KWG Magazine June 2016 Issue No.1 Volume 1 | Page 10

WHEN HE WAS FIRED, HE STARTED HIS OWN EMPIRE silence for a few quivering moments, he delivered a bombshell that nearly knocked me off my feet with shock. Yelling almost hysterically, he said that he and his co-directors had had enough of me. To my utter astonishment, he told me I was fired. I suppose my response must have sounded pathetic. I kept babbling on about building Checkers, about my loyalty as a company man, about our fathers having been colleagues who trusted one another. There was history between us, we were friends... M ost people in South Africa not only know about Pick ‘n Pay supermarkets, but enjoy doing their shopping there. I do. But where does Pick ‘n Pay come from? In 2011, I had a privilege of interviewing Mr Raymond Ackerman, telephonically. I was really humbled by the fact that he took time from his busy schedule, to speak to some stranger from Zangakithi News, that he had never heard of before. When I interviewed Mr Ackerman, I had already read his book entitled Hearing The Grashoppers Jump, where he talks about how he started Pick ‘n Pay. Here is what Ackerman says in his book: At 35, I was General Manager of 85 Checkers supermarkets, the jewels in the profit crown of department-store group Greatermans. I had worked incredibly hard to build the Checkers chain which, as the original dedicated company man, I saw as my life’s work. Also much on my mind that morning was my wife Wendy, who was very ill in her fourth pregnancy. The doctors still feared she might lose the baby, so I had spent the weekend taking care of her and our three small children. “he told me I was fired” Since I was in close daily touch with the Chairman and Managing Director of the Greatermans Board, Norman Herber, over the affairs of Checkers, it was no surprise to be summoned to his office when I arrived at work that morning. I beat an unhurried path to his door after giving my secretary some letters and casting my eye on the day’s mail. The man I found waiting for me was in a terrible state. His knuckles were all bandaged, blood seeped through from the raw dermatitis beneath, and tension radiated from every fibre of his body. I was immediately concerned – he seemed so strange, ill. I asked him what was wrong. After starring at me in Today, not even the humblest employee could be summarily dismissed that way it happened to me in 1966. Then, however, no niceties of labour law applied. When I refused to sign a bogus letter of resignation, drawn up I am sure so that it could be flashed around to absolve the Greatermans Board from any implication in my leaving, I was told to go and clear my desk and get out there and then... It was to be quite a time before I was able to identify one of the prime reasons behind my dismissal from Checkers. Norman Herber had fired me because he didn’t have the courage to give me more freedom. If he had, I could have built Checkers the way I’ve build Pick ‘n Pay. There would not even have been a Pick ‘n Pay. ‘This’ said Wendy, ‘is the best day of your life, Raymond!’ On that fateful day Monday in October 1966 I went downstairs and cleared my desk as instructed, entrusting important papers to Keith Blumgart, who was later to enjoy a long and fruitful career, up to retirement, with me in Pick ‘n Pay. Keith was able deliver my precious papers to my home later... When I reeled out of the Greatermans building, all I could think about was breaking the news to my ill and stressed wife. With lightning speed I had gone from being the high-flying head of a booming food chain to an unemployed, 35 -year -old father of almost four. I headed for Zoo Lake and walked round and round and round. I thought about my whole life up to that awful day, about the beginnings of our family in South Africa. I thought a lot about my father and his tribulations. Every time I tried to think forward, nothing came up. All I could see was a grey mist, with Wendy, the children and me milling around in confusion. I had absolutely no idea where I was supposed to go from there – other than home, where I could put it off no longer, to tell my