Taking the Lead

Winning Business Principles That Fuel Joe Gibbs Racing

Dave Alpern, David Thomas

• Publisher: Tyndale Momentum
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781496444592
• Topic: Business
• Subtopic: Leadership
• Index: Business

The president of Joe Gibbs Racing—the winningest team in NASCAR history—shares the secrets of succeeding in business and in life.
In NASCAR, as in life, the difference between winning and losing often comes down to being in the right place at the right time and making the most of every opportunity. Nobody understands that better than Dave Alpern. Dave started his career as an unpaid intern selling T-shirts for the newly formed Joe Gibbs Racing team. Nearly three decades later, he's now the president of JGR, a multimillion-dollar elite, record-setting racing team with more than 500 employees. In Taking the Lead, Dave shares the wisdom he's learned along the way: key principles that will equip you with what you need to rise to the top and succeed with integrity and purpose—whatever team you're on.

Chapter 1: THE POWER OF INFLUENCE

KYLE BUSCH HAD JUST WON the 2019 NASCAR Cup Series championship to cap our greatest season ever. The title was Kyle’s second and the fifth in the history of Joe Gibbs Racing. Kyle’s championship-clinching victory at Homestead-Miami Speedway was the nineteenth race win of the season for Joe Gibbs Racing. Four cars, nineteen victories out of thirty-six races—the most for any team in NASCAR’s modern era.

I could not imagine a more emotional ending to our first season since the death of J.D. Gibbs, the son of team owner Joe Gibbs, my best friend, and the man I had replaced as president almost four years before in the early stages of his illness. As Kyle crossed the finish line to complete our dream season, his pit erupted in celebration. But instead of running straight to Victory Lane, I hurried down pit lane to catch the guys on our team who weren’t celebrating—Erik Jones, Martin Truex Jr., and Denny Hamlin.

A unique juxtaposition exists from leading multiple race car teams that contend against one another. On the night Kyle’s team won the championship, our other three teams lost. Like a parent with kids competing against each other, I hurt for each one who lost—the drivers, their crew members, and their sponsors. They are family.

Martin had won more races (seven) than any other driver in NASCAR that season. He finished second to Kyle in the championship race. Denny had won six races, and he had entered the final race as a popular favorite to win his first title because of his late-season momentum. Erik, who finished third in the race (and who was the only one of our drivers not in contention for the championship), was a young, up-and-coming driver with a bright future and one victory in 2019 to his credit.

Then there was the handful of executives from FedEx, which had sponsored Denny’s number 11 car and requested that “#DoItForJD” be painted in purple letters across the car’s back. How could I not root for the car honoring my best friend? Denny had come close to winning the championship twice before with FedEx, only to fall short both times. Obviously, I want all our drivers to perform well. But a first championship for Denny and FedEx, with their desire to honor J.D., would have made for a memorable conclusion to a historic year. Then with only forty-five laps to go in the race for the title—less than seventy miles—Denny experienced car trouble and had to settle for a fourth-place finish in the season standings.

I told Erik, Martin, and Denny that I was proud of them and thanked them for their contributions to our team’s nineteen victories. I thanked the FedEx executives for their fifteen years of support and friendship. Then I joined Kyle’s team in Victory Lane. The Mars (chocolate) family was there, along with all their top executives as the primary sponsor of Kyle’s number 18 car. They are wonderful people, a family to us at JGR.

But when the championship celebration started to shift toward scattered locations, I wondered whether I should even post about our victory on social media out of consideration for Denny’s and Martin’s heartbreak.

To be clear: I definitely enjoyed being in Victory Lane for Kyle’s team’s moment. Being part of the immediate aftermath of the clinching win was awesome. That’s the moment every team pursues throughout the nine-month grind of the NASCAR season. My disappointment amid that celebration was the welcome result of leading one of NASCAR’s top teams.

Three of our drivers had earned spots among the “Championship 4” that arrived in Miami with an opportunity to leave as Cup champion. The annual goal is to place as many of your drivers into the final four as possible, and we became the first team ever to qualify three. But because we are a company built on relationships, even the crowning achievement in our sport came with disappointment mixed in.

Which is a lot like life. Most of life is a mixture of victories and defeats, often competing simultaneously for our emotions. Even when life seems easy, it can be difficult. But on this night, we won a championship and my family was with me, and I couldn’t help but reflect on how far our team had come.

