Читать книгу Ageless Entrepreneur - Fred Dawkins - Страница 7

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June 22, 2014

The last time I had seen Sam Macleod was almost thirty years ago at my brother’s funeral. Before that my most vibrant memory of him was from twenty years earlier on the day he left town and went to university. As a boy I worshipped Sam. He and my brother Gary were inseparable and at seven years younger I followed the two of them around like a puppy dog waiting to lick up their scraps, loving every minute of it. Most of the time they treated me well. Occasionally they would lose patience. Once when they were training for football they decided to take turns making me run downhill while they tossed the ball as far over my head as they could, making me chase it all over the empty parking lot they liked to use to practice.

Every time I faithfully brought the ball back and then ran as hard as I could to catch up to their passes always thinking that I was just too slow. I had no idea why they were killing themselves laughing. Every scraped knee made them howl more. Only later when I was playing on the same high school team that they had left behind, having a few young admirers of my own, did I realize that the scrapes and scratches from chasing down the ball were a by-product of their solution for keeping me out of the way for a while. I never resented it. Years later, when I finally clued in, the memory of the whole scene made me laugh. I still smile when I think about it. However, when we played neighbourhood pickup, no matter what the sport, Sam always took me for his team, even when no one else wanted the little kid to play. The two friends guided me through my early life protecting me in the process, all the while making me feel special.

Then my balloon burst. I was crushed to find out that Sam was leaving town because his father had been promoted and the family was moving to Toronto. His friendship with my brother continued as they drifted in and out of each other’s lives. Both of them became intercollegiate wrestlers in the same weight class. Sam won two titles, Gary one. Sam went to the prominent University of Toronto while Gary was in one of the first graduating classes at Brock University. Competition provided a source of good-natured ribbing between them, often with an edge. At the time their never-ending banter focused on the merit of the universities they attended, in Sam’s case mirroring the presumption of superiority of the establishment, confronted by Gary featuring the audacity of the new kid on the block. Neither would give ground so neither could ever win. As for the wrestling, they were each other’s major supporter until they met on the mat.

After graduation the lifelong buddies went in very different directions. Gary took a job with a large national bank. At first Sam floundered, teaching school for a year before going back to get an MBA. In the midst of his grad school exams his father-in-law died. Within weeks Sam joined his brother-in-law in the small family business.

Gary really gave him static about the decision, arguing that Sam was making a huge mistake. The big city banker thought his friend had too much talent to squander on a small independent business. Sam couldn’t explain his interest beyond saying he “just had to try.” He never looked back and thrived in the partnership, awash in independence. Sam and his brother-in-law turned that first business into a flourishing manufacturing plant that employed several hundred.

From that point on, my two mentors saw each other less frequently as their lives evolved in different directions. When they did see each other they engaged in a different ongoing debate focused on the merits of large multinational businesses versus those of small flexible companies that create jobs. From Sam’s perspective the banks owed the small business community more support. From Gary’s point of view small companies were vulnerable, involving high risk and lower return as the banks increasingly moved into more profitable areas of the economy. This became the second issue they would never agree on.

We all have those moments when we realize that through incredible neglect years have gone by and we have been so wrapped up in our day-to-day existence that we’ve been ignoring some of the most important people in our lives. How does that happen? Whatever the reason, Sam and Gary were no different, so out of guilt they continued to reconnect from time to time, with the gaps in between growing longer. When they did see each other, both quickly found the comfort zone inherent in a lifelong friendship and they enjoyed short bursts of renewal, always highlighted by good-natured ribbing, neither of them giving nor asking for any reprieve. As for me, my ties with Sam were pretty well cut except for the odd time I ran into him by accident on one of his visits to see Gary.

And then my brother died. Just like that, Gary was gone at forty — no warning, no chance to say goodbye, just gone. The word “shock” barely scratches the surface of the feelings of trauma and disbelief.

At the funeral neither one of us could carry on a conversation. One inexplicable, destructive coronary thrombosis and we were sharing the loss of a best friend. Describing Gary’s death as premature hardly begins to explain our mutual feelings of anger followed by despair. For me, I had lost an older brother who nurtured me like a third parent, one who always understood me. For Sam it was the loss of his oldest and closest friend. We all have one — that special pal, one of many with whom you shared your childhood but somehow this was the one friendship that survived. The loss was an unspoken common bond between Sam and I, and it had remained just that until this moment. Those feelings of abject despondency were the last thing I had shared with Sam.

Today my old idol was coming home.