THE BIG ENCHILADA

Martinez clan makes El Fenix restaurants a Texas tradition through three generations

By: Cheryl Hall
Reprinted from
The Dallas Morning News, June 16, 1996

Consider the contributions of the Martinez family to Texas kind and see if there isn't special cause to celebrate this Father's Day:  the Mexican combination plate, the Wednesday enchilada special and the beginnings of Tex-Mex as we know it.

If the railroad had laid off Mike Martinez Sr. in Denver instead of this end of the line, the now ubiquitous Lone Star cuisine might have been known as Colo-Mex.

For nearly 78 years, the Martinez clan has been dishing up enchiladas, tomales, rice and beans.  As the oldest family-owned Mexican chain in the country, they claim their first El Fenix on McKinney Avenue was "where the Mexican food revolution started."

"Because of our opening in 1918, we have to be the granddaddy of Mexican food, " President Rueben D. Martinez says to justify bragging rights that others might contest.

He then adds with a sniff, "I understand someone else has come out with an ad that says they started it - in 1940."

Along with his recipes, father Mike Martinez handed down his formula for success when he died in 1956.  He told his kids to stick to necessities - food, clothing or housing - sold cheap enough for average folks.

His advice has served his heirs well, with clientele stretching the economic gamut.  Ross Perot dines there.  So do construction laborers.

This family affair reaps annual sales of $30 million from 16 area restaurants.

El Fenix Corp. has never posted a losing year, not even in the worst of recessions, and has never grown faster than cash flow could handle, says its chief executive.  "That was another one of my father's lessons.  He said, 'Don't do anything you can't pay for.'"

While other chains have franchised, sold out or gone public, El Fenix remains the sole property of Mike and Faustina Martinez's descendants.  Of their eight offspring, five survive and remain active in the business.

The eldest, 80-year-old chairman emeritus Irene Martinez Garcia, routinely shows up at her Harry Hines headquarters office.

Her "baby" brother, 65-year-old Reuben, is titular CEO - with as much sway as his brothers and sisters give him.

"Titles don't mean anything," he says with his typical soft chuckle.  "This is a corporation, so we had to have them.  But I'd never do anything without their permission.

I could never take the funds and go to South America, because I'd have to ask them before I got on the plane."

His role often involves shuttle diplomacy among siblings who've worked together since they were old enough to roll silverware.

"We did all kinds of jobs'" says Mr. Martinez.  "We filled in for whoever didn't show up.  One thing we all learned was how to wash dishes."

These days, he increasingly acts as a go-between for the generations, as the sisters and brothers make way for the third Martinez batch in a shift that they want to be as their father's to them.

SHIFT IN BUSINESS

Mike Martinez turned over the business shortly after his sons returned from World War II, making all eight siblings equal partners.

They didn't give as much thought to company transition until crisis forced the issue in 1963.

"When my older brother (Mike Jr.) died, we just told the accountants to get together with a lawyer and see what we were worth, because we didn't know," says Mr. Martinez.  "We never put a value on anything."

The partnership was converted to a corporation and divided equally among the eight sibling estates, who then passed on some ownership to their offspring."

Should someone else die or an interesting buyout offer crop up, they have a pretty good idea of what the company is worth - information they're not interested in sharing.

No Martinez escapes an early taste of the business - seating patrons, working the cash register and bussing tables.

Some like it.  Some don't.

Five grandchildren have been enticed into the fold and handle purchasing, operatings, information systems and inventory.

Susan Martinez, Reuben's daughter, took over advertising and marketing after her Aunt Irene decided to slow down a bit.

"They needed to get some of us back," says Ms. Martinez, who left a sales career six years ago to re-up with the family.  "I've mellowed with age and can handle working with Dad.  He gives me a lot of free rein.  We don't butt heads often."

Change is the biggest challenge for a family business, says Mr. Martinez, especially one steeped in tradition.  It's tough to know when to change, when to do it and maintain peace in the process.

"We're saying the same things to our children that our father said to us.  He thought we were going too fast," Mr. Martinez says.  "But just because it was good enough then doesn't mean it's good enough now."

Take tortillas.

"When my father started, he made his own corn-tortilla machine," Mr. Martinez says.  "It was like an old car.  He'd have to go in the back and fix this or that and give it a little kick."

El Fenix still makes its own tostadas, but now a computer determines the precise thinness of each.

That blows Mr. Martinez's mind.  "I would never have thought there'd be a computerized tortilla machine," he says as he shows off the manufacturing section at its headquarters.

The newfangled contraption makes them faster, better, cheaper - churning out 5,140 pounds of crispy corn chips each day.  There's no way that could be achieved with the old, largely manual process.

Younger minds do bring fresher thought, he says.

Now the fourth generation is stepping up to the plate, with Susan's 14-year-old son, David, working during school breaks doing daily restaurant reports and assorted go-fer duties at the home office and restaurants.

And like all who came before, David has grown up with the lore.