I already knew the big guy from New York. I liked him. The feeling was mutual. It was sort of nice, just the feeling of having him visit me here. The boss liked the finer things, though. Soft Gucci loafers, silk shirts, diamond initialed cuff links. That’s probably one of the reasons he came to Harvard. Boston. Cambridge. Ivy. Tennis. Class. The good things.

My seven-by-twelve single garret room on the Radcliff quadrangle wasn’t what he was expecting. You could see the disappointment on his face as he wondered whether he was really going to sit on this bed or not.

Then Debbie came in with stuffed mushrooms, and suddenly the big guy (and the boss’s son) were in a good mood. Like Amelia Bedelia’s lemon meringue pie, the mushrooms turned everything around. Now it was like family and Uncle Big Guy was just coming up to the dorms to visit. After picking out and drinking the little bottles of Chivas (now I remember—scotch, of course!) on my dresser, we sat down to talk.

When they got into their waiting car two hours later, I was the first person the “agency” had ever given an eighty-twenty deal to. They lovingly called me a “son of a bitch,” while cuffing me on the neck. Frankly, I think I could have held out for ninety-ten if I really wanted. But they were, after all, putting up all the money and taking all the risk and they’d had to come all the way up to Cambridge. Plus, I’ve never thought it’s a good idea to take the last scrap off the table. You gotta let the other guy make money too if you want to succeed.

This is one of the few topics on which I’ve always disagreed with my father. From the time I was very young, he often took me on business appointments as he went about building his insurance business. From these experiences I learned the money in our family didn’t grow on trees. This helped prevent me from becoming the sort of spoiled second-generation-type kid I’ve written about. I frequently take my kids to work with me for the same reason (and also because I like their company). A second thing I saw, though, was how my dad, who lost his own father at a young age and had to help support his household before he was even ten, would squeeze the last penny out of a business deal. This, I would tell him, was a bad idea. How was the other guy going to live? What level of service would he deliver? Wouldn’t he turn around and leave you the first chance he got? Wouldn’t it be better to spend a little more and get the guy’s loyalty and build an enduring relationship? My father just said I was soft and kept doing it his way. For him, it works. He’s first-generation. He doesn’t have a huge organization of talented egos or dozens of key suppliers to cater to, but he doesn’t need it. He’s willing to do everything on his own and find a new supplier whenever an existing relationship ends.

I, having the benefit of being second-generation (yes, there are benefits), and perhaps, indeed, being a little soft, see things differently. On any individual deal I never make or extract quite as much as I could. In this way, I make less than I might have. On the other hand, I’ve had profitable relationships with some of my suppliers and agents that have lasted over twenty years (and I’m only about forty now, I remind you). I also have attracted an unbelievably great staff which has stayed with me for years. In this way, I think, on balance I’m much richer. You may not be able to immediately calculate the value of a relationship, an employee, or a potential referral, but they’re part of your wealth, just as surely as money in the bank. The money can, after all, be lost, but some of the relationships might sustain you for a lifetime.