From the archive: The start of Rocky Rococo’s
'Playing with Pizza' appeared in magazine in 1987
(Editor’s Note: This article is not updated from the original version that ran in the December 1987 issue of Madison Magazine. The archive article is being republished in tribute to Wayne Mosley, who died Tuesday, Nov. 28 at the age of 70.)
It was one of his favorite memories. Wayne Mosley can’t put an exact date on it, but it was probably 1977 or ’78, a few years after he and another dreamer named Roger Brown founded a pan style pizza company with the unlikely name Rocky Rococo.
It was a television commercial, and since Rocky’s wasn’t on the tube much yet, it was a big deal. Here they were, a couple of starry-eyed kids fresh out of the University of Illinois, with a growing business in Madison that was now on television.
But it was more than that. It was the spirit and the flavor of the commercial that Mosley loved. It was outrageous. No one had done it quite this way before. They had lifted the company name from a character on a comedy album, and now they had brought the zany name to life with a character, Rocky Rococo in the flesh, a tough-talking gangster who loved to crack wise but who was, underneath, a pizza-loving softie.
Mosley’s favorite spot was “Dr. Rocky,” in which their character dressed up in medical garb and said, “Nine out of ten doctors recommend my pizza and the tenth ain’t recommending nothin’ no more.”
It was wacky and wonderful. Who else would dare use bad grammar to humorously threaten the audience? A decade later, remembering, Mosley said, “Rocky was our baby. We had fun with it.”
They don’t use the Rocky Rococo character much anymore, and when they do–not in advertising but for personal appearances–he is much softer, more polished. If necessary, he can play in Peoria, and therein lies an interesting tale, one of taking Rocky’s on the road.
It is a story of how one Madison business grew and of the significant and perhaps inevitable changes which resulted from that growth. It is unquestionably a success story, but one in which the hazards of rapid expansion are also in full view. The road from local to national success is often bumpy, and worse.
The first Rocky’s opened in 1974. Five years later, there were four more Madison stores and another in La Crosse. They were growing, but slowly.
Another five years later, in March of 1985, a laudatory article in Restaurant Business magazine reported that Rocky’s had 45 stores and were planning an incredible 650 more units by 1990. The pedal was clearly to the metal. They had embraced franchising. Mosley told the magazine they planned for 55 units in Chicago alone by 1990. It looked like Madison-based Rocky Rococo had a chance to become the McDonald’s of the pizza business.
It didn’t happen. The two and a half years since that article appeared have been tumultuous ones for Rocky’s. They have a little more than a hundred stores, not six or seven hundred. After gearing up for rapid growth, the company found itself having to make significant cuts, laying off people who were not only employees but friends. There was pain on all sides.
The company’s current president, Tom Hester, says Rocky’s is no longer targeting an “artificial” number of stores by any particular date. They are being cautious, and pursuing, in Hester’s words, “controlled growth.”
Hester is a financial ace out of the Long John Silver’s fast food chain. He’s been at Rocky’s a year. Both he and Mosley–all the current top management, for that matter–think the company has learned some valuable lessons over the past couple of years that bode well for the future.
It would make sense. The company’s two founders have been learning on the run from day one.
They both loved pizza. More important, perhaps, both their fathers were independent businessmen. The entrepreneurial spirit is in their blood. Wayne Mosley’s dad was a retailer in Chicago for 50 years. The only book on the table in the lobby at Rocky’s current headquarters on West Washington Avenue in Madison is a collection of profiles of megasuccessful entrepreneurs. Roger Brown’s name is scrawled inside the front cover.
Wayne and Roger were in college together at the University of Illinois in Champaign during the early ’70s. They’d grown up in Chicago not knowing each other, but Wayne met Roger’s roommate in his law school class.
When the roommate introduced them, they found they had restaurants in common. Mosley had worked in restaurants since he was 10 years old and really only went to law school to appease his family. For his part, Brown worked at a successful pizza in the pan place in Champaign called Garcia’s. It didn’t take a genius to realize students at Illinois loved Garcia’s. It had a lot of wood and a college feel to it. There were lines at the door.
Before long Brown and Mosley were sounding each other out on opening a place of their own. Mosley had had his eye on Madison for several years. (He had, in fact almost opened in Madison with a couple of different partners but the deals fell through.) Now Mosley and his new friend Roger Brown were getting out of school, Madison still looked good … they thought seriously about giving it a shot.
