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Cover Story

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Rising Son

By Steve Uhler / Photos By Rudy Arocha

No doubt about it – dads and their sons can have a challenging road to navigate. Just ask Martin Sheen. But every once in a while, the journey works out.  ATXman decided to take a look inside the relationships of three uniquely diverse and successful father-and-son duos. Each is different, but all share a common bond. All have been shaped by Austin, and all have made a lasting difference and contribution to our city and its culture. One more thing: Each stands as irrefutable proof that the child is, indeed, father of the man.

“We had the first flood in ’81,” remembers Robert Strait, sitting behind his office desk. He’s staring at an old, faded black-and-white photo of a surreal sight: a small two-man boat floating by his old store on Lamar Boulevard atop a torrent of rushing water. “Memorial Day weekend. Lost just about everything. Rebuilt.

We flooded again in ’82. My dad just went, ‘You know what? I’m outta here. You take it from here.’ So I did.”

If the path to success is often paved with adversity, Strait Music Company is thrice blessed. The venerable Austin music store has endured the capricious vagaries of Texas weather, surviving not one ruinous flood, but two. The current patriarch and CEO has survived two battles with cancer, plus a pretty serious heart issue. And to top it off, days after relocating to their current flagship location at Ben White Boulevard in August 2001, the catastrophic events of 9/11 threw the economy in to a tailspin.

Flood, disease, disaster—it’s a list of near-biblical calamities. All that’s missing are the locusts. But nearly 50 years on, Strait Music has more than survived in an unstable and volatile market; it’s thrived. And along the way, it’s achieved that rarest of statistics: a successful family-run business spanning three generations.

Founder Dan Strait, still a firecracker at 86, opened the doors at the original location at Ninth Street and Lamar Boulevard in 1963. A former piano salesman from Houston, Dan foresaw opportunities in Austin.

What he didn’t foresee was being in the midst of a flood zone. Son Robert began working for the store while still in high school, delivering instruments, receiving inventory and eventually attending the University of Texas as a finance major. He was 28 when his father handed him the reins of the business.

The same year Robert officially took over the family business, his own first son, Clinton, was born.

“I gave myself a raise,” jokes Robert, “so I could afford him.”

Like his father, young Clint learned the ropes of the retail music business from the ground up, cleaning instruments, driving deliveries, doing various odd jobs around the store. After graduating high school, Clint attended college in Colorado before returning home to help his dad after an unexpected family crisis.

“He’s my hero,” says Clint of his father. “He’s survived cancer twice and a heart attack, and I don’t think I ever heard him complain one time. Not a single word. I get a sore throat, and it’s all hands on deck. So sometimes when I’m having a bad day, I think about my dad and it kind of makes the other things seem trivial.

“His second bout with cancer happened when I was in college. When he had it the first time, I was in fifth grade. I was sort of oblivious then. They told me he was going to be OK, so I didn’t worry about it that much. It’s a whole different ball game when you get that call up in college in your 20s and you’ve had friends with parents who haven’t been so lucky. It made me wonder what life would be like without my dad. It’s a lot different at 21 than it is at 12.”

Returning home to a new set of responsibilities in 2006, Clint rapidly assimilated the intricacies of the business under his father’s guidance.

“I use the word ‘apprentice’ a lot because I think it’s relevant,” Clint says. “I learned the big picture of the business from my dad. We worked on advertising and marketing together. … Now he pretty much handles finances, I handle marketing.”

Throughout time, the learning curve between father and son proved reciprocal.

“I have a little leg up on my dad as far as technology is concerned,” Clint says. “I finally got him texting about six months ago, so that’s good.”

“Yeah, I got my own email now,” Robert jokes. “He’s proud of me.”

Like all fathers and sons, the pair shares marked similarities and differences. Physically, the two could almost pass for siblings, if not for the differences in hair color.

“The girls have always said my dad’s one of the best-looking old men ever,” asserts the younger Strait.

“Older man,” Robert corrects him.

Although neither claims to be a musician, both men are intimately familiar with the technical and aesthetic attributes of the instruments they purvey. Asked what kind of instrument his son most resembles, Robert surveys his vast inventory: “He’d probably be a really fine acoustic guitar. ’Cause they’re all different. It’s not like a mass- produced electronic keyboard. Acoustics are hand- made. They’re all different. They all have their own special tone, kind of like him. He’s his own man, and you’re not going to find anybody else just like him.” “My dad would be a grand piano,” Clint says after consideration. “Because of the intricacies involved in making them, all the different parts from different people, all the various elements that go in to it. You’ve got the strings, you’ve got the hammers, the wood. A lot of things that all work together to make one amazing instrument.”

“I’m more like an antique piano,” Robert offers. His son smiles.

“But good antique grand pianos,” observes Clint with instant insight, “raise in value as they get older.”

