Of the many reasons that I write this story, life lessons are the ultimate source for future family members to perhaps gain some insight into.
In August of 1977, I had completed eleven semesters straight at the University of Guelph. That included summer semesters, which were great by the way, so I was ready for a month off before heading into the next fall semester.
A friend from U of G, Kim Boggild, (whom I met while waiting in line to see JJ Cale on campus) along with her dog, had already ventured to Colorado, and I talked Liz Marusic into taking an orange 1960 Volkswagen, of Tim Todd’s to join the adventure. The driver’s seat was falling through the floor, so we had a piece of 2×4 stuck underneath to keep it from dropping out the bottom. Consequentially, the noise from the ground made it difficult, to say the least, to hear inside while driving.
On the way to Colorado, Liz and I stopped to camp near Omaha, Nebraska. Hopefully there will be a slide of this. We found this deserted farmhouse front yard, still marked by a broken down mailbox at the entrance of the laneway. The rest of the farmland was under soybean cultivation as far as the eye could see in all directions. We could see the skyline of Lincoln in the far off distance.
After setting up our tent, and starting a propane stove for supper, we noticed a car in the distance winding its way between the fields of soybeans and headed our way. Just a bit concerned, because we had no invite for the property, I waited for the arrival of what turned out to be a Cadillac with a gun rack in the back window, unique, eh?
So this huge looking cowboy, farmer type rolls down his electric window and I say howdi, being social. He says howdi. I said I hope you don’t mind if we camp out here tonight on your property. He says with the longest drawl imaginable, “Nope this here is my daddy’s property, and you can just have at er all you want! With an enormous sigh of relief, I waved goodbye and we settled down for one of those most amazing nights under the stars, when it is so dark, the stars and shooting stars just have to remind you of your insignificance.
I remember vividly, walking down the main street of Boulder, CO at about midnight and seeing something down the street in a window that caught my eye. It attracted me because I saw flashes of color and could not decipher the source, so I had to explore and investigate.
As I stood in front of a gift store with crystal prisms hanging from a tree branch inside the front window, the rainbow colors literally sent shivers through me as I said this aloud, “Man, I bet that shit sells like crazy”. Now at that time, I had no intention of ever going into business. My total focus had been to get sufficient marks in undergrad to get into med-school within the next couple of years.
The challenge is that when you think you know what’s going on, you have no idea what is going on – that I learned in basic training for Vietnam.
The next day, I went back to the store during open hours and purchased what turned out to be: a pair of dangly earrings Art. 6400, and a prism, 6208 called a sunburst. As I was paying for the items, the clerk asked me “where are you taking these?”. Now, has anyone ever asked you that?
I rambled something about being from Canada and that is where I would be going. The sales clerk, immediately chimed, “I don’t think anybody is importing these into Canada. You should talk to the guys who import this here, just outside of town, in the mountains. They sell about a million dollars of this a year.” For no reason, I asked, yeah, but how much of that ended up being profit? He said, “I think about 30%.”. I then dismissed the idea with some comment about going to med school and having no intention of going into business. I left the store with a seed planted.
That evening, Liz and I were out to dinner with Kim & her bo and got to talking. I remember saying, well, my dad always said, “Talk is cheap”. It can’t hurt to go talk to these guys. So the next morning, off I go, with Liz in hand, back to the store where I had made the infamously psychic purchase.
I asked the clerk if he would call the supplier and allow me to speak to them. He agreed. Once on the phone, I asked frankly, if the clerk was correct in the sales figure of one million after one year in business. He confirmed. I asked if we could meet and he agreed to have me attend his home in the mountains outside of Boulder. The drive was spectacular, through lush river road, winding this way and that and each new view as full of wonderment as the last. It was truly an in the now experience.
I turned into a wide asphalt drive that expanded to reach toward a large, two car garage on the left, and a large log home on the right, both canopied by tall pines casting shadows far below. Both structures had been freshly hewn and epitomized the back to earth movement of the mid-seventies. I was in amazement. To see that one could be in the middle of nowhere and carry on business. That awareness started a passion to develop a business that was not limited to local sales but could be international.
After a couple of hours of conversing, I asked if they would front me some samples in order for me to get orders and then I would place orders with them until my volume got too large, and in which case they would introduce me to their European suppliers. Wow, how simple to say was that? Their answer was to be expected, NO! “You seem like a nice enough guy, but, Canada to get our money back, No.
Suddenly, I had a Dream. Ever since starting university as an older than average age student, I had this compelling lack of fall-back plan for what if I did not get accepted into med school. Perhaps that seemed like a good idea at the time. I knew that I could not go back into an employment situation as I had experienced in hospitals, and the idea of owning something, that I could control, seemed to bring comfort. The fact that I could buy something and turn around and sell it for a profit was attractive. And, if I had a product that was at the front of marketing, then I had supply and demand on my side.
As the fall of 1977 arrived, I obtained my OSAP payment. OSAP at the time was a student loan which eventually had to be repaid. I was also receiving an educational allowance from the US government for having served in the Army during the Vietnam era. Under the GI Bill, I received a monthly stipend, which was just enough to afford me the ability to go to school without working.
When my student loan arrived in September, I sent a $750 post payment to the guys in Boulder and told them to send me samples of the most popular items. When they arrived, I began learning about the customs and duty game for importing products into Canada.
I remember organizing them on a set of shelves I set up in a corner of one of the two rooms I rented on Forbes Ave from Caroline Inch. I labeled them on the shelf and just looked at all the sparkles I remember saying, “there’s my money”, just like when you see an enormous flock of birds on a crisp fall day and utter that to a friend.
My first sale was to a gift store in Elora, named “The Green Owl”. It was owned by the cutest little lady from a small town. She explained that I should sell my crystal at a trade show, which I had never heard about. She also taught me my first economic law of wholesaling, “Terms”.
When I return with her first order, while we chatted and looked at the crystal, she placed the hand-written sales slip on her desk and paid no further attention to it during our conversation. As I needed to leave to deliver some other product, I asked if I could receive payment and be on my way. Her response was, “I will pay you in thirty days”. I am sure I looked dumbfounded when I said, Excuse me? She said that is the standard in the industry.
My quick, little rebellious brain took over and I heard myself saying, “Who made up that rule? Why not this rule, I take your money and bring back the goods in thirty days. That’s how I have to buy. She said, well, that is how the game is played. How naive I was to business.
My friend, Andrew Smith made a display sample case for the crystal pieces from an antique violin case. It was just unusual enough to get everybody’s attention when I would walk into a giftware store. I would not need to say much other than to say, may I speak with the owner. Inevitably, they would ask what was in the case, as their imagination went wild as they considered it might hold a machine gun, like in the gangster movies. It opened the conversation and I made huge sales because of it. Thanks again, Andrew.
