I made my first million by the time I was twenty-eight. Unfortunately, I spent $1,200,000 getting to millionaire status. When I started my elevator business in 1994 everyone in my life thought I had either lost my marbles or just plain had no clue what running a business would entail. I had only been in the elevator business for two months, working for a man who would sell his left fourth toe to the devil for a quarter, when I decided this was my opportunity to stand up, get off the bench and enter the court of business. In the
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It’s my Summer of 2011 and I’m sitting on the beach staring down at my iphone wishing I had some free time from the St. Louis  bureaucracy I’m waiting to hear back from, curious if they’ll ever call me back about my financial bond the City of St. Louis is requiring me to obtain in order to do business in their city. Although my project is less than $25,000 and contracted with a private citizen, the city official explained to me, this so-called financial bond is to ensure I don’t take the citizens of St. Louis for a ride. Your
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When I was in high school, Science Hill High, in Johnson City, TN was like most other middle class small town high schools in Tennessee. The focus of most folk’s attention was sports, beauty and money; not necessarily in that order of importance. For some, academics, arts and community brought up the rear of my high school experience. Unfortunately or fortunately (it depends on what day you ask) for me the first on the list was my main focus in high school. Although, every time I attended a “band thing” or a “Bolding or Ann Hodge thing” (these were the
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It’s half past ten on my Monday morning, I’m twisting and twirling my pencil around my fingers trying to figure out what my third grade teacher, Mrs. Palfrey is talking about and why she keeps pointing at me. Mrs. Palfrey is the scariest teacher I’ve had so far at Southside Elementary School and she’s definitely the oldest,  she’s at least thirty. My compadre Cheryl is two seats over to my left and I know she’ll tell me later what Mrs. Palfrey is talking about; Cheryl is my best and smartest friend; her Mom’s a teacher, so I know she knows
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“Sweetie, you need to start watching where you’re going”, my soft spoken, beautiful North CarolinaGrandmother, Ma-Maw tells me on my hot summer afternoon day. Earlier that day I had fallen and busted my head wide open at my Aunt Patti’s house. The result of an attempt to grab a wayward basketball pass, from my cousin Deanna, led me straight into the edge of a brick wall and left me with a crack in my head from my eyebrow to the top of my forehead. My cousin Kim, ran up to get help, while my cousin Eric held his t-shirt on
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My Mommy Gah’s yellow Volvo station wagon pulls in my driveway just as I am finishing my daily peanut butter and jelly sandwich snack.   My Nonnie  yells, ” your mother is here,  run for your lives!!!” My wise Appalachian grandmother, who knows trouble loves company, told my brother he is in trouble too. Earlier that afternoon Nonnie explained to Chistopersteinavinsky,   he got the scissors from the house, so he has skin in the game too. I love my Nonnie so much,  because it is her way of keeping the brother/sister, male/female dynamic in check,  and alive and well
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I’m standing at my bright reddish-orange shag carpet Christmas tree window; waiting, watching, expecting my Mommy Gah to come home. Nonnie, my “childhood life partner” is smoking like a chimney in the other room telling me to calm down. “It’ll be ok” she says, “your mother is only going to beat you within an inch of your life, but you’ll survive” Nonnie reassures me. Nonnie encourages me to sit down and please explain to her what happen (Nonnie is and always will be my childhood confidant) I know if I convince her, then I’ll definitely convince my Mommy Gah. So
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My first morning of second grade starts with my Mommy Gah doing the “nudge-and-a poke” shuffle; my Daddy-O following with the “are you gonna sleep all day” spotlight; and my brother pitching the “you’re going to miss the school bus” speech. I begin my day like most other days; brushing my teeth with my brother’s toothbrush, shuffling my feet until I reach the door on the right, falling back asleep on my white water bucket next to my swimming pool, listening to my Mommy Gah preach her morning sermon about doing better and helping more around our house. She keeps
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Growing up in the seventies in Johnson City, TN is like growing up in every small to mid size town in America. Most of the people you meet are white, most of the store owners are “hey there” friends of your parents, most of the people pretty much look and act the same and most of the grandparents live pretty close by. My first memory is the sound of my mother’s voice explaining what Kindergarten is and why I have to go. My Mommy Gah explains, “you’re going to Southside School because your brother goes to Southside School.” She explains,
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My year is 1976 and my price tag for fun is a garden hose, a song, a rain dance and a hot summer sun.  I spend my days watching my Daddy-O and my Mommy Gah in my yard, my house or my car diligently working to make my  world (50′ wide x 125′  lot on Rolling Hill’s drive in Johnson City, TN) a better place. “Outside” is my neighborhood playground and “rolling down the hill” is my best amusement ride. My neighborhood sign reads “no rules” (except the golden rule) “no boundaries” (just look twice and run fast) and my
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