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1959 I met Kenny in the summer.
In the summer of 1959, I was a high school junior and life was finding its rhythm. That was the year I met my best friend, Kenny Prince. Kenny had the one thing every sixteen-year-old dreamed of: a driver's license and a 'clunker' that felt like a chariot. Since his route took him right past my street, my two-mile walk regardless of the Chicago weather became a morning commute. The Prince family treated me like one of their own; Mr. and Mrs. Prince became a second home to me. His sister Cathy even played matchmaker, though the romantic sparks with her girlfriend never quite caught fire. Some things just aren't meant to be, but the bond with the Prince family was a cornerstone of my high school years in Wood Dale.
Sweet 16
Sweet 16
Growing up, imagining my future was strictly a day-to-day thing. I never stopped to picture a long-range plan—what I wanted to be, where I wanted to live, or anything traditionally meaningful. In my teenage years, I had absolutely no direction, no goals, and zero ambition to become a doctor, a lawyer, or go to college.
Making money was always at the forefront, mostly because it helped my family pay the bills. The rest of my earnings gave me the ability to own a car that made a lot of noise and impressed the girls. Going to school and working were simply necessities, not choices. I never really thought deeply about my life; it just was what it was, and the future never seemed like an issue worth worrying about.
Sports weren't interesting to me, nor did I have the time for them anyway. Kenny and I just went to school, worked at the exact same place, and in our free time, we went on dates or just had fun hanging out.
Texaco and the Fenton Outsiders
Money was tight, and in Wood Dale, if you wanted to move, you had to hustle. Kenny and I found work wherever we could. I spent my afternoons pumping gas for $0.27 a gallon at a Texaco station in Bensenville, just a short walk from Fenton High. Our families were both feeling the financial squeeze, and that pocket change was the only thing maintaining our cars and funding our weekend dates.
As for the Fenton Bisons? Not for us! We weren't the athletes on the field, and we definitely weren't the 'Brainiacs' spending our nights over textbooks. We were outsiders—leaning more toward the 'hood' side of the scale, though we were mostly just guilty of having no interest in the status quo. We were young men in the middle of a transition, working for every dime and learning more about life at the gas pump than we ever did in the classroom.
Fenton Bisons, not for us!
Fenton Bisons, not for us!
We weren't the athletes on the field, and we definitely weren't the 'Brainiacs' spending our nights over textbooks. We were outsiders—leaning more toward the 'hood' side of the scale, though we were mostly just guilty of having no interest in the status quo. We were young men in the middle of a transition, working for every dime and learning more about life at the gas pump than we ever did in the classroom.
Ken's Pizza
Being half-Hungarian and half-Italian, I jokingly labeled myself a 'Hungry Dago.' That hunger eventually led me to a help-wanted sign at a local haunt called Ken's Pizza. I landed a job in the kitchen, but I didn't stop there. I used my early sales skills to convince the owner that he didn't just need a cook—he needed a team. I got Kenny hired, and together, we became a kitchen powerhouse; we were born pizza tossers. We weren't just making food; we were driving growth.
Ken's Pizza Trailer
Business moved so fast that Ken decided to innovate. He bought a customized pizza-making trailer and dropped it on a vacant lot in Schaumburg, which was then just a quiet patch of land. We were the pioneers on that lot, tossing dough in a mobile kitchen and serving a community that was just beginning to boom. It was a masterclass in 'Innovate or Die' long before I ever stepped foot in a boardroom. It was a primitive setup—drawing power and a phone line from a nearby gas station—but it was our first 'startup.'
My First Car
I tossed the dough, and Kenny handled the deliveries. By the time I turned sixteen on October 1, 1959, I finally had my own license and $200 in caddy money to buy a tan Ford sedan. It was similar to the one in the picture (without the California license plate), but mine was a two-door, three-speed stick drive—yahoo! Life was at a high point: a job, a car, and enough cash for girls and gas.
It was a primitive setup—drawing power and a phone line from a nearby gas station—but it was our first 'startup.' I tossed the dough, and Kenny handled the deliveries. By the time I turned sixteen on October 1, 1959, I finally had my own license and $200 in caddy money to buy a tan Ford sedan, similar to the one in the picture, without the California license plate. and mine was a two door, three speed stick drive, yahoo!
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