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The Richest Man in Town

By V.J. Smith

The Handshake

It's amazing what can happen just by paying attention. Besides, I never thought I would have a life-changing experience at Wal-Mart.

I don't remember the exact date I met Marty for the first time. Up to that moment, nothing that day seemed particularly important--certainly not what brought me to the store in the first place. Like a lot of people who want to get through a checkout line, my thoughts were on speed, nothing more. The line I was standing in wasn't moving as quickly as I wanted, and I glanced toward the cashier.

There stood an affable-looking man in his seventies. Slightly stooped and of average build, he word glasses and a nice smile. I thought, well, he's an old guy and it probably takes him a little longer to get the chores done.

For the next few minutes I watched him. He greeted every customer before he began scanning the items they were purchasing. Sure, his words were the usual, "How's it going?" But he did something different--he actually listened to people. Then he would respond to what they had said and engage them in brief conversation.

I thought it was odd, but I guess I had grown accustomed to people asking me how I was doing simply out of a robotic conversational habit. After a while, you don't give any thought to the question and just mumble something back. I could say, "I just found out I have six months to live, " and someone would reply, "Have a great day!"

This old cashier had my attention. He seemed genuine about wanting to know how people were feeling. Meanwhile, the high-tech cash register rang up their purchases and he announced what they owed. Customers handed money to him, he punched the appropriate keys, the ash drawer popped open, and he counted out their change.

Then magic happened.

He placed the change in his left hand, walked around the counter to the customer, and extended his right hand in an act of friendship. As their hands met the old cashier looked the customers in the eyes.

"I sure want to thank you for shopping here today," he told them. "You have a great day. Bye-bye."

The looks on the faces of the customers were priceless. There were smiles and some sheepish grins. All had been touched by his simple gesture--and in a place they never expected.

Some customers would walk away, pause for a moment, and look back at the old cashier, now busy with the next customer. It was obvious they couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened. They would gather their things, and walk out the door smiling.

Now it was my turn. As expected, he asked me how I was doing. I told him I was having a good day.

"That's good," he said. "I'm having a good day too." I glanced down at the name tag on his red vest, the kid experienced Wal-Mart cashiers wore. It read, "Marty."

I said, "It looks like you enjoy your job, Marty."

He replied, "I love my job."

Marty told me how much I owed and I handed him some money. The next thing I knew he was standing beside me, offering his right hand and hold my change in his left hand. His kind eyes locked onto mine. Smiling, and with a firm handshake, he said, "I sure want to thank you for shopping here today. Have a great day. Bye-bye."

At that moment I wanted to take him home and feed him cookies. It was as if Sam Walton had come back from the dead and invaded this old guy's body.

I left the store, walked through the parking lot and got into my car. On the drive home I couldn't shake what had just happened. I had been in that store a hundred times and had never walked away feeling like that.

Who was that guy?

He did something different---he actually listened to people.

The Letter

Like most people, I procrastinate. I get a thought, but then I don't act on it.

Many times I would see someone in our town doing something nice. On crisp autumn day I would see kids from local churches raking leaves for the elderly. On cold winter mornings I would stand in my warm living room and watch a neighbor firing up his snow blower to clear the sidewalks and driveways for neighbors would could no longer heft a shovel. I would think to myself, "I should write a letter and acknowledge that kind act." Time would pass and another letter--always well-intentioned--would go unwritten.

Kind acts are common in our town, just as they are in many small towns. Our town is Brookings, South Dakota. Visitors entering Brookings drive past a sign noting a population of more than eighteen thousand people. Added into that is another eleven thousand, the number of students who attend South Dakota State University, the state's largest college.

People trust each other in Brookings. Each summer, a local farmer rolls a flatbed trailer into town and sells corn. That in itself isn't unusual. What's different it that no one is there to take your money. People simply grab ears of corn, then stuff dollar bills into a metal box. The honor system still works in Brookings.

The tree-lined main street conjures up hometown images from old movies. Shopkeepers greet customers by name. Almost fifteen years ago, many of those business owners were uneasy and uncertain when Wal-Mart opened a store on the east edge of town. Wal-Mart openings often cause anger in communities, but they do bring jobs. Marty had one of them.

For several weeks after I first noticed Marty, I would find myself in his line at Wal-Mart. I marveled at how he treated people. He was quick to give compliments. "You have a beautiful smile," he would say. Or, "That's a great-looking coat." If he wasn't saying nice things, he would ask people questions. Marty was a master at making other people the center of attention.

There was something else I noticed. His line was always the longest in the store. Some of the other checkout counters would have no customers standing in line at all. There would be three or four people in Marty's line. People didn't seem to mind that they had to wait a few extra minutes. I later found out that he ad the store's highest IPH--items per hour--in spite of the time he took with people.

Marty said, "I like to show 'em what an old man can do."

Four of us were standing in Marty's line one day when a young cashier came up and said, "I can help you in my line." We simply shrugged our shoulders and declined her offer. Nothing personal, of course. We just wanted the Marty touch.

Every time I was in Marty's line I would think to myself, "Someone needs to write a letter to corporate headquarters and tell them about this guy." A little voice in the back of my head would reply, "You're someone--why don't you?"

I always had an excuse.

As alumni director at South Dakota State University, I traveled throughout the United States, attending events and fostering school spirit. There would be a lot of small talk, a lot of listening, and a lot of handshaking. Airports, rental cars, and hotel rooms were constants in my life.

