Johnson's resounding failure at JC Penney proves he got lucky at Apple

JC Penney chief sacked.

 

It’s back to business as usual at JC Penney this week with the departure of Apple golden boy Ron Johnson and the re-instalment of its previous CEO Mike Ullman.

Sadly for this US national institution business as usual means sliding profits and sacking employees as they continue down the long road to insolvency and obscurity.  

The markets reacted comically to the decision, sending up a cheer as the news of the ex-retail VP of Apple was relieved of his post, with shares growing by 10 per cent, and then dropping back down when it was announced who was to replace him.

Johnson joined JC Penney fresh from helping to turn Apple into the most profitable company in the world but he failed to bring this same Apple magic to the department store.

It’s almost as if people bought Apple products because everyone thought they were cool to have, not because of the store locations and opening hours. 

Indeed, people would still have bought Apple stuff even if they could only get it from the top of some mountain in the middle of nowhere on the night of a full moon. In fact, the launch day queues might have been even longer.

As he has proved from his resounding failure at JC Penney, Johnson got lucky at Apple. If his strategy at Apple as VP of retail operations would have been to lock the doors on all the outlets and turned out the lights.

I’m not trying to deny Johnson did a good job while he was at Apple, the Apple Stores around the world are a landmark in any city that’s lucky enough to have them. The point is that a child could have held the position and still sold a bazillion iPods and Macbooks since the turn of the century.

Johnson got the JC Penney job because of his successful stint at Apple. Just because someone held a job at Apple in the time of the second coming of Jobs doesn’t automatically mean they’ll be able to sell anything to anybody.

JC Penney (like a lot of other companies) needs to stop trying to emulate Apple as a way to success and try something of their own. Admittedly, for a business model as out-dated as a department store this is far easier said than done.

JP Penney. Photograph: Getty Images

Billy Bambrough writes for Retail Banker International at VRL financial news.
 

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times