinois university town of Champaign.
“You can’t forget where you came from,” he said.
The officials at Elgin Academy are thankful for that. Mr. Lyons, who said he was humbled by the gift, initially felt uncomfortable about having his name on the school building. But he liked the notion of linking a student’s name with an educator’s.
“We believed in each other from the start,” Mr. Lyon said. “And we never gave up on each other.”

Francorp Client - Jimmy Johns

Francorp began working with Jimmy John's in 1993. Since that time the chain of gourmet sandwich operations has almost 2000 franchises sold across the country and remains one of the hottest franchise brands in the world. Here is an overview of this fantastic company.

Jimmy John's is franchised sandwich restaurant owned by Jimmy John Liautaud. The restaurant was founded in 1983 and has since grown to nearly 682 stores, with many locations in college towns. Their headquarters is located in Champaign, Illinois.
It is not to be confused with Jimmy John's Pipin Hot Sandwiches in West Chester, Pennsylvania, which specializes in hot dogs and is known for its assortment of electric trains.[1]
Contents[hide]
1 History
2 Current statistics
3 Miscellanea
4 References
5 External links
//

[edit] History
After founder Jimmy John Liautaud graduated second-to-last from Elgin Academy in 1982 high school class, his options were joining the Army, college, or starting a business. He chose to start a business.[citation needed]
Inspired by Portillo's, Liautaud's father loaned him $25,000 to start his own hot dog business. If the business was successful, he would own 52% of it and his father would own 48%. If it failed, he would join the Army.
After Liautaud realized it would cost nearly twice as much as the loan to start a hot dog business, he ventured down the sandwich shop route. A nearby neighbor told Liautaud that the secret of a successful sandwich was in the bread. He started baking bread in his mother's kitchen, bought the most expensive meats from Dominick's and had several family members vote on the top four sandwiches he created.[1]
The first Jimmy John's opened in a garage in Charleston, Illinois on January 13, 1983, with used equipment, without a menu or outdoor advertisement, selling the four sandwiches and 25-cent Cokes. After giving samples out around town, his business began to thrive. He especially catered to college students at Eastern Illinois University. After two friends backed out as managers, he ran the store himself for the first few years, working seven days a week from open to close.[2]
In April 1985, he bought out his father's side of the business and became sole owner. He opened his second store in Macomb, Illinois, and, after manager William "Billy" Burns was killed in a car accident, he ran the second store himself for a few months. Liautaud went on to honor Burns by naming the "Billy Club" sandwich after him, which remains a popular menu item.
He would later open several more stores, and he developed a prototype before franchising began in 1993.

Current statistics

States with Jimmy John's Restaurants
Jimmy John's now offers 25 different sandwiches[2] and has over 682 stores in 35 states.[3] Liautaud projects the chain to grow to at least 1,000 shops by 2009.[citation needed] About 95% of the current restaurants are franchise-owned.

Lists of miscellaneous information should be avoided. Please relocate any relevant information into appropriate sections or articles. (September 2007)
Since many Jimmy John's shops are located in college towns, many of the decorations in the shops are designed to appeal to that market, with witty phrases like "the customer is usually right", "your mom wants you to eat at Jimmy John's","We'd love to see you naked but state code requires a shirt and shoes" ,"Free Smells", "bread so French it must be liberated!", which is a campy version of the classic "no smoking" sign, and, for employment opportunities, "Rock stars wanted". Many of these signs are designed to look rustic, with old fashioned text and, in the case of a metal sign, faux rust.
Most Jimmy John's shops feature a large picture of Jimmy himself surrounded by his products.
In 2007 Jimmy John's sponsored NASCAR driver Kenny Wallace in the #2 Richard Childress Racing Chevrolet during the Gateway 250 at Gateway International Raceway. Jimmy John's will be a part-time sponsor on the #66 Rusty Wallace, Inc. Chevrolet driven by Steve Wallace during the 2008 NASCAR Nationwide Series.
Comedian Mitch Hedberg was briefly hired as a spokesman for several radio spots utilizing his unique comedy stylings "Eating deli meat with artificial ingredients is like eating a turkey breast...with implants!"

