My younger brother, Brent, and I are fifteen months apart. We grew up with a father obsessed with business and real estate. Any time we passed a lot for sale my dad would take his eyes off the road and wonder aloud if the parcel was a good buy. My mom had to remind him every time he had my brother or me in the car to pay attention and not let his eyes wander. He was constantly looking for the next “big deal” in Denver’s real estate market.
Other kids would play catch with their dad but not us. The only competitive sport in our house was Monopoly. My dad, brother and I would spend long weekends in marathon games at the kitchen table. Dad would coach each of us on how to best build an empire. He’d then go off to work on Monday morning and build his.
My dad was an entrepreneur. He started in the early 1960s as a salesman of western wear shirts and jeans. By the late 1960s he owned and ran a series of clothing manufacturers. I spent summers working in the factory and weekends selling “seconds” at the flea market. When I was old enough to drive, I’d come down to the factory after school for a few hours most days. By the
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