Panos: My life, my odyssey

By Panos Papadopoulos

This is a rags-to-riches story about a man who came from a Greek village, born to a father with three years’ schooling and an illiterate mother, whose down-to-earth Greek values formed the foundation of an entrepreneur who went on to build a multi-million-dollar fashion empire.

Today, Panos Emporio is one of the most established luxury swimwear brands in the world, being the choice of celebrities and royal families amongst others. Panos Papadopoulos created this empire in his new country of Sweden in record time, introducing the winning combination of innovative design, skillful entrepreneurship and ground-breaking marketing, which elevated the brand to its world-leading position. Panos’ life as an entrepreneur is a tale of passion and total commitment. In telling his story, he also provides success lessons and valuable advice to other entrepreneurs, that can be applied to sectors beyond fashion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LID Publishing
• Release date: May 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781911687139

Book preview

Prologue

I HAD HUMBLE BEGINNINGS. As a small boy in Paralia Aspropirgou, on the outskirts of Athens, I experienced hunger. I saw the dirty, poor environment around me and wondered if this world was for me. I had decided, at the age of five or six, that I had to do something to escape this misery. I knew that it was more than a mere dream, listening to the music of Tolis Voskopoulos, one of the legends of modern Greek music, and hoping for the best. My parents showed me that any progress had to come from hard work. Real effort. Walk, not talk.

In 20 years’ time I would be in my new home of Sweden, proud of having earned my academic degrees, and starting a business from zero.

I may have had an inkling that it would become a multi-million-dollar enterprise, but I knew the key to growing it was still hard work. When you don’t have money, there is no substitute for making it. It’s not about ‘manifesting,’ or some vague hope, but tapping into that drive inside you. And then, being brave enough to tell the world about it, not the other way round. This is where so many seem to have got it wrong: those who brag without having done the work, with some vain hope that reality will suddenly happen around them.

But, it paid off. In another two decades I would be on a plane heading to Mexico with the King and Queen of Sweden, embarking on a state visit with them. A day later I would sit at a lavish dinner table with the President of Mexico and them, surrounded by fabulously wealthy business leaders.

There was no privilege afforded to me at the start of my life, other than parents who loved me and nurtured me, regardless of how busy they were. Both had their schooling interrupted by tough circumstances, and my mother was illiterate. Yet, they set an example of such dignity and self-respect that it informed my every move in life, for the better.

When I left Greece as a teenager, to seek greener pastures in faraway Sweden, I had faced difficulties that some might deem impossible to surmount. When you are born outside privilege, though, you have this innate push to see things through. You may be hungry because you don’t have enough money to buy a meal. ‘Down to your last dollar’ isn’t just an expression to me, but a lived experience. You really have nothing to lose, so why not keep pushing on? You’re alive, after all.

As wonderful as my parents were, in the days when not everyone had telephones — this is within living memory for a lot of us — I couldn’t rely on their counsel because that would have meant an expensive call, armed with coins in your hand in a cold phone booth. Who can call when you’ve barely enough to eat with? Sometimes I felt I lacked emotional support, too, not just financial means. You don’t feel like the world’s your oyster, but your obstacle. Yet, this happens every day to so many people in our world, for many different reasons. They find themselves alone in a desert, naked and afraid, with dark skies, strong winds and scorpions all around.

It’s the journey, the odyssey, that one faces that builds up one’s character.

I’m not saying that it will always yield obvious rewards. I’ve had to endure tough times, and treaded a fine line with the help of people who bent the rules for the sake of doing the right thing. (In some cases, I’ve continued to protect their privacy and have changed their names in this book.) Those were valued rewards, indeed, although not necessarily in a monetary or celebrity sense.

But, this is also a life where I’ve met royalty, including prime ministers and political party leaders, been invited to the Nobel Prize ceremony, worked with international stars, chaired a football team, had disputes with Donald Trump, and worked with some of the best talents in their respective fields. I wound up leading my industry, and the press dubbed me ‘the King of Swimwear.’ It was not a crown that I found easy to part with, but you also have to know when to start a new chapter.

