The Bronx to Bel-Air Two: Serial Entrepreneur’S 32 Successes and Failures Show You What It Takes

By Len Krane

The Bronx To Bel-Air Two, 11 years after The Bronx To Bel-Air, updates the original and adds new ventures.

Venture often and dont worry about failure. Thats how you become an entrepreneur, and have fun along the way. Kranes had 15 successes and 17 failures during his 70-year career. Each chapter includes the startup and outcome, his profi ts or losses, what he learned, and shows you what it takes.

The ventures range from cable TV to international movie distribution, from an Internet patent to residential construction, and more.

Famous, wealthy persons helped him, e.g., Eli Broad (KB Homes, The Broad museum). As the book ends he is semi-retired, and enjoying the vacuum elevator business.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543410082

Len Krane

Len Krane – successful entrepreneur. He served in Naval Air Intelligence, island hopped the Caribbean in Windjammers, started 33 ventures across the U.S. and internationally. Now 92, Krane drives a Tesla Y, and keeps busy in active retirement. He and his wife enjoy L.A. and the Wynn in Vegas. They share their Bel-Air home with two Norwich terriers.

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1

The Hot Dog Stand.    Success.

O ur family rented a bungalow for the summers in Rockaway Beach on Long Island, New York during the mid-1940’s. We were on 43 rd street, six short blocks from the ocean.

A wooden store stood on the sand at the rear of the beach at 43rd street. A woman who sold suntan lotion and beach sundries rented it for the summer of 1946. At the end of the season in early September, just after my 15th birthday, I noticed a For Rent sign on the store.

I told my Dad that if we could rent the store, I thought it would make a good hot dog, ice cream, and soda stand for the next summer. And we could be partners. Dad called the phone number on the sign, and spoke with the rental agent. Yes, it was available for 1947, and the rent would be $300 ($3,300 in 2017 dollars) for the season. We would pay for electricity. It would be OK if we painted a sign on the wood flaps that swung up to open the storefront above the counter, and built a platform on the sand for customers to stand on.

Dad agreed to put up the money, I agreed to work every day, and we would split the profits 50-50. Dad signed the lease, and we were in business. There would be a lot of work and planning until we opened for the summer in June, 1947.

In the spring, two of my friends and I went to the lower eastside of Manhattan to buy a used ice cream freezer for $150 and a used Coca-Cola icebox for $30, and arranged for them to be shipped to the Rockaway store. We hired a carpenter to build the wood platform, about 15 feet long and 3 feet wide, attached to the wood frame of the store.

We painted large black letters upside down and backwards on the inside of the wood flaps that read Cold Soda—Ice Cream Pops —Sandwiches when they were lifted and tied open. The small ice cream pops were 6 cents (70 cents in 2017 dollars) There was no gas for cooking hot dogs—Mom said she would make sandwiches. I called the vendors and arranged for deliveries of Breyer’s ice cream, bottled sodas, candy, gum, and cigarettes. My Dad paid the deposits that they required.

I opened the stand in the middle of June and it quickly became very popular. On the 4th of July weekend I had three friends working with me. Business was brisk. My Mom and her friends made dozens of chicken, ham & cheese, and turkey sandwiches which quickly sold out.

The war had ended two years ago, and cigarettes were still rationed. Whichever brands we received quickly sold out.

I enjoyed my workdays—swimming and body-surfing from 9 to 11, lunch, working from 11:30 to 5:30 every day including weekends. I took a salary of $20 a week ($220 in 2017 dollars) and all the ice cream, candy and sodas I could down. Some evenings I’d raid the store with my friends.

I learned to deal with problems, like when the freezer compressor went out and the ice cream almost melted before repairs could be made. And the minor short in the freezer—if you touched it while leaning over it to give change to a customer you both got a small shock. The electricians were puzzled by the short, so we just lived with it.

That summer of 1947 went by too quickly, and I reluctantly closed the stand after the Labor Day weekend and my 16th birthday. When the rental agent told me the store would be torn down in the fall to make way for beach widening I was crestfallen. There went my opportunity for a repeat success in 1948.

Dad and I were very pleased with our business results. Dad had invested $800 ($9,000 in 2017 dollars), our sales totaled $3,300 ($37,000 in 2017 dollars), and our net profit was $1,200 ($13,500 in 2017 dollars).

My $600 ($6,700 in 2017 dollars) made me feel rich, until I spent it all to have my teeth straightened. The gaps between my front teeth made me self-conscious. My parents said no one noticed but me. When the braces came off it finally felt good to smile.

It’s been 70 years since that first venture - when I learned that I could make something happen.

2

D&L Car Cleaning.    Failure.

I read an article in Popular Mechanics, which said you could Simonize a car in 30 minutes instead of the usual 2 to 3 hours if you used cornstarch. The secret was to wash the car, rub on the Simonize wax, then dust the car with cornstarch which would absorb the wax’ moisture. A quick brisk rubbing with a dry cloth would wipe off the cornstarch and leave the car with a good sheen. I tried it on our family car and it worked.

My cousin and I decided to provide a car cleaning service at a cut-rate of just $9.95. The going rate for a Simonize waxing was about $20 in 1949. D&L (Dan & Len) Car Cleaning was going to be first-rate at a cut-rate.

We had 8x10 D&L Car Cleaning flyers printed with our $9.95 ($98 in 2017 dollars) Simonize offer and our phone numbers. Soon after we put the flyers on windshields of cars parked in our Bronx neighborhood we started getting calls.

There was one catch to our service. We didn’t want the owner to see us putting cornstarch all over his car, so we said we had to drive the car a couple of blocks away where we had water and supplies. My cousin had to drive as he was 18 and had a license, while I was 17 and underage.

We washed and Simonized the first two cars that Saturday morning and the owners were pleased with the results when we brought their car back. Although it took us only thirty minutes, we kept each car for an hour and a half.

Then the next customer followed us in his friend’s car to see where we were going to clean his car. We didn’t know he was watching from down the street. When he saw us putting cornstarch on his car he came over and started yelling. We tried to explain the process but he was too angry to listen, got in his car and drove away.

We had appointments for four more cars that day and didn’t want any more unhappy customers. We decided tell customers how we Simonized their cars in advance.

My cousin and I thought everything would be OK if we explained our Simonizing and cornstarch method to each customer before cleaning their car. Each time we did the owner said something like, No cornstarch on my car. or, You kids aren’t really Simonizing the car. Forget it. We were in and out of business in one day.

I learned that some good ideas are not practical for a business.

3

Door Interviewer Company.    Success.

I needed to earn money in 1950, during my sophomore year at New York University. My parents paid for my college tuition and books; I had responsibility for the cash to date my girlfriend and buy the things a young man needs. My savings from summer jobs were spent.

I saw a small ad in The New York Times showing a new type of door peephole. The ad said Installs easily—you just had to cut a round, two-inch diameter hole in your door. Once installed, you could see the hallway in front of your door to identify callers.

The next day after classes I took the subway to the advertised hardware store address in lower Manhattan. I examined the peephole parts. A round brass frame encircling a mirror, two inches in diameter,