The Evolution of an Entrepreneur - Featuring 50 of My Best Tips for Surviving and Thriving in Business

THE END OF WAR, THE BEGINNING OF AN IDEA

IT WAS 9:00 P.M. on August 14, 1945. The night was unusually dark, probably another reason for my feeling of doom. The first reason was that I knew I was going back into combat as I checked into Hickam Field in Honolulu. I had already flown 27 intense and increasingly more dangerous missions in a B-29 over Japan, and I was not feeling lucky. My crew and I had used up our 10 days of R&R (rest and recuperation) leave. We were scheduled to report to Air Transport Command at 10:00 p.m. to return to our base in Saipan and resume bombing Japan in advance of a planned massive invasion. I was the navigator and radar-bombardier of this 11-man crew, which had survived without a scratch against all odds…so far.

I had spent the previous two days enjoying the beauty of Oahu with wine, song, and plenty of company. Still, it wasn’t enough to ease the fear that was twisting my insides. I was returning to combat and knew I had little chance of survival. Of those who had started the tour eight months earlier, 75 percent had been killed in action.

As I started to walk across an open field to pick up my gear, my head was filled with memories. I recalled the good times with all of my buddies who were lost, as well as the pain of their loss. In just one hour, I would be on a plane heading back to the grim reality of Japanese antiaircraft fire and suicidal fighters, and the long trips over open water back to Saipan.

Within the space of a second, the entire airfield lit up around me. It was ablaze with light. I stopped walking and stood in the deafening silence. Then the PA system came to life, and a loud voice blared over dozens of speakers: “Attention! Attention, all personnel! World War II has just ended…all orders are frozen! Everybody stay where you are, and you will receive new orders.”

I was unable to move; all of the air seemed to leave my body in one giant whoosh. I felt my face getting wet; when I put my hands to my cheeks, I realized that tears were streaming down. I was going to live! The war was over, and I had come through it unharmed. At 22, I was going to have a rebirth, a renaissance.

The next morning shone bright and clear. It was 10:00 a.m., and four of us were enjoying a pot of steaming black coffee. Many times we had trusted our lives to each other. For the past year, we had shared so much and been totally dependent on each other. Whether we were defending ourselves against Japanese fighter planes that swarmed at us from out of the sun, guns blazing, or we were nursing a wounded B-29 back to the base, it was the same task. Always the same. Do we bail out of our injured Superfortress, or do we tough it out? We knew that if each man did not perform perfectly, we were all dead.

There was Herb, the pilot, who was born to fly. Tall, lean, stoic, and from Mid-America, he was the quintessential leader. Robbie, the copilot, was a burly guy from the town of Big Stone Gap, Virginia. He spoke in a lazy drawl and had a wit with a fatalistic undertone. When his wife asked him in a letter if he would be home for Christmas, his response was, “I don’t think they are going to drag the Pacific Ocean to find me and send me home.” Then there was Ritchie, our short but stalwart bombardier. He was from Cleveland and, at 5-foot-4, could drink any of us under the table.

Herb started our first serious conversation that had nothing to do with planning or executing a mission. “We should be going home pretty soon, and I’ll have to make a decision about being discharged or reenlisting. Flying is in my blood. I have to keep on flying. Maybe I can get a job with an airline, or do some crop-dusting. I don’t know, but I’ll talk it over with my wife, Betty Jo. I can’t wait to see her,” he added wistfully.

Robbie scratched his head and then said, in a slow drawl, “I reckon I’ll be home long before Christmas, and nobody has to scrape the ocean for me. I need to see my wife and kids. I don’t want to leave the Old Homestead. Maybe I can find a few more acres and settle in.” There was a pause. “Hey, guys, we’re way too sober to talk about such serious stuff.”

“Cleveland is looking mighty good to me right now,” Ritchie said with a laugh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, from which he took a long pull. “I’m feeling better already.” He shot me a quizzical glance. “Are you ready for the Big City again?”

Staring at my crewmates, I said, “I’m ready to be a civilian right now! I can’t even imagine how great the freedom to make my own decisions about what to eat, to wear…and what is off-limits is gonna be. I have a crazy desire to start my own business, make my own decisions, and be my own boss. There is a whole new world out there, and there is going to be a big demand for civilian merchandise. I am going to get into that arena, and work all over the world. What a great opportunity to see new places without being shot at.” I mused, “I spent a weekend in Los Angeles before shipping out overseas. New York is fine, but I am ready to move to the West Coast, where everything is warm and fresh.”

My throat tightened as I gazed at the guys with whom I had spent the last year. “We have been one hell of a team…without you, I could not have survived.” There was a catch in my throat as I spoke. “I want to thank each of you for your friendship and for always being there. I think we should join Ritchie and toast each other.”

Looking back, I realize it was at that very moment that I started my career as an entrepreneur.

I have no idea why I survived combat against such overwhelming odds. I do know, though, that the situation was made tolerable by having a positive outlook. The power of the mind was never more succinctly proven in my life, because even under those adverse conditions, there were many laughs and good feelings. My natural inclination was to look on the bright side, even though the other side was a disaster. It was then that I learned to hope for the best and be prepared for the worst.

I was honorably discharged as Captain, U.S. Army Air Force, having flown 27 combat missions and served as a navigator and radar officer. I was decorated with the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters.

FINDING AND FILLING NEEDS IN THE POST WAR WORLD

LIFE IN THE United States in 1946 was different than when I left in 1942 for the U.S. Army Air Corps. There was a feeling of economic optimism in the air—ironically because much of the world had been devastated by the war. The industrial centers of Europe and Japan were all but destroyed. Because consumer goods had not been produced during the war, there was a huge demand for them after.

When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in December 1941, my brother Saul was stationed there as a marine. The day the war ended in August 1945 found me there, too. It seemed as though the Nadel brothers had bracketed the war. Now we were joining forces to enter the post-war world.

I was 23 and he was 26, and we were ready to take advantage of international demand…to find as many needs as we could and fill them. We each had a high school education, very little money, and unbelievable energy and ambition. What we lacked in formal education we made up for in street smarts developed during our childhood in New York City. There was no doubt in our minds that we would be successful.

We moved to Los Angeles because of a feeling that the West Coast offered the greatest opportunity. New York was full of established businesses, but in Los Angeles, almost everybody was just getting started. Our first stop was the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce, which had a very active foreign trade section. The chamber published a weekly bulletin of inquiries received from around the world for all kinds of merchandise. Everything was in short supply. It was very much a seller’s market—if only you had a good source of supply.

One of the first inquiries came from China, for navy blue woolen material. Nobody had navy blue woolen material. We were aware, however, that there was a huge amount of army olive drab on sale at war surplus stores. We figured out that we could buy the surplus army olive drab, dye it navy, and sell it to the Chinese. That is exactly what we did. And it worked! We did not know until much later that the material was used to make uniforms for the then Chinese Army of Chiang Kai-Shek.

With no money, no connections, and no education, we sold a huge quantity of navy blue woolen material to the Chinese. We learned on the job, with our feet to the fire and the need to produce. In the course of the deal, we figured out how to buy, how to sell, and how to finance a transaction. The key to financing was to establish a relationship with a good commercial bank that specialized in international trade. The manager of international banking at Union Bank and Trust Company was able to help us establish a schedule whereby we could swing the deal and get a letter of credit from the Chinese to use as security for payment of the material and the dye-works. (Dye-works is a facility where dyeing...