In the fall of 1986, I returned to the photojournalism lab at Northern Illinois University. I was two years out of college and supporting myself by delivering pizzas while struggling to establish a foothold in the journalism profession.
There had been other jobs. I caught on with Young Athlete Magazine right out of college. Young Athlete was a Chicago-area start-up that failed after three issues.
Next I became a stringer for The Daily Herald, a Chicago-area newspaper. It got me published, but it wasn’t leading anywhere.
So I came back to NIU to seek advice from my mentor, Rus Elder.
When I walked into the classroom, Rus was not there. Instead, I was greeted by Dr. Hallie Hamilton.
Hallie was the head of the photojournalism program and one of the founders of NIU’s journalism department. I had taken some of his classes and, though I was not as close to him as I was to Rus, we had a good relationship.
Hallie was different from Rus. While Rus was gregarious and a bit irreverent, Hallie was more of what you would expect from a college professor—calm, soft-spoken, wise, and kind. He had decades of real-world experience which inspired confidence when he spoke.
Hallie smiled when he saw me and asked what brought me to DeKalb. I told him about my frustration finding a job.
He sat down at one of the classroom tables and invited me to sit across from him. He asked where I had been applying. I told him I sent resumes and clips to every newspaper and magazine I could find in the Chicago area.
He said he had a similar experience when he was my age. He was focused on working in the news media. Then he expanded his perspective and took a job with a publication in the laundry and dry cleaning industry.
“That must have been boring,” I said without thinking.
Hallie smiled patiently and said, “Actually, it was quite rewarding.”
He explained the opportunities he had working with a trade publication. He had a bigger role because it was a smaller publication. He had more opportunities to be involved in all aspects of the organization. That broadened his skill set.
He told me if I expanded my search, I might be surprised by the results.
I wasn’t convinced. I found it hard to believe working for a dry cleaning magazine could be as rewarding as my byline on the newsstand.
But I trusted Hallie’s experience, and delivering pizzas wasn’t bringing much name recognition.
I broadened my search. I answered a blind ad in the Chicago Tribune for a trade magazine editor. About a week later, Bob Landwerlen from the Shoe Service Institute of America called me.
Bob explained that SSIA was the trade association for the shoe repair industry. They were looking for an editor for their monthly magazine. He outlined the details and asked if I wanted an interview. I had no idea how to do most of what he talked about and said, “Yes, I can absolutely do that job.”
I was surprised when I pulled up to a retail storefront in a strip mall for the interview. I walked into a dark, mostly empty space. Instead of a store, there were four desks tucked away in the back.
A bell chimed as I walked through the door and an older gentleman stood up from one of the desks and extended a hand.
“Bob Landwerlen,” he said in a gruff voice. “You must be Mitch.”
We talked for a while about what SSIA was and what my duties would be. I pulled out my portfolio with my three copies of Young Athlete and clips from the Herald.
I convinced Bob that I was the man for the job—probably more because of my affordability than my experience. And, less than two months after laughing when Hallie told me about the dry-cleaning publication, I was the editor of Shoe Service magazine.
I started the job on a cold November morning. I walked into the office and Bob introduced me to my coworkers, Debbie and Eleanor. Debbie handled the group’s conferences and Eleanor took care of the day-to-day administration.
Then Bob pointed to the empty desk.
“That one’s yours,” he said. “You’ll find files from previous issues in the desk. The January issue needs to be at the printer in three weeks.”
Hallie was right. There was a lot more responsibility with a smaller publication. There was just one problem. I didn’t know how to do any of it.
Years later, I talked to my friend Paul about business. He was a web developer when the Internet was first gaining popularity. I worked with his company a lot.
When I started my own business, I thought I would be doing what I knew. But it seemed like customers always came to me with jobs I had never done.
I knew those jobs could be done because others were doing them, so my answer was always, “Yes, I can do that for you.”
Then the race was on to figure it out before the client could tell I didn’t know.
I asked Paul when that changed.
“Never,” he said.
So the race was on to assemble that first issue of Shoe Service before anyone could figure out I didn’t know how.
Step one, find the advertising contracts and figure out which ads needed to run.
Step two, search the files for editorial content. Fortunately, there was enough assembled that I didn’t need to create anything new.
Step three, design the publication. I had never done that without the supervision of an experienced graphic designer. Fortunately, Gene Johnson stopped by to take Bob and me to lunch.
Gene owned The Johnson Press in Pontiac, Illinois. They had printed Shoe Service for many years. Gene happened to be in the Chicago area visiting clients.
Lunch turned into a long afternoon at the office as Gene gave me a crash course in magazine production. Typesetting, pasting galleys, pagination, and even how to provide mailing labels as Johnson Press handled that as well.
When it was done, the January 1987 issue of Shoe Service came out looking like every other issue of the magazine for the past 10 years—a win for me. I figured it out before anyone could tell I didn’t know how I was going to do it.
But I knew I could do better.
Shoe Service was a plain-looking trade publication. I wondered why it had to be that way. Why shouldn’t it look like the magazines on the newsstands?
I quickly found out why. Cost. But Gene invited me to Pontiac to continue my education. He showed me how my work went through his plant from the time it came in the door until it was delivered to the Post Office.
