The Greenhouse Odyssey: Thirteen-beHold the Mayo
By Lorraine Miller
I’m on the fly again but not by the seat-of-my-pants. I have a working plan, a plan which includes three big tasks: transforming the chinchilla shed into a garden shop, tearing down Phranques Gallery to put in a parking lot and creating a new entry with fencing and signage.
I chose my contractor from a newly formed organization, the Utah Association of Women Business Owners, UAWBO. In the 80s, women across the country were opening small businesses at a fast pace, Utah women included. We shared unique problems and we could help each other. Our membership included a broad range of businesses, both in size and type. One simple but important goal we shared was to support each other’s businesses. I contracted with a member of UAWBO who owned a construction company and was an architect as well. She and her crew were nothing short of fantastic. I had a construction loan, which meant my contractor was on a draw, submitting invoices directly to the bank. I wouldn’t have to start making loan payments until the construction was complete. In the meantime, my partners in the Southwest Shop graciously released me from the partnership. They found a space on 9th East and 9th South, which was ultimately a better location for them. They moved in the late summer of 1989.
I turned my attention to creating a gift shop. Let it never be called the chinchilla shed again! But hey, remember me? I’m the girl who likes houseplants and cactus. What do I know from garden gifts?
Ah, but I have a secret weapon. I have a little sister. I was two years old when Marilyn was born. I never learned to say her name. Still can’t. I called her Mayo. I’ve called her Mayo all my life. My whole family calls her Mayo.
We don’t always remember our childhood the same way. For example, while I remember waltzing in our pajamas, whirling from sofa to overstuffed chair, she remembers curling up like a potato bug to hide from me. I scoffed when she served lemonade to her dolls. She swears she saw me fall out of a tree and land on a picket fence. I have no memory of that.
Let me tell you a little bit about Mayo. She has always been a hero to me and for many reasons. For one thing, she has perfect pitch. She can listen to a song on the radio and go directly to the piano and play it – with chords! Not me. My contribution to music in our household was to play the drums on the piano top with a wire whisk. It’s amazing my mother let me live. As to fashion and color, I’m a mud hen. Mayo has taste and style.
About the time Erickson’s property became fully mine, Mayo decided to open an interior design business. We cut a deal. She would conduct her business in the office space in the back of the newly remodeled gift shop and at the same time, manage its opening and operation.
For a few months before we opened, Mayo came to my house every morning at 7AM and we’d walk. Walk and argue. Walk and laugh. Walk and have visions. I’d have an idea and she’d make it better. As soon as the bank loan was approved and construction on the gift shop got underway, we went to our first gift market in San Francisco. Markets are always six months ahead of the season. At the spring market, buyers shop for fall and winter inventory. At the fall market, buyers shop for spring and summer goods.
Our fear of flying forced us to drive. Hurtling across the Utah Salt Flats, kicking around ideas to name the gift shop, a song came on the radio with the words ‘garden wall.’ Well, that’s it! We both knew it. We were shopping for the new Garden Wall.
Time is tight but I am still reading business books. I came across this wonky lesson: An entrepreneur has only two ways to go with their products. The first is ‘proprietary,’ which means unique or not to be
found at nearby competitors. The second option is that if you are not unique, you better be the cheapest. It was our goal to strike a balance—to have distinctive gifts at fair prices.
The gift market was at the Moscone Center. By the time we walked every aisle, made notes of what we liked and where we saw it, walked more aisles, lost our notes, lost our way, got hungry and got overwhelmed, we spent my limited budget as easily as spreading mayo on rye.
We went to the San Francisco Design Center, showcasing the new colors for the year and the trends in home and garden design. We visited several interior plant stores and nurseries in the city. We drove home full of ideas and direction. Amped up!
In September, again before the Garden Wall opened, we went on our second buying trip. This time, we were shopping for spring inventory. We took a train to the Los Angeles gift market. We boarded in Ogden, Utah, at 11 at night. The train was so cold, we could have been riding in a motorized icebox, all calories spent on chattering teeth. Then, about 1 in the morning, the train came to a sudden, screeching stop, launching us into the forward car. We had HIT A COW. The train sat on the tracks for hours while we morphed from cubed ice to block ice. I’ve never ridden a train since.
I discovered that I’m not good at the gift market, not a good shopper. I like rusty things and things made from barn wood. There are probably only three other people in the world who share my taste. But Mayo, she has panache. She recognizes beauty. She sees color combinations, hears the rustle and rub of texture and sniffs out bad taste. She designed the interior of the shop with rough-hewn beams running across the ceiling to hang baskets and windchimes. The floor was concrete, so with rags, sponges and knee pads, she daubed a faux moss surface. Shelves and cubbyholes gave us plenty of space to showcase our gifts. Sunlight poured through the deep-set windows. Double glass doors replaced a slit of entry and the welcome sign was hung.
In October of 1989, the building housing Phranque’s Gallery and the Southwest Shop was demolished. My father stood in the rubble, beaming like the Devastator and the Destroyer. Down was up, as he saw it. A lattice fence went up. A local artist carved a new sign for the entry and we mounted it on brick pillars. The parking lot was poured and oh, it gleamed like a ballroom floor! Mayo and I were ready to waltz! The Deseret News ran a story entitled Sisters in Business. And we were!
I thought we were set, everything in its place. But something’s missing. Am I prepared for the next challenge to come?