The Front Lines of Hospitality

Meet the people who love hospitality and those who laud them.

By Katie Dohman | photos by david J. turner

Minnesota Nice might be simultaneously lauded and derided—some people say we’re extra nice, but some say we’re passive-aggressive and maybe not as welcoming if you want more than a discussion about the weather. But if you take any kind of example from the hospitality industry in Minnesota, we’re honestly extra nice, going the extra mile for weary, harried business travelers and Mall of America sightseers alike.

Sixty percent of Minnesota’s hospitality industry is located in the Twin Cities, according to the Minnesota Department of Employment and Economic Development (DEED). Hospitality businesses statewide employ more than 127,000 people and pay $3.3. billion in wages each year, making it Minnesota’s second-largest employer, according to Hospitality Minnesota. Among all those people serving, waiting, cleaning, greeting, and holding doors, there are plenty who have been or should be recognized for their outstanding dedication to providing service.

Enter Bonnie Carlson, a 24-year veteran of the Bloomington Convention and Visitor’s Bureau, who created the first recognition event for hospitality workers 13 years ago, the Bloomington Diamond Service Awards. “People want me to take this idea on the road,” she says. “There really aren’t any programs like it. There are some smaller ones but not the magnitude we do it. It’s their Academy Awards.”

The program grew out of a desire to provide incentive for hospitality workers to back up the claims the destination marketer was making to the world. Managers and owners are not included for their contributions; this ceremony focuses directly on the frontline (and back-of-house) workers who make the daily operations go smoothly. “I think it’s absolutely where the rubber meets the road,” Carlson says. “When that person cleans the room, they reinforce all the promises that everyone else makes. It’s really their friendly attitude; they are the ones who make the stay what it is.”

Julie Larson of the Roseville Visitors Association has been working to grow the recognition awards that they implemented five years ago. “These people aren’t recognized as a rule,” Larson says. “Often, a good experience is when everything flows smoothly, your order is taken correctly, it tastes good, there are no interruptions or embarrassments on either side—good service often goes unnoticed, but it’s an awesome skill when it’s done correctly.”

The Twin Cities has the highest share of accommodation and food service employment—a little over half—in the entire state, according to DEED. That means the customer or guest has a lot of choices here; good service should, in theory, bring more repeat guests.

“The truth is, it’s possible in our culture that people are indifferent to outstanding service, because you can go out and see it all the time,” says Dean Nelson, general manager of T.G.I. Friday’s. “But in hospitality, it’s a hollow race if you win that particular race. You have none of the guest loyalty if you don’t have loyal service.”

Nelson and others have changed their hiring practices as a result of having outstanding employees. They make for great role models for newer employees, as Eric Robinson would tell you of his outstanding bartender, Erik Nelson. He says he interviews nearly 400 people to winnow down to the 60 that he will hire for his summer season at Grandma’s Saloon in Duluth. “We can teach the technical aspects,” Nelson says. “But what gets most people the job is personality. We can’t teach personality. Going above and beyond and truly enjoying other people’s company—there’s no way to fake that.”

Chris Decker, manager of the Grand Hotel, agrees. “You can ask all the standard questions, but in the end you are looking for someone with that personality. It’s hard to measure. It’s a sense of selflessness. In today’s world, so many people are caught up in ‘what do I have and what can I get and what’s in it for me’ that when you get people who are working solely for the result of what they can do for other people, it’s rare. It’s kindness and generosity, and not just so you give them a dollar.”

A calling as much as any other career, great hospitality is something that is inborn, but can blossom under the right tutelage. Charisma goes a long way. And it has a ripple effect: they’re nice, the customers feel good, they return, the guests are nice back, and everyone has a good experience. Managers manage less, and hospitality feels less like work and more like kindness. Turnover is lower, hospitality workers become experts, and still they go unnoticed. “Your servers, housekeeping, bellman, that’s your first point of connection; they make it happen,” Carlson says. “Frankly, nothing would happen without them.”

Meetings: Minnesota’s Hospitality Journal is proud to profile five outstanding service workers and one service family; these are the faces of the bars, restaurants and hotels that make Minnesota Nice a reality.

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Thomas Beaumont:

The Natty Professor

Just because Thomas Beaumont has retired from his position as associate professor of social work at the University of Minnesota doesn’t mean he’s stopped teaching altogether.

Donning a natty bow tie—self-tied, in case you were checking—and an extensive knowledge of wine, Beaumont is ready to show every guest a good time as the host at the SkyWater Lounge in the downtown Minneapolis Hilton.