Mosley still had to take the bar exam in Illinois so Brown spent some time immersing himself in the pizza business. They readily admit borrowing a great deal of their concept from Garcia’s. (Years later, the Garcia’s owner would laughingly tell an advertising consultant: “I always knew Roger was going to do this because he was always walking around on my time taking notes.”) But Brown also scoped out other operations and the two together weighed various sites including Madison.
By 1974, they were ready to go. They had a small business loan of $25,000 (obtained with the help of Brown’s G.İ. benefits–he’s a Vietnam vet), and they had verbal agreements at two different sites. One was in East Lansing, Michigan, the home of Michigan State University, at a three-story nightclub called The Stables. The problem there was that while they could serve pan pizza, the club would retain the beverage business.
They liked the Madison deal better. It involved an existing restaurant on Gilman Street called Brown’s Diner. With its blueplate specials, Brown’s was not the epitome of college chic. On a visit to Madison, Roger walked in and met the two owners, Orv Erickson and Darrell Cook. He said, “You guys don’t really fit with this college crowd. Why don’t you let us take this restaurant?”
It took a little while, but they did. Brown and Mosley took the two men to Champaign and showed them Garcia’s. They told them that if–when!–they succeeded, the two of them, Erickson and Cook, could do a restaurant with them. The boys were nothing if not energetic. Of course they would have more than one store. Erickson and Cook said yes.
On the drive from Chicago to Madison, as final arrangements were being worked out, Mosley and Brown debated names. What would they call their place? Rocky Rococo came up once, but it didn’t really grab them. They had pretty much settled on The Pizza Factory, when, with a creative zeal that would endure for years, they decided, what the hell, they’d go with Rocky Rococo. It was funny, it was different, and it had good name recognition among students. It was the name of a character on a popular album by the Firesign Theater comedy group. The name helped get the idea across that whatever this place was going to be, it would be different.
And it was. Madison hadn’t had pizza by the slice before. That was a New York tradition. Madison did, however, have pan pizza, though just barely. After Mosley and Brown bought the Gilman Street diner, an existing Madison pizza restaurant, Gargano’s, quickly got in the pan business and tried to register all the usable names: pizza in the pan, pan pizza, etc. Somewhat desperately, Rocky’s went with “pan style pizza,” the name that endures today.
In any case, it was clear not everyone was glad to see Brown and Mosley open in April of 1974. There were a lot of restaurants–a lot of pizza places–in the area.
On their second day in business, Mosley and Brown arrived to find what looked like a bullet hole in the sign above their restaurant-someone had shot their sign! To Brown, that was beyond the pale. He scurried up a ladder with a knife in his hand intent on dislodging the bullet. Instead he received a shock that nearly dislodged him from the ladder. The hole had been caused by a short in the wiring.
It was tough going at first. They’d opened near the end of the school year and Gilman Street, as a visible location, was most definitely not State Street. (Years later, Mosley would remember doing more business in a day at a State Street location than they’d done the whole first month at Gilman Street.)
Slowly it took off. The students came back, and Rocky won the annual Daily Cardinal pizza poll. They also worked their tails off. “I gave up any personal life I had for the first two years,” Mosley says today. “We did nothing but work.”
The ad manager at the Daily Cardinal in the early ’70s was named Jim Thackray. He remembers quickly trying to sell Rocky’s advertising that first year—“before they went under”–and then seeing, before long, “them go from not having enough business to where you couldn’t even get in the door Friday and Saturday nights.” Mosley was the front of the store man, moaning if business was bad, literally pulling people off the street to try a slice. Brown was more quiet and operated backstage, running the kitchen. (Before long, Thackray would himself become a key player at Rocky’s.)
With the Gilman Street location on solid footing by the spring of 1975, they began thinking about opening a second store. They’d been thinking of more than one restaurant from the start. What entrepreneur sits on hot dice?
A friend in the business had spotted an ailing steak joint on State Street near the Lake Street intersection. It was only about the best location in the world for what they wanted to do. “If you don’t move on this,” the friend told them, “someone else will.” They didn’t get it cheap but they got it, in August of ’75. It was a brilliant move. They could print money from that location.
“That was the horse,” Mosley says of the State Street Rocky’s. “That was the profit center that allowed us to make mistakes and learn for the first eight years of the business. We could afford to make mistakes.”
