The Candy Man Can: Lessons from a 9 Year Old Entrepreneur

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My first foray into entrepreneurship occurred during the summer after my second grade year, when I was just 9 years old. It revolved around the neighborhood Jack and Jill ice cream truck and the popular candy sensations of the 1970s like Fun Dip, Now and Laters, and Pop Rocks.

Fun Dip, originally known as Lik-m-aid, was flavored sugar powder and a candy stick that basically resembled a flattened piece of chalk and was used for dipping.

Now and Laters kept our family dentist in business as they were chewy, fruit-flavored candies that started out similar to the texture and hardness of a hockey puck, but softened as you ate them.

Pop Rocks, an explosive candy that created a fizzing sensation in your mouth, was surrounded by urban legends, including feeding them to pigeons and watching them explode mid-air. While I never personally witnessed this, it was both horrifying to a 9-year-old and thrilling to some of the neighborhood teenagers.

The business idea was the brainchild of myself and a neighborhood friend, both of us rising third graders with an insatiable appetite for these novel candies. As fellow connoisseurs of these sugary delights, we quickly realized that our passion for these treats was far from unique.

Every time the Jack and Jill ice cream truck made its rounds, we observed a consistent pattern: a long line of eager kids, fidgeting with anticipation, waiting for their turn like a group of addicts waiting for their fix. It was clear that these young customers were just as hooked as we were on the irresistible combination of high-fructose corn syrup, sugar, and an array of artificial flavors and colors that made these candies so appealing and a primary source of our ensuing hyper-activity and soon to be realized dental cavities.

This shared enthusiasm among our peers sparked our entrepreneurial spirit. We recognized a potential opportunity in this collective craving for Fun Dip, Now and Laters, and Pop Rocks. The popularity of these treats, combined with the excitement generated by the ice cream truck's arrival, laid the foundation for our budding business idea.

We saw a chance to tap into this market of sugar-craving kids, potentially offering a more convenient or diverse selection of these beloved candies at a price point lower than the ice cream man. Our observations of the ice cream truck's success and our own experiences as candy enthusiasts fueled our imagination, leading us to contemplate how we could carve out our own niche in this sweet economy of childhood indulgences.

?Little did we know at the time, but our summer observations were essentially an informal market analysis. We weren't familiar with business terminology, but our curiosity and keen eye for candy related detail led us to gather valuable insights about our potential customers. Our first significant observation was that kids seemed to be purchasing more candy than ice cream, or often buying candy alongside their frozen treats. Armed with a small notepad and a stubby mini-golf pencil, we diligently kept track of each customer's purchases. We tallied how many kids bought candy either with or without ice cream, and how many opted for ice cream alone.

Even though we hadn't learned about percentages in school yet (that would come in 4th and 5th grade), we could still count and notice trends. Our basic data collection showed a clear majority: most kids were buying candy. Building on our initial observations, we refined our data collection to focus on the specific types of candy being purchased. With a keen eye for candy related detail, we identified the top five most popular candies being purchased by the sugar addicted crowd. To our delight, our personal favorites—Now and Laters, Fun Dip, and Pop Rocks—were all included in this elite group, along with some other favorites, Bottle Caps and Razzles!

In fact, I can still close my eyes and imagine the taste of the root beer flavored Bottle Caps, yum!?

Emboldened by our findings, we were ready to take the next step. We pooled our meager savings which literally consisted of tube socks filled with coins, our "start-up money," and began to consider how we might secure additional funding. In our youthful naivety, we didn't know the terms, “pitch deck” or "angel investor," but we understood we needed help from adults with more resources to turn our candy-selling dreams into reality.?

Our first foray into securing funding was remarkably smooth, requiring only a single pitch to my friend's mother. In retrospect, she proved to be a far easier sell than my own parents would have been. Coming from a family of five children, where money was naturally tighter, I was accustomed to more scrutiny before being granted spending money. My friend, being an only child, seemed to have an easier time getting a "yes" than I was used to. Now, having raised five children myself, I have a deep appreciation and valued understanding for my parents' approach!

Our pitch was concise and effective. My friend took the lead in presenting our idea, while I played the role of the silent partner, channeling my inner Oliver Twist with a blend of youthful charm and an air of earnest need. This strategy proved surprisingly potent.

To our delight, my friend's mom not only agreed to provide our start-up funds but also offered to drive us into the city to visit the wholesale candy supplier. Her generosity was remarkable - she never asked for anything in return, a level of investor benevolence I would never encounter again in my future business endeavors.