Several years ago, I began receiving requests to do motivational and inspirational talks. I would spend countless hours driving on moon-lit nights and weekends giving speeches in distant places. It seemed like I was always getting oil changes or buying new tires for my car.

All those excuses vanished the day I found myself in Marty's line behind a young mother. She had a pair of little boys with her, probably tow and four years old. The mother turned to me and pointed at Marty. "He's everybody's grandpa," she said. I smiled at thought.

The line moved forward and Marty greeted the young mother and her boys. As the mother wrote a check, Marty talked to the boys. He gave them some peppermint candy he had pulled from his shirt pocket. He handed the woman her receipt and change, shook her hand, and thanked her for her purchase. Then, he bent down and hugged those two little boys. That family smiled a collective smile as they walked out the door.

Marty was in their heads.

I couldn't take it any more. After Marty was done with me I walked over to the service counter and asked to see the manager. A few moments later a young man walked up to me. "I'm the manager," he said. "How can I help you?"

I pointed in Marty's direction. "That man over there--what is his name?"

The manager said he couldn't tell me Marty's full name because it was against company policy. Not wanting to push it, I asked the manager if he could give me the name and address of the chief executive officer of Wal-Mart. He left and came back a few minutes later to hand me a piece of paper with the head man's name and address.

I drove back to my campus office. Colleges are buildings filled with people thinking deep thoughts. My thoughts that day were on a cashier at Wal-Mart.

I sat at my desk and wrote a letter to Mr. David Glass, president and chief officer of Wal-Mart, Bentonville, Arkansas.

Dear Mr. Glass,

Sam Walton would be proud of Marty. To man and lots of other people he is "Mr. Wal-Mart."

Funny, I don't even know Marty's last name. But let me tell you what I do know about him. Marty works at Wal-Mart in Brookings, S.D. He is a kindly older gentleman with twinkling eyes and a ready smile.

I, like many others, will stand "eight deep" in his cashier line. There will be a few people in the other cashier lines, but that doesn't matter, we like Marty's line. The wait doesn't bother us. Why? Because after he rings up the sale, and just before handing use the change, he sticks out his right hand to shake ours. He looks us right inthe eye and thanks us. And, he sincerely means it and we know it.

I do a lot of public speaking in the area. One of the customer service items I speak about is the importance of saying "thank you." Until this morning I did not know Marty's first name. But I always refer to him in my talks and people in the audience immediately know who I am talking about. It's amazing! All of us are willing to spend a little extra time because we love to hear him thank us.

As long as Marty's running a cash register I'm going to stand in his line no matter how long it is. Yup, Sam Walton would be proud.

Sincerely,

V.J. Smith

Marty was in my head.

I put a stamp on the letter, pounded it one time with my fist to make sure it stuck, and smiled. This was a first for me. I had never written a letter to any business to praise one of its employees. The letter left in the morning mail.

That afternoon a young man dropped by my office. His name was Casey Estling. Casey was an all-conference basketball player on our university's basketball team. He was a good player and an excellent student.

Casey told me he had been asked to give the graduation speech at commencement exercises that spring. It was an honor--and a daunting task. You stand up in front of nine thousand people, perhaps quote a dead poet or two, and try to inspire the members of your graduating class while impressing their families and friends.

I asked Casey what he wanted to talk about. He said he needed to think people who made a difference in his life while he was a college student. That seemed like a good idea, and I suggested Casey think about it over the weekend, compile some type of list, and come back the following Monday to talk about it.

When Casey returned to my office he announced, "I've got it!"

He plopped down in a chair across from my desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and read from it. The first words were, "There's this guy at Wal-Mart by the name of Marty."

My jaw dropped. I quickly went through my in-basket to find a copy of the latter I had sent to David Glass of Wal-Mart. I handed it to Casey. "Read this," I said.

After a moment or two Casey looked up at me. "Boy," he said, "he's having an impact on a lot of people's lives." We talked about it and Casey decided that Marty would be a central character in his graduation address--a store cashier help up as a positive example at a college graduation.

Marty was in his head, too.

Two weeks later, Casey was back in my office. He said Marty wanted to meet me.

"I went through his line yesterday," Casey told me. "He asked me if I knew you. Evidently that letter you sent has come back through the chain of command because they pulled all the employees together yesterday morning and read your letter. Everyone cheered for Marty. Now he wants to meet you."

I waited a week. To be honest, I didn't know how I was going to introduce myself. It seemed awkward if I just walked up to him while he was working and told him who I was. So, I hatched a plan.

I went to Wal-Mart and picked out a dozen golf balls and a bag of tees and placed them on the black conveyor belt that led to Marty. He greeted me as usual and rang up the purchases. He said, "That will be twenty-one sixteen."

I pulled out a personal check, my name and address printed in the corner. After writing the check I handed it to Marty. He took it, went to the cash register, and started punching in the numbers. He paused when he saw my name.

Marty looked toward me and glanced back at the name on the check. Then he stopped what he was doing, walked around the counter, and thrust his arms around me in a bear hug. I paused for a moment before I thought, "Oh, what the heck," and threw my arms around him.

Two guys hugging in Wal-Mart.

Marty pulled back and grinned. "I've sure wanted to meet you," he said.

I told him I wanted to meet him too. We talked for a moment and then he asked if we could get together some night to talk over coffee. It seemed like a great idea. We set a time and place and I left the store.

I don't know which one of us was more excited at that moment. Of one thing I was certain--I was thrilled that I had finally taken time to write that letter. It turned out to the best one I ever sent.

All had been touched by his simple gesture.