References
^ JimmyJohn's at HollyEats.com
^ Jimmy John's Menu
^ Jimmy John's History
^ Jimmy Johns stake sold, Chicago Tribune, January 4, 2007

Jimmy John's article in The Franchise Times

The effervescent Jimmy John Liautaud reflects on 25 years of making sandwiches.

When a friend called to tell me he was headed to Russia to teach Russian bakers how to make money, I knew that would be tough to one-up. But still, I told him I was heading to Champaign, Illinois, to interview Jimmy John Liautaud. There was a moment of reverent silence on the other end of the line, and then he gushed, "Jimmy John, the sandwich guy? This is going to sound strange, but can you get his autograph for my son?"

Turns out his 16-year-old son is a huge Jimmy John fan. His passion for the food and the larger-than-life frontman is fueled in part by the fact that two of his heroes, Minnesota Twins baseball players Justin Morneau and Joe Mauer, have been quoted in the local press as saying they eat Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches before every home game. The 16-year-old and his friends dine at their local Jimmy John's restaurant several times a week.

The next day as I was lunching with Jimmy John Liautaud on grilled salmon and a chopped salad in his conference room, I relayed the request—which he didn't find strange at all. I left with an autographed photo with the inscription: "Ty: Keep kickin' butt in school, date lots of babes and follow the speed limit. Be good. Jimmy John." "You think his dad will be OK with that?" he asks, a big grin lighting up his tanned face. Ty also is receiving two knit hats skaters like, a baseball cap, a T-shirt with the inscription "Subs so fast you'll freak," and a Dickies black jacket that looks like something a mechanic into branding would wear.

The autographed picture, by the way, is going to be a Christmas gift that Ty can place next to his Hank Aaron autographed baseball. Such is the power of irreverent branding.
The request wasn't the first time Liautaud has been asked for his autograph. Once, while hanging out at a college campus in Michigan with a buddy who was the drummer for Smashing Pumpkins, there were more sandwich fans vying for autographs than music fans. "If they think making sandwiches until 5 a.m. is cool, then God bless them," Liautaud says. "I don't think it's cool to be cool, I think it's cool to be real."

It's not just the sandwiches attracting fans to the concept, it's the culture. Threatening to, but never quite crossing the line, it's cheeky, never corporate. For instance, on a sign giving etiquette tips, one line is "Put your napkin on your lap; leave other people's laps alone." Printed on a pair of boxers for sale on its Web site is a phrase that is also displayed in neon in the restaurants' windows: "Free Smells."

There is no shortage of sandwich opportunities out there, so why has Jimmy John's, which at press time had 668 stores open, 20 of which are company owned, been able to attract such a loyal following?
A slice of lifeThis June will be the 44-year-old Liautaud's 25th year in the sandwich business. He refers to it as his 51st semester, since he started making sandwiches right out of high school on a college campus. "I had an idea 25 years ago and worked it through," he says. "I thought once you had a good idea, Ronald McDonald, Dave Thomas, the Colonel and Ray Kroc would want to come to your house," he says, only half in jest. But the food business isn't a fraternity of guys with big ideas swapping recipes. It's a lonely place, as he found out. While he has had mentors—unfortunately not his hero McDonald's Ray Kroc, whose long-ago french fries fried in beef tallow still produce a poignant longing in him—a lot of what he learned about business was at the counter.

His mother was a homecoming queen from Lithuania, and his mixed-race father was the first Liautaud to graduate from college. He graduated with an engineering degree and sold encyclopedias door to door. When asked why, Liautaud shrugs off the question, saying, "He was a hell of a peddler."
Liautaud likes to tell people he graduated second from last in his high school class. While it never fails to get a laugh, the truth is he didn't have that class ranking because he was slow. Like the delivery of his sandwiches, his mind works freakishly fast. He's a visual learner, something his teachers never took the time to uncover. He was the class clown, but never disruptive or disrespectful, he adds.

After graduating from high school—second to last in his class—his father told him he couldn't live at home anymore. His choices were: He could join the Army, which was a family tradition, or if he wanted to start a business, his father would give him $25,000 in seed money and own a 48 percent share of the business.

Liautaud originally wanted to open a Chicago hot dog stand, but after three weeks of investigating the business, he discovered that even with used equipment, it would cost around $43,000. He went back to his dad, who said, "tough"— he had $25,000. "I said, '(Shoot, or words to that effect), what am I going to do now?"

