Bill Time Restaurant Man
By I I YEAGER, Arizona
HERE are a number of adjectives
Americans like to use in describing
somebody who has made the grade entirely on his own. For instance we are
prone to say that so-and-so might have
stepped straight from the pages of Horatio Alger, or we might hang the tag of
"Cinderella Man" on somebody else.
You'd have to say that these, and others too, apply to the case history of Bill
Marriott, Utah '26.
Twenty years ago Bill Marriott was a
kid fresh out of college, who, ignoring
the advice of Mr. Greeley, was chugging
Eastward with a maximum of hope and
a minimum of cash. Today Bill Marriott owns and operates a $10 million per
annum restaurant business in the Washington-Baltimore sector and heads up
the nation's Number One eating National Restaurant Association.
On paper it looks easy, but life for
Brother Marriott has by no means been
all tea and crumpets.
J. Willard if you want born on a ranch in Utah
where he was exposed early to the fabulous Mormon industry. He entered the
University of Utah in 1923 and was graduated with an A.B. degree in 1926. It is
not recorded whether the Utah Phis, at
the time Bill donned the Sword and
Shield, had any notion that their new
brother was destined to become one of
the nation's outstanding businessmen.
That, of course, was beside the point.
Bill Marriott was a genuinely nice guy
to have around.
After graduation Bill said goodby to
the Phis in Salt Lake City and went to
teaching at Weber College in Ogden,
Utah. A year later he was secretary-treasurer at that institution; even so Bill was
feeling the urge to be his own boss.
He managed, together with a dose
WILLARD MARRIOTT, Utah
Owner of a ten million dollar restaurant chain
and President of the National Restaurant Association.
friend, to scrape up $3,000 and an old
flivver. The two of them piled in and
headed East. They weren't sure where
they would end up or what they would
do when they arrived.
As it turned out they landed in Washington and they invested their money
in two root beer the first
of the "drive-in" type which have mushroomed so extensively. It may sound
queer, considering the constant invective which is heaped upon Washington
weather, but the two Western tyros were
all but put out of business by a cold
summer. Nobody, it seemed, was very
much interested in buying iced drinks.
By the time the frigid summer of 1927
had passed by Washington and another
one arrived, business languished to the
point where Brother Bill and his partner