Creating a Blockbuster

As a kid, I was taught early on that if I wanted spending money to go out with my friends, I would need to earn it myself.  My early experiences as my own boss were of mowing lawns, raking leaves, shoveling snow and doing odd jobs around the neighborhood.  By the time I made it to college, I had developed a real desire to learn how to become a better entrepreneur.  There was just one problem:  my school, Fordham University, didn’t offer any entrepreneurship classes.

Approaching the dean of the business school, I pointed out that Harvard University offered a class in entrepreneurship, so why not Fordham?  To my surprise, that was all I had to do, because by the following semester, the dean had decided to create the class and was going to teach it herself.  I was the first to sign up, exceedingly proud of my role in helping spur the creation of that inaugural class.

The dean believed in a hands-on approach to learning, so one of her first assignments was for every student to work on starting a real business.  In those days, if you wanted to watch a movie in your dorm, you’d leave campus and walk to the small neighborhood video rental store, hoping they had a good movie in stock.  It was always disappointing to leave the comfort of your dorm room only to find out that the movie you wanted to watch was already rented.  I also racked up frequent late charges because I rarely managed to return the movies I rented on time. After all, it required another long trip off campus.

My solution to all of this, and therefore my business idea, was to launch Busy Bee Video Delivery Service.  The premise was simple:  Just give us a call and we’d buzz a video right to your dorm room, and even pick it up to return when you were finished.  As corny as it may sound, it worked.  I convinced the local video store to keep me informed when videos were rented, so that when students called me I could always tell them which of the most popular movies were in stock.  Once they confirmed what they wanted, the store would hold it for me, and I’d pick up a bunch of rentals to deliver all over campus.  For my efforts, I made a small transaction fee on each rental, received tips, and met a number of girls who seemed to appreciate my entrepreneurial spirit.

The final project for my entrepreneurship course involved writing a business plan and making a presentation in front of the class.  However, I was too busy running my delivery business to be bothered with all the academic requirements, so I did the bare minimum.  At the end of the semester, the dean decided to announce everyone’s grades.  I sat listening as student after another earned an A or a B.  Finally, she got to my name and asked me to come to the front of the room.  I thought I knew what was coming:  a high grade, along with some sort of acknowledgment for suggesting that she start the course, and probably a comment on my street smart business skills.

Not exactly.  I didn’t get an A, nor a B.  The dean said, “Scott Shickler, I want to congratulate you on earning a D in my class.  The class you asked me to start.”  My classmates laughed, and I was completely embarrassed.  But when I looked at the dean, she was smiling.  I asked if it was a joke, and she assured me that it wasn’t.

Then she looked at everyone else, and stated that if they had received an A or a B, then they probably shouldn’t go into business for themselves, but rather go to work for someone like me:  a true entrepreneur.  And then she looked over at me and said that if I wanted to be really successful in business, I should hire people who understood research and knew how to execute ideas… like my friends in the class.  Well, she made her point, although part of me wishes she’d made it by just giving me a C.

Last weekend, I celebrated my 25 year college reunion.  Wow.  Time really does fly.  But if there’s one thing time has shown me, as I look at some of the partners and colleagues I’ve been working with for decades, it’s that we all need people to help us make our dreams come true.  If you can achieve your dreams alone, you’re not dreaming big enough!

Until Next Week,

Live Your Dreams!

Enjoy the Journey

Handsome and talented, Bryan’s father Joe seemed well-suited to the acting profession.  He made appearances on some of the most-watched TV shows of his day, and when he did well, so did his family.  After landing one big role, Joe brought home a new car; after another, he put in a swimming pool.  But acting is a competitive profession, and there’s no guarantee of being cast consistently.  When Joe was out of work, Bryan saw their new car traded in for an old clunker, and they never did swim in their dug-out pool, because they couldn’t afford the chemicals to keep it clean.

The off-and-on nature of professional acting took a toll on Joe.  He wanted to be a star, and eventually came to believe that it wasn’t going to happen.  He started drinking heavily, and sank into depression over what he saw as his failure.  Finally, one night he just didn’t come home.  Joe had left his wife, two sons and a daughter to fend for themselves.  Bryan was 11 years old.

With no more money coming in, Bryan’s mother tried to feed the family on food stamps.  During one period, they ate nothing but hot dogs and beans, and pots of soup would stretch for weeks.  Finally, they lost their home to foreclosure, and Bryan and his older brother Kyle were sent to live with their grandparents.  When they returned to live with their mother the following year, she was detached and remote due to the emotional pain of her failed marriage. 

