by Adina Genn
Reprint with permission - See original story, click here.

The Fruit Tree was a high-volume, high-intensity business that moved 50 million pounds of perishable produce every year. His retirement didn't last.

Nearly a decade later, instead of schmoozing on an 18-hole golf course, he finds himself back working 18-hour days just as he did when he opened The Fruit Tree 35 years ago.

His successor just couldn't keep up the business and went bankrupt by 2003. Messina still owned the 30,000-square-foot building and instead of looking for a new, dependable tenant, Messina decided in June 2004 to plunge back into the business he grew up in - but with a twist.

These days he's busy converting 2,000-square-feet of back office space into an international bazaar, stocked with Turkish, Polish, Greek, Jewish, Pakistani, Chinese and Caribbean specialties. Since he sold out in 1996, things have changed: New ethnic groups came in, I get them what they want, he said.

With the full blessing of his wife, Angela, and broad smiles from his longtime suppliers, Sal Messina was back in action. And to let the world know that the old Sal Messina quality was back he renamed the shop Sal's Fruit Tree.

It was a simple gesture, but it did the trick. And within three months, he said, Business was rockin'.

While the name change satisfied customers, Messina kept his business certificates handy. He showed them readily whenever sheriffs or bill collectors showed up looking for the previous owner. Messina simply said, They're not here anymore, and had the documentation to prove it.

And now that he has returned, he's not fazed by the long hours spent mingling with shoppers on the floor. Nor is he ever fazed by those early-morning phone calls from some professional buyer who has just spotted an unbelievable eggplant or a mouth-watering melon at the Hunt's Point Terminal Market in the Bronx or on some Long Island farm. As Messina puts it, I thrive on this business. It's in my blood.

Messina was born into the industry. His parents met selling produce from separate pushcarts in Manhattan's Lower East Side. After they married, Messina's mother delivered Sal only a few doors away from where her pushcart was parked. Within a month, she returned, selling basil with a baby in tow. Young Sal lived and breathed produce. He learned customer service on the street, not out of a marketing text.

He knows what to sell, when to sell it and how much to sell it for, said Chris Armata whose E. Aramata firm is a big produce wholesaler at Hunts Point Market. That's very hard to teach. He knows how to price better than the supermarkets, which don't adjust prices [to the market] as they should.

When you know an industry from infancy, you know from the gut how to rebuild a business even if it's in shambles.

And that's exactly what he did. First, he rehired 15 people who had been with him in the old days and re-established ties with the buyers who had liked to work exclusively for him. Aside from the store's fresh international flavor, Messina sticks to what he knows best. For the variety that every big food emporium needs to survive nowadays, he chooses to rent out counters to a fishmonger, butcher and a deli pro he knows he can depend on. Without having to manage additional inventory, he can offer customers one-stop-shopping.

The big thing is Messina knows he has to keep his eye on the ball. The owner/ boss stays on the floor supervising his workforce, which now numbers 56 - quite a leap from the days of the pushcart.

That hands-on approach is what gives him the edge over his competition, said Joe Pellicone, who handles the buying at D'Arrigo Brothers at Hunts Point.

He's not leaving [responsibility] to a clerk, or a produce manager, Pellicone said. He's there. In order to be successful, you must be hands on.

The bottom line at the checkout?

Now, Messina claims, business is better than it was prior to selling in 1996. Today, he moves 100 million pounds of produce a year, twice the old turnover, he said proudly, turning to greet a customer he hadn't seen in 20 years.

I always remember a face.

Copyright 2005 Dolan Media Newswires
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.