“I’m an old man, and I feel like the general comportment of the younger population, well, I like to be a little bit of a teacher without lecturing. I like them to understand some simple social graces,” Beaumont says. And sometimes he lends his ear a bit, too, along with his colleagues. “I was taught in social work school that bartenders, beauticians, they are like therapists, without the stigma that’s attached—it’s a serious reality, I think.”

So when the uniform goes on and the lights go down for cocktail hour, Beaumont is ready for whoever walks through the door. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m a ham, or what, but when the costume goes on, I can put a certain distance between the fight with my wife or the stock market falling apart, and get the interaction going. And the connection is invigorating.”

Beaumont’s specific talent has been the ability to connect with all ages, all walks of life. And he’s played his “role” to the hilt. Even transforming into the biggest legend of them all: Santa. Victor Salamone, manager of food and beverage at the Hilton, explains that one family arrived at the hotel expecting a Santa Claus and a buffet. Yet, since Christmas landed at the beginning of the week in 2006, and no one had booked a place in the hotel (save for the family) the weekend before, the hotel had not planned a Santa buffet.

“They were heartbroken when they found out there was no Santa or buffet,” Salamone says. “Then Thomas realized where we kept the Santa outfit, and told the kids ‘I think I might know where Santa is, and we can get his reindeer to land here.’ He’s a great storyteller.”

Beaumont donned the getup and made the kids’ day. “The family sent a letter to the hotel; he really went above and beyond that day,” Salamone says. “Who does that for two kids?”

For his efforts to save Christmas, he was selected from six candidates and awarded the title of Minneapolis City Ambassador, given by Meet Minneapolis in 2007. Salamone says, “You can get service anywhere. But we provide hospitality and service. What Thomas brings is a genuine sincerity when he asks how everything is going, remembering people’s names, making them comfortable, whether that’s idle chit chat or talking about wine. When he’s not here, people ask for him.”

“It’s fun, it’s interesting, it’s enjoyable, it’s fulfilling,” Beaumont says. “I like invigorating the guests, and I’m enthusiastic about the city and hotel. That spreads, unlike if you just have a bunch of technicians. I’m not servile; I’m a service person. People need to feel like they have someone at their beck and call once in a while, have their day in the sun. It’s a worthy thing. I’m willing to be there for them.”

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Joe Skluzacek:

Service With A Smile (And A Hug)

You don’t often see a busboy that hugs diners for their patronage, but it does happen. At least it does at the Ramada Mall of America (formerly the Thunderbird), if Joe Skluzacek happens to be working. And he’s there all the time. Never misses a shift. For the past 20 years.

“He is sunshine all the time, just a character-and-a-half,” says Kendra Goelz, revenue manager. “He suffers with chronic pain, but you’d never know it. He fights right through.” Skluzacek is also challenged by Down Syndrome, but he wallops that, too. He lives independently, takes care of himself and his bills, and, as Jim Saccoman, general manager, says, “sets an example for the industry.”

Goelz interrupts, “His work ethic, his attitude, his memory. I’m a post-it note queen. He remembers everyone by name, even if they haven’t been in for five years. That’s not trained. That’s who he is.”

Skluzacek, 46, admits by every definition, he’s a successful guy. “I’m famous!” he says. This past year, Skluzacek was a finalist for Bloomington’s Diamond Service Awards—the Academy Awards for hospitality personnel—just one of five in his category out of a possible 20,000 hospitality workers in Bloomington. (And 85 nominees total.) “His whole family attended the awards,” Goelz says. “They were so proud. We are all so proud of Joe.”

Skluzacek says he felt “fine” about being nominated for the award, shrugging it off when asked, but Goelz says, “He was so proud. There were tears.” It may have just been a short moment of humility.

Saccoman adds, “One of my earliest experiences with Joe was a night when the cashier went home sick. When I checked in, Joe had counted out the till and returned the money to the bank. He was so exact and careful. It has nothing to do with his regular job, but he jumped in and did it well when we were down.”

Skluzacek’s exacting nature helps him sweep and mop, fill coffee and tea containers, bus dishes, and wrap silverware and napkins. His favorite task is stacking glasses. “I can pick up five with one hand!” he says proudly. “I have strong hands.” And he loves to greet the guests as they come in. “Everyone knows Joe,” Goelz says.

And then there’s reliability, which Joe has in spades. “I don’t oversleep,” he says. “I’m always on time, at 6:45 a.m. I get up at 5 a.m. I’m pretty good.” Then, when the managers are distracted with something else, he adds, quietly, “I’m the brains of the operation,” pointing to his head and nodding.