Not that they made all that many. They were too small to grow very fast, too small to truly gamble. The next move came when Orv Erickson, the original owner of the Gilman Street diner and one of the best left handed golfers in the state, was playing golf in La Crosse with the course pro.
The golf pro mentioned that he owned a restaurant in town that was about as much fun as an unraked sandtrap. He was losing his shirt. Erickson said, “These Rocky’s boys are doing pretty good down in Madison.” The result was the promised partnership between Mosley-Brown and Erickson-Cook. A third partner in the La Crosse Rocky’s–and this would become significant later–was an Oscar Mayer executive in Madison.
When they’d opened the State Street store, Brown and Mosley had been looking around for someone to manage it, and had thought of Jim Thackray, their old buddy from the Daily Cardinal. Thackray had just spent a year on the beach in Hawaii and wanted to get back into marketing, not store managing, so he said no.
A year later, with La Crosse going up and more Madison locations on the drawing board, they thought of Thackray again. He had prodded them a bit, telling them they needed somebody, that now they needed a more professional marketing approach. As it was, Mosley was running out to a radio station, writing the copy on the way, and winging a Rocky’s spot with a voice imitating Peter Lorre in the “Maltese Falcon.” Thackray was hired, and he’s been with Rocky’s ever since.
In late 1977, thinking of their growth, they hired a local ad agency for the first time. It soon went out of business, but the creative guy in the agency liked Rocky’s and was going to freelance. His name was Jerry Lawson, and Rocky’s liked him too. They decided to continue the relationship.
Working closely with Thackray, Lawson helped fine-tune the Rocky Rococo character, which was the heart of the advertising. Lawson suggested getting Rocky even more into broadcast. Keeping him two-dimensional was not using him to full advantage. He also suggested that while the gangster image was cute, it was too realistic. They dropped the black suit and violin case and put him instead in a white suit, a Panama hat and an ascot. Pat Boone meets the Godfather.
The Rocky character was extremely popular, the pizza was excellent (at one point Gourmet magazine wrote for their recipe), and the business was thriving. They were working hard but having fun. Lawson was amazed at the interactive, spirited way the business ran behind the scenes. It was a shirt sleeves rolled up atmosphere, the opposite of stuffy. You could say what you wanted and know your idea would be considered.
Still, you don’t grow, really grow, building new restaurants on the cash flow from existing ones. It’s too slow. In 1979, the Oscar Mayer Company of Madison contacted Rocky’s (one Oscar exec, you’ll recall, was aIready a partner in La Crosse).
Oscar Mayer originally wanted to know if Rocky’s would go in with them in an effort to get Rocky’s pizzas into grocery stores. Rocky’s said no. They couldn’t maintain the quality with a frozen pizza. (Mosley later would kick himself: fresh pizza in grocery store delis has become a big hit, especially in the south, but back then nobody thought of it.)
Well then, Oscar’s said, what about letting us develop some units? Clearly they liked the concept. For Rocky’s, it was a chance to get next to some very deep pockets. The agreement was a joint venture which allowed Oscar Mayer to develop Rocky’s outside of Wisconsin. They decided on Minneapolis for a test market.
For some reason–probably because it was unknown in the market and off campus in a mall–the first Minneapolis Rocky’s was not a big hit. But a second store opened in 1980 on the campus looked more promising. A week after it opened, however, Oscar’s announced they wanted to end the joint venture. Rocky’s was puzzled but said okay. Then a week after the papers were signed unwinding the deal, it was announced that General Foods was buying out Oscar Mayer. General Foods had never loved the restaurant business, having divested Burger Chef among others. Mosley and Brown would always think the timing of the whole thing was more than coincidence.
But they brought some positives away from the Oscar’s experience. Oscar’s research team had developed a box for the pizza slice, and Rocky’s would get to keep the two stores in Minneapolis.
Rocky’s had also learned a bit about how real businesses operate–planning, for one thing. Pre-Oscar Mayer, their planning consisted of trying to budget for next month. Now they had seen a by-the-book operator up close, and for better or worse, Rocky’s would never be the same. Someone later recalled that the Oscar Mayer period was the first time they’d seen Wayne Mosley in a suit.
