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July 22, 2009
Big City
Getting a Boost, Just in Time
By SUSAN DOMINUS
Six months ago, Mike Fisher was in the same position a lot of small-business owners are in these days: all but done for. A few years earlier, Mr. Fisher had sold his home on Long Island to take over an auto repair shop and start a towing business in East Harlem, but neither venture was thriving. Come the economy’s meltdown, he and his wife were raising their two children in a small apartment they considered a depressing step down and contending with back rent he owed on his business lease and a mountain of debt that seemed insurmountable.
This is the point at which many a business owner might try to sell, to maybe pick up and start over somewhere cheaper — in Mr. Fisher’s case, that would have been Florida, where he has a lot of family. Instead, Mr. Fisher, at 43 a strong, physical presence with a shaved head, decided to bring froufrou to East Harlem.
Were someone to write a guide to the loveliest automotive repair shops in New York, it is safe to say that Mr. Fisher’s, Precision Auto and Fish-Bones Towing, would rate several stars. The location, on 106th Street between First and Second Avenues, is not the most glamorous: the shop is flanked by boarded-up storefronts, which, in turn, are bordered by a botanica (closed at 11:30 on a recent morning) and a pharmacy (also closed all morning).
But Mr. Fisher’s shop more than makes up for the surroundings with its obvious energy: a waving blue flag on its roof, a bright L.E.D. screen with images of red bouncing cars, and, on the sidewalk, Mr. Fisher himself, a waving, chatting, gesticulating greeter of customers, passers-by and neighbors.
Inside, the walls are hung with Andy Warhol posters (of cars, of course). Black faux-leather stools and tables — “pub tables,” Mr. Fisher said — dot the waiting area, offering an easy view of the plasma television with surround sound. Near the desk is a pile of fresh muffins and doughnuts, wrapped lovingly every morning and sealed with a sticker that says, “Thanks, please come again.” On a magazine rack are copies of Architectural Digest and Wine Spectator. “Those are from my in-laws,” said Mr. Fisher, who prefers Tow Times.
AUTOMOTIVE repair is not a foot-traffic business. Mr. Fisher took no half-measures, in design terms, to impress someone else: AAA, for whom he was hoping to become an affiliate, which would give his towing business the boost it desperately needed (not to mention the auto repair). Every time he bought a new truck, Mr. Fisher would send a photo to his AAA liaison. When the agency called to request help as a backup service, he never said no, even if it meant driving to Brooklyn or Queens late at night. And when he saw his AAA contact’s face fall upon viewing his original waiting room — a cramped, grim cave right off a driveway — he did not just renovate, he went all the way.
“He keeps inviting members from headquarters to come down for one of his fresh-baked David’s cookies,” said James Lewis, who was Mr. Fisher’s point man at AAA.
This is what panic can do: inspire near-manic bouts of excellence.
Mr. Fisher has a history of this. As a Long Island teenager, he fell asleep at the wrong party and woke up with his right leg on fire. He did not walk for six or seven months, then went on, later in high school, to become a nationally ranked pole-vaulter. After high school, he started showing up at the wrong parties again, and ended up addicted to crack cocaine for seven long, tortured months. After rehab, he started fiddling with transmissions and fixed his own life by fixing other people’s cars.
“If everyone curled up into a little ball, this country would just tank,” Mr. Fisher said. “You got to stand up and do what you can do.”
By late May, Mr. Fisher and his wife had resolved that they had no choice but to pack up — give up — and move. Someone in lumber was going to buy him out, and the family would have just enough money to buy a place in Florida; Mr. Fisher would find work in someone else’s shop.