Now, I have the opportunity to share this story with you. This book should serve as a reminder that you have inner strength, and that good values trump the pursuit of fleeting, shallow gains. My 38 years running my apparel brand, Panos Emporio, gave me great joy (for the most part), and I really could have kept it going, because I never pursued anything fleetingly. I always looked to the long term. I worked 18-hour days, so it felt like I had put 76 years into the business. When I found success, I knew I wanted to keep it going, not just for myself, but also for all those around me. That was my reward.

I know some of you will read this book for lessons in business, learned from my success over nearly 40 years. Just as I’ve done in my work, I’ve attempted here to cater to the customer — to understand what you want. Those lessons, the primary ones in each chapter, appear in bold type, recalling the points at which I learned them myself.

For others, the reward may come in the form of a great relationship or a wonderful family, which are immensely important in life. Certainly, for my parents, that mattered. Their satisfaction and joy came in being able to look back and know they did the right thing and were honourable. I know they had a clear conscience. They had their own journeys to make.

This is ultimately a story about values. There is some truth to the old adage, Show me a boy of seven and I will show you the man. When I look back, much of my character had been formed by that age. Everything else sprang from that, and I’ve never had to change the early values my parents instilled in me. The advice they gave, the events that followed and the experiences I’ve had are all built on those solid foundations. Those formative years, my first quarter-century on earth, continued to shape me, setting the stage for my business. There were years of frustration and dead ends, which compelled me to leave my home and go through even more trials and tribulations. But they were well worth it. They remind me that the lessons I’m now able to share — lessons about marketing, business, wealth and fame — are all founded on simple, down-home values and respect for other people. That is the simple truth. What follows is not just a personal odyssey — and as a Greek man, I use that term advisedly — but an altogether humanistic journey.

1

Nothing but pride

LET ME TAKE YOU BACK to the very beginning … to the southern region of Peloponnesos, Greece, in the spring of 1958.

EVERYONE has a story about their name, and while the world knows me as Panos Papadopoulos, it was not the name I was baptized with. I came to have it through circumstances that no mother should have had to endure. Had it not been for this incident, you might not have known me by this name at all.

My parents never completed their schooling due to World War II. My father, Ioannis, who went by Giannis, was born in Kertezi, in the Kalavryta municipality in Peloponnesos, and had one brother and one sister. He had about three years’ schooling before the misery of the war. And it was quite a miserable wartime childhood for him and everyone he knew. Kalavryta was the site of the Nazis’ worst atrocity in Greece, in December 1943. It is now known as the Massacre of Kalavryta. The Wehrmacht set out to exterminate the entire male population, ruthlessly executing more than 500 civilians and burning the town to the ground.

My father was a handsome gentleman, always well dressed. That was unusual for that time for someone who came from a small village and moved to an industrial ghetto. I remember his brown eyes, with the glance of an achiever, but not one who would be prone to arrogance. He had a voice that was quiet but powerful, not too soft or too polite. His hair was always well groomed and combed without exaggeration.

He was a man of few words, and in meetings he did not argue with others without reason. He avoided political banter, even if it was typical in the Greek mindset to argue over such things. If someone was considered ‘too stupid,’ he would let it pass.

He could be quick to anger, often erupting like a volcano, although in times of celebration he became another person altogether. He’d start to smile, dance and entertain others. He was a very good dancer, like a real-life Zorba. His posture was excellent. When someone wanted to join in, he would open his arms in welcome, and let them lead the dance.

He was a thinker, someone who could solve difficult issues. His mind was well organized and everything he did was done properly. He stored everything neatly. He had skills in many areas: building, carpentry, painting, repairing and gardening. He would regularly mend our shoes. He was very careful about details, and despite little formal education, he behaved as though he had academic acumen. Just use your brain and what you have, he used to say. He was a hard-working person, and never seemed to stop — I never saw him relax.

