Daily Evening Item, Lynn, Masachusetts —
Lifestyle Section
The Popcorn Professor
Woody Baldwin taught college business
for 36 years.
Now he sells popcorn.
by Jo Ann Augeri Rowe
Item Staff
Second careers are nothing new. Woody Baldwin's second career is full of hot air. Tell him so, and he'll chuckle, maybe agree with you, and keep on scooping fresh hot popcorn into a big paper bucket.
Professor Woodrow Wilson Baldwin, retired chairman of the management department at Simmons College, a college business teacher for 36 years, runs a popcorn pushcart — one of about 10 getting their official "dedication" today — in the marketplace outside Salem's East India Mall. The income from his second career is measured in the $.50. $.75 and $1.00 boxes of salted, buttered popcorn he offers for sale to all those who pass by.
An unusual choice? Obviously. But it's a choice made after much consideration and option-weighing.
"I retired early so that I could work at something different for about three years afterward," Baldwin said this week between customers. "I knew I did not want to teach and I did not want to consult. I wanted to be free in January, February and March, and I wanted to be outdoors."
The choices "filtered down to something in the food line," Baldwin said. and he got a glimmering of his final choice one day four years ago in Minneapolis.
"I saw two young women selling popcorn at stand and thought “Gosh, that looks like fun.” At that time, I didn't go any further with it. But later, I read a book on changing careers that said you should decide what you want to do and then sell somebody on the idea. I remembered those young women in Minnesota, and decided to write a letter to the president of Filene’s', asking him if I could set up a "popcorn boutique" outside his store. And he ended up saying yes."
An investment of $2300 later. Baldwin was in business outside Filene's in Boston's Downtown Crossing, complete with an electrically operated cart that pops corn and keeps it warm, a butter melting dispenser, lots of corn, and a specially-flavored oil that gives Baldwin’s’ corn a hearty yellow tint.
So far, he hasn't regretted the decision.
“After 36 years of telling people how to run a business, I wanted to see if I could do it myself," Baldwin says. "Now I know I can. I have everything here that you would in any business, except on a smaller scale, like cash flow problems, ordering supplies, forms to fill out for my employee."
Once people knew his background as a college professor, Baldwin attracted a lot of attention. Former students and colleagues visited him at his unconventional new post, and spread the word. A story appeared about him in the nationwide business magazine "Saga," and he was featured on NBC's "Today" show.
"After the 'Today' show, I became a tourist attraction," Baldwin says of his notoriety as the "Popcorn Professor." "It was almost as much a social experience as a business."
Despite his reluctance to do consulting work, Baldwin found himself becoming a “sidewalk consultant" to people who sought him out for advice. Many people told him his decision to work at something completely different gave them new hope for their own retirement plans. Popcorn sales were so good that Baldwin took on an employee, his "general manager," John O'Neill. O'Neill, a Reading neighbor and friend, was tiring of his job in the trust department of First National Bank of Boston, and, when he learned of Baldwin's unique career change, asked if he could sign on, too.
"It's a welcome change," O'Neill says of his new life. Baldwin agreed to pay him the same salary he earned at the bank, and, at least until this year, profits have been high enough to' pay O'Neill's wages and give Baldwin the income he wanted to supplement his retirement allowance.
The popcorn business also suited his vacation and location parameters. He's out in the fresh air, and keeps to his self-imposed climate condition limits — don't look for him in the rain or when the temperature is under 45 or over 90, and he takes the winter off.
Baldwin and O'Neill would have stayed at Downtown Crossing this year, since, as Baldwin says, "from 11 a.m.-3 p.m., people bought popcorn almost as fast as we could pop it — you really needed two people on the stand." But, in April, new management announced that pushcart vendor's rents would go from $150 per month to $1060 per month, a change that "scared away" many vendors including Baldwin.
Following some of the marketing strategies he'd once taught, Baldwin set out to find a new location. He wanted a place that attracted tourists, and, at first. settled on Lowell. But the pushcart requires an electrical outlet. and, Baldwin says, "we couldn't find an outdoor outlet anywhere in Lowell."
Moving on to Salem, he sought out the police chief, who referred him to the new management at East India Mall, knowing they were planning a pushcart promotion.
Well-educated in such things, Baldwin concedes that his new location in the financially troubled mall is a "considerable risk." Business has been "fair" in the three weeks since he and O'Neill set up shop, but they expect it will get better once the rest of the pushcarts join in.
"I like this location much better than Downtown Crossing - the environment here, with the fountain and the plantings, is much nicer. I hope things pick up, because I'd like to stay."
[The following is from an undated magazine article]
The Popcorn Professor
Professor Woodrow Wilson Baldwin stands behind a gaily decorated popcorn stand at Downtown Crossing Marketplace, a bustling open-air shopping mall in the heart of Boston. The muffled popping and the buttery aroma work subliminal wonders on the throngs of passersby. Business is brisk. Assured and dignified, Professor Baldwin serves each customer with dispatch, a ready smile, and a courteous "Thank you!"
You are looking at a man at work in a highly satisfactory second career. It's a career he chose with great care, after much planning, Professor Baldwin, known to all as "Woody," retired not long ago from his first career, that of teaching business administration. For 20 years he was chairman of the Department of Management at Boston's Simmons College. He'd also been a consultant to corporations, and the author of a number of books. "Why!," his astonished colleagues ask when they learn their distinguished peer has become a street vendor.
"Because it's fun," Woody replies. That's his short answer — and it fairly sums up his personal philosophy of what a second career can mean.
"For 36 years I taught people how to run their own businesses, and now I wanted to see if I could run one of my own," he adds. Then he further explains that the popcorn business allows him to be out of doors; it's seasonal; and the hours are pretty much what he wants them to be. Another important plus: he meets new people and makes new friends. "It's really a social thing," he says. His business objective is modest: "To earn enough money to enable me to continue to travel -- in other words, to maintain my standard of living."
