I’ve always been amazed how many people thought I was rich when owning a business. The workers took advantage thinking I was loaded, even when they were being paid more than I paid myself. My wife would see a big job as an opportunity to ask for more money. Customers assumed I was wealthy because of the advertising I did or the vehicle I drove. Some just assumed I was rich because I was a businessman.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The equipment and trucks all had loans on them. The job costs versus profit—something even my accountant wife couldn’t grasp—were slim. The workers didn’t know I was investing in them, in my future, not in my own checking account. The customers respected my marketing efforts but didn’t realize the financial strain it put me under.
And at my core, I am a philanthropist. I feel the pain and struggle of others because I have lived it. I give what I have when I see someone in need—often giving my last dollar—because I believe I can rebuild myself faster than they can start. This has been part of who I am since my youth.
So I wore the mask. I let them believe in the rich man, because explaining the truth would have made me look weak. But inside, I knew their perceptions were far from reality.
I remember sitting in a 2004 adversarial proceeding for bankruptcy and witnessing the trustee have this same perception. He didn’t get it either. He was hunting for assets and “knew” I was hiding something. At that point, I had liquidated everything—paying lawsuits and company bills of a company that no longer existed or produced anything. I was there, three quarter of a million in debt, and he still thought I was a rich man.