Bryan coasted through high school.  He earned average grades, was good enough at baseball to make the team but not good enough to play, and was inadvertently left out of the school yearbook in his senior year.  He tried just hard enough to get by, but not hard enough to excel.  For the most part, he emulated his brother, and at 16 followed Kyle into the LAPD Explorers, an organization for teenagers hoping to become police officers.

For the first time in his life, Bryan came in at the top of his class, which he took as a sign that he should be a cop.  He enrolled in Los Angeles Valley College as a police-science major.  However, when a guidance counselor told Bryan to take an elective, the young man enrolled in acting, and quickly found he had a gift for it.  By the time he completed his police-science degree, his life plans had changed:  he would pursue an acting career.

Bryan didn’t harbor starry-eyed dreams of fame like his father had.  He took nearly any and all work that came his way, from bit parts in shows to commercials for coffee creamer and inflammation ointment.  His only goal at each audition was to get the job. 

Finally, though, he had an epiphany:  he started to pursue his career without focusing on the outcome.  His goal in each audition became to create the most compelling character he could and make it come to life.  If Bryan did that, he was satisfied.  Getting the job became a bonus.

By infusing each role with as much depth and humanity as he was able, Bryan began to open doors.  A one-episode part as a villain who the audience eventually feels bad for demonstrated Bryan’s range and abilities.  The writer who cast him took notice… and didn’t forget.

Ten years later, that writer began assembling the team for his new show, and he wanted Bryan to play his main character.  Despite demands from Hollywood to cast a star, creator Vince Gilligan got his way, and was ultimately able to award the part of cancer-afflicted chemistry teacher turned meth-cooking drug impresario to Bryan.  And it paid off.

Bryan Cranston won three consecutive Emmy Awards for Outstanding Actor in a Drama Series, only the second time in television history that an actor had accomplished such a feat.  That series, Breaking Bad, has been called one of the greatest television series ever, and in 2014 it entered the Guinness Book of Records as the highest rated show of all time, thanks in no small part to Bryan’s outstanding character portrayal.

When you focus too much on the endgame, on “making it,” not only might you be disappointed if you never get there, but you’ll miss out on enjoying the wonderful experiences along the way.  For Bryan Cranston, who stars in this summer’s new Godzilla film, the journey has been his ultimate reward.  In his own words, “My greatest achievement is that I’ve been working as an actor for 25 years.  It’s about finding the joy in every opportunity.”

Until Next Week,

Live Your Dreams!

Time to Graduate

This month, my older son Jaxson graduated from high school, and our family is making plans to attend graduation parties for many of his friends.  However, there is one friend of Jaxson’s whose party we won’t be going to.  To help explain why, I decided share something very personal, a college application essay written by Jaxson about an event that epitomized his transition from youth to adulthood.  I think it speaks for itself:

“Just like every other morning, I was sitting in the front row of my English class, facing the teacher, focused on my work with my headphones on.  My teacher had granted me permission to “unschool” in her class, basically allowing me to select my own course of study and progress at my own pace.  That morning, I was listening to classical music and reading a book on the foundations of morality.  All of a sudden, I felt my phone vibrate, popping my bubble of focus.  Upon seeing the text was from my good friend Tiger, I was sure my day was going to be a little bit better.  Tiger never says anything that isn’t worth hearing, whether it’s only slightly amusing or extremely serious, as it proved to be on this day. Tiger wasn’t asking me if I wanted to go to the record store later.  He was asking me if I heard about Andrew.

“No, I hadn’t heard.  I asked him what happened.  He sent me an article from a news website.  It said that a local teenager was killed yesterday in a standoff with the police.  For about five seconds, I thought it must be a joke, and was a bit shocked at Tiger making a joke in such poor taste.  When I realized that it wasn’t a joke, everything around me changed.  Andrew’s death became the rest of my day, the rest of my week, and ultimately impacted the rest of my life.

“Andrew wasn’t one of my best friends, but we were close.  We were in a “band” with Tiger and another friend, and Andrew and I would discuss politics every day in a Facebook group he had created for that purpose.  In fact, I had been talking to him in the group just hours before he died.

“Andrew was a pacifist.  This fact is crucial to the absurdity of his death.  He had been drinking and was wandering around the house, yelling and holding a gun, according to the 911 call from his mother.  She had also told the dispatcher that he wasn’t going to hurt anybody, but she was worried he might hurt himself.  Apparently, the local police thought a suitable response to a drunken sixteen year-old with possible suicidal ideation was to call in the SWAT team.  Andrew did not shoot himself.  He was shot and killed by a police sniper after breaking a window that was nowhere near any officer.

“Andrew’s death made it clear that I wasn’t a kid anymore.  I could no longer look at things through a purely theoretical lens.  Before his death, I could have had a philosophical conversation about the merits of using rubber bullets instead of live ammunition when responding to a domestic call involving a minor.  But Andrew gave a face to the discussion.

