Tootling along a country road near Paso Robles last week, my wife alerted me to a sign for the Kenneth Volk winery. Now we know that winery, one of our favorites, and the tasting room, are in Santa Maria, not Paso Robles. We stopped to investigate and discovered that this weekend was the grand opening of this brand new location’s tasting room. Once inside, we began a tasting, and shortly thereafter, the dirty worker near us went to the back room. We asked about this new venue, and our server replied, “Why don’t you ask Kenneth Volk himself? I’ll get him.” Out from the back room came the same dirty, disheveled “worker” who had just been with us, his hands soiled from planting tomatoes. He apologized. “Hi, I’m Kenneth Volk,” he announced. We were astonished. THE Kenneth Volk, the owner of the winery, then spent the next half hour with us, pouring wines and explaining the subtleties of the Art of the Grape. When we asked for a picture with him, he insisted we take two—one in the shade and one in the sunlight.
So why did Kenneth Volk make such a deep impression on us? In his humility, he did not question our credentials. He didn’t ask if we were Kenneth Volk club members. He didn’t rush away to other chores, though his new establishment’s grand opening would be the next day. He didn’t apologize for his working-class appearance.
He was not “Me”-centered. Instead, he wanted to help meet our needs. Kenneth Volk included us as part of his family. He was inclusively “We”-centered, and that made all the difference.