Joe also loves spending time with his family—he’s one of five—especially because he is a godfather. “I love kids,” he says, and agrees with Goelz when she adds, “That’s because you’re a big kid!” He also loves Minnesota sports—Twins maybe the most, but also the Gophers and Wild and Vikings—and he writes stories for a hobby.

“When you talk about hospitality, people like Joseph signify it,” Saccoman says. “He is a really genuine, caring person, regardless of what else might be going on in his life. He embraces what hospitality is all about.” Goelz adds, “We hope that his demeanor rubs off on everyone—other employees and guests.”

Hug ’em all, Joe.

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Erik Nelson:

Principal of the Old School

When most people go out to have a good time, Erik Nelson’s reporting for duty behind the bar at Grandma’s Saloon in the Canal Park neighborhood of Duluth—and he finds that can be just as entertaining as being the guest.

“It’s a front-row seat on humanity,” Nelson says. “I watch the world go by. People have found me here.”

Indeed, Nelson has become a fixture on the scene, with 32 years on the job at Grandma’s, starting as the provolone slicer and basement sweeper to serving and kitchen management to his bread and butter, bartending. “I’m no dope,” he says. “I wouldn’t do something for 32 years if it didn’t work. I genuinely enjoy going to work.”

Nelson is a voracious student by all accounts—including his philosophy that he can find something he likes about everyone he meets—and he’s what his general manager, Eric Robinson, calls, “the ultimate conversationalist.”

“He retains more information than anyone I know,” Robinson says. “He truly knows a little something about everything, and he has the desire to gain more knowledge, whether it’s about a small town in Tennessee where someone grew up or someone’s trip to a former Chinese dictator’s grave. He encourages friendly conversations not only between the customer and bartender but also between patrons themselves. He can have a bar full of strangers and have them talking to each other in an hour. It’s the mark of a truly good bartender.”

This happens in his non-work life, too. Nelson’s 10-year-old daughter, Alivia, gets mock frustrated with her father’s conversations. She says, “Dad, you know everyone!” And students at school tell her that “everyone knows” who Nelson is.

For his part, Nelson says, “I’m innately curious. I find the world a fascinating place to be. Rare is the day I don’t go through the day realizing something I hadn’t realized before, and it’s satisfying to see different things all the time.” Backing up his engaging conversations at the bar is his reference section, which includes a dictionary, thesaurus and Guinness Book. Recent conversations included Paul Gauguin, the dentition of rabbits, and when the Kama Sutra was written.

Nelson’s community building has earned him the Twin Ports Bartender of the Year award a few times, and he admits that he serves as the “principal of the old school” for younger co-workers and patrons. Robinson says, “As far as bartenders go in this area, he is what you’d consider famous. He’s the benchmark for other service professionals; to attain the status and notoriety, and not just locally. He knows people all over the world. He’s a shining example.”

Nelson tends to take a sociologist’s view. “Socialization habits are different now,” he says. “I learn new and different things about my job. I learn from the younger kids, too. I have watched kids grow up, get married, have their own kids. When you get to that multigenerational level, you get to see a large chunk of life and you can watch social and personal trends.”

Nelson also co-owns a toy store in Duluth, called J. Skylark, with his wife, Michele, and does mediation work for families going through divorce. Nelson says he was looking for a way to improve people’s lives other than just pouring a beer. “But I remind them of my background, that I’m a bartender—but that I have old man voodoo radar and I am good at reading situations, word choice, and physical reactions. Some things are absolutely meant to be litigated, but often it is more beneficial for moving on without the ramped-up emotions [litigation can bring].”

But, just like at the bar—where Nelson often receives mail—he offers a safe place to have a conversation, as a confidante or friend. “It won’t show up on the Internet,” he says, because despite his encyclopedic brain, he knows “a good bartender has a short memory.”

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Jon McConnell:

Top Notch Top Hat

Of course, the saying goes that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Even if it’s just a split second. Never is that more relevant than when top-coat-and-tails-bedecked Jon McConnell gets his five seconds to greet a car as it pulls up to the circular drive in front of The Saint Paul Hotel.

“You can even tell by the way guests drive up, how they’re feeling,” McConnell, 40, says as he scans the driveway. “But I treat people how I’d want to be treated. With every person. That way, you can’t lose.”

The hotel’s general manager, David Miller, agrees that McConnell strikes the right balance for the “subtle elegance” The Saint Paul Hotel strives to convey. “He has a formalness about him, but he’s not rigid,” he says. “He’s polite and courteous but genuine, too. You can put anyone in a top hat and tails, but it takes the right person to make a difference.”

