You’re driving on a quiet, woodsy stretch of Sheridan Road. You find yourself thinking of an ex-Marine you once knew. You wonder why he popped into your mind…
He was a young guy returning from an old war. He carried some shredded shrapnel in his legs that would stay for life, but he ignored it and settled back into his modest neighborhood far from the North Shore.
There he ran across a friend who just bought a car. He asked how the friend could afford it during those tough days. The answer: good money could be made selling home improvements for a new company.
He went to his friend’s company and asked for a similar job. The owner said they weren’t hiring, and told him to take a hike. Hike? This marine was accustomed to the word.
Rejected but not dejected, he knocked on doors around there for weeks. Unaffiliated, acting only on optimism, he convinced neighbors and strangers to order home improvements through him.
Soon, he had a thick stack of purchase orders. He gathered them up and returned to the company that threw him out. When he showed all that business, the owner said, “You’re hired!”
Then a better idea dawned on the ex-Marine. “Thanks, but I think I’ll start my own company with these.”
That’s not just another “American dream” story. It’s a story that hits close to home. Because you just drove past his house. There, the big one on a couple of acres overlooking a wooded ravine in one of the prettiest parts of the North Shore.
