CTroyMathis
21 December 2002, 02:57 PM
A lofty edifice for grand aspirations
Mitchell Schnurman COMMENTARY
Star-Telegram
Mitch Schnurman
A building can't make a company great, but maybe it can make a company greater.
Marvin Girouard is betting heavily on that premise, risking $90 million in corporate funds and his legacy as a chief executive.
Last week, Girouard unveiled plans for a new headquarters for Pier 1 Imports, and he didn't disappoint.
The stunning high-rise will overlook the banks of the Trinity River and bring a neo-classical anchor to Fort Worth's downtown skyline. The Pier 1 building seems destined to become a local icon, especially when its shrugging shoulders are aglow at night.
It's daring and distinct, but not too far over the top, and it's supposed to reflect Pier 1's image as a retailer.
"We don't sell sameness," Girouard said in an interview. "We sell things that make living great."
Many executives would mock the idea that a home office expresses a company's style -- or its grand ambitions. And if Pier 1 stumbles, Girouard could get skewered for his hubris and extravagance.
More than a year ago, when Girouard was considering a new headquarters, one Tarrant CEO told me that it was silly to place much significance on corporate surroundings. If he had his way, his company would lease space forever, always cutting the best deal to keep costs down.
"Why does a building matter?" he asked; it's what happens inside that counts.
Sounds like a guy who'd give you coal for Christmas.
But he has a point: Look at Southwest Airlines, one of the best companies in America. Its industrial-style headquarters is crammed around a bunch of airport hangars at Love Field. Strictly low-cost and lowbrow.
Lockheed Martin makes the best fighter jets in the world, but thousands of workers toil in nondescript, windowless buildings in west Fort Worth that could never be a source of inspiration.
Then there's the Star-Telegram. Many of us work in crowded cubicles with almost no view and no more character than a cookie-cutter insurance office in a strip mall.
Obviously, we love it just the way it is. But if buildings don't matter, why did I feel such a pang of envy when I saw the artist renderings of the Pier 1 building?
If only the paper could sublease one of the 20 stories for the newsroom, I thought. If only we, too, could look at a bend in a river and a shining skyline.
Surely that feeling will pass, like the envy after visiting friends' homes and pining for their wrap-around porch or soaring ceilings.
As a shareholder, I'm glad that CEOs never lose sight of the bottom line, and I worry when executives build monuments to themselves. One cynical architect told me that when his former New York firm used to land a corporate-headquarters assignment, it was usually a sign that the client company had hit its peak -- and was headed downhill.
Maybe there's some truth in that observation. But aren't some things more important than money?
Winston Churchill certainly thought so. In 1943, during World War II, he urged the British government to rebuild its bombed-out House of Commons.
"We shape our buildings," Churchill said, "and afterwards our buildings shape us."
A local real estate executive likes to cite that quote to remind people that aesthetics make a difference. And you don't have to walk through the new Modern Art Museum to understand the link between setting and inspiration.
Anyone who has rebuilt a bathroom or painted the house knows how much those changes can mean. They're as real as anything money can buy.
Not that there aren't practical arguments for the Pier 1 building. Imagine trying to recruit talented designers from San Francisco or Chicago.
They're often put off by our politics -- yes, Texas executed a woman who was a killer -- and the flat terrain.
But get them into the new Pier 1 building, next to the river, up the street from the Modern, the Amon Carter and the Kimbell, and within walking distance of Bass Hall, and the recruiter will have a chance.
Most companies around here don't have to worry about luring talent in that way. But Pier 1 does.
Williams-Sonoma, which operates Pottery Barn, spent $73 million two years ago for a cool facility in San Francisco. (By the way, it's less than half the size of the planned Pier 1 building.)
Crate & Barrel, another key competitor, built a new headquarters last year just north of Chicago. It has a health club and a company chef, and long, sweeping architecture that's supposed to reflect the company's style.
That is the world that Pier 1 plays in. Every competitor offers value with offshore manufacturing; but style, fashion and design make the difference between good and great.
In the past 13 months, when many retailers have been sucking wind, Pier 1 has boosted its earnings estimates 13 times. The chain will soon have 1,000 stores and nearly $2 billion in revenue.
That's big league, and Girouard wants everyone to know it.
Maybe that's brassy, but maybe it's smart, too.
The new headquarters will be almost twice as large as the company's current space downtown, and Girouard is effectively challenging Pier 1 to grow into it.
"I understand who we are," he said, "and what we can be."
This is the kind of project that shows why cities give tax breaks to corporations and why they work so hard to lure their leaders. If Pier 1 were based elsewhere and were putting a regional headquarters in Fort Worth, there's no chance it would be this grand.
Economics would trump all.
But CEOs can become part of a city's leadership and end up with a personal stake in their hometown. The question then is whether they have the power to sell their board on a new headquarters -- and the will and taste to make the most of the chance.
Girouard has been at Pier 1 for 28 years. And at age 63 he's taking a longer view of the organization, the city and his legacy.
"It's not what you take with you," he said, "but what you leave behind."