It is emotionally tough for me to look back, because after he passed away in 2008, I seemed to lose a good deal of my energy, happiness and strength. Some of my roots were suddenly gone.

He always treated my mother with respect. On Sundays, he made his coffee, and one for Mum. He would call to her, "Ela Maria! But it wasn’t just, Come, Maria!" Not at all. His tone made all the difference. I learned from him that the tone in our voices was important. He never explained this in so many words, but like any animal, we see and feel how our parents act, and we learn. During dinner, he would always fill her glass with wine. They always had one glass of red wine that they bought from the village. Dad refused to drink wine in bottles, as he believed that it should be free of chemicals and preservatives. It must be real, and that’s balsam for our bodies, he said, but the wine bottles are killing us.

My mother, Maria, was born in a small village, Lagovouni, an hour from Kertezi. She came from a family that had had only daughters, and there was no opportunity for them all to go to school. She stood just under 1.6 m, and was slim, with dark eyes and hair. She was beautiful, and despite being illiterate, and having to sign with her thumbprint on official documents, she was very clever. She felt no handicap from not knowing how to read or write. When we were at school and they needed her to sign something, she would proudly say, Give me the ink and I’ll use my fingerprint to sign. At the local markets, I could see how quickly she calculated the sums and could find out when they were trying to fool her. She would ask us, her children, to read the amounts on the banknotes so she knew which ones to use, though she eventually came to know the denominations by their colours.

Mum was a great cook and mended our clothes. She was physically strong, and capable of working alongside men, doing physical labour.

She was very active in the church, and tried to help them raise money. Every night she would light a candle and pray to God. Every Sunday morning, at the break of dawn, she would head to church for a couple of hours. My father would only attend on specific occasions, and did not like the priests, saying they were only after money. He had a point. I’d seen how the priests would ask for money to perform a funeral service. If you gave less, the ceremony would be shorter! He believed the priests were ‘the devil’ and would say that if God is in our home, why did we need to attend church? My mother would insist, Asto na to pari to potami. (It doesn’t matter.)

By 9 AM on Sundays she would return home to prepare the food for the day, before heading to work again.

She always had a smile, and a hopeful sense that better days would come.

All the family members who got a salary would give it to my mother. She would plan for the family and budgeted where it would be spent. She always had a little bit extra money somewhere, to surprise my father. When something important and unexpected came up, Mum had a bit of a buffer that could help solve the problem. Budgeting seemed to come very naturally to her.

Mum was also a good dancer, and Dad always invited her to join in. She loved that glass of red wine with dinner and enjoyed Dad’s coffee.

When a neighbour was in need, or someone passed away, she was always there to help. In Greek tradition, when a person died, the body would remain at home for 24 hours before the funeral. It had to be washed and dressed. Mum always pitched in with this task and was emotionally strong. She could help calm people during tough times. Her favourite words were, Do not blame them; they did not want to harm you.

When I watch on Animal Planet how a chicken might protect its off-spring from an eagle, I remember my mother. When I was six or seven, I was in our garden, trying to get some figs from a tree, when suddenly she jumped up, high above me, with scrubbing brushes to protect me from a viper that was about to attack.

In the summer we slept with the windows open because of the heat. One night, my father worked the night shift, so only Mum was there to look after us. A burglar jumped into our room but Mum ran in, ready to fight with him. Do not test a parent’s anger when they are protecting their own; the power is incredible. Even at 79, when Dad was ill in bed, Mum attacked another intruder and started to hit him with the first thing she could grab, screaming angrily. The police later caught the would-be burglar, and Mum wound up on the television news.

While they were rich with love, they weren’t well off financially. My mother worked as a labourer in the fields in Peloponnesos. There was no way she could stay at home. She had to help provide for me, my elder sister, Panagiota (‘Giota’), who was two years my senior, and my brother, Spiros, who was four years older.