Then, in early June, a few days before sealing the deal with the lumber business, he got the call from AAA. An opening became available, and he landed a contract for a big chunk of Upper Manhattan, guaranteeing him more than enough towing business to stay in New York. Mr. Lewis said Mr. Fisher’s future “looks very good.” A few months back, a man in serious distress, Mr. Fisher may make his fortune rescuing others who have temporarily stalled. Once a pole-vaulter, always a pole-vaulter: He clears high bars in a single bound, takes a fall, then gets up and does it again.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/22/ny...l?ref=nyregion
This is the point at which many a business owner might try to sell, to maybe pick up and start over somewhere cheaper — in Mr. Fisher’s case, that would have been Florida, where he has a lot of family. Instead, Mr. Fisher, at 43 a strong, physical presence with a shaved head, decided to bring froufrou to East Harlem.
Were someone to write a guide to the loveliest automotive repair shops in New York, it is safe to say that Mr. Fisher’s, Precision Auto and Fish-Bones Towing, would rate several stars. The location, on 106th Street between First and Second Avenues, is not the most glamorous: the shop is flanked by boarded-up storefronts, which, in turn, are bordered by a botanica (closed at 11:30 on a recent morning) and a pharmacy (also closed all morning).
But Mr. Fisher’s shop more than makes up for the surroundings with its obvious energy: a waving blue flag on its roof, a bright L.E.D. screen with images of red bouncing cars, and, on the sidewalk, Mr. Fisher himself, a waving, chatting, gesticulating greeter of customers, passers-by and neighbors.
Inside, the walls are hung with Andy Warhol posters (of cars, of course). Black faux-leather stools and tables — “pub tables,” Mr. Fisher said — dot the waiting area, offering an easy view of the plasma television with surround sound. Near the desk is a pile of fresh muffins and doughnuts, wrapped lovingly every morning and sealed with a sticker that says, “Thanks, please come again.” On a magazine rack are copies of Architectural Digest and Wine Spectator. “Those are from my in-laws,” said Mr. Fisher, who prefers Tow Times.
AUTOMOTIVE repair is not a foot-traffic business. Mr. Fisher took no half-measures, in design terms, to impress someone else: AAA, for whom he was hoping to become an affiliate, which would give his towing business the boost it desperately needed (not to mention the auto repair). Every time he bought a new truck, Mr. Fisher would send a photo to his AAA liaison. When the agency called to request help as a backup service, he never said no, even if it meant driving to Brooklyn or Queens late at night. And when he saw his AAA contact’s face fall upon viewing his original waiting room — a cramped, grim cave right off a driveway — he did not just renovate, he went all the way.
“He keeps inviting members from headquarters to come down for one of his fresh-baked David’s cookies,” said James Lewis, who was Mr. Fisher’s point man at AAA.
This is what panic can do: inspire near-manic bouts of excellence.
Mr. Fisher has a history of this. As a Long Island teenager, he fell asleep at the wrong party and woke up with his right leg on fire. He did not walk for six or seven months, then went on, later in high school, to become a nationally ranked pole-vaulter. After high school, he started showing up at the wrong parties again, and ended up addicted to crack cocaine for seven long, tortured months. After rehab, he started fiddling with transmissions and fixed his own life by fixing other people’s cars.
“If everyone curled up into a little ball, this country would just tank,” Mr. Fisher said. “You got to stand up and do what you can do.”
By late May, Mr. Fisher and his wife had resolved that they had no choice but to pack up — give up — and move. Someone in lumber was going to buy him out, and the family would have just enough money to buy a place in Florida; Mr. Fisher would find work in someone else’s shop.
Then, in early June, a few days before sealing the deal with the lumber business, he got the call from AAA. An opening became available, and he landed a contract for a big chunk of Upper Manhattan, guaranteeing him more than enough towing business to stay in New York. Mr. Lewis said Mr. Fisher’s future “looks very good.” A few months back, a man in serious distress, Mr. Fisher may make his fortune rescuing others who have temporarily stalled. Once a pole-vaulter, always a pole-vaulter: He clears high bars in a single bound, takes a fall, then gets up and does it again.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/22/ny...l?ref=nyregion
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