All of us will get to see it. Some lucky ones get to work there.
Mitchell Schnurman COMMENTARY
Star-Telegram
Mitch Schnurman
A building can't make a company great, but maybe it can make a company greater.
Marvin Girouard is betting heavily on that premise, risking $90 million in corporate funds and his legacy as a chief executive.
Last week, Girouard unveiled plans for a new headquarters for Pier 1 Imports, and he didn't disappoint.
The stunning high-rise will overlook the banks of the Trinity River and bring a neo-classical anchor to Fort Worth's downtown skyline. The Pier 1 building seems destined to become a local icon, especially when its shrugging shoulders are aglow at night.
It's daring and distinct, but not too far over the top, and it's supposed to reflect Pier 1's image as a retailer.
"We don't sell sameness," Girouard said in an interview. "We sell things that make living great."
Many executives would mock the idea that a home office expresses a company's style -- or its grand ambitions. And if Pier 1 stumbles, Girouard could get skewered for his hubris and extravagance.
More than a year ago, when Girouard was considering a new headquarters, one Tarrant CEO told me that it was silly to place much significance on corporate surroundings. If he had his way, his company would lease space forever, always cutting the best deal to keep costs down.
"Why does a building matter?" he asked; it's what happens inside that counts.
Sounds like a guy who'd give you coal for Christmas.
But he has a point: Look at Southwest Airlines, one of the best companies in America. Its industrial-style headquarters is crammed around a bunch of airport hangars at Love Field. Strictly low-cost and lowbrow.
Lockheed Martin makes the best fighter jets in the world, but thousands of workers toil in nondescript, windowless buildings in west Fort Worth that could never be a source of inspiration.
Then there's the Star-Telegram. Many of us work in crowded cubicles with almost no view and no more character than a cookie-cutter insurance office in a strip mall.
Obviously, we love it just the way it is. But if buildings don't matter, why did I feel such a pang of envy when I saw the artist renderings of the Pier 1 building?
If only the paper could sublease one of the 20 stories for the newsroom, I thought. If only we, too, could look at a bend in a river and a shining skyline.
Surely that feeling will pass, like the envy after visiting friends' homes and pining for their wrap-around porch or soaring ceilings.
As a shareholder, I'm glad that CEOs never lose sight of the bottom line, and I worry when executives build monuments to themselves. One cynical architect told me that when his former New York firm used to land a corporate-headquarters assignment, it was usually a sign that the client company had hit its peak -- and was headed downhill.
Maybe there's some truth in that observation. But aren't some things more important than money?
Winston Churchill certainly thought so. In 1943, during World War II, he urged the British government to rebuild its bombed-out House of Commons.
"We shape our buildings," Churchill said, "and afterwards our buildings shape us."
A local real estate executive likes to cite that quote to remind people that aesthetics make a difference. And you don't have to walk through the new Modern Art Museum to understand the link between setting and inspiration.
Anyone who has rebuilt a bathroom or painted the house knows how much those changes can mean. They're as real as anything money can buy.
Not that there aren't practical arguments for the Pier 1 building. Imagine trying to recruit talented designers from San Francisco or Chicago.
They're often put off by our politics -- yes, Texas executed a woman who was a killer -- and the flat terrain.
But get them into the new Pier 1 building, next to the river, up the street from the Modern, the Amon Carter and the Kimbell, and within walking distance of Bass Hall, and the recruiter will have a chance.
Most companies around here don't have to worry about luring talent in that way. But Pier 1 does.
Williams-Sonoma, which operates Pottery Barn, spent $73 million two years ago for a cool facility in San Francisco. (By the way, it's less than half the size of the planned Pier 1 building.)
Crate & Barrel, another key competitor, built a new headquarters last year just north of Chicago. It has a health club and a company chef, and long, sweeping architecture that's supposed to reflect the company's style.
That is the world that Pier 1 plays in. Every competitor offers value with offshore manufacturing; but style, fashion and design make the difference between good and great.
In the past 13 months, when many retailers have been sucking wind, Pier 1 has boosted its earnings estimates 13 times. The chain will soon have 1,000 stores and nearly $2 billion in revenue.
That's big league, and Girouard wants everyone to know it.
Maybe that's brassy, but maybe it's smart, too.
The new headquarters will be almost twice as large as the company's current space downtown, and Girouard is effectively challenging Pier 1 to grow into it.
"I understand who we are," he said, "and what we can be."
This is the kind of project that shows why cities give tax breaks to corporations and why they work so hard to lure their leaders. If Pier 1 were based elsewhere and were putting a regional headquarters in Fort Worth, there's no chance it would be this grand.
Economics would trump all.
But CEOs can become part of a city's leadership and end up with a personal stake in their hometown. The question then is whether they have the power to sell their board on a new headquarters -- and the will and taste to make the most of the chance.
Girouard has been at Pier 1 for 28 years. And at age 63 he's taking a longer view of the organization, the city and his legacy.
"It's not what you take with you," he said, "but what you leave behind."
All of us will get to see it. Some lucky ones get to work there.