Yes, but why, of all things, popcorn?
Woody smiles. "Well, I've always been a popcorn freak. I suppose I could have been a full-time business consultant, but I'm just contrary enough to want to try something entirely different. I explored all kinds of possibilities, and popcorn happened to meet all my requirements. It seemed like fun."
In just two years, Woody can say that his little venture has more than met his expectations. Soon after he started he needed help. He experimented with hiring teenagers but they proved less than satisfactory. John O'Neill, a 54-year-old friend in the banking business, told Woody he was looking for a way out of a dead-end job.
"So I hired him away from the bank," Woody says with a smile. "I gave him the title of General Manager. It's worked out very well. He loves the popcorn business as much as I do, and we work very well together. I don't know what I'd do without him."
Of course, the success of one popcorn stand, however personally gratifying to Woody, wouldn't rate a brief mention in the Wall Street Journal. Surprisingly, though, Woody's business was brought to national attention last year when NBC-TV's Today Show featured it in a five-minute segment. He became an overnight celebrity, an experience he thoroughly enjoyed. Even today, more than six months later, people from as far away as Europe, South Africa, and the Caribbean come looking for Woody, eager to buy a cup of popcorn and discuss his ideas about retirement.
The notion that a person's second career need not be circumscribed by past trade or profession, that it can — indeed, should be fun seems to strike many with the force of revelation.
"You're an inspiration!", a doctor from Wisconsin told Woody recently. The doctor explained that he'd always thought that medicine was all he knew so he'd have to continue working in it even after retiring from his practice. Now, because of Woody's example, he realizes that the possibilities of an entirely different second career are wide, the opportunities almost limitless.
This is the promise that Woody embodies for many at or near retirement age. To them, it's an exciting notion that "Do your own thing" can have real meaning. "You've got the right idea!", the president of a suburban bank tells Woody, and scarcely a day goes by that someone doesn't express similar encouragement, as if he were embarked on an enterprise extraordinarily daring and unique.
In truth, Woody doesn't feel he's doing anything special, and he's a little bemused by all the attention: "I never thought popcorn would make me some kind of pioneer," he says with a chuckle.
Most customer may not think of him as a pioneer either, but they do know that his popcorn is good. That's why so many have become regulars who are in the habit of stopping by every day for a "popcorn fix."
"It's the best popcorn in Boston!", Woody boasts with conviction. He uses the finest ingredients, and he sells only hot, freshly popped corn. On busy days, the popper operates constantly from morning to evening. The only complaints he ever gets is when he doesn't show up because of weather (his retirement philosophy admits to a relaxed work schedule: no work when the temperature drops below 45F or rises above 90F). "You weren't here yesterday," went one recent complaint from a secretary, "and my boss was very grumpy!"
If fact, Woody enjoys selling popcorn so much he too gets frustrated on days he doesn't work. It's been an altogether pleasant experience with few difficulties, none of them major. There's the rare rude customer, but Woody dismisses that problem with a shrug and a smile: "To him or her, I don't say thank you!" He also views the possibility of competition with equanimity. Popcorn consumption is on the rise nationwide, encouraging more people to enter the market. So far, though, Woody's only direct competition is a shop a few blocks down the street that sells a multi-flavored variety. Woody believes that flavored popcorn and his popcorn are two distinctly different things. Furthermore, he's convinced that Bostonians don't take to fads the way people do in other parts of the country.
Woody's popcorn year ends at Christmas, and he doesn't start up again until Spring. During the interval, he works around his home in Reading, a suburb of Boston, and indulges in his love of travel. Last year, he went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans and then took a leisurely drive through several southern states. This year he toured the Gulf coast. Travel figures prominently in his plans for the future, an integral part of his second career philosophy. He especially loves Innsbruck and the Austrian Alps and Ireland. The last he has visited three times and hopes to go back again.
All in all the popcorn venture has achieved pretty much everything that he had expected it to achieve when he began to plan his retirement . For a small initial investment ($2,000 for the cart, complete with electric popper and green awning, and $200 for supplies), he's established a going business well suited to his present aspirations and needs. He's shown that for second careers small can indeed be beautiful.
"If I were to give a lecture on second careers," Woody says, harking back to his days in the classroom, "I'd first point out that people of retirement age probably won't find what they're looking for in classified advertisements or employment agencies. I'd suggest that others try what I did; I made a list of the things I thought I'd like to do. Then I did market research. For instance, one possibility that appealed to me was selling hot dogs and such at special events, such as Little League ball games, so I visited the police chiefs in a number of neighboring town and asked them about it. They discouraged me -- too much competition already in place.
"The popcorn idea occurred to me long before I acted on it, on a trip to Minneapolis where I saw two girls selling popcorn from a fancy cart. It looked like fun but I didn't seriously consider it as a business for me for a couple of years. Then one day I wrote a letter to the president of Filene's Department Store, then in charge of Downtown Crossing, suggesting a "popcorn boutique". It was such a far-out idea I didn't expect to hear from him, but I did. We negotiated a deal -- and I was in business."
"There are lots of opportunities; the trick is in finding one that expecially appeals to you," he says.
How about status, some visitors ask. Isn't the switch from professor to street vendor a bit of a comedown? On the contrary. He obviously enjoys the change. This can be seen by the fact that he bursts into delighted laughter when he recalls an interview with a teenage bystander during the filming of the Today Show sequence.
"Would you believe that fellow selling popcorn was a professor of management at a prestigious college?"
"No way!", the teenager replied.
From the expression on Woody's face as he tells this story it's clear that's part of the fun.
