alarming.”
Two questions to go. A pregnant woman in her mid-thirties came to the mic.
“Can solopreneurs survive for any length of time, or are they really just a means for transitioning between the real opportunities?”
I was pretty sure that I knew how Sam would answer that one.
“As long as outsourcing is an important option for companies, solopreners will thrive. Too many organizations prefer contracting out to increasing employment, and that’s actually a win-win situation. As a solopreneur you can have three or more employers all paying you a higher hourly rate than they would if you worked exclusively for them but none of them paying for all of your time. They each pay less but the sum of the parts leaves you with significantly more.”
Finally the last question was about to be asked by another teenager, this time a girl.
“I read recently that the federal government has implemented a fast track visa to bring entrepreneurs into Canada. Is this a good idea? We don’t have enough jobs for young people as it is. And since I’m last I’ll ask a quick follow-up: what makes your book different? Why should I read it?”
Sam laughed at the follow up but patiently addressed both issues.
“Yes, it’s a good idea. Entrepreneurs create jobs. More than a hundred countries have policies designed to keep and attract entrepreneurs. There’s a worldwide competition for talent going on. I think that I mentioned how many Canadians live and work in Silicon Valley, it’s close to 400,000. That’s over 1 percent of our population and a much greater percentage of our intellectual capital. We have to find ways to keep our best and most brilliant here and to bring more talent here from other areas. Given the context of our multicultural society we have advantages that will help us attract others. We have both the need and the means to do it, so we must create policies that match.
“As far as the book goes, it’s intentionally an easy read. I wrote it as a narrative. We all love stories. It gave me the chance to offer shared experiences to the readers. Experts still argue that there is no replacement for experience in becoming an entrepreneur, but I believe we can prepare people by giving them the benefit of our experiences in a meaningful way. Readers seem to identify with the characters and relate to their problems. The story provides incidental and painless learning. I am a student of business but I don’t like business texts. I think the approach works but time will tell. The challenge for me was to write about a complex subject that’s becoming much more critical in a way that almost anyone can understand. Basically a common sense guide to changing your life by taking charge of it.”
Finally we were done. The thanks given by the mayor was glowing but brief. We were almost on our way. Except of course Sam spent the next forty-five minutes patiently signing books while I paced back and forth, anxious to just get out of there and present my idea.
CHAPTER FIVE
My Proposal
By the time we left the Legion hall, Sam only had ninety minutes to go before the last train left for Toronto.
“You’re a very appealing speaker, Sam. Everyone wants a piece of you when you’re done. I’d planned to take you out to a steakhouse but I guess we don’t have time. You just talked yourself out of a steak dinner and a nice glass of wine.”
Sam was leaning back in his seat, relaxing after the stress of being the centre of attention for the entire afternoon.
“That’s all right Nick; I have something better in mind. I was sort of hoping we could go to Gino’s. It’s been a few years for me but I would love one of those delicious foot-long hot dogs. I must have been five or six the first time my dad took me for one. One of those childhood memories that seemed like it happened yesterday. It took me close to an hour to eat but I finished it. In the process I managed to get mustard all over my shirt and shorts before we got home. Mom was not pleased. Do you still go there?”
Gino’s had been around as long as I could remember, having started some time back in the early fifties. The menu never changed, the mainstay being the twelve-inch hot dogs on toasted buns served with a mixture of chopped onions and tomatoes combined with Gino’s homemade relish. Gino was a local legend and hero. When we were kids Gino, who was a humble guy that almost everyone liked, made a fortune selling hot dogs, allowing him to close the place down and go to Florida for the winter every year. What a life! There was no need to advertise. He opened like clockwork on the 21st of March, the first day of spring, and stayed open to Thanksgiving. People are still lined to get in when it reopens every year. I take my grandkids there, making them the fourth generation of customers from our family to love those hot dogs. Gino’s has long been a tradition, one of the rites of spring.
Sam and Gary loved the place and used to hang out there talking to Gino. At first they used to ride their bikes there. Then as teenagers it became a regular weekend destination with a car full of friends. My first chance to try one of the legendary hot dogs came when I arrived as a passenger on the back of Gary’s bike along with Sam and three of their buddies. I was about six.
“Of course I still go there, but I haven’t been this year so I’m up for it if that’s what you want.”
Gino’s had changed since Sam had been there. Gino had retired two years before, having stayed with a business that was deep in his heart well into his eighties. Maybe Gino proved a point that it wasn’t too late for guys like me. The business was run by his son Dino now. A few years ago they’d built a large deck off to the side of the concrete block building. Last year they paved the parking lot. When we were growing up everyone ate in the car. A lot of people still did.
Sam and I each ordered exactly what we had on my first visit. A hot dog, an order of onion rings, and a chocolate milkshake. Every bit of the order tasted exactly the same as it did the first time enhanced by some great memories and the twisted sense of being a little boy with no responsibilities for a few minutes. Food is memories. That was the appeal of Gino’s. You could taste your youth. Then you could share that taste with the next generation and the next generation after that. As we ate in the car for old time’s sake, Sam began to reminisce.
“You probably can’t remember the old clapboard building that Gino started with, can you? It was one of those old carny-style booths, almost like a fruit stand with wooden shutters that you propped open but closed and locked up at night. He really made something out of nothing. That sign over the door with the painted hot dog is original. I remember when he built this new building, he was so excited. You know, Gino might have been the first real entrepreneur that I met. He was a neat guy, always had time for the kids … the future of the business, he liked to say. Gary and I spent hours here. One year we helped him make his relish. He paid us in hot dogs, fries, and shakes. And look at us; he was right. We were those kids and we’re still coming back after all these years. I wish Gary was with us.”
I was nostalgic about the place as well and I had my own fond memories of Gino. Most of what I remembered revolved around going there with my dad and Gary, boys’ nights out when Mom was off at some ladies club meeting, that kind of stuff. For some reason I was a little afraid of Gino. Later on as an adult it was my ‘go to’ lunch place on a tough day — an oasis. For some reason I asked Sam an obvious question that used to bug me as a teenager.
“I always wondered why he chose hot dogs. Why wouldn’t he have picked pizza or some other Italian food?”
Sam was preoccupied, slurping out the dregs of his milkshake, another reversion to childhood that we would have criticized our own kids or grandkids for doing.
“I