My parents would share their responsibilities without argument. It was all very natural. By the time I went to Sweden, I was both shocked and humoured how couples planned to the letter how they would divide up the smallest tasks. You wash the dishes today, and I’ll do them tomorrow. But tomorrow we’re having a bigger dinner, so you must do two rounds next time! But then who takes out the trash on Tuesday? Yes, I respect equality, but micromanaging routine household chores like this didn’t seem very human or respectful to me. It’s like an artificial filter that we simply don’t need.

ALL THREE OF US CHILDREN were born in Kertezi. And while we all grew up in those humble surroundings, my siblings didn’t have quite the dramatic start to their lives that I did.

One day, my mother took me — her two-week-old infant — out into the fields, and tragedy struck. One of the horses that was helping the workers collect and transport the harvest from the field got startled by a snake. Jumping and kicking in fear, the horse managed to kick me.

My mother described me as looking blue, bruised and unconscious, and I was expected to die. An Orthodox priest who heard her screams from across the field ran toward her to see what had happened. Believing the kick would prove fatal, he quickly asked, What is the boy’s name? Is he baptized?

No, he isn’t, replied my mother.

In Orthodox tradition, one has to be baptized to get a burial and go to heaven, and everyone gathered there believed I was done for … in this life and the next. With no time to waste, the priest performed the rites of baptism and gave me my name right then and there: Panagiotis Papadopoulos. The name means ‘all holy,’ deriving from the Greek epithet panagia, for Mary, mother of Jesus.

The experience didn’t kill me, fortunately, and I went on to have a long, happy childhood, humble as it was.

To support the family, my parents applied for work just outside Athens when I was three or four months old. They secured jobs in a metal foundry, Viomichania Chalyvon AE.

Paralia Aspropirgou, where we settled, was 16 km from Athens and situated by the sea. The shore was only 300 m from our door, and the water wasn’t too deep. Workers would fish there after their day to get their food. At the time, there were numerous factories concentrated in a small area. It was mostly poor people from other parts of Greece who came to get jobs there. My parents rented a single room for all five of us, which was relatively large by their standards at the time. It had a little toilet and an outside ‘kitchen,’ which was really just an open area beyond a door where they could cook. If you’ve ever seen cooking areas in refugee camps, you can picture it.

Renting, my family used to say, was like sleeping on the beach: you never know when a wave might come and take you away. It was an insecure feeling, so after two years they managed to save enough to buy some land there, and later we built a one-room dwelling. All this was illegal in those days; it was impossible to get official permission to build, so it was done without any urban planning, inspection or approval. We would work on building the room during the late afternoon and at night, so the local police would not notice and try to stop us. The family and our neighbours helped, and soon our little house was ready … but for the ceiling. We needed one more day to do that.

In the morning, Mum and Dad had to work, and we kids stayed together to guard the new home.

Sure enough, a police car approached and asked where our parents were. I was shaking; a sense of doom enveloped my heart. They asked a few more questions, drove away, and a bulldozer arrived a few hours later to demolish our room-cum-house. They forced us away, and within a few minutes it was in ruins — just a heap of small pieces of brick and wood. The neighbours tried to bring us into their homes, but we stayed on the demolition site and cried. I wondered, why these people were like that. What was wrong with having somewhere to stay? Who was making these decisions? Were they even human?

The bad news reached my father and mother during their working day. Dad came running back, to try to save as much as he could, but it was futile. His face when he saw the wreckage still haunts me: it was so very painful to see your strong, proud father so sad and weeping.

That evening, we started to sort out the undamaged bricks so they could be used again. This was all done in utter silence, but I could sense my parents’ desperation. They said not a single word as they worked all night to sort out the mess. That night, we kids curled together like a snake on a small mattress and exchanged no words.

