I turned 64 in January, and if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself. Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64? I hope so.
I walked into this business in July 1970 because my father, who worked for a now-long-gone wholesaler in New York City and followed that up with a decade at a Long Island manufacturer’s rep, told me the heating industry was a sure thing. “You’ll never be out of work, kid,” he said. “This is the next best thing to civil service, and you know why, kid?” I shook my empty head. “Because it gets cold every year, especially in the winter.”