The Gilmores:

In the short pre-dinner lull at newly opened eatery Barley Swine on a crisp fall afternoon, owner and Chef Bryce Gilmore is quietly but deftly juggling a half dozen small rituals: sampling a new wine from a local vintner, signing off on invoices, scrutinizing deliveries and, as garnish on the platter, finalizing details for his impending wedding in a few days. Dad Jack Gilmore stands nearby, cordially greeting guests, surveying the scene.

Together, the pair constitutes one of the most formidable culinary duos in Austin. The differences between the two celebrated chefs mirror their respective characteristics: dad Jack, 51, down to earth, genial, a walking, talking comfort meal served in ample, generous portions; son Bryce, 30, casually lean with an eye toward artistic balance and new concepts. Like spices in a gumbo, the two men are diverse yet complementary.

“The other day Bryce and I were working together in the kitchen and I was pretty intense with my staff,” Jack says. “He said, ‘Man, you’re loud.’ I’m like, ‘I gotta be loud. I have to make sure people do their stuff.’ And then with those simple words he said, it made me think, ‘Uh, maybe I am a little too loud.’ So I toned it down. I was being Chef Ramsay.”

“We have different styles in the kitchen,” Bryce adds diplomatically. As founder and longtime corporate chef at Z’Tejas, and current proprietor of Jack Allen’s Restaurant, the elder Gilmore is an authentic superstar in the industry. Relative newcomer Bryce founded Odd Duck Farm to Trailer and the recently opened Barley Swine, just blocks from the old Odd Duck location on South Lamar Boulevard. While father’s and son’s names are often linked together in local foodie circles, their respective styles diverge appreciably.

“If you mention us in the same sentence as far as restaurants are concerned, people assume they’re going to be similar. But they’re not,” Bryce reflects. “Dad’s more geared to dealing with the masses, 600 covers, lots of comfort food. … Here, it’s smaller. We do maybe 80 plates. We’re a little higher end. It’s a different dining experience.”

Like his father before him, at 15, Bryce began his vocation bussing tables, invariably finding himself drawn to the kitchen.

“His mom and I thought he was going to grow up to be an architect,” Jack recalls. “That’s what he used to do: drawings, scales, things like that. But at the end of the day, architecture’s a lot like cooking. You’re building something from scratch. So it’s kind of in the same artistic realm.”

“What got me in to cooking,” Bryce interjects, “was watching my dad, the respect he got, the amount of work he put in to everything. That, combined with my drive to create things and be artistic, kind of pushed me in that direction of cooking.”

“We started talking about college, you know, and culinary school,” Jack says, picking up the story. “I wanted him to make sure he knew what he was getting in to.”

So the two packed their bags and embarked on the first of a series of culinary cross-country road trips, scoping out possibilities, helping build restaurants, sampling local cuisine, having adventures.

“It was the most time we’d ever spent together, ever,” Bryce recalls, smiling at the memory. “My dad was working so much when I was growing up, I only saw him on weekends. But traveling together, we got a lot closer.”

While supportive of his son’s evolving ambitions, the elder Gilmore was not without parental misgivings: “You got to be half crazy to be a chef. You work 70, 80 hours a week on the low side. Work nights, weekends, holidays. It’s hard on a family. It takes a special person to really give up everything and put out great food.”

After graduating from California Culinary Academy, Bryce honed his skills in a string of

prestigious kitchens throughout the country.

Returning home to Austin, he was inspired by the burgeoning trailer-food culture while also developing a growing obsession with high- quality, locally produced foods. He purchased a 1980 Fleetwood Mallard trailer from eBay, spent the next three months rebuilding it, initially working alongside his father.

“At some point when he was building the trailer, his vision was totally different from mine,” Jack remembers. “After about two weeks, I said, ‘Hell, do whatever you want. You know what you’re doing.’ He built it from the ground up. Wiring, plumbing, everything.”

Opened in December 2009, Odd Duck became an immediate hit with savvy Austin foodies, establishing Gilmore the younger as a local entrepreneurial force to be reckoned with. In 2011, he was honored with the Best New Chef Award from Food & Wine Magazine.

“People tell me every day the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Jack relates. “No, it fell real far from the tree because Bryce inspired me to get in to the whole farm movement, working with local farmers, Texas ingredients, fresh is best and all that stuff. What I learned from him was, for all the right reasons, buy from your local source farmers that work their ass off every day to put out great food.

“So when people come up to me and say, ‘It’s no wonder your son is successful, because of you.’

I say, ‘No, man, he’s doing his own thing.’ This guy’s a brilliant chef. We may share a few of the same ingredients, but he’s doing it all a different way, a simpler, more artistic way, where I seem to go and complicate things.”