A visit to a friend's apartment at the University of Illinois at Carbondale gave him the answer. They went to a little sandwich shop with great sandwiches on the menu, and even better, the only equipment he could spot was a beer cooler and a meat slicer.
For the next few months, Liautaud traveled the country with his Chevy Citation and sleeping bag, picking up menus from local sandwich shops to study. He baked in his mom's kitchen until he came up with his signature bread. He then bought meat and cheese at the local deli, came up with six sandwiches and had his extended family over to vote. From the six, they choose their four favorites, which became his first menu. The losers, by the way, were liver sausage with Hellmans mayo—his personal favorite—and the "everything" sandwich.

Liautaud had cousins attending Eastern Illinois University, so in 1982 he headed to Charleston, where in one weekend he found a store location and an apartment. The first Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches was located in a converted garage. The house had been turned into a Dixie Cream doughnut shop, and the Panther Lounge was next door. He signed a five-year lease—which was more youthful inexperience than optimism, he adds.

"My dad gave me a Safeguard checkbook and two pieces of advice: Always pay COD and put your money in the bank every day," he says. With his seed money, he purchased a used meat slicer, a second-hand refrigerator, a new oven, a butcher block and six used bread pans. His mom donated one of her old oven mitts. In all, he spent $23,871.

Jimmy John Liautaud met James North, right, on a hunting trip in Alaska. North moved to Champaign, Illinois, from New Zealand to become “the best restaurant operator in the world.” The 30-year-old is now the president of Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches.
Two of his buddies followed him on his adventure. "I gave them the toughest shifts and took weekends off," Liautaud says. After a month, the first friend quit. Liautaud had to take his shift, and then the second friend quit, telling him he was inconsistent and a poor leader. "I was 19 years old. I was three months into it and there I was, all alone in a sweatbox. It was a hallelujah moment," he says, ruefully.

He worked open to close, seven days a week, "because I didn't know what else to do." By the fourth week of his double-shifts, he knew his customers. "I knew their personalities and which of my jokes they laughed at," he says. If the customer was heavy, Liautaud says he went heavy on the mayo; if they were thin, he went lighter on the mayo. By the sixth week, I had just gotten on my game and the students left (for break)," he says.
Bored, he turned his attention to his Safeguard checkbook. He started adding up the daily deposits, and discovered that his balance was $25,000. "I thought that was all mine," he says, but then realized that although he had been collecting sales tax, he had never actually sent it to the state. His father hired a local accountant who told him he owed the state $12,000. "Stuart (the accountant) made me call the state and tell them," he says, scrunching up his face in remembered distaste. "But they were so sweet." A supervisor came to the store and in the end, the government didn't penalize him. "The state was so gracious, I think they were laughing at me," he adds.

The lesson taught him more than to pay his taxes: "I became connected to the (bank) balance. I could control if it went up or down. I could control my destiny. That's what turned me on."He hired his first employee, and began to relax a little. "I was so excited about the customers. I couldn't believe they would give me $2.10 and say thank you," he says.

The first year in business he rung up $155,000 in sales, which translated to Liautaud making about 92 cents an hour. The second year, sales were $188,000. "I told my dad, 'Dad, you've made $45,000. I think we're even,'" he says. His father, however, disagreed, reminding him the deal was $25,000, plus 10 percent. In 1985, Liautaud bought his partner out, paying cash.Now completely on his own, he opened a second sandwich shop in another Illinois college town, taking over working double shifts when the friend who was going to help him, Billy Burns, was killed in an accident. Once a week he drove to check on the original Charleston store.Financing was one of the stumbling blocks. He felt he had a compelling story, but the banks weren't listening. He had a thriving business, but "I found the way I was presenting it wasn't an attractive deal," he says. He could slice meat for sandwiches, but slicing and dicing data was harder. Doors closed, but he kept "grinding."

Early in the process, Liautaud wrote down his operations system for subsequent stores and adopted a different management style from his early days on the job. He had learned that "instead of setting (employees) up to succeed, I set them up to fail," he says. And while his friend's parting words on his management style still hurt today, Liautaud says he learned from the experience.

In his second shop, he did the prep at night so that when his employee came in the next morning, he could concentrate on the customers—plus sleep in. A nice perk for college kids.
Why he does the things he doesWhen the doors first opened for business, Liautaud didn't have the dollars to advertise, so he used his quirky sense of humor to lure customers into the stores with promises of "free smells" and "freakishly fast service."

