Why can’t Mr. Goodman’s example help us in healthcare?
My childhood was centered in a working-class bedroom community near Pittsburgh and just outside of McKeesport, Pennsylvania. McKeesport was a typical Western Pennsylvania mill town. U. S. Steel was booming, and the centerpiece was the U. S. Steel National Tube Works.
Saturday was a big day for us. We would go shopping in McKeesport. It was a mysterious and exciting experience, with dozens of foreign languages being spoken on every corner of Fifth Avenue. My parents were both born on peanut farms in Virginia. This was all very strange to them as well.
There were all kinds of stores, and the city was bustling in the 1950’s. There was one store that was first among equals, at least for my family. It was the Goodman’s Jewelry Store. It was a family business, and the senior Mr. Goodman, through my ten-year-old eyes, was probably 200 years old. He had a very serious looking and craggy face. But could he dress. To this day I always think of him as the best dressed man I ever saw. He had two sons in the business, and I suspect there were other family members involved as well. The store was always sparkling clean and lighted to show off the items for sale.
This store was special to our family. Somehow the Goodmans learned and remembered our names, all of our names. They were patient as my mother looked over all of the wonderful items we could never afford. The Goodmans had a kind and gentle spirit and found a way to steer my parents to items they both wanted and could afford. The Goodman men could wait on two or three people at one time and never seemed flustered or inattentive to their customers’ needs. When Mr. Goodman saw one of my parents agonizing over the price of something they really wanted to buy, they almost always would find a way to provide a discount on the item. In doing so, it was always done with grace and never embarrassing to my parents. Occasionally, one of my parents would purchase something for the other that was a little over our heads. Mr. Goodman would escort one of my parents to a corner glass case, and he would fill out a slip and put their purchase on a monthly payment plan. They never asked for a social security number, references, employer information, banking relationships, net worth, prior income tax filings or distinguishable birthmarks. There was no credit card or charge plate like some of the other stores, and they would mail a monthly bill which my parents would pay promptly. My parents respected the owners of the Goodman’s Jewelry Store because they were always treated with kindness and respect any time they visited the store, in good times and in bad. The Goodman Family never treated us like “Southern hicks,” like so many other people did.
It is interesting that sometimes we noticed that the Goodmans did not agree with one another about one thing or another. We have no idea what these little snits were about because they maintained them in the privacy of speaking Yiddish. Their desire and commitment to exclude their customers from their internal disagreements were both fascinating and appreciated. They were always tougher on each other than they were on us . . . their treasured customers.
Although an unusual item for a jewelry store, in 1959, my parents bought me my first electric typewriter at Goodmans. It came with a gray steel typing stand, and I used it faithfully for ten years until I graduated from college. My love for writing down my thoughts originated with that little typewriter. It was Mr. Goodman who recommended it to my parents. He thought I would need it as I prepared for my future.
There were Sunday afternoon drives when we would drive through the better neighborhoods of McKeesport and became familiar with the location of the Goodman home. It was a beautiful place, modest by today’s standards. It is clear to me now that the Goodmans did not get rich serving that community, but they were always first to contribute to the local schools, police and fire departments and countless other local charities. They were Jewish, and we were Christian. It did not matter to them, and it did not matter to us.
In 1968 I asked a woman to marry me, and, to my surprise, she said yes. Like a homing pigeon, I and my prospective fiancé and bride-to-be headed for the Goodman’s Jewelry Store. It was no longer near where I lived or would live, and it had been years since I had been there. Everyone in the Goodman family seemed older, and, sadly, the patriarch of the family had passed. To my delight, one of the Goodman brothers remembered me and spent hours with us selecting a diamond and a setting. He took us into a special room he had built that was totally free from any outside light. He showed us examples of cloudy diamonds, flawed stones and provided more information about diamonds than I knew existed. In the end, we bought an engagement ring. When it was time to pay, Mr. Goodman pulled me aside and told me he would extend the same credit arrangements that he had always extended to my father and mother.
Healthcare leaders could learn a lot from the Goodman family. Here are several ideas:
• Remember that it is important to know your patients and families, physicians, board members, auxilians, volunteers and other internal stakeholders. There is no substitute for sincere, honest and face-to-face communication.
• The demonstration of civility and good manners is like throwing a “note in a bottle” into the ocean. It always comes back to enrich the life of someone.
• The internal problems of the hospital or health system should be maintained in private. I am not suggesting a crash course in Yiddish. I am suggesting that it makes stakeholders uncomfortable to see the leadership team of the hospital or health system throwing sand on each other.
• Knowing your programs and services is important. Mr. Goodman’s commanding knowledge about diamonds was an important lesson. I have been with hospital CEO’s who cannot take an outside guest on a tour because they do not know where anything is . . . honest!
• Pricing programs and services and review of the charge master should be used as a strategic and tactical tool, not an assignment of drudgery. Mr. Goodwin used discounts artfully. With his varied pricing strategies he built interest in his business, expanded his market share and bonded loyal customers.
• Seize new programs and services on an opportunistic basis. Mr. Goodman foresaw that the “baby boomers” would be better educated than their parents. His early jump into electric typewriters was a masterstroke. In our consulting practice, we frequently see opportunities for the hospital to meet unfulfilled needs in the community; e.g., diabetic teaching programs and hypertension screening, among others. While these are wonderful opportunities for the hospital, the impact is far greater on the citizens of the community being served.
• The appearance of any organization and its people matters. If you need a hospital and use a rest room that is dirty, the floors look terrible and the hospital personnel are attired like a “rag tag army,” it does not inspire confidence in a place that will control whether you live or die.
• Community service is important. I do not know the inner recesses of Mr. Goodman’s heart, but his sense of duty and service to McKeesport brought him respect that reflected well on him and his business.
• Integrity matters. Mr. Goodman’s name and reputation was his most valuable asset. He nurtured and protected that asset by his predictable business practices. Many hospitals are equally vigilant regarding transparency and corporate compliance; some could learn from Mr. Goodman.
• Consistent fulfillment of commitments will lead to brand name equity and repeat business.
These ten lessons should not be lost on healthcare executives. I wish Mr. Goodman were alive today to read this. I would rather he be alive so I could visit with him and get to know him better. His example meant a lot to me, and I hope it is helpful to you.
Jan Jennings
Republished with permission from the Hospital News Group