Joe Gibbs Racing’s journey to a four-car, record-setting team started in 1991 with one car and a ton more hope than experience. I have been at JGR since the start, when the Gibbs family allowed me—a clueless, unconfident college graduate who had moved back home to live with his parents—to join their new company as an unpaid intern, happy to work out of an emptied broom closet with no electrical outlet (but a long extension cord). I have witnessed how a family business with eighteen employees grew to a championship team of around five hundred, and how every step in the process has come from a steadfast commitment to a simple mission: go fast.

And now as president of JGR, I help Coach Gibbs run that business. These days my office is larger and, fortunately, they pay me to work here. But the company-wide commitment to go fast remains the same.

When I reflect on JGR’s history, I see five overarching principles that have guided us from nothing to greatness:

1. Deliver more than you cost.
2. Create a winning culture.
3. Stay on mission.
4. Treat people as souls, not transactions.
5. Win at life.

In addition to exploring each of these overarching principles, this book shares lessons within these principles that I have learned along the way. These lessons are keys to succeeding in business and in life. The pursuit of both is what makes Joe Gibbs Racing unique in our sport.

Accepted into the Family

Starting out as an unpaid intern established a pretty low bar for delivering more than I cost. Heck, I just tried to stay out of the way most days. But from the beginning, I tried to create value for myself and earn my keep. Ultimately, delivering more than I cost is how I became the president of a family business without being in the family and why, thirty years later, I am still here. (And still not named Gibbs.)

But the story of how I became an unpaid intern at all is about the power of influence.

I met J.D. Gibbs in 1981 in middle school in Fairfax, Virginia, when his father, Joe, became head coach of my beloved Washington Redskins. The week after the Redskins lost to the San Francisco 49ers for an 0–5 start to Coach’s first season, I invited J.D. to spend the night at my house. We joked that, based on the team’s record, that might be the last time J.D. came over.

I recall that even though J.D. was living in a new city and already hearing angry fans speculating that his dad could be fired, he did not seem to have a care in the world. From seventh grade until the day he died, I never witnessed anything that could unsteady J.D. Even from an early age, his excited and depressed moods were no more than an inch apart.

By high school, J.D. held larger-than-life status to me. He was that guy who always seemed to do the right thing.

J.D. could have been created in a lab rather than born. He was good looking, he played quarterback on the varsity football team, and he had status and material possessions because of his dad’s career. Yet his greatest enjoyment seemed to come from sharing his popularity with others. J.D. recognized the power of his influence and often sat at a cafeteria table with kids who weren’t among the most popular or who belonged to a different social circle than his. He understood that with just a few words—“Hi, I’m J.D. How are you doing?”—he could make a positive impact on those kids who needed attention from a respected student-athlete like himself. And not once did I see J.D. take a seat at one of those tables and look over his shoulder to see who was watching.

Others-focused leaders are motivated by seeing others succeed.

J.D. was my moral compass. From observing how he conducted himself in high school, I started asking myself, How would J.D. handle this? when I found myself in a situation I felt unprepared for.

The Gibbs home served as a popular hangout for the friends of J.D. and his younger brother, Coy. Coach was not there much during football seasons. I remember late nights when Coach would walk in around eleven o’clock or midnight after a long day at the Redskins’ office. He loved his sons having friends over, and he would sit down and talk with us for a little bit before excusing himself to grab a few hours of sleep.

The Gibbs family also hosted weekly, biblically based meetings for a high school Young Life group. I accepted an invitation to one such meeting only because the offer came from a pretty girl. Plus, who wouldn’t want to attend a party at the Redskins coach’s house?

I did not grow up in church, and before I became a Christian, I wrongly considered Christianity a crock and Christians mentally weak people who had been brainwashed. But the pretty girl kept asking me to go, and I kept going.

J.D.’s home felt different from mine. By the time I entered high school, my dad had married his third wife. Dad was a former CIA agent who spoke multiple languages and had briefed presidents of the United States. The engineering firm he cofounded following his departure from the government almost instantly became successful with hundreds of employees. He was a gourmet chef, a brilliant pianist, and a big personality. Achievement was the chief pursuit in our family, and as the only son, I had a tough act to follow in my dad. He often told me, “You’re going to do great things. You need to get great grades so you’ll get into a great college.” I wanted to make my dad proud, so accomplishments became my god. Except the accomplishments weren’t coming.

