Does It Have to Be Pirelli?

It was 1984 and my first trip to Europe. I arrived in Frankfurt, Germany. I was examining everything carefully, to see if in fact the attention to detail, precision, and quality was in keeping with the country’s mythic standards. It appeared to be. The airport was slick as could be and my eye was drawn to the flooring – a studded rubber material. I had seen its application in small areas in New York City, like elevator floors, but never such a large area as an entire airport. The reason was simple – this was Pirelli rubber tile, and it was rather expensive at the time to cover such a large area. But this was Germany, where the standard for manufacture was very high and, often, cost was not the dominant factor in choosing materials or methods – quality was. I subsequently learned that Pirelli tile had a tremendous reputation for durability. It was guaranteed for 10 years, even in high-traffic applications. Now, I really wanted to use it somehow, but where?

In 1991, I moved my business to its current location in SoHo. Here, I wanted to create a badly needed showroom, which I did not have at my previous older location. I wanted the quality of materials going into the showroom to reflect the quality of our product line. I hired my best friend, a cabinetmaker, to do all the woodwork. We used baltic birch plywood for cabinetry. I insisted on solid brass screws to assemble – softer and more prone to stripping, my friend relented, seeing that I was steadfast in my obsession.

I needed an area for ball bouncing. The bouncing of balls is a subset of the juggling world, and to test balls properly, a hard, even surface is needed. A wood floor does not typically have the uniformity or mass for best performance – stone does. So, my carpenter and I decided to design a station specifically for bouncing of silicone rubber balls. I researched for weeks, even calling graveyards in New England, to get an affordable price for a small slab of solid granite 4 inches thick. I also needed a good surface on the wood platform for standing. At last, I had an excuse to use Pirelli tile – it seemed perfect.

Procuring a small number of these tiles, however, was not easy. Vendors in the city were selling by the box, and I only needed a handful of loose tiles. I found a dealer who said that he could provide such, however, once there, it was clear that I was going to be persuaded to buy tiles the salesman wanted to sell, not the Pirelli I had traveled to buy. It became the classic scene of self-service I had seen so many times, common in the world of sales with upselliing, cross-selling, and bait-and-switch.

I was, however, a bit older and wiser since my Juki ordeal, and I was prepared with the proper response to the question I knew was coming. The salesman, frustrated that he did not have the selection of tiles I wanted, asked, “Does it have to be Pirelli?” To which I answered smugly, “No. It does not have to be Pirelli. But that’s what I want.” It was an effective silencing of a New York City salesman. I purchased a small number of gray tiles.

My carpenter and I completed the ball bouncing platform, trimming the edges with solid brass rails. My carpenter, knowing me quite well, indulged my every whim, no matter how “unnecessary.” He knew better now that I should never be questioned why I needed baltic birch or brass screws. I was paying him, and it was his job to service the customer. When I had returned to the showroom and told him the ordeal it had been to get the particular tiles I wanted, he knew not to ask, Does It Have to be Pirelli?

Related Posts: Do the Right Thing 2, Do the Right Thing, War Against Disservice, Released from Captivity

On August 30, 2011, I confessed to starting a fire as a young boy. I had been playing with a friend in a vacant lot across from my home. My friend encouraged and cajoled me to make those flames grow until the fire was beyond our control. We ran, lest we get implicated. I was terrified of the consequences of both the fire itself and, as we liked to say at the time, “getting killed” by my parents.
A firetruck appeared, and I watched the small blaze get extinguished from the porch of my home with my unsuspecting mother. It was my first and last involvement with setting fires and was a lesson learned, fortunately at no one’s expense, less a few minutes’ time of a handful of firefighters.
In my business, I manufacture and sell fire props to performers. Unlike my boyish recklessness, however, the professionals I have known, such as Chris Flambeaux, take fire seriously and understand the dangers and responsibilities. They are accountable and answer to fire marshals and theater regulations.

Yesterday evening, at 7:49PM, I was called by one of my staff. An enormous fire was in progress only a short distance from our office. It was not clear that the fire would pose any danger to the building where my business was located, so, I made my way back to my office’s neighborhood. A fire had been started at 41 Spring Street in NoLita. From the New York Times:

After arguing with the mother of his child, a man set a fire in the second-floor hallway of his Manhattan apartment building on Thursday night, igniting a rapidly spreading, five-alarm blaze that killed one person and injured at least nine, the authorities said.

It took nearly 200 firefighters two and a half hours to bring the fire under control, fire officials said; the building has a Pinkberry shop on the ground floor and apartments above.
“We had an extraordinary amount of fire,” said James Esposito, chief of operations for the Fire Department. It burned upward to the roof, destroying the interior staircases, so firefighters had to use fire escapes and ladders.

“It was an extremely intense operation,” Chief Esposito said. “The fire encompassed all the walls, all the floors,” he said. “We have a partial collapse inside the building right now. It’s essentially destroyed.”

The 45-year old suspect was arrested and is now in custody. Arson.

It was the 1980s, and my business was going through growing pains. I was forever frustrated with employees who were often too lackadaisical – they just didn’t share my view of the importance of tasks and the need to get things done promptly. On one occasion when I was especially frustrated, I turned to a friend to vent. I chose this friend because she was of similar mind and temperament – someone who was very driven, efficient, and strove to get things done right and quickly. She could cut to the chase in any matter and was very intolerant of those who did not share her worldview. I was struggling for the right words when, understanding my sentiments, she interjected and articulated my feelings exactly, using the phrase that I had been searching for in vain. “They have no sense of urgency,” she said. Ahh, that was it. A phrase I would never forget and use often – no sense of urgency.

