I WAS AN IDIOT
Eighteen years ago, I was soldering guitar pedals at 2 AM on a plastic card table in an attic area converted into a spare room, my newborn crying downstairs — I wondered if I was completely insane. I believed I could make a living and provide for my family by making guitar pedals from the corner of my upstairs attic studio.
I was an idiot.
Webster defines an idiot as “a stupid or foolish person, someone behaving foolishly, or someone who acts in a stupid way,” which sums it up. I didn’t understand anything necessary to succeed in business. I knew nothing about taxes, inventory systems, how marketing should be done, supply chain, caring for employees, or anything about anything. I think you get the point. I was a lower-middle-class kid who just barely snatched a high school diploma out of the hand of my principal — I took it and ran.
I was never supposed to succeed.
In this eighteenth year of JHS Pedals, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about these things. I find it almost impossible that this dream has survived. If JHS were a lottery ticket, it should be in the trash can by now, but it’s not. Why is that?
How did this work? How did an idiot like me pull this off?
First off, I think I have to give the idiot some credit.
He had heart — that thing that’s hard to explain, that resilience that’s kind of crazy. It’s a certain ruggedness to brave the insanity of trying the impossible while being somewhat unaware of all the dangers. He didn’t know that businesses don’t succeed. Seriously, they don’t. When he learned that 25% of businesses fail in the first year, 40% by year two, 50% by year three, he realized how brutal this game really is. By year ten, 70% of companies have failed, and even now, in this eighteenth year, it’s close to 80% failure knocking at the door.
Luckily for me, this isn’t “most cases.”
Another thing that guy had was a healthy dose of recklessness. He said yes to things that he had no idea how to do, like hiring employees without knowing if he could pay for them, and selling products that weren’t technically done. He was crazy. Certified idiotic by all the rules. Sure — it bit him a handful of times, but in hindsight, it worked out far more often than it should have, and he proved that having it all figured out was for the birds.
He knew that to grow, he had to make more products, and to make more products, he needed more people. The money would come in “after” he hired, not “when the business was big enough to hire.” So many projects in those early days were “can you make this?” And he would say “yes.”
Yes? But you have no idea how to make that?
“Exactly,” he would say — “but I will when I’m done.”
Like the time a famous guitarist called asking if he could recreate a vintage delay circuit from the 1970s. Or when another artist needed him to hunt down and measure old germanium transistors for a custom fuzz that had to sound exactly like a specific unit he had from 1969. He had no clue how to do either, but he said yes. Tons of trial and error, late nights circling the drain, and learning on the fly — but he got there. Years later, when he found himself collaborating with engineers like Robert Keeley, BOSS, Electro-Harmonix, people who’d been his heroes, somehow he earned a spot at tables he never dreamed existed.
I’m proud of what he did, and I can confidently say that JHS wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t believed in his ability to make things happen, even when he was unsure how those things worked. It’s not for everybody, but that path really inspires me.
Looking back over all the times he could have taken on investors or debt from the bank knocking at the door—I’m so glad he didn’t. No runaway credit card bills, no defaulted loans, no friends turned awkward acquaintances because the money didn’t find its way back. I’m not hating on debt — in many cases, debt is healthy and can be a wonderful tool for growing and succeeding, but something about having gotten all this way without the dependence on anyone else feels right. I’m happy he put patience ahead of some form of false financial certainty.
Another observation from the idiot is that I never want to lose how he gave. He gave to his employees before he gave to himself. He gave everything to his customers when they didn’t expect it. He gave it all to his dream. I remember him hiring my now-GM without having any idea what he could actually afford to pay him. He was working 15-hour days, too buried in the work to do basic accounting or even know if we were profitable. But he knew he needed a managing partner more than he needed financial certainty. So he made him an offer based on faith, not spreadsheets. It could have sunk the whole thing or at least ruined the relationship, but it didn’t. Instead, it saved us.
Looking back at this guy, I get inspired. There was never another choice — giving was his way. He wasn’t stingy with what he had, and it created a company that felt different from all the others he and his employees had worked for in the past. The managers and supervisors care, which trickles down to even the newest employee and then the customer, who may never know where it all came from.
He gave when he could have kept for himself, but what would that have done? Nothing worthwhile. Nothing that would have impacted the lives of the very people who came alongside and stepped on board his crazy dream. He could have gotten a fancier car? A vacation home on some sandy shore? A bigger house with an indoor heated swimming pool? He doesn’t even like swimming.
He likes making things. That generous spirit was the foundation of everything.
He got that from his dad. Thanks Dad.
This world pushes us on all sides to protect ourselves and put ourselves first, and while that has some truth, it is also a robber of what can be when we freely give our time, resources, and attention to people who least expect it. I’m proud of how the idiot gave when everyone else was taking. Certifiably dumb in this day and age, but I’m a fan. A+ would recommend.
Lastly, I’m proud of how he believed in others. He pulled in people who were a lot like him — underdogs — people who had no business being a part of some multi-million dollar business. I’m proud he looked beyond the qualifications and deep into the heart and soul of those who ended up helping him build this crazy thing called JHS. Give me ragamuffins with a hunger to learn, grow, and push the limits over experienced know-it-alls all day. Humility is the key ingredient to handling success because when you know you don’t “deserve” the seat you are sitting in, it makes it all the more precious. None of us were supposed to be here, none of us were supposed to have survived. The ship was doomed from the moment the ropes untied at the dock, but here we are — the unexpected, sometimes misunderstood, and extremely thankful bunch of people who are as surprised sometimes as you.
I love that about the idiot. While more qualified people should have been able to build a company like this, they didn’t.
The idiot and his team of misfits did. The irony runs deep.
I will admit that, yeah, I was an idiot, absolutely.
But here’s the thing: I’m not anymore, and it’s taken me years to say that.
The idiot never grows unless he pushes past who he is and what he has done.
Every single day of my life over these eighteen years I have moved an inch or two further than I had previously been. Somedays it felt impossible. Some moments ripped my heart out — but I did it. I became someone that no one, including myself ever dreamed I could be. Well, my wife always believed I could. This isn’t some self-help dialog about finding your true self, no, it’s me telling you that if you will put in the work, the hard relentless and backbreaking work, you can be someone else. Someone that no one saw coming.
No one can take it away and no one can tell you that you don’t deserve it.
I am who I am, and I will always be who I was, but I have finally convinced myself that it’s okay to own the hard work and success that has come from what I made. I am proud of what we have built and to get to the next milestones of twenty years, twenty-five years, or even fifty, like few ever have, I have to say it with confidence while also holding on to the past that got me here.
It’s both now. The idiot and the professional — they stand hand in hand and they challenge me daily with their naive + confident ways.
I’m not an idiot anymore, but I am gonna make sure the idiot doesn’t die. He’s really valuable because he doesn’t know any better and sometimes, thats the person you need in your corner.
So here’s my question for you: What ‘idiotic’ leap of faith changed your life? What did you say yes to before you knew how? Hit reply and tell me about your moment of beautiful, reckless courage. If you don’t have one, tell me what you think it should be? I’d love to hear about it.