Winter is Coming

I have previously written about Swimmy, a childhood book by Leo Lionni, published in the year of my birth, 1967. Frederick the Mouse was the companion to Swimmy, a book read to me often as a child and one that still sits on the shelf in my office.

Frederick tells the story of a daydreamy field mouse who, instead of gathering grain and seeds for the long winter like his brothers and sisters, collects rays of sun, pleasant memories, and colors. When the mice hibernate and feast on their winter bounty, Frederick offers only his collection of thoughts to share and trade. His description of the sun and the colors of the field during the summer months offer the others comfort and warmth during the gloom of winter, and share their resources with Frederick.

As a young reader, I was inclined to root for Frederick in some way. After all, the book was about him. But many years later, it is Frederick’s brothers and sisters whom I recognize as the true heroes of the story.

Truthfully, the construct of Frederick is rooted in Socialism and Communism, as the author spent his early years in Amsterdam, Belgium and Italy during the early part of the 20th Century. I will leave it to the reader to research Mr. Lionni’s political ideology. Do not worry, this is not an endorsement for Socialism. I never push my political agenda in this blog.

What has struck me after all these years, and most recently after revisiting the book, is the concept of saving. My interpretation is that the field mice are preparing for winter by creating stores of food when the fields are still plentiful. That to me is the takeaway from the story, not the idea of one group doing all the work while a few enjoy the spoils of their labor.

I graduated from chiropractic college in 1996, was licensed in 1997, and opened the doors of my practice in October 1998. As I have stated on numerous occasions, when I opened my business, all they gave me was a key. In addition to having zero business experience, I had even less knowledge in finance.

A dear friend’s father, although not on my Mount Rushmore of advisors, was single-handedly responsible for my financial education. Mr. Michael Bader was an insurance salesman from Long Island, but not the typical health insurance type. He sold disability policies to doctors and lawyers. A special niche market and one that he excelled at. Needless to say, he was very successful, very rich, and very authoritative. Mr. Bader was not someone you disagreed with, and certainly not someone who would waste his time on you without a good reason. Because of my friendship with his son, he chose to offer me some insight into finance and, eventually, what happens when it is time to close shop.

I met him at his house in a gated golf club community in Boca Raton. Of course it was Boca—where else would this story take place? We dispensed with some small talk and then got into his giant Mercedes. He drove me around the neighborhood, pointing out the homes of former CEOs, doctors, and businessmen from the club, describing their line of work and their level of financial stability. Think Rich Dad Poor Dad with a bit of Tony Soprano thrown in. We ended back at the clubhouse for a drink and a promise on my part to contact a financial advisor and open an account.

I complied, and even though it was a challenge after just opening my practice, I began saving for retirement. That was 26 years ago—a lifetime in business, and everything life throws at you in between.

ONE-FED operation is now fully remote, and my role has been reduced to meeting with my team via Zoom every Monday morning. I am firmly entrenched in my third act and all that it entails, 5:00 a.m wake-up call, reading, writing, working out, coaching and travel.

I often wonder if I would have been so fortunate at this stage of my life had Mr. Bader not chosen to meet with me. I’m pretty smart about most things, but not necessarily in a way that would have prepared me for what was to come almost 30 years later.

My response to that is sometimes people are placed in your life at exactly the right moment. And thank goodness for that. Hopefully when that happens, not only are you aware, but you also have the presence of mind to listen. I am forever grateful for the lessons that day, and, as previously mentioned in former blogs, I followed up with a letter of gratitude to Mr. Bader many years later. And now, I thank you again.