One of the Great Men of American Business Started Out as a…Paperboy

00:00:10
Speaker 1: Henry, return to Our American Stories. Joining us next is Jerry Stead, who may be the most impactful business person you’ve never heard of—at least, not yet. Jerry has never sought the spotlight—not during his tenure serving as CEO or chairman of ten publicly traded companies, perhaps the first in history to accomplish this, and not during his philanthropic work, where he has given well over half a billion dollars to charity. Jerry is also unique in that he never had a contract as CEO or chairman. Jerry wanted his performance, not a piece of paper, to be the reason why companies trusted him with command. To give you an idea of how successful Jerry’s leadership has been, consider that a one-thousand-dollar investment in his good friend Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway thirty-eight years ago would be worth one million dollars today. That same one-thousand-dollar investment in Jerry’s companies would be worth eight million, eight hundred thousand dollars today—more than eight times greater. In this story Jerry shares with us now, his lofty business career began many years ago at the age of nine, delivering newspapers in the early morning hours in Iowa.

00:01:26
Speaker 2: Three A.M. That’s when I rise every morning. Never set an alarm since I was nine years old. Growing up in Iowa, you’d think I had been brought up as a farmer’s son. While my parents did assist farmers through their startup insurance company, we didn’t work the land or herd any livestock. I was a newspaper boy at the age of nine. I wielded the Des Moines Register like nobody’s business. I had fifty-one daily newspapers, sixty-five Sunday newspapers every morning, seven days a week. From my bed, I’d get myself together, eat a quick breakfast, and head to the railroad station where newspapers were thrown from the railcar. The newspapers would land alongside the tracks. I carried my trusty wirecutters that were so important, because in those days they always bundled the papers with wire. I placed the papers in heavy canvas bags on either side of my bike where it will. It was quite the load, but once I had the papers on, I hustled to make it all happen. I had to be at Wally’s by four-twenty A.M. and Stan’s by four-thirty A.M. Those were the two taverns in town that were just three blocks apart. Both of them received three copies of the Register, and if I didn’t arrive by four-thirty with the Register’s sports sections, I’d hear about it. I can still remember Wally yelling at me once for being three minutes late. None of us liked to be yelled at, and I sure didn’t either. I scheduled my time and arranged my route so the taverns were always first. Sometimes I’d arrive at the railroad station right on time, always waiting for my papers, but the train would be late. Often it was ten to twelve minutes late. Then I really had to scramble. I’d pedal like crazy to get the papers to the taverns, get these two customer orders dropped off, and go on to do my normal route before school. By the end of February in Iowa, I’d be on roads where snow was taller than me, sometimes as high as five feet high on each side of the road. I couldn’t get my bike to customers’ front doors. The snow and icy roads would double the amount of time I had to deliver the papers, so I quickly learned how to toss each paper to its expected spot. I became very adept at throwing over snow piles. I used rubber bands to hold the papers together. Every customer wanted their newspaper in the same location each morning. It was a unique exercise in target practice and finesse, all while trying to pull my mind from the strict schedule. Thankfully, no one minded me throwing the papers when the weather was bad. I’ll never forget one day, one winter day, my dog Sandy, who always came with me on my route, was following behind me. A car came over the hill. It was still dark. Sandy was hit and killed within seconds. A helpless feeling for me, the most I’d ever had. I cried, but I also felt a deep responsibility to get the papers delivered. I had to quickly think through what to do. Working through the emotion of that terrible moment, alone and in the cold, I ended up moving Sandy to the side of the road, got my paper route done, and went home so my father could help me gather up Sandy and we buried him near our home. Interacting with customers was always fun and satisfying for me. As a young man, I had to go door to door once a week to collect, but I liked getting to know the people around our town. Sometimes collecting could be very tricky. Every now and then I’d call on a customer, and they’d literally hide in their house. They’d refuse to answer the door. I really dreaded those moments, not only because they were uncomfortable, but because I was the one out of the money. I had to pay for every paper myself. If someone didn’t pay, I paid the price. Thankfully, Christmas came around each year and helped ease my irritation with non-paying customers. I was always showered with candy, baked goods, and even homemade gifts. I still to this day have a few white, embroidered handkerchiefs with my initials JLS. I loved it when the newspapers would offer special incentives to gain new customers. I enjoy a good challenge and am naturally driven for success, so the thrill of earning an extra reward was exciting and welcomed. I was ten, then a veteran newspaper boy, and then the Register offered a program that allowed me to order five papers free of charge, with the intent that I would use them to sell new subscriptions and increase the customer base. I read the rules, quickly realized that I could order extra papers, but I didn’t actually have to use them to win the prize. I could win the prize without having to gain new customers. So I ordered five extra newspapers every week for a month. I piled up the papers in my Nana’s workshop, and I won the prize. It seems so simple. I’d outthought the paper, and it felt good that I’d figured out the loophole. Soon after that, my father noticed all the papers piled in the woodshed. He asked me what I was doing. I told him that I’d outthought the paper and won the prize without actually using the extras they had supplied. “You never want a prize if you’re not being honest,” Dad said. “You lose no matter what game.” My father’s comment about honesty was a wonderful life lesson. I’ve always operated with his principle in mind. I think through the many business acquisitions, global meetings, reorganizations, philanthropic ventures, and personal matters I’ve faced, and I always operate with one hundred percent trust of every person. Always. I also verify my intentions. Yes, I could win the prize, but am I going about it with the right values? Is it ethical? Is it the right way to do business? My dad taught me that shortcuts take you to places not worthy of going. Even when Sandy died that morning, I cried for fifteen minutes. My hurt and sadness could not be stopped for a child who loved his dog. Yes, I had a job to do, but I also had to allow my human emotions to run their course. Throughout my years as a leader, I continually strive to remember and teach that when people come to work, they’re not just walking through the door. There are a hundred different things that they’re carrying in their minds and in their hearts. We have to make sure that we relate to them and take the time for the humanness of daily living for every one of our colleagues. The incident with Sandy was a reminder of the kind of culture I wanted to build in every company that I’d led. A few years ago, at the University of Iowa, I met with twenty-five of the top contributors to the School of the Tippie College of Business. Our hosts started off our meeting, asking each of us what our first jobs were and how they impacted our lives. In that moment, I realized how great an impact my newspaper delivery job had been on my life. My years as a student, son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, manager, businessman, CEO, and chairman have been profoundly affected by the simple lessons I learned before dawn making five dollars per week. I asked that group how many of you had newspaper routes when you were younger. Turns out, twenty-one of the twenty-five attendees had worked a newspaper route as well. So many of us have shared experiences. So many around the great country of ours have commonalities that are unspoken. So many of us strive to do our best every day at work, at home, and in our communities. Yet so often we’re running at our own pace, following our own to-do list, and overlooking the opportunity to interact or share with one another on a deeper level. My goal as a leader always has been to be layered and linear: Be present in the moment, listen to everyone and for the people that you are with. Always keep in mind the vision and the end goal. Early mornings as a paperboy taught me to be present for every customer, but to keep in mind the entire route so that all would be served and the enterprise could continue for another day.

00:10:09
Speaker 1: And a terrific job on the production and editing by our own Madison Dericott, and a special thanks to Jerry Stead, CEO and chairman of ten publicly traded companies. But that first job as a paperboy taught him a lot of life lessons—that layered and linear approach to life. Take care of that individual customer, but see the paper route as a whole. You’ve got to get to the end. You’ve got to take care of your best customers, but you’ve got to take care of all of them. By the way, I had my first job too, as a paperboy, delivering the Bergen Record. Jerry Stead’s first job here on Our American Stories.