My success today is rooted in the failures of my past.
Failure can be a necessary ingredient for success, and the earlier it happens, the better. I learned this the hard way, stumbling more times than I care to count. But each failure, no matter how brutal, was a steppingstone.
Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Here’s the raw truth. In my late teens, I was a mess. Addiction had a chokehold on my life, and I was on a runaway luge to hell. Fired from multiple jobs because I couldn’t show up on time, I had tons of desire but zero discipline and self-control. My brother fired me from his landscaping business, twice. He was right to do so; I was unreliable, aimless, and reckless.
By 21, I had resigned myself to a bleak future. I didn’t think I’d live to see 30. Though, the hard truth is— the way I was living— I probably wouldn’t have made it to 25. Thankfully, I got clean and sober at 21, but sobriety isn’t a cure-all. It’s just the beginning.
Even after turning my life around, I made countless mistakes. Business failures, financial crises, near bankruptcies—moments so crushing I had to ask others for help, sometimes on the verge of collapse. Yet, with every setback, I learned and I kept moving forward.
When I first opened restaurants, I made every rookie mistake in the book. Leadership was foreign to me, and I was reactive instead of proactive. From the outside, things looked successful. But the reality? There was nothing left on the bottom line at the end of the month. A business isn’t a success because of positive outward appearances. True success lies in doing the right things, fostering a strong culture, and turning a profit. That takes time, focus, and— in my case— occasional failures.
For decades, my leadership was lacking. I wasn’t leading my team as I should have been. COVID exposed cracks in our culture that had been hidden for years. Pre-COVID, we had the luxury of always hiring A+ candidates, thanks to being in a town with two universities. Managing top-tier talent is easy and can hide a lot of warts. But during the post-COVID labor shortage, we were doing all we could do to just bring in warm bodies. Leading a team like that takes a completely different skill set.
I wasn’t ready for it. Our leadership team wasn’t ready for it. The transition was rough. Though two years ago, something clicked. I became a stronger leader. I zeroed in on my leadership team, and they began leading their team members. Slowly but surely, we started firing on all cylinders, and we regained our culture.
Today, our company is in its best shape, ever. After 37 years as a restaurant owner that’s a rare feat. It didn’t come from luck—it came from hard lessons learned during those years in the valley, and a dedicated team with purpose and a commitment to our core values and mission.
Here’s the truth: for a long time, I was more focused on my competition than my own business. In the early 2000s, when other bars and restaurants started opening in Hattiesburg, I overreacted. I spent countless Friday and Saturday nights driving around town, checking other people’s parking lots. When I saw more cars at their establishments, I felt dismayed, even defeated.
I made the same mistake when chain restaurants started invading our town in the 1990s. I reconfigured our menus and concepts to compete with them, but it didn’t feel authentic. Eventually, I realized the best path forward was to stop reacting and focus on who we are and what we do best. Once we doubled down on our core values—hospitality, quality, consistency, cleanliness, and community—business bloomed.
But here’s what I didn’t understand until recently: leadership is about focus. When I finally stopped worrying about everyone else’s parking lots and started working on my own restaurants, everything changed. Sales soared, and our culture came roaring back.
The longer I stay in business, the clearer it becomes: all business problems are people problems. Success isn’t about chasing trends or keeping up with competitors. It’s about having the right people in the right places, living your mission, sticking to your foundational principles, and being true to your core values and concept.
In this industry, persistence is key. Over the years, I’ve had to re-concept restaurants multiple times. Some probably see that as failure; I see it as growth. Change isn’t failure—it’s evolution. Every pivot has made us stronger.
Persistence pays.
Here’s a true story. In the 1990s we spent a decade as the number one on-premise retailer (non-casino) of liquor and wine in Mississippi. For years, our bar business was booming, partly because there was relatively no competition in town. It’s easy to thrive when you’re the only bull in the pen. When competitors entered the market, I panicked. I overreacted instead of leading, and it cost us.
Now, after decades of lessons, I understand what true success looks like. It’s not about being the biggest or the flashiest. It’s about staying focused on your mission, taking care of your team, committing to excellence every single day, and putting money on the bottom line.
I’ve been in the restaurant industry for 43 years. I’ve seen early peaks, long valleys, and everything in between. At 63, I think I’ve finally hit my stride as a leader. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. The lessons I’ve learned—the failures I’ve endured—are what made this possible. Today we are strong, healthy, thriving, and better than ever.
To anyone reading this, especially those in the throes of failure: don’t give up. Failure isn’t the end; it’s the beginning. The kid who cries after losing the big game isn’t defeated—he or she is learning the resilience it takes to win. That kid cares. That kid will wind up a winner in life.
I’ve stopped driving around town on Friday nights, worrying about others’ parking lots. I stay in ours, which, thanks to a dedicated team and plenty of determination, is now full most nights. Failure may write the first chapter of success, but the story only unfolds when you have the resolve to keep turning the pages.
Success, as I’ve come to understand it, is simply the sum of failures turned into lessons. My journey to success— to the degree that I’ve had any success— has been marked by stumbles, setbacks, and a relentless will to keep moving forward. I’ve never really thought of myself as a winner. I’m more of a loser who refuses to quit. I owe any success I’ve found to persistence, and it’s the reason I’ll keep striving.
Onward.
