Ageless Entrepreneur. Fred Dawkins

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 understand it completely. Gino wanted to be accepted. His opportunity came by doing something that was already established differently and better. He didn’t want to introduce something new, especially right after the war when anything from Europe was suspicious. There’s still a lot to be said for that. Entrepreneurs often succeed by finding a different angle to do something for which there’s a proven demand. Look at Tim Hortons and Starbucks, two completely different approaches to a proven market. Coffee houses have been around for hundreds of years. Yet there you have two modern versions that are hugely successful, appealing to different segments of the same market. That’s one more of the entrepreneurial myths, that you have to invent something new. Finding a better way to tap a proven market reduces the risk.”

      Sam was sure into this entrepreneurship theme. He was charged up and full of it. How was I to know that Gino’s was really a museum of local entrepreneurship? I let Sam continue his walk down memory lane a little longer, but I was getting anxious to bring up my idea.

      “My brother-in-law got married on March 21. My wife and I were in the wedding party and your brother Gary was a guest. So guess where we ended up after the reception? That’s right. A bunch of us came here in our tails and bridesmaids gowns. Gino couldn’t believe that in the midst of the wedding we remembered it was his opening day for the season. That was forty-five years ago. I’ve only been here a couple of times since but it seems like yesterday, same old Gino’s.”

      I couldn’t wait any longer.

      “Sam, I need your help and I think I’ve figured out a way for you to give me some that makes sense for both of us. You sort of skirted around the issue all day today. I told you I took my golden handshake and plunked it into a rental building. I need to make that work. I mean, that’s going to be my main source of income over and above Canada Pension Plan and Old Age Security. I may have to run some kind of business there myself, partly because I can’t rent all the space and partly because I’m carrying debt from refurbishing the building. I’m trying to figure out what to do and I know I’m not alone. You talked about it today, the idea that people are living longer, haven’t saved adequately for their retirement, and consequently need to work longer. That’s me, Sam, and quite a few others I know.”

      I can’t really say that he looked surprised. He seemed to be more pensive than shocked.

      “Nick, you know I’ll try to help you. What do you need? What do you have in mind?”

      At this point my stomach was queasy. My great idea was starting to seem more like an imposition than an opportunity. On the other hand, what did I have to lose?

      “You might think this is ludicrous, but have you given any thought to mentoring seniors?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. I needed to convince him, and fast. Here I was, a senior, making a pitch to someone older than me. I needed him to invest time, not money. “Seriously, you talk a pretty good game that it’s never too late and all, but my age group needs help and guidance quickly. If we knew it all we would have done it before this. I guess my idea came from that last webinar series you did on the family entrepreneur and all the factors involved in joining or running a family business. That was good stuff, full of insights. How about doing something similar on the pros and cons of seniors starting a business? How about doing the prototype for your webinar right here over the summer?”

      Dead silence. I held my breath for what seemed like minutes, wracking my brain for something else to say that might seal the deal. Finally he spoke.

      “We’d better get moving or I’m going to miss my train.”

      A whole series of four letter words raced through my brain, all directed at me personally — for being inept, for assuming too much, for not making