The American Dream was going full-tilt boogie when, with a slap and a squawk, I arrived in Chicago in '59.

Or so They tell me.

My first memory is hearing my Mom screaming “My God, they shot the President!” after a TV news bulletin interrupted the puppet show on TV. My father died the following year leaving Mom and I on our own. That's when They told me I was ‘the man of the house’ with ‘big shoes to fill.’

But nobody told me how. All of the austerity measures that followed, like switching to powdered milk, somehow felt like my fault. My quest to find work ended when an ad in a comic book tempted me to sell greeting cards door to door during the Summer of Love. 

Overcoming my fear of talking to strangers, time froze when I knocked on that first 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. When I did, she said "No," so I asked her “Why the heck not?” “Because I want two.” The instant I heard that I grew taller, or began floating, maybe both. 

My confidence and self-esteem soared with each subsequent sale. Heading home with a pocket full of loot I felt like a pirate. Captain of my destiny at the tender age of eight, draggin' my wagon around the block, listening to my transistor radio, and making sales. 

The Chicago Police riot during the ‘68 Democratic National Convention, witnessed by millions on TV, occurred 25 minutes away from our home. During the Days of Rage the following year the Weathermen blew up the Haymarket Police Memorial.

Mom freaked, sold the house, and moved us to her hometown of Ironwood, Michigan, 400 miles away. Anger, teen angst, and culture shock led to a lo-fidelity life of crime. Magazines, underground newspapers, and radio kept me informed. Eventually I found my tribe, The Party Faithful, the folks dedicated to having fun.

Nobody has more fun than us!

A high school shenanigan became my shamanic experience. Folks were amused, informed, and/or annoyed by the antics of Harry's Yahoos, a rowdy bunch of The Party Faithful, often identified by the t-shirt I designed.

Leveraging the success of the Harry's Yahoos shenanigans, I declined Their college scholarship and charted my own course instead. Spending more than 100,000-plus hours in sales, I've mastered the art of parley. Learning to think like a pirate is easy but ain't for the timid. It's something I dare you to try. 

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