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Is it Time to Retire? --DeWese

February 2004
What was I thinking when I offered to send you readers my list of the Top 400 Sales Tips? I didn't think anyone would take me seriously. But hundreds of you e-mailed me to request the list!

This forced me to write 400 sales tips. I'm pretty sure I missed Christmas and New Years. I typed until I wore through these silly mittens that they make me wear. I actually thought about announcing my retirement and heading for Key West.

My business partner, Gabe Nagy, announced his retirement this past December. That's Gabe Nagy, Esquire of Princeton, Cum Laude 1959 and Harvard Law School 1964. Fortunately, Gabe's retirement isn't a total loss. He is remaining in a consulting capacity and will work about half time from his new home office on Dataw Island, SC. With all of our electronic communications, it will be almost as good as having him in our office.

Gabe has been the best of all partners. His brain, his experience, his valuation expertise and his legal knowledge have been a huge asset to our firm. I'm happy that he will continue to share his talents with Compass Capital Partners while investing the other half of his time on his golf game. Gabe already has a handicap of seven. If he plays once a day in the South Carolina coastal sunshine, he's apt to become a scratch golfer and make it on the Seniors Tour.

Gabe's retirement has given me pause to ponder my own retirement. Gabe—after all—at 62 is only one year older than me.

Maybe I should retire.

I know. I'll just phase out.

First, I will announce my retirement from all assembly projects. Throughout my life I have found myself on Step 37 of assembling a child's outdoor swing set only to discover that I'd made an irrevocable mistake on Step 6. If this has never happened to you, it requires disassembling 31 steps to fix Step 6.

Next, I'm retiring from anything that involves painting or resurfacing. I have a bald spot on both legs where my wife ultimately used steel wool and turpentine to remove large splashes of asphalt sealer in 1988. It seems that you're not supposed to resurface the driveway wearing shorts and tassel loafers.

All of my close calls with divorce originated during various painting projects. My wife, Attila the Nun, complained about the paint I spilled on the carpet and a few small strokes on the baseboards. The kids heard our shouting and called the cops who, thankfully, were married themselves and severely lectured my wife on the evils of verbal abuse.

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