My first conscious memory is a news bulletin interrupting my puppet show on the TV: JFK had been shot in Dallas. Mom rushed into the living room, wiped her eyes on her apron, and snatched me up from the floor to watch the reports came in. That afternoon I learned where Dallas was, what a president does, and how assassins earn their living.

Days before my fifth birthday a few months later, my father died. Mom and I were on our own, and the resulting austerity measures, like switching to powdered milk, always felt like my fault. They (i.e. relatives, neighbors, our pastor) all told me I was now ‘the man of the house’ with ‘big shoes to fill’, but none of Them told me How. When I asked Them to help me find work They just laughed me off, leaving me to figure things out for myself.

Sometime during the Summer of Love I spied an ad in a comic book for The Junior Sales Club of America. If I had the courage to sell greeting cards door to door, I could earn a commission on each sale! Encouraging me to bet on myself, Mom bankrolled my first order.

Time froze when I knocked on our neighbor's door. Mrs. Andrews seemed bigger than ever as she scrutinized my greeting card samples. Handing the samples back was my cue to ask her to buy a box, but when I did, she said "No."

When I asked her “Why the heck not?” she replied “Because I want two.” Anxiety was replaced with self-confidence - I got this. In no time at all I was draggin' my empty wagon home with a pocket full of loot, feeling a lot like a pirate. Entering the flow state at the tender age of eight made me a 'sales junkie.' I sell, therefore I am.

They held the ‘68 Democratic National Convention 25 minutes away from our home. As the Chicago Police Riot poured into America's living rooms via TV, Mom feared They would literally be in ours by morning. When the Weathermen blew up the Haymarket Police Memorial during the Days of Rage the following year, Mom sold the house and we moved 400 miles away to her hometown of Ironwood, Michigan. Teen angst and culture shock led to rebellion and a lo-fidelity life of crime. Magazines, underground newspapers, and radio kept me connected in the god-forsaken hinterlands. Outcast at the start, eventually I was embraced by the Party Faithful.

Q: Who has more fun than us?

A: Nobody!

A dis from my high school basketball coach inspired my first successful brand. Harry's Yahoos t-shirts soon haunted him in the classroom, at the pep rallies, at especially at games. Since 'Yahoo' was the nicest label They had for me, I declined Their college scholarship and charted my own course instead. Fancy book learning is overrated. In over 100,000 hours spent selling since The Summer of Love, I've mastered the art of parley.

Success is easier to achieve when you make the right choices.

Think like a pirate. Have fun, be lazy, and cheat!