It was 1981, and they were ready to grow faster. They were still leery of franchising mainly because they feared losing control over quality. Franchising meant selling your name and your concept to people in other locales who in return give you a percentage of their revenues. Rocky’s was being approached from every standpoint, from people wanting to open a store to those who wanted to buy the company. They kept saying no.
But they continued to open company stores in Wisconsin, and they’d hired Advertising Boelter and Lincoln in Madison to help market them. (Jerry Lawson would eventually move to the Boelter agency.) Boelter moved them even more into television, had even more fun with the Rocky character and increased sales resulted.
Throughout the early ’80s, successful Rocky Rococo stores opened in Wisconsin. The franchise drums were beating louder. Mosley and Brown consulted a Chicago law firm that specialized in franchising.
It was a prospect both exciting and a little scary. The first food franchise in the U.S. began in 1924, when two entrepreneurs named Allen and White sold their unique root beer syrup to people across the country who started drive-ins called A&W.
It was enticing, but there are potholes in the franchising road. As the first sentence in a story in the 1987 Restaurant Business franchise annual notes: “Franchising can be a shortcut to riches or a quick trip to bankruptcy.”
By the early ’80s, Mosley and Brown were extremely proud of their product, and by any statistical measure, they were enjoying true success. Their average restaurant sales volume was around $750,000 annually, significantly higher than Pizza Hut and other pizza restaurants. Rocky’s longtime research and development director, Pat Charley, had done an excellent job of introducing new items including a salad bar and multi-top slices.
By offering the slice–particularly the lunchtime slice–Rocky’s had positioned themselves as a player not only in the pizza business but also in the lunch fast food business. Why wouldn’t someone opt for a slice of pizza at noon rather than another damn hamburger?
Many did–and it opened the eyes of the pizza industry. It also opened the eyes of investors. Mosley and Brown, busy with design consultants, marketing consultants and franchising consultants, were about ready to take the big step. Experts were telling them the time to move was yesterday. All manner of franchised fast food was appearing and the good locations were going fast. In 1983, Rocky’s made the move.
The first franchise went to a couple in the Fox River Valley who were longtime Rocky’s fans. Shortly after, an agreement for the Milwaukee area was reached with a group including former Green Bay Packer Bob Long, who had made serious money with Pizza Huts.
A crucial component of the Rocky Rococo growth plan was what is called “contiguous growth”–expanding gradually from your base. They had witnessed the positive effect of it early. When opening a Rocky’s in, say, Eau Claire, it was always amazing what a big deal it was to a lot of people in the town. Then it dawned on them: kids had come down for school in Madison, gone back up to Eau Claire and spread the word about this great pizza with the funny name. Rocky’s was a big hit in cities like that before they even got there.
Along with contiguous growth, Rocky’s decided to sell their franchises by a theory called areas of dominant influence–ADIs. There are basically two ways to franchise: you can sell your name and your system individually, on a store-by-store basis, or you can sell a territory. The territories are divided up into advertising markets, or ADIs. For example, Middleton, Cross Plains and Beaver Dam are all in the Madison ADI. One person or group then develops the entire ADI.
The up side of the ADI approach–used successfully by Wendy’s hamburgers, among others–is that it allows a number of store to go up quickly. A franchisee basically agrees to put up X number of stores in X number of years. Rocky’s goal was to have enough stores in all their markets so they could use television advertising as quickly as possible.
A single Rocky’s in someplace like Milwaukee, for example, couldn’t afford to advertise on television. But if you had a half dozen units each contributing, you could get on the tube. And then when people about you, if you have six stores they can find you. It makes sense all around, and it’s one reason Rocky’s was predicting six to seven hundred stores by 1990.
There is a down side to the ADI approach, however. You have to choose your franchisees very carefully. Most big money people are used to seeing results in a hurry and they’re also used to listening to their own muse. Rich folks think they know it all–including the pizza business.
Ray Kroc, the McDonald’s maestro, told the author of “Behind the Arches”: “When you sell a big franchise territory, you give up the to the man who owns the area. He replaces your organization, and you don’t have control.”
When they embraced franchising, Rocky’s had the heady trip of being pursued from every direction. Maybe they didn’t check out all their franchisees as well as they should have; certainly they drifted away from their idea of contiguous growth.
Mosley recalls, “In the early years of franchising, people were coming at us from all over–California, Phoenix, everywhere. They were screaming at us, ‘Give me Texas! Give me this! Give me that!'”