The Merediths: Everyone loves a good philanthropist. Next to being Santa Claus or the neighborhood bartender, it’s the most popular job in town. But, as is often the case with dream jobs, the reality is different from the fantasy.

Just ask father-and-son business partners Tom and Will Meredith.

“Some people confuse philanthropy with writing a check. Anybody can write checks if you have money,” Tom reflects, sipping an espresso in a local coffee bar near his office during a rare break.

“I think we take a little bit more of a non-traditional approach,” Will considers. “What I find more rewarding is focusing on more social entrepreneurship and finding businesses that have a social mission, bringing a business sense to the social for-profit world.”

Both men should know. Together, they help guide a triad of family-owned enterprises: MFI Management, MFI Capital and MFI Foundation, the charitable arm of the family dynasty. All share a passionate commitment to social and environmental stewardship.

As the former chief financial officer for Dell (from 1992 to 2001) and co-founder of Meritage Capital, L.P., Tom is a Central Texas business icon. His charitable and humanitarian efforts have earned him countless honors and accolades, enough to make Albert Schweitzer blanch, including the Austin Community Foundation Philanthropy Award in 2010, the Torch of Liberty Award in 2006 and Outstanding Philanthropist of the Year from the Association of Professional

Fundraisers in 2004. All in all, it’s a hard act for a son to follow.

But Will seems to be catching up. In addition to his ongoing duties at MFI, he serves on the board of directors for Open Door Preschool, the Austin Film Society and The Sustainable Food Center. He can rattle off a dizzying list of projects he’s actively involved with:

The hike and bike trail in MLK Jr. Park, a social profit village, Theatre Action Project, a community pavilion space. On top of all that, he still attends night classes twice a week.

“Will has come in to his own in the last few years,”

Tom says. “He’s done some really great things, and he’s only 30.”

As a boy, Will took his father’s ethics and values to heart: “I saw his passion and drive. My dad grew up lower-middle class in South Philadelphia, paid his own way through college, went to law school, got his business degree at Stanford. He taught me you’ve got to work hard but work smart. You’ve got to figure out what you’re passionate about.”

While attending the University of California, Santa Barbara, Will discovered an affinity for politics. After graduating, he served political internships in Washington, D.C., and across the country, shaping both his philosophy and ambition.

“The notion of working for the greater good of the people around you really struck a chord with me,” he says.

Returning home in 2005 to help with the family business, Will created a niche for himself by focusing on real estate development.

“The thing that really drew me to real estate was the ability to create a lasting difference,” he says with the same familial fervor apparent in his father’s voice.

“We’re a product of our built environment. The buildings, the infrastructure, the roads—all this stuff shapes our society as much as we shape it. Winston Churchill once said, ‘We shape our buildings. Thereafter, they shape us.’ … Austin’s growing, no matter what.  We might as well find ways to grow around the things that we care about.”

Back in 2001, the Meredith family purchased 30 acres in the then-derelict Chestnut neighborhood on Austin’s East side to give back to the community. After returning to Austin, the project became Will’s first big assignment for his family’s business.

“We basically sat down with the community leaders and said, ‘How can we work to advocate for some of these neighborhood objectives: affordable housing, public transportation, safe public places, direct services, open green space?’ Piece by piece we started picking through the objectives that the neighborhood had laid out as their priorities,” Will says.

It’s an appealingly utopian/capitalist vision, but does the Merediths’ methodology work in practice?

Take a stroll by the MLK MetroRail Station, ask near- by residents who Will Meredith is, and you’re likely to be met with a blank stare. But ask what they like about the revitalized community, and the answers come easily: the inviting Chestnut Commons, the proximity to MetroRail, the ongoing restoration of Boggy Creek Trail—all contributions manifested by the Merediths.

As of this writing, the project is nearing the end of phase three of an ambitious multi-year, 15-part plan. It’s an impressive achievement for any man. But the entire Meredith family, from mom Lynn to all four children, is passionate about social change and civic responsibility. The connections—and differences—between generations have not escaped the patriarch’s notice.

“I believe our children define success significantly differently than previous generations,” Tom muses.

“I’ve thought a lot about this. Why? Why is it that when I talk to my kids’ friends about what they’re doing, they’re talking about teaching, the Peace Corps, EMS, the military. A lot of it is public service. And I’m thinking, why? Part of it is because their parents, unlike my parents, didn’t go to bed hungry at night, didn’t have The Depression, didn’t leave a restaurant, because they weren’t in restaurants.

“Our kids have had the ability to think about life and about what it really means, because in many respects, they didn’t worry about having enough food, having enough water. But now they’re looking around saying, ‘There are people in the world worried about that stuff, and I need to figure out how to help them.’ I revel in the fact that these kids are passionate about public service. … For- get money; give time. You can have enough money. You can never have enough time.”