This experience was a far cry from the high-pressure environment of "Shark Tank" that I would later come to know. Instead, it felt more like we just won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes showed up on our doorstep with an oversized check! So exciting!

What was amazing is that we didn't need to oversell or negotiate. As soon as we received the “yes” response, we eagerly presented our humble initial capital: the tube socks filled with coins. My contribution even included a portion of the cash I had received from my recent First Holy Communion - a testament to how seriously we took this venture.

With our primary investor doubling as our chauffeur, we set off on our exciting journey to Gloucester City, NJ, a place I still remember today Heim-Wholesale Food Distributor. Our pockets were stuffed with the notes containing our rudimentary market data, and our hearts and minds were brimming with the thrill of our first entrepreneurial adventure. Our mission was clear: to procure a treasure trove of sugar-laden inventory that would cater to our target market - the sweet-toothed addicted neighborhood kids, which included the two owners of this newly formed venture.

This wasn't just a trip to a candy wholesaler; it was our first real step into the world of business. As we rode along, we could barely contain our enthusiasm, our young minds racing with visions of colorful candies and the jingle of coins from future sales. We felt like miniature Willy Wonkas, minus the Oompa Loompas and the actual candy factory.

Speaking of candy factories, we had a sudden realization after procuring our inventory - we had no storefront! Panic set in as we realized we had completely overlooked the crucial detail of a point-of-sale in our investor pitch. We couldn't just wander the neighborhood with bags of candy like pint-sized confectionery pushers; we needed a proper place to conduct our business. Internet sales wasn’t really a thing in 1977 so brick-and-mortar was our only option.

Undeterred, we embraced the entrepreneurial spirit and got creative. We scoured garages, sheds, the woods, and even neighboring trash cans, collecting furring strips and thick plastic sheeting typically used as painting drop cloths. With these materials, we began constructing a makeshift candy store in my friend's backyard, nestled against his house in a small alcove.

The heat inside our plastic palace concerned us; we worried about our precious inventory turning into a gooey mess, although we speculated that it might make the Now and Laters less like a shellacked piece of granite. Our solution? We ran an extension cord and set up a box fan to keep things a bit cooler. A picnic table served as our counter, with its benches repurposed as shelves for our sweet wares. We crafted a price list, strategically setting our prices five cents cheaper than the ice cream man, and created hand-drawn flyers with our handy 64-count Crayola Crayon Box (with the built in sharpener of course) to promote our new venture.

An old cigar box from my friend's garage became our makeshift cash register, complemented by a borrowed pocket calculator from my house. Between planning sessions, we indulged in childish mischief, typing numbers that formed words when flipped upside down - "boobies" (5318008) and "hell" (7734) were our favorites. These calculator shenanigans, along with Mad Libs, were our covert acts of rebellion, the kind you'd dread getting caught doing.

To enhance the ambiance of our plastic sugar emporium, we added a soundtrack via a radio playing in the background. We eagerly anticipated our favorite tunes, ready to belt them out with the unbridled enthusiasm of 9-year-olds. Boston's "More than a Feeling" would have us air-guitaring wildly, while the Starland Vocal Band's "Afternoon Delight" had us singing along innocently, blissfully oblivious to its true meaning - had we known, we'd have been mortified.

This early venture of pleasing folks with happy music, sparked my enduring passion for musical entertainment, which would later fuel another entrepreneurial endeavor at age 14 - but that's a story for another installment of "Fitz on Life."

After days of building, planning, and promoting, it was finally time to open our doors. Our little candy empire was ready for business, built on start-up funds from a very generous investor, childhood ingenuity, borrowed materials, and an unshakeable belief in the power of sugar to draw a crowd.

Day one exceeded our wildest expectations. Our Crayola-crafted flyers worked wonders, and word spread like wildfire. Our business was growing faster than inflation and gas prices in the seventies. We soon rivaled our main competitor, the Jack and Jill ice cream man, with a line forming at our makeshift window - really just a hole in our plastic sheeting. Our market research proved spot-on, with sales exceeding projected targets and stressing our inventory levels. Some customers even inquired about ice cream, to which we optimistically hinted at future expansions, pending refrigerator acquisitions and relocation from our current greenhouse-like setup. Despite the heat threatening to turn our shop into a haven for spider plants or cacti, we persevered. We even spun the softening Now and Laters as a dental health feature!

