NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK
The early years were the best. Or maybe it’s just that everything was so new. Each day there was cause for celebration: We got our tax ID number, our line of credit was approved, a chair we’d ordered had arrived. The best days were when the phone actually rang—even if the caller was trying to sell us something, the sound of an incoming call served to reinforce our existence. We really were a business!

The years from 1985 to 1990 were by far the longest hours I’ve ever worked in my life. I was in the office by 6 or 6:30 a.m. and rarely left before 8 p.m.—often staying until much later. A typical weekend for John and me consisted of an 8-hour day on Saturday while Sundays we took off at noon, often retreating to our favorite brunch hangout to sketch ideas on napkins. During our “off” hours, we went to antique malls or bookstores together where we pored over design books. We were joined at the hip and working our asses off.

From the beginning, our goal was to be more than a local graphic design firm. We shared a vision of “going national” and having clients outside Des Moines and Iowa. We both studied design annuals and trade magazines: John looked at the artwork and typography, and critiqued technique; I read the articles and studied which clients had the budgets and the wherewithal to allow designers to excel. We sat up late at night, pointing out this or that to each other.

There were some nice payoffs relatively early. One milestone was our first inclusion in the Communication Arts annual in 1988. In the local market, we began to not just win, but dominate the award shows. As gratifying as it all was, there was a downside: Other Des Moines design firms expressed contempt for us, and we even received a bit of anonymous hate mail. But the clients kept coming, and we just kept plugging away.

BUMPS IN THE ROAD
By the early ’90s we had hired enough staff to make it possible for us to work less frenetically, but we still worked a lot. We also had become involved in the industry and the community. I served as president of our local advertising club and even returned to Drake University, this time as an instructor. John donated design services to no fewer than a dozen nonprofits. We bought our first house together, and our few unprogrammed hours were spent on home-improvement projects.

By 1995—our company’s 10th anniversary—things had begun to unravel. Although our relationship had always been characterized by animated “discussions,” John and I began to argue bitterly. We heatedly discussed our future together—and whether we would actually have one. Ultimately we stayed together, but in hindsight the writing was already on the wall. Even with the help of a counselor, we drifted apart. I became a vegetarian, reclaimed my former interests in art and cultural events, and wrote my first design book. John developed a different circle of friends and spent a lot of time playing pool. I actively sought out-of-town clients, looking for an excuse to travel to see them. On weekends we came into work at different times in order to each have the studio to ourselves. We hobbled along as a couple until late 1998, when we agreed that we would curtail our personal relationship, but maintain the business one.

It would be naive to think the turmoil in our personal lives didn’t affect the business. Our employees could not escape the discord. John and I argued openly, and rarely agreed on anything anymore. Although we were both still working hard, we were clearly not working together. Finally, in the fall of 1998, we set a date and established an action plan: John would move out of the house by the end of April 1999. Meanwhile, we came across a building —a 5,300-square-foot little gem that would be the perfect studio. The timing couldn’t have seemed worse but the structure was sound and attractive, plus it was a half mile from my house and even closer to the house that John was negotiating to buy for himself. After a lot of serious consideration, we made an offer and on Christmas Eve 1998, we closed on it.

It may very well be that the purchase of our current studio at 3701 Beaver Avenue is what saved the business relationship. Suddenly we had a project—not to mention a significant debt—that we each needed to devote ourselves to in order to make it work. The building renovation would take months, not to mention a lot of coordination, collaboration, and consensus. We were forced to work cooperatively—the all-too-familiar pattern of avoidance was simply not going to serve us anymore.

In addition, the new property served as a tangible promise of sorts—to our staff, our clients, and our vendors—that John and I were each committed to keeping Sayles Graphic Design alive, even if the John/Sheree portion of it was not to be. We called our staff together and pointedly asked them not to seek other employment until we had been settled in to the new building for 90 days. We told them that if it looked like things were not going to work out, they could be open with us about beginning a new job search. In the end, the team that moved into the building stayed intact for three more years.