For McConnell, it’s all a matter of perspective. “I’m relaxed, easygoing. I have a low stress level most of the time. And I like to make things easier for people.” And, really, according to Miller, that’s what hospitality is all about: allowing guests to enjoy the good life, a vacation from their worries. As they take the suitcases out of guests’ hands, the guest can also drop their psychic baggage.

Leaving baggage at the door is something McConnell understands well. As a husband and father of three, he has his hands full with coaching his daughter’s hockey team, running marathons, and raising money for Muscular Dystrophy—but manages to make each guest feel the center of his universe.

His eldest son, Cullen, who is 11, was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy at the age of five. “It’s taught me that you only live once,” he says quietly. “It put a lot of things in perspective for me. Big time.”

Team McConnell has been participating in the muscular dystrophy fund-raiser Stride and Ride for years—and, because mediocrity is not in his vocabulary, for the last four years, has been the top fund-raiser.

McConnell is reminded of the generosity and kind human spirit that exists out in the world then. “It’s karma,” he says. “Good things happen to good people.”

It comes to no surprise, then, that he finds that helping people feels good. “I like to defuse the situation if I sense they are upset. I like to take their mind off things. I can simplify things for people. One time I just told a woman, who was clearly frazzled from traveling in a snowstorm, ‘Just relax. You’re here now.’ And she smiled at me and said, ‘That is exactly what I needed to hear.’ ”

“For me, that feels good … I love doing this; it’s fun. I’m not a coffee drinker—those comments are my caffeine.”

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The Ortiz Family

Hospitality Across Cultures, Across Generations

Hospitality is not only a way to make a living, but also a way to live a life. It’s a calling, and a lifestyle. It’s a sincerity and generosity that comes unattached of expectation for personal gain. If your last name is Ortiz, and you work at The Grand Hotel in downtown Minneapolis, you’ve already figured this out, and it’s likely you were just born with the instinct.

Jose Ortiz, 49, is an Ecuadorian in the United States, a resident for more than 20 years, who has worked in jobs across the U.S., moving from east to west, landing finally in Minnesota, where, over a period of years, he was able to bring the rest of his family. During those years, his family waited in Ecuador for their papers to be processed and lived through the ups and downs life brings, without a dad to do daily caring for them, while he was 3,500 miles away, toiling for others.

There’s no bitterness, though. Because that’s what a better life held, and what hospitality is all about.

José has been the doorman at the Grand for seven years. During that time, he’s taken luggage, assigned rooms, arranged for taxis, and held the door for countless numbers of people. But José remembers their names, their professions, or the types of rooms they prefer. He even went as far as meeting people at the downtown Target to open their cab doors for them.

“He’s very selfless and happy doing what he’s doing and an extremely hard worker,” says Chris Decker, manager of The Grand Hotel. Now, José is recovering from stomach cancer, but he says he hopes to return to the job in a couple of months. During his interview, many people stopped by to wish him well, embrace him. It prompted him to offer that he has been left large sums of money by former guests who have heard of his plight. His eyes are wide and unbelieving as he tells about how fortunate he has been to get a little extra help, none of which he expected. A life made a little easier by making a living at making people’s lives easier.

His joy at performing his job is something he passed along to his daughter, Martha, 25, who is the housekeeping manager at the hotel. “He kept telling me how nice of a place it was to work,” she says. The first time she applied, there weren’t any positions available. The second time, the manager told her to learn English, and she would hold a job for her in the meantime. Martha was promoted to manager of housekeeping, and won the Employee of the Year award in 2004, following in her dad’s winning footsteps in 2001.

Job problems struck again when it was discovered she had been in the country illegally. “I came illegally because we had helped my husband to get the $15,000 needed to come to the United States. [They are now divorced.] He promised he wouldn’t forget about me, but he forgot about me and forgot to pay my mom back. People in the neighborhood tried to make trouble for my mom,” Martha says. “My dad had applied for our papers, and had tried to tell me to wait, but I didn’t listen.”

The government told Martha they’d approve her papers, but she had to return to Ecuador. She did, and waited 18 long months before her papers were processed. She arrived back in Minnesota in September 2006.

“You have to really like the job,” she says. “I motivate my housekeepers to also do their best. It’s important for the guests in the hotel. I love collecting the comment cards [that compliment them] and showing my boss. I like when I hear that people want Martha back because she is the best.”

