Living The American Dream is a “rags-to-riches” story about my parents and how they became millionaires. It all started in about 1963 as we were traveling to my grandparents’ house in Murphy NC.
We (my parents with their five children) lived about 60 miles east of Murphy. So to get to their house for a day of fun and good eating, we had to pass through the Eastern Band of The Cherokee Indian Reservation. We rarely stopped in Cherokee, but in the summer of 1963 we did. It was a brief stop but a life-turning decision was made during that stop-over.
My dad wanted my mom to talk with one of the gift shop owners about how could they operate a gift shop also. I remember being told not to get out of the car for any reason. I was about 11 yrs old at the time and I and my siblings obeyed our parents.
By the next year we had moved to the outskirts of then “Old Cherokee” and opened up a gift shop. It was located on US19, across the river from Frontier Land. By 1967 dad realized that the “big money” he was hoping for was in whole-selling souvenirs. So my parents switched from running two retail businesses to strictly selling wholesale.
There wasn’t much to risk in them switching to becoming “middle man” sales people. My two oldest siblings had graduated high school and had left home. And all that my parents owned at the time was a single-wide trailer and two very used cars.
If you would like to know “the rest of the story” then please buy my book here. I’ll be glad to sign a copy of my parents rags-to-riches story for you. Reading this might inspire you to reach what seems like an impossible goal to reach, as well.
I’m asking $10.00 plus $3.00 shipping =$13.00 per book.
On the most part I was a quiet child growing up. Even my mother would often comment that it was hard to know whether I was in the house or out in the yard because I rarely spoke. That’s probably because I stuttered as a child and didn’t like to speak. Also, I’m the youngest of my parents five children so I always had my two older sisters to figure out what I was saying.
Both my parents worked so I was left in the care of my two older
sisters during summers and after school. We three did all the housework
and laundry. Plus, they took on the task of interpreting for me to our
parents or just went ahead and got me whatever I needed. That’s the way
it worked for me up until I entered the third grade.
My teacher that year was Mrs. Allison, who had taught well beyond her
retirement time. I remember her having a complete head of white hair
and my parents wondering how she was going to keep up with us kids on
the sprawling playground. I don’t think they figured in her persona in
their equation on that though.
Mrs. Allison truly was grandmotherly to us kids, which we seemed to love so we naturally obeyed her. After recess she always read or told us a story while we wound down from play time, resting our heads on our desks.
started school in 1958, so by this time it was the early sixties. Back then,
teachers could give a random hug to a young child if they thought that would
cheer the youngster up some. It was a different time back then.
Long story short, it took Mrs. Allison most all that year to get me
to stop stuttering. She did this by getting me to slow my speech pattern
down during class reading time. Standing beside me, she usually rested
one of her large hands across my shoulders, while covering my designated
sentence with her other hand until I could only pronounce one word at a
time. Which, I guess I hadn’t been doing prior to that year. Still
today I’m a scan reader. I just want to know the basic facts of the
story, issue or the situation at hand.
I’m certain that I never stuttered after that year. I remembered
giving oral book reports and answering questions in class all through
the rest of my formal education. That confidence I showed didn’t happen
instantaneous, of course. But, over time I overcame my shyness and
strengthened my public speaking skills enough to do as well as any other
child in school.