A few days later, my parents organized more neighbours to help, and after one Saturday and a Monday morning, the room was ready and we could put up a ceiling. That would help secure us from more police harassment, as the authorities would need more documents now that this was now a dwelling with a roof, and not just four walls. The mattress and our possessions were in moved in, and we felt no one could push us out.

The police returned a few days later with a bulldozer, ready for round two. They showed my mother some documents that claimed they had the right to destroy our house. Mum said, I can’t read, Mum said, Go away! There followed screams that sounded like the angry cries of a captured animal. Many words came from her mouth and they remain in my soul. She might have been small in stature, but her voice scared the police and the bulldozer operator. The only words I remember are, You are not human! We have nowhere to go! Let us be, and don’t destroy our dreams. We have nothing left.

My brother and sister were crying. As for me, I was stunned. I could not cry, and I couldn’t say anything. My little heart and brain wondered why the heck I was even born. Why had no one asked me if I wanted to be here on this earth?

A few years later, we would have three rooms and a small garden, which provided enough vegetables to eat. And, a few chickens joined us.

MY PARENTS generally worked different shifts in order to look after us. Dad often worked nights, from 10 PM to 6 AM, while Mum worked 6 AM to 2 PM.

My parents’ workplace was 1 km away from home. My older brother and sister were in school by then, so Mum and Dad would come back to feed me, and then return to their work. I was not happy being alone, and that still affects me. To this day, when I travel, I always make sure a friend is waiting for me at the airport when I arrive.

There were no other relatives here, so my parents only had each other to care for their three small children amongst a community of strangers who’d also moved there for work in the surrounding factories. They worked six days a week, Monday to Saturday. These were tough times, but experienced as a small child, you don’t remember much of the struggle in later years. Food was the most important thing for survival, and then a home. However, being poor also meant that we developed a keen sense of survival, and we had to find ways to be tenacious. We would conquer each struggle one by one, and I learned at an early age to never give up.

Above: With my family in Kertezi. Above right: After we moved to Paralia Aspropirgou outside Athens. I’m the smallest in both photos.

By the time I started school, we had very little money to buy clothes or books. However, three to four times a year, we were able to go to the cinema together as a family. The films ignited my imagination, and I dreamed that one day I could be a hero. I believed that anything was possible. That could start with tiny things: my packed lunch for school might have just been bread and water, but I’d add sugar to make them more palatable. We each found ways to make what little we had more enjoyable.

One of my childhood idols was a singer and actor named Tolis Voskopoulos. His first songs and movies were like a balm for my vulnerable soul. He’d portray a poor outsider trying to become a singer. His character’s struggle for survival was met by less-than-kind people who wanted to exploit him, or just insult him. I recognized his character’s struggle to make a career and the obstacles he faced along the way. He didn’t worship money like some did; he was a passionate person whose values attracted me. I knew most of his songs’ lyrics intimately, with so many feelings and so much respect. Every time I watched an interview with him, I could see how his words connected to his soul: simple, authentic replies, with a soft voice. There wasn’t that typical arrogance or a feigned air of superiority about him.

His way of acting and his life would be reflected in my later life. He was principled, and he wanted to be something of his own making without steamrolling others. In many ways, his values have been mine for my entire business life.

I remember the cold nights when I went to bed with an empty stomach. Just his name on my lips helped keep me strong and happy.

I have been uncompromising when it comes to showing pride, dignity and respect. In business, I have my unwavering principles. For instance, I have never bribed anyone to gain an advantage. There were many times when I was challenged to ‘give a little’ in order to get ahead in my career, but it was always a definite no. When the press offered editorial coverage as a sweetener for me to buy advertising with them, I felt so damned cheap. I told them I’d rather open Pappa Panos’s Pizza, and eke out a living on that, than buy publicity. It just felt so humiliating to buy into something you did not deserve. All the passion I put in, and all the days and nights spent creating something, would be meaningless — erased in one swoop — if I bought some press.