In a high school of over three thousand students, I was by far the smallest boy in my freshman class at five feet tall and eighty-five pounds. I hadn’t reached puberty yet. I had also been diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome in sixth grade. My symptoms got worse—of course—in high school. What a great one-two punch for making friends! As a teenage boy trying to fit in, battling those conditions and also chasing the god of great accomplishments to please my dad, I did not see much of a path to glory ahead for me.

Yet all throughout high school, J.D. treated me like I was the coolest guy in the world.

After graduation, J.D. and I attended different colleges but remained close friends. He moved on to the College of William & Mary in southeastern Virginia to play football. I stayed in Fairfax to attend George Mason University. Not that I preferred to stay close to home.

I planned to study electrical engineering to follow in my dad’s footsteps, and my top three choices were Virginia, Virginia Tech, and Georgia Tech. None of those schools accepted me. Two of the rejection letters came on the same day. The dreaded thin envelope from a college admissions office was the telltale sign that you had received the one-page “Sorry to inform you” letter. I opened the two letters in the driveway and, before entering our house, detoured into the garage so I could fall to my knees and weep. I had no clue how I was going to tell my dad about the rejections, but I could hear those words he had said to me so many times.

You need to get into a great college.

I loved and respected my dad, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. But I couldn’t have felt like more of a failure. I wound up attending my fourth-choice school.

I can look back now and call my freshman year at George Mason the worst year of my life. Had I taken a ten-minute personality profile before college, I could have spared myself a miserable year in engineering. Before my sophomore year, I changed my major from engineering to mass communication and media studies. After finding a good academic fit, I helped found a fraternity. By staying home for college, I was able to be mentored by my Young Life leader, Rick Beckwith, and to grow in the faith I had come to call my own. I even became a volunteer Young Life leader at my old high school. Both helped me discover the untapped leadership potential I possessed. But most important, I met my wife, Stacey, during my sophomore year. George Mason proved to be the right place for me.

Staying in Fairfax also kept me in close contact with the Gibbs family.

Mrs. Gibbs would invite me and Moose Valliere, a close friend of mine and J.D.’s (and the future best man in my wedding), to sit in a luxury box with the family during Redskins games. Because J.D. was playing college football more than a two-hour drive away, I made it to more games than he did.

Coach had a ritual of hosting dinner at a local restaurant after his team’s home victories. In that era of Redskins history, that meant after almost every home game. Coach invited his assistant coaches and family friends to the dinners. I felt both honored and unworthy to be among the invited.

I still remember the first time I attended one of those victory celebrations. I walked through the doors into a room filled with dozens of people. Before I had a chance to survey the crowd for anyone I recognized, Coach shouted, “Pern’s here!” Then he walked directly to me, gave me a high five, and asked, “How about that game?”

Coach always made me feel special and like I was part of his family.

Turning a Dream into Reality

The start of Joe Gibbs Racing is a right-time, right-place story. Coach had long held a dream of undertaking a business venture with J.D. and Coy (younger by four years). Football seemed a natural fit, with Coy also playing in college at Stanford University. But J.D. had stated numerous times he would not get into coaching football professionally. Coach was well known for putting in long hours, typically sleeping in his office three nights a week during football season. J.D. had no desire to choose that lifestyle for his family, and Coach recognized that making his dream come true would require a shift on his part.

Coach grew up around auto racing in Southern California, and he owned a hot rod he raced on weekends in his younger days. In 1991, he and his boys decided to get into the racing business. Coach got into NASCAR, as they like to say in the South, while the getting was good. He entered on an uptick in NASCAR that led to Sports Illustrated declaring on one of its covers in 1995 that NASCAR was “America’s hottest sport.” If Coach had waited three or four years to start his team, the barrier to entry might have been too great.

When Coach joined NASCAR, he...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Endorsements
• Epigraph
• Copyright
• Contents
• Foreword
• Prologue
• Principle 1: Deliver More Than You Cost
• Principle 2: Create a Winning Culture
• Principle 3: Stay on Mission
• Principle 4: Treat People as Souls, Not Transactions
• Principle 5: Win at Life
• Afterword
• Acknowledgments
• About the Authors