As we eagerly anticipated Day 2, our success snowballed. The scene resembled that famous seventies shampoo commercial: "I told two friends about Faberge Organics Shampoo, and they told two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on..." Our customer base expanded beyond our neighborhood, forcing us to restock using our first few days proceeds. Fortunately our investor / chauffeur was more than willing to drive us to procure more inventory.

Our sweet success continued for nearly two weeks until an unexpected twist occurred—the Jack and Jill ice cream man discovered our operation, and to say he was more than mildly annoyed would be an understatement.

The man was a character straight out of a child's nightmare. Nicknamed "Screwy" by the neighborhood teens, he was far from the friendly, jovial, jolly ice cream vendor you'd expect. To a nine-year-old like me, he was downright terrifying.?

?Despite his intimidating presence, we still bought candy from him, but the transaction was always nerve-wracking. Heaven help you if you hesitated or changed your mind - his annoyed glare could freeze you faster than his ice cream. It felt like ordering a cheesesteak in South Philly at Pats or Genos; you'd better know what you want and say it fast!

His appearance only added to the intimidation factor. Tattoos covered his arms, an eye patch obscured one eye, and he was missing a couple of fingers on one hand. He looked more like a deranged pirate than an ice cream man, making me wonder in hindsight if this was some kind of work release program rather than a chosen profession.

When he showed up at our makeshift candy store, the effect was dramatic. The line of kids parted like the Red Sea, though he bore no resemblance to Moses. At nine years old, all I knew was that this man was scary, and his arrival at our plastic candy emporium felt like the coming of a storm.

The moment "Screwy" appeared, I felt a wave of heat wash over me, even more intense than our usual greenhouse-like working conditions - a clear OSHA violation in the making. We stood frozen as most kids scattered in all directions. Screwy, normally a man of few words, unleashed a torrent of loud, angry speech. He gesticulated wildly with his three-fingered hand, his pointer finger working overtime.

While I couldn't grasp everything he said, phrases like "business license," "cops," and "this is over starting now" rang out clearly. For once in my short life, I was speechless, and my fellow 9-Year old business partner was equally mute. We watched in terrified silence as Screwy began dismantling our candy shanty, all while grumbling incoherently.

Just as our entrepreneurial dream was being literally torn apart, our biggest stakeholder - my friend's mom - appeared, summoned by a concerned customer. Her initial mama bear look quickly turned to shock as she looked at Screwy and took in the scene. She managed to send Screwy packing, but not before he vowed to return with the police and get us locked up.

This abrupt end to our enterprise left us with no choice but to liquidate our assets quickly. We spent the summer consuming most of the leftover candy, suddenly popular as other kids helped us devour our stock. While it still impacted Screwy's sales, he couldn't accuse us of illegal selling anymore.

This sweet venture, though short-lived, planted the seeds of entrepreneurship in my young mind. Like a carefully crafted candy recipe, it taught me the importance of blending market research, understanding customer cravings, and recognizing the competition. The encounter with "Screwy" added a bitter note, highlighting the crucial ingredient of proper planning and never underestimating the competition or other risks in any business concoction.

This taste of entrepreneurship, with its sugary highs and sour lows, whetted my appetite for future adventures. It became the first taste of experiences, which then led to my paper boy sales ventures at 11 and another startup at 14 to the multiple ventures that followed. Each new endeavor along the way added a different flavor to my business palate.

Looking back, this candy venture was the opening wrapper of my entrepreneurial journey. It revealed a world of possibilities as vast as the candy selection at Heims Candy wholesaler to a wide-eyed kid. Though our run in with "Screwy" left a temporary bitter aftertaste, it was all part of a rich, complex experience that would help to set the stage for my entrepreneurial future.

This early experience was just one of a sweet ingredient in a career filled with successes and failures, each adding depth to my business acumen. It helped to set the stage of confidence necessary to take risks and the wisdom to savor the lessons from both triumphs and setbacks.

This is the essence of the "Fitz on Life" series - it's about relishing the journey and the invaluable experiences gathered along the way. Life's path may get a bit "screwy" at times, but if we can extract the sweetness from each experience, learn from the sour notes, and keep refining our recipe for success, the journey becomes all the more delectable. After all, to quote Forest Gump, isn't life like a box of chocolates? You never know what you're going to get, but each piece contributes to a richer, fuller experience.