The family’s long experience made it a no-brainer for Martha’s younger brother, Wilson, 24, to join the staff, too. “I go the extra mile for everything, because my family has been through some hard times, and I want to make my family the top of everything,” he says. “I just fit into this job. I don’t work for just money, I work to make guests comfortable, I want to be respectful and helpful.” He adds that he “keeps trying every day” to make a family trifecta of Employees of the Year.
“I would duplicate them if I could,” says Decker.

“I would rename the hotel after them. And it would be the most successful hotel ever.”

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Mike Shushoreba:

Talking Without Saying a Word

Mike Shushoreba, the bartender better known as Shoosh, is celebrating his 16th anniversary at T.G.I. Friday’s in Roseville. Thirteen of those years have been bartending, with some gigs on the side at St. Paul’s watering hole, Sweeney’s, and others, but his home base has always been Friday’s.

Such longevity in the service industry is uncommon, but to Shoosh it made sense. “Maybe I’m a product of a later generation that’s focused on instant gratification, but I like the idea of working really hard and having spoils of your work right there at the end of the night. It really appealed to me, in fact. And I’m a little bit of a verbal individual, so it seemed a natural fit,” he says.

General manager Dean Nelson says it’s far more than that. “He embodies [Billy Joel’s Piano Man lyrics] ‘quick with a joke or to light up your smoke.’ He’s always there. He’s one of the best I’ve seen.” Which led to Shoosh’s nomination and win for the Roseville Hospitality Awards. Indeed, one of Shoosh’s nightly goals is to have a perfect shift—that is, anticipate everyone’s needs before they ask and not forgetting anything. In 16 years he thinks it’s only happened twice.

“A lot of people think bartenders make drinks, but that’s nonsense. They establish genuine communications,” Nelson adds. “They could give a damn about the drink, they come back for Shoosh.”

“I love the entertainment value of my job,” Shoosh says. “And I’m enthusiastic and passionate about my particular brand of service, which you don’t find often anymore. I talk to everyone with a sense of ‘real.’ I’m down-to-earth, they’re all my friends.” Indeed, he’s helped customers/friends sheetrock their homes, move refrigerators—he even met his fiancée, Amy Hilmanowski, here.

He acknowledges, though, that the art of bartending often hinges on a balance of talking all night, yet saying nothing at all. “Most of bartending is listening,” he says. “Keeping your mouth shut and still being verbal. Now that’s an interesting dichotomy, there!”

In fact, Shoosh says, that’s one of the things he does best. (He doesn’t count modesty as one of his virtues.) “I make sure that everybody knows everybody’s name around the bar. Introduce people with something to talk about, which keeps me from having conversation all night. I redirect to the people sitting around the bar, and interject when necessary, but keep feet my moving and make sure that people are having a good time. You don’t want to be active, but a part of, the conversation. There’s a subtle difference, keeping it flowing and rolling, but not standing there.”

Nelson further delineates the art: “Basically, you have conversation as an open architecture to guests. What they like, you talk about that. It’s magic to be able to engage almost any guest on any number of topics. Shoosh will come up with one if a guest fails to have one. Let’s pretend his partner couldn’t work that night. He could maintain conversations with maybe 40 different guests—a table there, guest here, a couple over here, four friends over there. He’ll keep doing it until they’re ready to leave, not that they are feeling they need to leave or want to leave. He’s got the knack. You just don’t know what a true master can do at that kind of stuff until you see Shoosh.”

And Shoosh agrees that he genuinely loves his job. “I have had several opportunities, several different job opportunities over my history here, but this is a choice I’ve made, to be here,” he says. “I enjoy it thoroughly. I might not be able to retire a wealthy man, but I went to work because I had fun going. It makes it easy.”

Shoosh’s goodwill rubs off on his customers, many of whom he counts among his friends. Not long ago, a woman who’d been transplanted by her job to San Diego, put something online about things she missed about living in Twin Cities, says Nelson. “Among them was all the bartenders, and most especially Shoosh at Fridays. They love his act. He’s the perfect social chameleon.

“What I hope is coming across, it that this is a human job,” says Nelson. “It’s easy to try to hide behind being fast or carrying drinks or plates or knowing the menu and all those functional aspects, but ultimately the success or failure has to do with the human part of the job. If there’s one thing about Shoosh, it’s precisely that. He’s got the human component of the job down. He’s great in the technical sense, but also knows in spades that that is relatively meaningless.”

Shoosh, for his part, is creating a community of people at Friday’s. “It really comes down to having a place to relax and get away from your troubles. The bar becomes a small, tight-knit community.” With Mayor Shoosh at the helm. 

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