How long can you keep saying no? Mosley was coming back from his honeymoon in Hawaii when he agreed to meet, in San Francisco, with two men who each wanted a west coast territory. One wanted Sacramento and one wanted Spokane.
Mosley explained his contiguous growth theory. “I don’t know when we’ll get to you,” he said. “You could be isolated out here forever.”
The men insisted it didn’t matter. Give me the franchise, they each said. And Mosley did. “They didn’t really think it through, he says now. “The Sacramento guy has never opened. Spokane has one store. But that’s what happens when you get people pounding on your head.”
They were pounding in Denver, they were pounding in St. Louis. Franchises were being sold and stores were going up–but not nearly quickly enough. Franchisees who said they understood the ADI theory and had committed for a half dozen or more stores in three years would build one … and then wait to get rich. It doesn’t happen that way.
Dave Wood came to Rocky’s in early 1985, in charge of corporate franchise ADIs.
“When you go from Madison to Denver,” Wood says, “where they’ve never heard of Rocky’s, you need strong market penetration quickly, to put you into the minds of consumers. If that doesn’t happen, the sales volume of an early unit won’t be as high as some franchisees might expect. Then they’re less excited about building another one. Market maturity was affected by artificial volume expectation.”
It was a Catch-22. Without multiple stores, they couldn’t afford to advertise. And at least some franchisees weren’t putting up multiple stores after a mediocre result with the first one.
Mosley says, “A lot of people talk long but really want to play short-term. The more people that come at you, the more carefully you have to study them. How much will they spend if the first store’s not a cash cow from day one?”
Some franchisees were also in a hurry to tell Rocky’s what they were doing wrong in the pizza business. If business was a little slow, they were on the horn to Madison asking why they didn’t have ice cream, or tofu, or whatever. At one franchise, the franchisee kept insisting what a big winner hamburger pizza would be. Got to have it, he said. Rocky’s put him off, but they finally helped develop it and got it into the stores. It bombed.
Meanwhile, in Madison, they were adding executive talent at a rate that could only be justified by very rapid growth: unit development people, field marketing people. Many of them had extensive experience with restaurant chains like Red Lobster, Taco Bell and Ponderosa–such expertise was valuable. Longtime Rocky’s observers, however, could see turf battles developing between the new guard and some of the old hands. The operations people–involved in the day-to-day running of the stores–feuded with the marketing people.
(One year, the marketing side was gearing up for Rocky’s annual, very popular heart-shaped pizza Valentines promotion. Someone in operations decided they had enough of the pans left over and didn’t order any more. They didn’t have enough and the resulting mess did not help matters internally.)
They also–in December of 1984–had dumped Advertising Boelter and Lincoln as their ad agency. Some thought the operations people wanted to have more local store marketing (where the store manager has more control) rather than the sweeping television-heavy approach favored by Boelter.
Rocky’s did feel that Boelter, with whom they’d enjoyed an excellent relationship, might not be their best bet for a full-scale national campaign. They chose an agency in Chicago named G. M. Feldman, and it was a mistake.
Feldman had some McDonald’s experience, but unbeknownst to Rocky’s, much of the talent that had handled McDonald’s had left the agency when Feldman lost the account.
Most agencies are uncomfortable inheriting an ad campaign, and Feldman was no exception. Soon they were saying that the Rocky character–even softened as he had been by Boelter–would offend Italians. Lose him, they said. Instead, they lost Feldman, and hired the Frankenberry agency out of Milwaukee, a hot creative agency which also advised putting the character of Rocky on the back burner. Going into new markets, Frankenberry said, you’ll wind up having to spend too much time establishing the character instead of pizza by the slice.
Ah yes. Pizza by the slice. Had it become lost in the shuffle? Some observers in in their zest to go national, by a lot of su piece suits and experimenting with their product, by dumping the character, Wayne Mosley and Roger Brown lost something fundamental about s, It wasn’t so much fun anymore. Others said that, well, that’s simply the reality of going into the big time. The days when Mosley would ad lib radio spots by himself were gone forever, and while that might be too bad, it was part of growing up, of growing bigger. (Interestingly, in their current comeback attempt, Rocky’s has gone very much back to basics.)
