After graduating second-to-last in his high school class, Jimmy John Liautaud began selling submarine sandwiches from a converted two-car garage. Two years ago, he sold most of Jimmy John's to a private equity firm in a deal that forced him to give up control. Can Jimmy John's thrive without Jimmy John behind the wheel?
Jimmy John Liautaud, Founder, Jimmy John’s
Image: Timothy Archibald for Forbes
Wednesday is tasting day at Jimmy John’s headquarters, and founder Jimmy John Liautaud is the taster-in-chief. He struts into the test kitchen, dressed in an untucked shirt and jeans, ready to inspect the food: Ten kinds of sandwiches, six types of deli meats, potato chips and cookies. Up first is the bread. Liautaud presses his nose into a wheat baguette and inhales. It passes the smell test. He takes a bite and chews the bread into a paste, then spits it into the trash. “I don’t want all these calories,” he says. “Look at me—I work hard, and I’m already 300 pounds.” The baguette passes the taste test as well, and Liautaud moves on to a possible new white chocolate chip for his cookies. The verdict? “That chip sucks.” He spits it out, too.
Liautaud, 54, opened his first Jimmy John’s sandwich store 35 years ago. Today, the company has over $2 billion in sales from 2,802 locations, but he no longer runs the show: Jimmy John’s has outgrown Jimmy John Liautaud. Now he answers to Roark Capital, a private equity firm based in Atlanta that bought the majority of the business in 2016 in a deal that valued the chain at approximately $3 billion. Liautaud retains an estimated 35 percent of the company, and he’s worth $1.7 billion, thanks to that deal and to other investments, like farmland in Illinois and a stake in the e-cigarette producer Juul.
While Liautaud used to make all the decisions, he is now in charge of food and culture. He kept the title of chairman but admits that “[Roark] can choose to listen to me or choose not to listen to me. They can do whatever they want.” In selling to Roark, which also owns majority stakes in Arby’s and Buffalo Wild Wings, among other restaurant companies, he handed power to a firm that seems in many ways his opposite. “I wear my heart on my shirtsleeve,” says Liautaud, who had to sign a nondisclosure agreement as part of the deal but is used to speaking his mind. He swears profusely and likes to adorn himself with hokey titles like Sandwich Savant.
(This story appears in the 18 January, 2019 issue of Forbes India. To visit our Archives, click here.)