In the early 1970s, I was an assistant manager at Brennan’s Restaurant in New Orleans.
And Brennan’s was not just a busy restaurant. It was a world-famous restaurant—particularly known for breakfast.
On an average day, we might serve 1,100 or 1,200 people for breakfast and lunch, and another 600 at dinner.
During Mardi Gras, the French Quarter was even more chaotic.
The streets were crowded. People were celebrating. People were drinking. And some people had apparently decided that good judgment was something they would pick up again after Ash Wednesday.
So, during Mardi Gras, Brennan’s hired two off-duty New Orleans police officers to watch the front door.
Over time, I got to know them pretty well. We would feed them, visit with them and give them a little break from the activity outside.
One of those officers was a motorcycle policeman named Larry Pridgen.
At the end of one Mardi Gras season, Larry handed me his New Orleans Police Department business card. He said, “Fred, ke...
That’s not an easy sentence to read. It’s even harder to accept.
When revenue softens, when a long-standing account suddenly goes quiet, or when a customer who used to be responsive becomes distant, we instinctively look outward. We blame the economy. We blame competition. We blame pricing pressures, market shifts, or the latest technological disruption. In today’s environment, we might even blame AI.
But most of the time, the explanation is far more personal.
Customers rarely quit doing business altogether. They quit doing business with someone who made them feel overlooked, unheard, or unimportant. They won't quit going out to eat; they will stop eating at your restaurant. They won't quit needing banking services; they will stop depositing and borrowing from your bank. They won't quit buying clothes; they will stop buying their clothes from you.
And that difference matters.
We are operating in an era that celebrates efficiency. Automation, artificial intellig...