Back in the 1990s, one of the perks of being a VP at Grainger was that the company provided summer jobs for your offspring. I was the branch manager of the Arlington Heights, Illinois, branch, which was close enough to the Grainger corporate offices that we’d occasionally have the college kids of senior executives work for us between school years. 

So, when Jimmy Ashton (some names have been changed) sauntered into my branch to interview for a summer position, he knew he was getting that job. After all, his dad, James Ashton, was a VP, which no doubt explained Jimmy’s choice to wear cut-off shorts, a muscle shirt and a look that said, “We both know this interview is a formality, so let’s stop acting like I have to prove anything.” 

This wasn’t Jimmy’s first time working at a Grainger facility during a summer break. The previous year, he’d been a security guard at one of the company’s large distribution centers. When I asked him what that entailed, he said, “We mostly drove around and drank Big Gulps.” 

“It’s not going to be like that here,” I told him. “You’re really going to have to work.” 

Jimmy grinned dismissively. He was a VP’s kid. What could I do? Fire him? He didn’t know I had a secret weapon. 

Teaching the value of hard work

About a year earlier, my warehouse supervisor and future Grainger legend Ron Paulson (aka: RP) and I hired Santiago Ramos. Santiago was 56 when he started with us and had worked for the same food distribution company for more than 30 years. Santiago was originally from Puerto Rico, and he showed up at the interview with a glowing letter of recommendation from a VP at his former employer and a framed, black-and-white photo of him in a U.S. Army uniform. 

RP and I interviewed him, sort of. We could hardly get a question in as Santiago kept jumping up to wave his recommendation letter and Army portrait and declare loudly, “I work very hard for you! I show up every day on time! I do what you tell me to do!” 

I think we hired Santiago more for his enthusiasm than his experience. It turned out to be a fantastic decision because Santiago really did show up every day on time, he really did work very hard, and he brought joy and positive energy to just about everyone in the branch. 

Except Jimmy, who, we decided, should report to Santiago. It was a stroke of genius because Santiago absolutely detested laziness or anything less than 100% effort and he immediately lit a fire under Jimmy unlike anything the young man had ever experienced before, I’m sure. All through that long, hot summer, every time the warehouse door swung open, those of us in the office would exchange grins as we heard Santiago haranguing Jimmy about something:

“JIMMY! Why isn’t that truck unloaded yet? What are you doing? It’s not break time yet!”

“JIMMY!  You didn’t strap this pallet down right! I showed you how to do this twice; you do it again!”

“JIMMY!  Why did you leave your paperwork by the dock door? You know it has to go to the office when you’re done!”

This soundtrack was often accompanied by brief glimpses of Jimmy racing by the door, eyes wide, a look of near terror on his face, sweating profusely as he ran to keep up with Santiago’s relentless demands. 

About six weeks into the summer, I got a phone call from James Ashton, Jimmy’s father. “Uh oh,” I thought. “Here comes the helicopter parent.”

“How’s Jimmy doing?” James asked politely. I told him that I thought Jimmy was learning a lot and probably working much harder than he had as a security guard the previous year. 

“Tell me about this fellow, Santiago,” James continued. “Jimmy talks about him a lot.”

I bet he does, I thought. I explained Santiago’s background, his experience and how we had decided to have Jimmy report to him for the summer. After a brief pause, James said, “I think Santiago is very good for my son, Ian.”

I chuckled — I could hardly help it — and I told him, “I agree, James. I think Jimmy’s learning a lot from Santiago.” 

I may have read Jimmy accurately from the start, but I misread his dad. He knew Jimmy needed a sort of “boot camp” job to help him grow up — and it worked. By the end of the summer, Jimmy had turned into a fine employee. We even had a little party for him before he went back to school, and I think getting that “Well done!” hug from Santiago meant more to him than anything RP and I could have told him. 

Occasionally, I’ll look up Jimmy on LinkedIn, and I’m happy to say he’s had a good career in distribution. 

Santiago stayed with Grainger for 15 years. I had moved on from the company by the time he retired, but RP was still a senior executive there. On Santiago’s last day, RP stopped by the Arlington Heights branch and they both gave me a call so we could reminisce. 

As we talked, I wondered how many people Santiago had influenced over the years. People like Jimmy, who came into that warehouse thinking they were entitled to something, instead learned the value of hard work and the dignity of a job well done. 

“I told you I’d do a good job for you!” Santiago told us. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity!” RP and I agreed it was one of the best decisions we’d ever made — not only for us, but for 15 years of Jimmy’s, too.