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Long before I was tracking newsroom meltdowns and calling out media executives on FTVLive, I was running a multi-vehicle conglomerate. Sort of. When I was a kid growing up in Western New York, my friend Jay and I decided to start a lawn care business. We called it "Jones Landscaping." Yeah, I know. Not exactly a masterclass in original branding. Our corporate fleet consisted entirely of a beat-up 1973 Ford Pinto. We’d throw a push mower and a trimmer in the back, head into a neighborhood, and start knocking on doors. We’d pitch the homeowners on a weekly cut-and-edge package and give them a price. But we wanted to look like a major operation. So, we painted "Jones Landscaping" on the side of the Pinto. Then we got creative. On the driver’s side, we painted "Landscaping Vehicle No. 3." On the passenger side, we painted "Landscaping Vehicle No. 5." Our logic was foolproof: when we drove up the street, they’d see No. 3. When we drove down the street, they’d see No. 5. Surely, the neighbors would think, “Wow, Jones Landscaping has a fleet of at least five trucks!” I’m not sure anyone actually bought the illusion, but the hustle worked. We dragged in a ton of clients that summer. It quickly became a real lesson in running a business and making payroll. I also had a day job as a town playground supervisor, which meant Jay often had to handle the yards solo, so we actually had to hire a couple of other neighborhood kids to expand our "crews." When we took on bigger projects, we’d head to the local hardware store to rent the equipment we couldn’t afford to buy. No one was guiding us. It was pure learn-as-you-go. But the biggest lesson came from a guy who hired us for a major Spring cleanup—and then stiffed us. We knocked on his door for weeks. He’d either ignore us or offer up some lame excuse. Most kids would have written it off. Not us. Jay and I went off to college that Fall. When we came home for Thanksgiving break, we didn't just sit around eating turkey. On Thanksgiving Day, we marched right up to the guy's house and knocked on the door. He was so startled, he handed over a partial payment. We still weren't satisfied. Fast forward to Christmas break. Guess where Jay and I were on Christmas morning? Yep. Standing on the guy’s porch, asking for the rest of our money. He finally paid up just to get us off his lawn. I learned more about business during that one summer than I ever did in a classroom. But more importantly, I learned a lesson that I carried directly into my journalism career: Be persistent. Show up when they least expect you. And demand answers. Whether you're chasing down a debt on Christmas morning or chasing down a shifty news director evading your concerns, the principle is exactly the same. Don't give up. You can watch My latest video at this link.
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