FAMILY LEAVE SONS AND DAUGHTERS NOT AS LIKELY TO FOLLOW IN THEIR PARENTS' PROFESSIONAL FOOTSTEPS.

Byline: Brent Hopkins Staff Writer

CAMARILLO - When Craig Underwood decided to become a farmer, the choice was simple. His father had done it, his grandfather had done it, his family had done it since the 1880s.

But after handing down Underwood Farms from generation to generation, the line is coming to an end. Though raised in agriculture from birth, his two daughters are successfully pursuing other interests, and he's experiencing what many other family businessmen are seeing, the finish of a dynasty.

And that's fine with him, he said. Seeing his children wind up happy proves to be a better legacy than growing lemons and jalapenos.

``They never took an interest in farming, even though they were exposed to it,'' he remembered. ``They used to go out with me after church, checking the crops and helping out at the produce stand.''

Family owned firms are the foundation of American industry, creating empires that made the names Rockefeller and Vanderbilt famous. Economic titans like Anheuser-Busch and Ford were built off a family dream. But with greater opportunities in education and new fields of enterprise, only one-third of family-held businesses survive beyond the founding generation. So while mom, pop and junior may have been running the corner store for years, don't count on them being there forever.

``The world has changed. Thirty years ago, it was almost expected without reservation that the son would follow the father into business,'' said Brian Connett, a marketing professor for California State University, Northridge. ``If that works, it's great, but businesses like that are probably in the minority right now.''

The primary cause of this shift, experts agree, is higher learning. Traditionally, the younger generations didn't have to worry about going to college because they already had a built-in profession for life. As education gained more prestige, however, parents were more likely to send their kids off to school.

``There isn't a parent alive who doesn't want more for their kids than they had themselves,'' Connett said. ``One of the most logical places to invest your wealth is in your kids' education.''

So while Dad may have made his name selling shirts or baking bread, his progeny are likely to branch out once they get a taste for something new. In a strange way, the investment in the family's future gets the kids out of the family's business.

``It's ironic,'' Connett said. ``If you have some success, the kids go off, go to school and get out of the business.''

Connett's academic analysis is mirrored by Underwood's real-life experience. At 58, he plans on running the business for many more years and has given scant thoughts toward hanging it up, but he knows that when he decides to let go of his groves and vines, Underwood Ranches won't pass on to his daughters.

And while they were glad to help out, they never warmed to the flame that drew him in. From childhood, he always knew farm life was what he wanted, and even after a stint in the Navy, he returned to the family farm. Under his hand, it adapted its crops from the beans and walnuts grown in years past to baby vegetables, avocados and broccoli.

But his daughters, Megan and Suzannah, had other talents. While studying English in college, Megan decided to look into the publishing world. Suzannah developed a flair for the dramatic arts.

``We always loved the business, but I think we were taught to pursue our passions,'' Suzannah, now 27, recalled. ``For me it was performing, it's been in me since I was very young. They always pushed us to follow our dreams.''

Megan, 31, remains interested in the farm, but has established herself as a publicist in New York City. The concrete and steel towers of the city are a far cry from the sprawling ranch land where she was raised, and she and her sister both try to keep up with the rural life.

``We always talk about it when he calls,'' she said. ``I like to have a sense of what he's involved with. I try and help out how I can, using what I know about publicity. That makes me feel good that I can use my talents to help out somehow.''

The face of family enterprise is shifting in other ways, as well. As a business broker, Canoga Park-based Joe Goldberg has seen his share of small firms come across his desk.

``Even the types of business that used to be passed on aren't as abundant any more,'' he said. ``It used to be retail was always passed on. With the advent of big-box retailers, though, you can't run the same stores any more. If you're competing against a huge conglomerate and you're not making any money, you think, Why the hell am I doing this? I should just sell.''

Craig Underwood admits these thoughts have crossed his mind, as well.

``There've been times that have been more than challenging,'' he said. ``Almost every farmer has gone through periods when they weren't sure they're going to make it. You have to have a little gambler in your blood, because you have no idea what your return's going to be.''

Still, he gets up every morning looking forward to work with retirement as a distant option, just as his father did.

``That's a few years away, so I don't really think about it,'' he said. ``My dad was out checking the farm the day he went in the hospital.''

Though Suzannah's days of riding the tractor and picking carrots didn't push her to do the same work as her father, she cites him as an inspiration in a different way.

``I really admire what my father does,'' she said. ``Megan and I saw him feel so passionate about what he does, and we wanted to feel that way about what we do.''

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3 photos

Photo:

(1 -- 2 -- color) Craig Underwood, who comes from a long line of farmers, and a canine pal check out the berry fields at Underwood Farms in Moorpark. Below, Underwood shows high school portraits of his two daughters, Megan, left, and Suzannah, neither of whom intends to follow their father in the family business.

(3) Craig Underwood and his dog sit on sacks of onions at the family farm in Moorpark. Underwood is likely to be the last of his family to farm the land of his forefathers.

Andy Holzman/Staff Photographer