Dad was a proud man of few words. He was maybe 1.7 m tall, but his pride made him seem far taller. And he never looked down on people. He propped me up by the neck when we walked, and if I slouched forward, he’d lovingly squeeze my neck and straighten me upright. He used to tell us, Do not look down, but don’t look up, either! Just tilt forward — it’s where you’re going! Those were strong and simple words that I used to face every adversity. It is true that the weak are exploited in the animal world, but we humans are also animals, so why would we be any different? There are many in this world who wouldn’t want to hold the hand of a weak individual, or sit next to one.

Tolis, my idol, portrayed the desire to get out of poverty and make a better life. On the big screen, he fought against the injustice and insults. Sometimes, it seemed light would come into his character’s life, only for it to be snatched away by other events, destroying what little hope existed. And then, he would pull himself together and start again.

His movies were my guiding light, because he never gave up. I dreamed of his movies every night. His music could replace my food: here was something that really gave me nourishment and hope. I knew that one day I, too, could be somebody. Someone who did not need to eat dry bread soaked in water for it to go down. Someone who could take care of his parents in return for everything they gave us. A warm and comfortable home, and better food on the table. Someone who could give his own children a little more, so they could love more fully and not feel inferior to anyone else. I do not remember longing for any luxury that few had, and I do not today, either.

I realized that life wasn’t always fair, and that some are just fortunate to have been born into an affluent household, though I never envied them. Unlike some of my classmates, I really had nothing: no books, and certainly no encyclopaedia. The teacher would give a lot of homework, and I used to have to find excuses to visit my friends’ homes so I could read their books. I experienced a feeling of chaos every day in trying to do my homework. Given my parents’ lack of education and how little money we had — not to mention how little time they had, with how hard they worked — I couldn’t ask them for either their input or for those books. I knew the money wasn’t there. I couldn’t ask them to buy an encyclopaedia, and I knew that saving up for one would take time. My family’s values were that we would never buy anything on credit if we did not have enough money, and that we always prioritized the right needs. My father used to say, I have enough to think about when I go to sleep, and I do not want to have lenders chase me in my dreams. These words are simple enough, but so many have destroyed their lives because they could not prioritize their needs with discipline and a plan.

When my parents could see that I was trying to ask for help elsewhere, they felt uncomfortable. But, I also remember that when I helped my father build our wall, he looked at me during a break and said, "Today, our neighbour should have been here to help me, but changed his mind at the last minute. Remember one thing in life: never wait for someone else to solve your problems. Your life is in your own hands. Do not expect solutions from someone else." Whenever he absolutely had to see a doctor, he went ahead and did so, but he was disappointed, as this ran against his commitment to finding solutions ourselves. We know ourselves better than others, he felt, so listen to your soul and your body.

My family’s words and values cemented themselves in my professional and private lives. I started with no money, but I never got a bank loan for my business, and grew it from zero into a multi-million-dollar enterprise without a single borrowed cent. This was something few understood and many thought strange. But everything had to do with a plan. That was how Panos Emporio ab could go on to become a rock-solid limited liability company, for 35 years! Every year I received a certificate and could see that among half a million limited companies in Sweden, only 450 received this platinum status — and my company was among that select group.

MY MEMORIES of my primary school years were not terribly happy. The homework on weekdays was only part of it. On Saturday we had to attend church, where one could not sit — we had to stand for the service. Our teacher would check to see if we were in church or not. I hated that, because I could not just stand for hours. That was torture for my brain as well as my body. Even today I hate to stand for a long time, even in the fun setting of a bar or nightclub. I want movement, or I want a seat.

During the breaks on school days, we could buy something light to eat, but that necessitated having a little money. When there are three kids, and all of them needed a little, there just wasn’t enough to go around in our family. As soon as the bell sounded, the children would run out of the classroom. Not me. I just walked out and other thoughts came to mind. I looked at all my schoolmates running for no reason. Some were rude to others; others played with a small ball. I did not want to waste my energy; I had more things to do later on.