By late ’85, it was clear something had to be done. Dave Wood recalls: “We had staffed up for the anticipated growth. Sales per restaurant per ADI did not come on line franchisee growth was starting to stagger a tle bit, and we wound up with a helluva ot of people we didn’t need because we didn’t have work for them.”
Cuts had to be made, and were. The unit development department was basically abolished and the field marketing department was cut way back. At the same time, Brown and Mosley were looking for someone to get their house in order financially.
A consultant recommended Tom Hester, a CPA out of Kentucky with more than a decade’s experience Hester was a numbers man and a good one–in short order he was made president of the company. When he got to Madison, what he saw was not unfamiliar in fast food restaurants.
Hester could see what had happened. Rocky’s had taken on too many pioneer markets simultaneously on a base of only Madison and Milwaukee. Hester had seen it happen in his earlier position. It takes time and money to crack new markets, but you believe in your product and start thinking you have the golden touch. Everything you’ve done so far has paid off tremendously. With Rocky’s, the franchise community had agreed and jumped on board, but when the initial openings were unspectacular, they had gotten cold feet.
Still, Hester saw a good deal he liked about Rocky’s. He loved the pizza, and thought the slice concept was a terrific niche, one that wasn’t overplayed. He felt they could be a long-term successful competitor in the market.
Under Hester, the cuts continued and there was some bitterness. People who had come to Rocky’s thinking that this was it hat this was going to be their career, found their dreams turned to dust.
Dave Wood survived all but the final cuts. He is not bitter. “Wayne and Roger and Tom Hester–nobody felt happy about the cuts they had to make. But it was based upon numbers and needs, and that’s the nature of the beast.”
Mosley today says, “We geared up an incredible overhead. If you don’t do that you’ll never get there. It’s boom and bust oriented. When we didn’t catch up we had to cut back. Some guys we let go were friends. I hope most still are. Some people I suppose, are bitter. It’s no fun. But it hap- pens in business.” Roger Brown, observers say, has taken it harder than Mosley.
Maybe if Rocky’s had gone for the gusto in the fast food market of 10 years ago, it would have worked out differently. It is a fiercely competitive field today. The saturation of restaurant seats is brutal, everything from chicken to burgers to tacos to Finding help to work entry-level positions is a crisis throughout the industry. In the pizza segment, Pizza Hut has embraced lunch with a vengeance, and Domino’s has gotten rich doing only delivery. (Started by a University of Michigan student in 1960, Domino’s now has 3,700 outlets worth about $250 million.) Successful regional chains abound.
Which is what Rocky’s is today–a successful regional chain. They’ve come out of the past few years wiser, shaken but unbowed. They are now in the process of defining themselves and their place in the market.
They’ve evolved from the kind of destination restaurant where Gourmet magazine would write for their recipe into a fast feeder That they feel their product is superb is only a bonus to the feeling that they have to make themselves easy to find and reliable to their customers. They’re no longer the only pan style pizza in town. While Rocky’s will experiment with their menu, they intend to concentrate on doing a few things, but doing them very well. Pizza by the slice in a box can carry them a long way. Look where it got a couple of young dreamers out of Champaign.
They will grow, but slowly. Hester talk of not biting off any new pioneer markets, of slowing the growth in distant cities like Denver and St. Louis, and of concentrating on contiguous growth in areas like Minneapolis and Chicago. Franchising will be very restrictive.
“The ballgame is completely different,” Hester says. “The philosophy I brought is, Let’s not do the ADI concept until we have a stronger base.’ Prove yourself with one store, then we’ll consider you for a sec store.”
They do have a joint venture agreement with a California company (simply explained, that company raises the money to construct the restaurants and Rocky’s manages them for a percentage of the profits) that has done very well recently in Indianapolis, where nine stores have opened in less than a year.
Mosley and Hester both feel Rocky’s currently has the strongest management team in its history. It’s lean but experienced.
Sometimes you don’t appreciate success until you see the flip side of the coin. It’s been a long and at times hard ride for the two guys with the pizza company with the goofy name.
But hey, look at their logo. Their bud Rocky may have a lower profile, but he’s still there, in his white hat and ascot. When they dreamed him up all those years ago, all they had was a big debt and an old diner on Gilman Street. No wonder Rocky’s smiling.
Doug Moe was associate editor of Madison Magazine in December 1987. Moe went on to be editor of Madison Magazine. He currently writes a monthly column in the magazine as well as a weekly blog on madisonmagazine.com.
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