Ab out the Author

I stood in front of the sixth grade class. It was career day. “I’m a Salesman,” I said.

“What do you sell?” asked a girl with purple braces.

“I sell the services of my firm.”

“When you were growing up did you want to be a salesman?” asked another girl.

“Yes,” I said and thought back to my childhood in Fort Wayne, Indiana. “Ever since I was seven years old I knew I would have my own business and be a salesman. I used to pretend I had my own business using a closet for an office and a foot stool my dad made for a desk. Our neighbor was a salesman and he gave me some of his brochures.”

“What was your first job?” she asked.

“I picked blackberries in the woods across the street from our house and sold them door to door in the neighborhood.”

“What was the easiest thing you ever sold?” a boy in a blue and gold U of M shirt asked.

“When I was twelve my dad and mom opened a service station. People drove up to the pump; I asked them if they wanted regular or premium and if I could fill their tank.


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