In the time of crisis, adrenaline flows and people rise to the occasion. Support is everywhere to be found as many of those unscathed empathize with the plight of victims. Unfortunately, crisis does not change people, and the sense of urgency, largely driven by extreme circumstances, soon fades as people lose steam over time. With those further removed, such as government agencies, concern seems to take the form of rhetoric, news bites, posturing, and paperwork, as evidenced by the anger of victims in any of these events at the slowness and ineffectiveness of government response. In the days and weeks immediately after Hurricane Sandy, I experienced a broad range of responses by neighbors, sanitation, fire and police departments, city agencies, insurance companies, adjusters, contractors, and volunteer groups.

The NYC Rapid Repairs program has been far from rapid. The group only visited my friend’s home in Staten Island one month after the hurricane. Paperwork was filed on site, and we were assured that work would be completed by “the holidays.” We only received a call letting us know that the crews would be in my friend’s neighborhood on January 13th to discuss the beginning of work. Needless to say, most Staten Island and Brooklyn residents have taken repairs into their own hands, rather than suffer the torture of delays and broken promises. This is why, ultimately, my friend whose house I have assisted in rebuilding has resorted to volunteer groups such as All Hands, who was the only group (other than private contractors) that responded in a timely manner and was willing to take on a large cleanup.

Yesterday, I drove through one of the worst hit areas on Staten Island, New Dorp Beach, which still looks and feels like a war zone. Police vehicles are everywhere, patrolling the neighborhood. Many homes remain unoccupied, with red, green, and yellow placards taped to their home by the Department of Buildings, identifying their occupancy status. Some homes appear to have been largely renovated while others still await repairs. And there are those which are beyond repair.

It has been over eight weeks since the hurricane, yet I saw people still shoveling debris. The work of rebuilding is far from over. There is however, a general malaise and despondency hanging in the air. Spirits have been beaten down. Volunteer groups and aid vehicles have largely left the area. Understandably, as time passes, the attention of outsiders is directed elsewhere as the entire disaster is largely seen as “over.” However, things are far from over, and rebuilding will go on for some time to come. The damage wrought by Hurricane Sandy is still at hand, along with the same need for verve and work. But sadly, there is No Sense of Urgency …

I grew up in New England, where self-reliance reigned supreme. In that environment, “neither a lender nor a borrower be” defined the attitude towards assistance. Help was a four-letter word and asking for help showed a weakness of character. Charity and philanthropy were at best necessary evils and a sense of entitlement was a despicable character trait. No one deserved anything, excepting perhaps the right to work. Do-it-yourself was not some trendy moniker, appropriated by Maker Magazine. DIY, was a necessary condition in a world driven by hard times, lean circumstances, and real need. In a harsh, rural, sparsely populated environment, embracing such an extreme view of self-reliance makes sense and is arguably necessary for survival.

Recently, however, I have learned a poignant lesson on the nature of HELP. Today marks one month since Hurricane Sandy ravaged New York City. For the last four weeks, I have helped a friend in Staten Island, one of the worst hit areas. The borough is literally a disaster that will take an untold time to restore. Many will be digging out and repairing for months or years to come – some will never see their homes in its former state. In the house I have worked in, nearly every task necessary on the road to recovery has required a team effort. In our case, clearing a basement with belongings drenched with seawater and sewage was a mammoth job, inconceivable for one or two people. We could find no one really willing and able to do the job, even as work for hire.

We were nearly at wit’s end until meeting Leticia Remauro at the volunteer table in Miller Field in Staten Island. Leticia, I was to learn later, is chair of Community Board 1 for that borough. When I told her of our cleaning dilemma, she wrote out her cell phone number as well as that of Jeremey Horan (a volunteer) on a card and handed it to me, telling me with the utmost confidence that Jeremy would handle any work that needed to be done. But Jeremey was associated with not just any volunteer group, of which there are numerous, typically loosely banded as a response to a crisis. No, the group who finally and thoroughly cleared the basement was All Hands Volunteers, a non-profit group doing work worldwide, and Jeremey was Director of Operation. There is too much good to be said about this group of men and women who are undaunted by any task, regardless of how unpleasant it may be, and, with energy that can only be described as indefatigable, apply themselves and carry through these thankless jobs to completion. Members come from all walks of life, most typically with day jobs, often driving in on weekends from out of state, just to help. I was privileged to meet Travis Gibson, US Field Operations, who personally came to inspect the project. Travis is one of a few full-time staff with the organization.

The response and value of government or insurance agencies has been anywhere from useless to disgraceful (apart from The Department of Sanitation, who has done a tremendous job), when viewed from the perspective of URGENT NEED at the time of crisis. With tens of thousands rendered homeless, bureaucratic process with forms and applications does virtually NOTHING to address many of the immediate needs of those hit by a monumental catastrophe. Many with enough cash pay out of pocket, hoping to be reimbursed by insurance. Everyone else must rely on wits, resourcefulness, and volunteers to see themselves through. It was only seeing the situation first hand that I quickly learned the value of Help. Volunteerism has been the saving grace in Staten Island after Hurricane Sandy.

In my case, All Hands Volunteers not only cleared any and all debris, but also volunteered to completely gut the interior of the home, a process that only takes one team about two days – ripping out carpeting, floors, and walls and removing appliances and furniture. It was astonishing to see them work. Without All Hands Volunteers, we truly would have been at a loss. The entire experience is harrowing owing to time pressure – every day that a home that has been flooded sits idle, mold continues to grow and makes the restoration process worse.

And so it was how Leticia Remauro and All Hands Volunteers taught me that HELP is not just a desperate plea while drowning nor a four-letter word, but, in time of catastrophic need, Help is The Road to Salvation