One day, while everyone was running around the playground, I had the idea to start a theatre.

I began thinking about how the stage would look, and what sort of performance it would be. What would it be about, and what role would I play? Should I be alone on stage? How much could I charge? And, why would they come? What were they really paying for?

I asked my father to help me build a podium and a simple stage on the roof of our house. He didn’t object, but was very clear that I had to be careful up there. We didn’t want the roof caving in on the family’s heads! I couldn’t have any other activities there, including playing with a ball.

I had figured out that I would have to be alone on stage, as I couldn’t afford to pay anyone else. And, I didn’t want my schoolmates to know what I was doing or how simple it was.

I started to think what they talked about on their breaks, their opinions and reactions, and their interests inside the classroom. I decided to play a hero, someone who helped others. But, I’d then need a couple of friends to play simple supporting roles. I carefully chose two of the most popular children in the class, boys who came from the upper classes. I thought that if they were involved, others would come and see them.

I prepared everything, and wrote the script. I came up with a few words — a sales pitch — to interest my would-be cast mates, so they’d hear out my explanation of why they should take part. I would keep the audience size to ten, as my father said that was all the roof could handle. Everyone would have to prepay. There would be a complimentary drink, which I’d make from the oranges in our garden. It would be watered down, to stretch it, so I’d add fresh basil to make it more palatable.

Finally, during a break at school, I made my appeal to these two classmates, and they accepted their roles. I asked them to tell me which other students might want to buy tickets. They were so excited, and made a list of who could be in the audience. I said no more that day, but everyone began asking what was going on, which generated great interest.

I replied that they’d have to buy a ticket, so they should bring money for that. The following morning, all ten had been sold — all to boys, since the sexes did not play together.

Finally, the big day arrived. I had to choose a day when neither my parents nor my siblings were home, as I wanted to be alone there. I started preparing all the details and asked my two cast members to come before the others were to arrive. I did not want them to change their minds or start asking questions.

It was a perfect day, a holiday, and it was very quiet around us. Even the neighbours had gone to the countryside for their time away from work. That was perfect for my theatre because the neighbours’ roofs were just one metre away from one another, so they were more or less connected. That suited my ‘action film’ scenario, since a hero can’t stand on stage and just talk about how good he is. He needs action — rooftop to rooftop, if necessary. I already knew that action helped me to be creative, and find the right words to tell others.

Everyone came on time. This was unusual, because some of them often arrived at school late. That made me feel like a real actor, so I felt that was halfway to success.

I started serving the orange drinks, which impressed everyone. At least they showed no sign that they disliked theirs. I put on some music, looked into their eyes and studied their faces to get into the mood to start. Then, suddenly, I was speechless. I had forgotten my lines. I looked at my notes but they were only words. The energy and the power had gone, and I knew they would not capture my audience.

Time passed and I had to act. Fortunately, the inspiration returned and I found the right words to start. My imagination flowed and I started to act as a real hero: a man who will do good things for others, one who is fearless, who could not be touched. No evil would confound him. Like a powerful angel, even the devil would quake in his presence. Within a few minutes the applause could be heard from many roofs away!

Action is my natural drug: it’s difficult to explain how much my heart and soul love it and crave it. I started running around on our roof, but it was more exciting to use our neighbours’ roofs, too. The audience began following me over, to stay with the action. We hopped from roof to roof, and one of them fell between two houses! He broke an arm, which healed just fine, but with that unfortunate accident, my first business ended on a disastrous note. Back at school, everyone knew what had gone down and talked about my mad production. I felt deep shame over how badly it had ended, and I knew I could not try it again. No one would come, and my parents certainly wouldn’t allow it.

However, once an entrepreneur, always an entrepreneur. I might not have wanted to be a theatre producer again, but I knew I was creative. You simply cannot extinguish that part of your soul when it’s so innately there. I knew that inspiration would