I have been asked, from time to time, if I think my Texas heritage had any influence on my management style, or on my approach to business in general.
Well, the fact of the matter is, I was born and raised in Texas, so I have no context or experience base to say how I might have turned out, as a person and manager, if I’d been born in, say, Memphis or New York City.
But my gut says yes, Texas did influence my management style—I mean, how could it not?
Texas is unique, no question. The state is quite large, as you probably know—more than 260,000 square miles. That’s bigger than France and Denmark combined. A lot of it is not particularly hospitable to man or beast—temperatures tend to be extreme, especially in the summer, and the terrain is pretty rugged in many parts. Our history is colorful; it’s full of cowboys, ranchers, good guys, bad guys, a whole cast of characters—so that tends to influence you, too.
As a kid, I was fascinated by the Texas Rangers—they were basically the law back in the early days, when Texas was still pretty wild. Those guys were tough, also legendary. There’s a famous story: The mayor of Dallas called in the Texas Rangers to help calm down an angry mob. One Ranger showed up. The mayor didn’t know what to make of this, said: “Where are the others?” And the Ranger said: “There’s only one riot, right?”
Fearlessness has always defined Texas. It’s just in our blood, I guess, and that has a way of showing up in all sorts of ways—from how people talk to how they deal with a business challenge. To those who weren’t born and raised here, this can sometimes come across as a little overly self-assured, even arrogant. Which I guess I can understand, because people in Texas are a little different. But in a good way: Texans, at their core, are just fundamentally optimistic about the possibilities in life. As a result, they tend to think big and aren’t afraid to give things that matter to them a real shot. I believe in what I’m doing, and I’m going to hang in there until I accomplish what I’m trying to do. Or die trying. That second part—hanging in there—is the true measure in Texas. The thing most people truly respect isn’t whether you were successful or not—it’s that you gave it all you had.
I mean, think about it. One of Texas’s proudest moments is also one of its biggest failures, technically: the fall of the Alamo, which is in San Antonio. And it is a pretty dramatic story: More than two thousand Mexican troops surrounded the Alamo; inside, there were around 186 guys, and they were poorly armed. They were led by a young lieutenant colonel, William B. Travis, just twenty-six at the time. The Mexican Army thought it was a done deal, so the commanding general demanded a full surrender. Travis responded by firing a single cannon shot. In other words: No way. It was a fight against overwhelming and impossible odds, and Travis lost—every single man died, and the fort was ultimately overrun and captured. And yet, the fall of the Alamo is remembered to this day as one of our finest moments—as a state and as a nation. So it’s not the failure that people remember, but the courage and strength of heart.
Rugged individualism and bravery are things that Texans have always admired, and respected. So does the rest of America, I think—we are simply unable and unwilling to let anybody tell us what we can and can’t accomplish. If you can dream it, you can do it; that, in so many words, is what America is all about. Resiliency is our shared DNA. So when you get right down to it, a Texas-tough attitude isn’t just limited to Texas—people from every state in the union have it.
All of which is a long way of saying—to go back to where I started—that I do think my management style and general outlook on life have been greatly influenced by the fact that I am a Texan. At least I’d sure like to think so.