“The tragedy of Andrew’s death also contained the seed of an idea that has shaped my adult views. While I may not have been able to speak to Andrew about the issue that would lead to his demise, I could speak to other people about their issues.  I became far more curious about the personal experiences of people than hypothetical debates.  That curiosity ultimately led to an interest in feminism, anti-racism, and LGBT issues.  Ironically, the loss of my childhood friend may have been the first step in my transition to adulthood.”

Throughout our lives, it’s inevitable to face tragedy.  We won’t be attending Andrew’s graduation party this season, because Andrew isn’t graduating, and he’ll forever remain a teenager in our hearts and memories.

When you experience the most difficult circumstances in life, I suggest that you embrace a less obvious component of the Attitude of Gratitude mindset.  This mindset is not just about celebrating the positive things in life, but also about seeking value from challenges and even tragedies.  It is almost inhuman not to be grief-stricken, confused and even angry in the face of death and loss.  But look for the seeds of ideas, the hope and promise of better days, and you will find peace far sooner than if you focus only on what’s been lost.

Until Next Week,

Live Your Dreams!

Not for Sale

As a young man, Art was just over five feet tall.  His family had moved from Brooklyn to California when he was a boy, and based on his small stature, people suggested that he’d make a perfect jockey.  At the age of 17, he found work at a California horse ranch.  There, Art was taught all about horses, from breeding to riding.  He had found his passion.

Within a year, Art’s job was to ride the horses to get them into condition for competitive races, in which they’d be ridden by their jockeys.  He began working with a horse called Swaps, who showed potential as a contender for the Kentucky Derby.  However, the popular belief was that few horses from California could match up with those born and bred in Kentucky.  Nevertheless, Swaps was entered, and Art rode cross-country in a train car with the horse, sleeping alongside him on a bed of straw for the four night trip to Kentucky.  It was worth the long trip, though, because Art got to see Swaps ride to victory in the derby against several heavily favored East-coast rivals.

Art became a jockey two years later.  He won numerous races, including one where he was awarded his trophy by the future President of the United States, and another in which he beat one of his idols.  Art rode professionally for more than 20 years, but never won any of the major races.  At the age of 42, he became a professional trainer, still living and working in California.

In 2008, a man named Steve Coburn was working for a company that made magnetic strips for credit cards and hotel keys.  His job was literally to press the magnetic strips onto the cards.  It was tedious work, and he often found himself daydreaming of a different life.  Eventually, he was able to act on a long-time dream, partnering with his good friend Perry Martin to put up $8,000 to buy an older race horse for breeding purposes.  The two friends had never owned a horse before, and didn’t really know what they were doing.

The day they bought that old mare, a nearby horse expert actually blurted out, “only a dumbass would buy that horse!”  In response, Steve and Perry jokingly named their new partnership, “Dumb Ass Partners,” and had a logo made of a bucktoothed donkey.  Regardless of what people said, they shared a dream, and invested another $2,500 to breed their horse.  To put this investment in perspective, most owners spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to produce a colt with the qualities to win.

A few weeks before the mare gave birth, Steve dreamed that the foal would have four white feet (often thought to be bad luck in racing circles) and a large white stripe called a “blaze” down its nose.  Sure enough, the chestnut colt had exactly those markings, and they took it as a good sign.  Perry brought their young colt to be trained at Art’s stable.  Now in his 70s, Art had never been responsible for training a top-tier horse, but something about this one was different. 

On May 3^rd, 2014, California Chrome became just the fourth California-born-and-bred race horse to ever win the Kentucky Derby.  No horse from California had done it in more than 50 years, and it had been nearly six decades since the 77-year-old Art Sherman had been involved with a derby horse.  Talk about waiting patiently to fulfill a lifelong dream!

Amazingly, just a few weeks before the derby, owners Steve and Perry turned down an offer to sell control of California Chrome for 6 million dollars.  Turning down $6 million on a horse in which they’d invested only $10,500 may have seemed foolish, but they weren’t just in it for money.  They had put work, love and faith into their young champion, and wanted to see it pay off at the highest level of competition in the sport.  Their dream was not for sale.

We all have dreams in life, and very often, people may suggest we try other paths.  Art Sherman’s steadfast determination in sticking with his dream for over sixty years shows how putting security over doing what you love isn’t the road to success; do what you love, become great at it, and success will inevitably follow.  And the belief shown by Perry Martin and Steve Coburn demonstrates that sometimes you just have to follow your instincts, even if popular wisdom says to do otherwise.  In the words of Steve himself, “If you’ve got a dream and you’re willing to ride it out, it will come true for you.  We’re living proof!”

Until Next Week,

Live Your Dreams!