And he delivered—a service appreciated in college towns. He gave out free samples, and hung signs on the walls with twisted truisms, such as "Turns out pigs can fly. You just have to make them into sandwiches first" (alluding to Jimmy John's fast delivery service) and "Your mouth isn't watering, it's crying for Jimmy John's."

His employees were hired for their ability to be "real." "It's about being nice, not wimpo have a nice day," he says. No Jimmy John's employee says, "Have a nice day," when a customer leaves the store. "Have a nice day," Liautaud mimics in a kiss-uppy voice. "That's so lame. 'Later, dude.' Now that's real."

His realness is what Church's CEO/president, Harsha Agadi admires about Liautaud. "I'm the classic MBA type, but I've had the unique pleasure to work with three entrepreneurs: Tom Monaghan (Domino's), Mike Illich (Little Caesars) and Jimmy John."
Classic entrepreneurs are "real," explains Agadi, who served on Jimmy John's board, because their whole lives are tied into the day-to-day execution of the brand they created. In essence, they are the brands. "When you meet Jimmy in his R&D lab, that's when you meet the true entrepreneur, not over a desk," he claims. The excitement he has discovering new tastes and recipes is palpable, Agadi says.

"Jimmy's brain is wired a little differently than the rest of us," he says. "He can sense opportunity thousands of miles away and his heart goes after it, not just his mind."
Jimmy John’s menu has expanded since the days of four sandwiches, but it will never serve soup—at least “not while I’m CEO.”Lessons ingrainedAll these years and restaurants later, Liautaud still pays COD and checks go out the same day they come in, he says. His operation is based in part on his mentor's. Jamie Coulter, former CEO of Lone Star Steakhouse & Saloon took him under his wing and showed him the ropes. Jimmy John's is "Jamie's culture on steroids; we've put rocket fuel on it," Liautaud says.Coulter says he met Liautaud when he had just one unit open. "He was a young guy full of passion. I could see he was committed."
Coulter was a friend of Liautaud's father and he was happy to take on the role of guiding him through the restaurant business.
"He's taken everything I taught him to the third or fourth generation," Coulter says. "I'm proud of him."

For his culture, Liautaud is looking for high achievers. His president, James North, is just 30, but has worked for the company eight years. The two met on a hunting trip in Alaska, where they shared a hut, and became friends. North, who is from New Zealand, finally took Liautaud up on his offer to make him the best restaurant operator in the world. He applied for an 18-month visa, to which Liautaud replied, "18 months? You'll only last 12."
But North had the last laugh, he not only lasted 96 months, he proved invaluable.
When the previous president departed, North told Liautaud he could run the company, but on the condition they stop selling franchises for a year and fix the ones they had. "I gave him a chance, because everything he touches turns to gold," Liautaud says. North turned 70 stores around, took over real estate, hiring an industry veteran to run the real estate department, and has led during the sale of a piece of the company to a private equity company.
"I operate outside the box, he operates in the box," Liautaud says of their working relationship.
The culture at Jimmy John's is fast-paced. Just like his stand on sandwich sales—"I don't discount; I don't coupon. It is what it is, take it or leave it"—Liautaud has definite opinions about headquarters staff. "All of the top people I've developed myself," he says proudly. He expects things will get done today, not tomorrow. And he demands people prove themselves first. "With employees, I underpay until they prove their worth, then I overpay and reward them (generously)," he says.

Golfers need not apply. "We don't do next weeks; we don't hire golfers," he says, explaining that golfers start their weekends early, either physically or mentally. OK, so that's a pretty big generalization, but as Liautaud says himself, he's not into political correctness. Being mentally present on Fridays is important, he explains, because "on Fridays we get revered up for the weekends"—which generate 70 percent of the chain's revenues. "We give respect to the operators."

Liautaud is big and brash, but as North says, "You can't not like the guy. His presence is always felt." Liautaud is still involved in the marketing, and the irreverent humor that makes the ads, commercials and signage in the shops freakishly clever. He also likes to take people under his wing and give counsel. And they don't have to work for the company to take advantage of his talking points.

