#1198 Uncle Tommy

PLEASE READ TO THE END.  I HAVE AN ASSIGNMENT FOR YOU TODAY.

Today is all about gratitude.  I want to advise you to do something out of the norm.  Let me first tell you about my first and most influential mentor.

When I was growing up, I had an intense desire to be "posh". We began life in a NYC housing project and then moved to a small three-bedroom house on a 40' x 60' property in Staten Island. I grew up in a low-rent world and vividly recall wanting more. In my world, we never imagined being part of the wealthier crowd; instead, we envied them. Worse, we expected, and were expected by others, to continue the status quo. Surrounded by adults who were laborers, cashiers, and shift workers, we were encouraged to seek the safety of a city job. "Be a firefighter, a mailman, or a garbage man," they told my friends and me.  "They're good jobs and have good benefits and a pension."

And so, the cycle continued. It's not that these weren't good jobs—they were, but they would never take me where I wanted to go.

I bristled every time I heard my parents or my neighbors talk about what we didn't need or couldn't afford, knowing in my heart that they were one in the same.

I hated the way my neighborhood looked up to and envied wealthy mobsters but resented the legit-rich up who lived on the hill with their big homes, spare cash and Cadillacs.

Most of us worked for those rich folks, pulling out shrubs, cleaning their homes and properties, pouring concrete, painting, doing minor repairs, or whatever earned us an extra few bucks to make ends meet.

Some just accepted it as their lot. Others carried malicious envy along with the garbage they toted or furniture they were hired to move.

Me? I looked with wonder, hoping to find the magic that would allow me to join this club.

I had schoolmates who came from money. Keith's dad owned a fried chicken franchise and drove a fancy car.  Chris's dad was a dentist and lived in a big Tudor on the hill. Tony's family had a few high-end lighting stores and lived in the same neighborhood as Chris.

Suzie's dad was a rich lawyer who bought her a brand-spanking new car for her 17th birthday!

 Meeting these kids and their parents and visiting their homes didn't give rise to resentment; it gave rise to desire. Visiting them and learning a little about how they got rich was interesting but still beyond my comprehension. It was like gathering pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. I held the pieces and tried to fit them together, but no one showed me the front of the box.

No one, until my first and greatest mentor, my godfather, uncle Tommy. Uncle Tommy was my mom's little brother and came from much deeper poverty than I did. He grew up in a rented beach bungalow with no heat. They put bricks in the oven and then wrapped them in old blankets to put in their beds to keep warm, and they fought over who got to sleep with the dog for some additional heat.

Now, in his forties, Uncle Tommy lived in a big house in an affluent neighborhood in New Jersey and drove a Lincoln. I wanted to be him, to have what he had.

Once, my family decided to go to Disney in Florida. We drove down, towing a rented camper, and stayed in Fort Wilderness. I love that my folks figured out how to get us to Disney, even though they didn't have the money. What stuck with me, though, was my mom pointing out The Contemporary Hotel. This was way back in the 1970s, before all the themed hotels were built.

"That's where Uncle Tommy stayed with his family.  The monorail goes right into the building and takes you to the park." 

I stared at that building with the monorail going through it in awe.

Then we walked about a mile back to our car, returned to our camper, and carried our soap and towels to the cinderblock showers. I couldn't even see The Contemporary from there.

Again, I LOVE that my folks made this happen for us, but it was in that moment that I knew I wanted to do it like my uncle.

My uncle was a high school dropout who, when he was sixteen, took a job at Western Union Telegraph delivering telegrams. He then joined the Marine Corps and served for a few years. When he got out, WU gave him his old job back. I don't know how, but my Uncle Tommy, with zero formal education, rose to the top executive ranks in that company. It was Uncle Tommy who finally showed me the front of the puzzle box.

Listening to Uncle Tommy tell me about the possibilities was like taking off the blindfold and seeing that you'd been pinning the tail on the Donkey's nose.  He dissuaded me from taking the job with the NYC Fire Department and instead got me a sales interview with Western Union and a coach to teach me how to interview and land the job.  He made sure that he remained a prominent part of my life and advised me, personally and professionally, at every turn of my career.

I wrote him a long, heartfelt thank-you note years later when I had my first year of significant monetary success.  I remember calculating that I had earned 5X what my civil service salary would have been that year, and knew I would continue that path with my uncle setting the example and offering his guidance.

My note to him was to tell him specifically how he'd changed the entire trajectory of my life. I told him how I loved putting on a suit, driving a sweet car (paid for by the company), and making big commissions. I told him that I didn't even know that world existed, let alone would allow me entry, until he showed me the picture on the front of the box and started snapping some pieces in place for me.

I thanked him for his example, advice, and influence. I told him that I owed any success I had or would ever have to him, his interest in me, and, of course, how much I loved and respected him. He got teary-eyed and choked up a bit when he saw me next and acknowledged my note. It was a poignant moment. Uncle Tommy, a former Marine, was not given to emotional displays.

Sadly, he died about a dozen years ago. Still, I am happy to say that beyond that first note, I was able to tell him over and over what a difference he made for Deborah, me, and our girls, and to continue to call him whenever I had a business situation I couldn't untangle.

This post is already getting long, so I will break it off here and tell you about some of my other mentors next week. 

What I want from you is a response. 

Tell me about a mentor who made a difference to you. Then, here is your assignment: Write your own thank-you note. If your mentor is still around, send it. If not, just read it aloud to them and feel confident that the universe will deliver your message.

Own Your Sales Gene…