Dear Leaders, Entrepreneurs, Dreamers, and Creators of Great Things: I write these Love Letters each month with the hope of bringing you a little encouragement, some marketing help, and a few minutes of joy. Whether we are already friends or have yet to meet, I hope you’ll enjoy my stories from the road and some awesomely random takeaways, tools, tips, and updates.
Legendary Leadership
In 1983, Ritz-Carlton made a move that sounded kind of insane: they gave every bellboy, maid, and doorman the power to spend $2,000 per guest—instantly, no approval needed. This single decision made them a legend in luxury for 40+ years… and it changed everything.
The idea came from Horst Schulze, the founding COO of Ritz-Carlton. He believed true luxury wasn’t just gold chandeliers or fancy menus—it was flawless, personalized service. And to achieve that, employees had to be empowered. So in 1983, he launched the “$2,000 Rule.” Every staff member—no matter their position—could spend up to $2,000 per guest to solve a problem or elevate an experience. No approval. No forms. Just action.
For context: $2,000 in 1983 is about $6,000 today. And this applied to every single guest, even if they were just staying one night. That is a lot of cash, and it was a radical show of trust.
What happened?
A maid noticed a guest’s favorite wine was missing—she bought it that afternoon.
A concierge flew a forgotten laptop across the country.
A bellman found and delivered a wedding gift after the guest flew out.
These weren’t expenses. They were moments of wow.
Why did this work? Because Schulze understood something deep: empowered employees don’t just “follow rules”—they take ownership. They become creators of magic. They could take action without involving their boss or asking permission. And when you treat employees (or anyone!) like leaders, they act like it.
The results? Sky-high customer loyalty. A luxury brand known for experience, not just price. A company culture where staff felt proud to serve. By 1992, Ritz-Carlton became the first hotel ever to win the Malcolm Baldrige National Quality Award.
In 1999, Marriott acquired Ritz-Carlton for $290 million. But Schulze’s $2,000 rule still echoes through the hospitality industry—taught in business schools and leadership seminars around the world.
The leadership lesson here is this: Don’t just hire people. Empower them. Small moments can build empires. When you trust your team, they give you miracles. Ritz-Carlton didn’t sell beds. They sold legendary care.
To this day, that one bold move in 1983 is a masterclass in customer loyalty, employee culture, leadership psychology, and long-term brand dominance. The $2,000 rule wasn’t about money. It was about trust.
Sweet Corn
In Michigan in August, it’s not at all unusual to see a hand-painted sign advertising sweet corn on the side of the road. Sometimes it’s accompanied by an honor box – an unspoken contract where you slide your cash in and take only what you paid for. But often, these signs point to a tent or a pickup truck, parked in a yard, where a slightly bored teenager sits and waits.
Maybe it was something about the way this kid was standing that made me swing a u-turn and stop.
Before I was even fully out of the car, he was reaching out to shake my hand. A kid about 14, with hair the same color as the corn silk.
“Good afternoon, ma’am, can I help you with some corn?” He asked with a smile.
I eyed the corn, piled neatly in the back of the truck. I hesitated. It honestly didn’t look great, and the ears weren’t very big. I was regretting stopping.
“Is this from your family farm?” I asked. Maybe it wasn’t his. Maybe he wouldn’t be offended if I walked away.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “It’s mine. I grew it myself.”
Oh dear. I was stuck.
“I’m hoping to earn enough to play football this year,” he added.
I understood. I’d been there. I was a farm kid once myself. “How much?” I asked.
“I’ll give you a good deal,” he smiled. “Seven ears for five dollars.”
I handed him a twenty and let him do the math. Twenty-eight ears into my canvas shopping bag. And then, a slight hesitation, and one extra ear on top, dropped in with a grin.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “We appreciate it.” It was then I noticed the hound dog, sleeping under the tailgate.
I drove away with a smile and a slight shake of my head, anticipating having to get better corn later in the week.
This morning, I got up early when the air was still cool, and shucked that corn. It wasn’t the best-looking corn I’d ever seen. There were a few dodgy spots. As I cut them out and blanched the ears in batches, I thought about that kid.
As I cut off the kernels, I thought about him spending his spring and summer planting and tending corn so he could play football. And when I got to that twenty-ninth ear, I got a little teary-eyed, laughing at myself for getting old and sentimental.
But as I bagged that corn, at the last minute, I snuck a long strip into my mouth. And dangit, if that wasn’t the sweetest corn I’ve ever had.
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