My coworker Debbie once described the feeling of pride she had watching SSIA’s trade shows come together. You start with a large, empty room. The pipe and drape goes up as the floorplan takes shape. The machines roll in and the hum of the motors echoes through the hall. Exhibitors bring in their products and set up colorful displays. Then hundreds of attendees bring their energy and the show comes to life.
It bustles with excitement for two days and then, even faster than it appeared, it’s gone and the room is empty again.
I understand. I get the same feeling standing in front of one of those giant presses watching my work in production. Huge rolls of blank paper on one end and finished magazines on the other. There is nothing cooler.
Gene showed me how I could achieve some economies so I could make Shoe Service stand out visually without breaking the bank. I put a lot of hours into making that happen.
When my second issue of Shoe Service was delivered to the office, the anticipation for me was like Christmas Day. I opened the box and flipped through the pages. It was exactly what I wanted.
I put a copy on Bob’s desk and headed for the back room. When I was out of sight, I jumped up and down like I had just won the World Series. I was that excited—about a shoe repair magazine. Thank you, Hallie.
Bob had spent his entire career in the shoe repair industry—probably 50 years. When I walked back to my desk, he held up the magazine and smiled.
“This is the best looking issue I’ve ever seen,” he said.
The improvements continued as I became more comfortable with the job. I attended my first SSIA trade show in early 1987 and had the opportunity to meet the people who were reading and advertising in Shoe Service. I used their input to make the magazine better.
Later that year, Bob retired. At SSIA’s 84th Annual Convention (where I met Robert DiRinaldo), the board of directors hired Clemons & Associates to manage the association.
C&A was based in Baltimore. That meant the Chicago office would close and the Chicago staff would be let go—except for me.
The board had noticed the improvements to Shoe Service. They wanted to keep me on. C&A didn’t have anyone on staff who could produce a magazine. They bid on the client not knowing how they were going to do the job, but knowing they could figure it out. Sound familiar?
C&A made me an offer to move to Baltimore. I accepted.
I continued to edit Shoe Service. I also became C&A’s director of communications and worked with associations in other industries. I put in long hours, often working evenings and weekends with Boomer, then Buster by my side.
Once again, Hallie was right. Opportunities are everywhere.
Trade and professional associations by nature are positive. They are designed to help. Members band together to achieve common goals, larger than any one of them could accomplish alone.
Every day, I put something new out into the world—something that mattered.
As Hallie said, “You would be surprised how rewarding it can be.”
And the rewards weren’t just professional.
One day in 1990, I spotted a woman I didn’t recognize walking down the office hallway. She was interviewing for a job.
I stopped in my tracks as if struck by a thunderbolt. I turned to a coworker and said, “She wants to marry me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
I returned to my office and tried to get back to work. But all I could think about was the stunning woman I just saw. I learned she was interviewing with Ron, who had replaced Bob Landwerlen as SSIA’s executive director. So I picked up the latest copy of Shoe Service and headed to Ron’s office.
The door was open and I lingered outside until I caught his eye. He asked what I needed. I walked in and asked some contrived question to which I already knew the answer. I also knew Ron would take at least five minutes explaining it, which allowed me to introduce myself to his interviewee. Her name was April.
I thanked Ron for the explanation, smiled at April and left the room.
After she left, I returned to say, “That’s the person you want to hire.”
Ron did hire April, though not because I asked him. Three years later, we were married.
Two years after that, Alex was born.
And two years later—Jake.
SSIA spent 13 years as a C&A client, mostly trying to find a way to convince consumers to repair their shoes. Really, that has been SSIA’s mission since the beginning—one program after another, decade after decade, pursuing that elusive goal.
In 2001, SSIA decided the volunteer board would run the association and left C&A.
Two years later, I left the firm as well to start my own business. I had no idea how that would work.
On January 2, 2003, I walked into a dark office, turned on the light and I was open for business. I fired up my computer and an email popped up from Bill Miller, a former coworker. The National Association of Equipment Leasing Brokers needed the next issue of its newsletter produced. My first job. The work never stopped.
In 2004, I got a similar email from SSIA. They needed a new website and a digital newsletter. I was back. And later, when managing the association became too much for a volunteer board, they hired me to do that as well.
For the last 23 years, I have built a business and SSIA has been a part of it.
During my early days with SSIA, I met a man named Bob Oginz. Bob was the head of The Biltrite Corporation’s shoe repair division. Biltrite made rubber products—heels and soles. He also served on SSIA’s board of directors.
I wanted to write an article on how rubber soles and heels are manufactured, so Bob invited me to Biltrite’s plant in Ripley, Mississippi. I spent two days with Bob. He had a lot to say about the shoe repair industry. I listened. One thing stood out.
“You know what?” he said when discussing the industry’s reticence to change. “As soon as you hear someone say, ‘I’ve been in the industry for 50 years,’ you know whatever follows is going to be worthless.”
Last month, I was in New Orleans for SSIA’s 119th Annual Convention.
Nearly 40 years have passed since that first interview.
I’m always a little surprised when I look around the room. I still feel like the young man who cut his teeth on Shoe Service and built a career around it. But I’m not.
I’m the old guy now. I remind myself every day not to be one of those people Bob Oginz warned me about.
Instead, I remember Hallie. I broaden my perspective. I make room for the next surprise that could change my life.
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