On a recent outing at an athletic shoe store, the clerk handed his 8-year-old son Fred a pair of shoes to try on. Liautaud wasted no time in explaining salesmanship to the young clerk. "I told him, 'the more shoes you put on people's feet the more you'll sell," he says. The clerk started hustling and the end result was "I spent $300 and I think he was enlightened."
Family is important to Liautaud. He married a professional ballerina—"the chemistry is spectacular," he says—and the couple has three children. The family hunts and boats together, and Liautaud likes racing fast cars. He belongs to a race track that he refers to as country-club like. His wife, Leslie, has given up dancing and turned into a playwright.
Jimmy John Liautaud has spent the last 25 years learning how not to be left alone in the store. The sign outside his red-brick headquarters reads: Company headquarters: Everything that has nothing to do with what we do center.

It's all about the operators and the customers, he says, not about headquarters. Not about being corporate. Which has everything to do with why young people want his autograph.

Franchise Times - May 2008

Jimmy John's

Perseverance pays

By Mary Jo Larson
As published in: Franchise Times - May 2008

Perseverance is a word every entrepreneur—and teenager—should know.

Almost all parents have had the "talk" with their kids at some point or another. When son Ben, now a freshman in college, was in high school, one particular semester didn't go too well. I sat him down and had "the talk"—no, not that one, the one about grades, people—and I admit I was not very sympathetic of his plight. I was angry.
About five minutes after our discussion concluded, I was still a bit miffed. I
was sitting at the computer working, and 14-year-old Sam strolled in.
"Mom, I want to talk to you about next year," said the then-eighth grader. Do you think taking two advanced classes next year might be too much for me?"
Ah, timing is everything. Sam, in an effort to, mmm, suck up, decided to remind me he was going for advanced classes while his brother was taking a semester to goof off. (Yes, he eavesdrops.) His star would rise faster if his brother's was falling, wouldn't it? If not, perhaps he could give his brother's star a kick to speed up the process.
Being the younger sibling isn't always easy—I know, I'm the younger sibling. Ben has had years to experience things first, shine in plenty of ways in his
parents' eyes over the years, and sometimes ignore his younger brother's efforts to be noticed.
But, as I always do, I tell Sam there are plenty of ways to shine. It just takes a bit of perseverance.
And here's this month's link to franchising—indeed, there are many stories of
perseverance to be had in the world of franchising, with both franchisors and franchisees.


Take our cover story this month: Jimmy John Liautaud, the founder of Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches, was just 19 years old when he opened his first store with a loan from dad. As FT Editor Nancy Weingartner reports, Liautaud's first two employees quit and left him to run the store by himself. He worked open to close, seven days a week for such a long time, he even knew which jokes to tell which customers. I guess that's when you see a person's character: how they react when the going gets tough.
But as smart entrepreneurs often do, Liautaud learned from his mistakes and fixed them—there's that persevere word again—because he was driven to succeed. Today, Liautaud has a successful franchise business with almost 700 locations and growing. There's much more to his story than that, so you'll want to read Nancy's account of Liautaud's rise to sandwich fame. He's an interesting character, with some wisdom to impart to the rest of us.
We also have the story of John Rotche, a former Domino's Pizza and Krispy Kreme exec turned Ductz franchisor. Where his days were once a bit more glamorous in a suit and tie working for a high-flying chain during its glory days, he soon found himself driving around with his brother-in-law in a van eating a fast-food hamburger out of a bag for lunch as they headed to their next duct-cleaning appointment. But he turned a not-so-glamorous service into a business that partnered with super companies such as Service Brands and garnered contracts to do post-Katrina clean up on government buildings. He has since sold the franchise to the U.S.'s largest restoration company, but is still in charge of growing the Ductz franchise. We could go on more about Rotche here, but we'd rather you read his full story, which includes other great details of working your way to the top. Perseverance.
My own, personal perseverance plays out in the pages this month with my coverage of Franchise Expo Paris—it was my goal to talk to as many people as I could over the four-day event so I could bring you the true flavor of the show. So it's not quite perseverance on the scale of Jimmy John Liautaud and John Rotche, but my feet did hurt by the end of each day.
Let that be a lesson to you, Sam: Your efforts at perseverance will be noticed—including those advanced classes. Hmmm. Now we'll be expecting you to persevere on logging in some "A"s.