The Backyard Millionaire: How to Create Wealth Where You Are with What You've Got!

By Chris Story

August is a sales clerk who isn't sure why, but feels like he's destined for more. Without a plan or a clue, he meets the Backyard Millionaire who sets him off on a path of self discovery.

Life's real treasures are often closer than you think. Your purpose, wealth and wondrous life are waiting for you, right there in your own backyard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Nov 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982257316

Chris Story

Chris Story is a Real Estate Broker, Investor and Radio Talk Show host in Homer Alaska - On Top of the World

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Copyright © 2020 Chris Story.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-5730-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5732-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5731-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020921082

Balboa Press rev. date:   10/30/2020

For Norm Story - my first Mentor. Thank you dad.

Contents

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One Million Conclusions

About the Author

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THE FIRST TIME I met the backyard millionaire, I wasn’t impressed. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t unimpressed either. To be fair, I simply didn’t think anything. He was just another guy in a flannel shirt and paint-splattered pants.

That having been said, I can tell you I’ll never forget that first encounter. Just be sure you understand—it wasn’t memorable for the reasons you might expect. Rather, the exact opposite.

He walked up to the counter I was manning. And yes, manning is the operative term. The ladies were relegated to cosmetics and house wares, the men got the hardware and sporting goods sections. It was a different era. We men folk swapped fishing stories with patrons and spooled line on fishing reels. Handled guns and sold box after box of ammo.

For a guy like me, no high school diploma, let alone a college degree, this was home. A place where I’d more than likely spend the rest of my working days. If you’d asked me then, I would have said I was happy about this prospect. After all, some people were out of work altogether.

The truth was that this scenario made me sick. I felt a sense of unease about being stuck at this, or any station in life. There was something in me, a longing for success as yet unearned. Not even imagined, for that matter. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just knew—don’t ask how I knew, but I simply knew there was something more for me to do.

The backyard millionaire smiled as he approached, his eyes bright and alive. He looked to be at least seventy, maybe older. Looking in his eyes, though, you’d have guessed a much younger man was living in that weathered body.

Hello, young man. And how are you this glorious day?

I’m fine. Can I help you find something?

Fine? There must be a story there, the old man replied.

I thought, Oh boy, going to be one of those days, huh?

No story. Just a lot to do, how can I help you?

You know, one day, not that long ago … Well, actually, it was a very long time ago. What am I saying? Oh, time, it does fly—

Sir, can I help you? I’d lost any semblance of patience with this man. Not sure why. I really didn’t have any big agenda for the day. The shipment of bolts wasn’t begging to be put away as long as I did so by my lunch break.

The old man stood up straight, put both hands down on the glass counter and looked me dead in the eyes. I’m not sure how you can help me, but I’m pretty damn sure I can help you.

Excuse me?

You. I said, I can help you … for damn sure.

You lost me, sir. What is it you think you can help me with? I asked.

This was getting weird. I thought maybe he had dementia. I half expected a caregiver to walk up and grab him by the elbow at any second, returning him to the home.

You really are, aren’t you. Lost, I mean. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t know why you’re here. Do you?

Sir, I actually have work to do. If you are looking for something in particular, I’d be happy to help you. Otherwise—

I walked in here looking for something, and now I’ve found why I’m actually here. I was supposed to meet you. He stepped back from the counter and looked me up and down.

What does that mean?

It means that I can help you. If you’ll let me.

Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but … what item can I help you find here in the store? I didn’t mean to be rude, but I was.

Tell me about your education, said the old man. Like he hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

I’m not, I replied.

You’re not what?

I’m not educated. I looked from side to side when I spoke, suddenly very self-conscious.

Can you write? I assume you can count, or you wouldn’t be working here?

Of course I can write, and read, and yes, I can count. That’s not what I was talking about. I don’t —

What? You don’t what?

I don’t have an education. I didn’t even graduate high school. I felt my shoulders slump as I spoke.

Fantastic. You and I have that in common then. I wonder what else we have in common? The old man smiled even wider.

The fact that this disheveled man standing in front of me hadn’t graduated from high school provided me little to no comfort. I looked around again to see who was within earshot. Luckily, we were still alone.

There’s nothing good or fantastic about not being educated. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know that much.

That’s just it. You’re not stupid. And neither am I.

Then why celebrate not having an education? I asked.

"Oh,