The One Penny Bicycle Circus

My first business venture has haunted me for 48 years now. I have been searching for the meaning behind it ever since and as a result, I recently shared the story with a friend who thankfully pointed out the valuable lesson.

It was the summer of 1970 and I had motivation to earn money because my mom recently took me to our bank with my heavy brass Abraham Lincoln "piggy bank." I had had this bank for about as long as I could remember and every time I had any money, I put it into the slot and was unable to retrieve it. It could ONLY be unlocked by the banker in his office with a key from his drawer. After what felt like a lifetime of saving money, I'll never forget the feeling I had as I watched the banker unlock it, spills the coins onto his desk, count them, and then enter the amount into my little account book to look at while he went away to make the deposit.

87 cents. I was dumbfounded. How could it be SO LITTLE? All that time, all those coins, surely, it could have at least been over $1? I decided something had to be done about my current income level.

Coincidentally, I had recently been treated to Ringling Bros Greatest Show On Earth. After seeing the spectacle, I felt that I could extend the magic by creating my own circus act for the enjoyment of others. And, I remember seeing money spent to buy the tickets. "This is IT," I thought to myself, "I'm going to put on a BICYCLE CIRCUS and make MONEY!"

I was asset-rich and had everything I needed to pull off an entrepreneurial endeavor of this magnitude! I had a bike I'd recently learned to ride without training wheels, some paper and crayons to make posters, and I lived in a small "circular road" neighborhood that gave me a captive audience I could market to. I got to work right away and began practicing "tricks" such as "riding with no feet on the pedals" and "riding while sitting on the rear fender" to name some of my more spectacular stunts.

I created blazing outdoor advertising marketing materials from typing paper and all the colors from a Crayola 64-crayon box (with a sharpener included on the back of course.) I talked my two-year old sister into helping me scotch tape the posters everywhere possible.

"BICYCLE CIRCUS - ONE PENNY!" visually littered every telephone and light pole, and every mailbox post in our less than modest neighborhood. By 2 pm, just after peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some more stunt practice, I had my entire audience lined up and waiting for the big show. My friend Greg from about 8 houses away made the trek with his penny in hand. I had hoped for a larger audience but I decided to work with all I had. I asked my sister to sit next to him on our three foot by three foot by six inch high concrete slab we called a "porch" so Greg wouldn't be alone.

He handed over his penny and I put it into the Abraham Lincoln bank. Yes, the one that can ONLY be opened by the banker using his key from the drawer in his desk. There was no turning back. Despite the small turnout, I was going to put on a show for all ages. I announced with Ringmaster flair, "Welcome to The Greatest Show On Earth!!!" then I rode off-stage behind the neighbor's hedge and prepared myself. Headband? Check. Wristband sweatbands? Check. Knee-high athletic socks all the way up? Check.

I rode with everything I had to center stage, opening with the epic "feet on the handle bars" trick. In my mind, there were spotlights and the audience was in awe of the spectacle. I continued to pass back and forth in front of the small porch, flawlessly pulling off daring stunt after daring stunt. I stood on one pedal and put my other leg back in the air. I coasted by, balancing on the seat with my stomach, my body in a full superman pose. I rode with one hand only, then the other hand only. I was singing circus music at the top of my lungs to provide the soundtrack. I put everything I had into my performance. I held nothing back.

After what must have been at least four minutes, I was out of tricks. I stopped my bike in the middle of the street and took a slow, gracious bow to end my incredible act.

There was no applause. Not even from my sister. Unfazed, I walked my bike to the porch and asked Greg what he thought. My mind was full of optimism and my heart full of hope that he would say how much he loved it... and that he would tell others... and then I would make so much money I would be able to get real spotlights... and an orchestra... and a camper truck and take my act on the road for the enjoyment of families everywhere.

After some painful silence, Greg spoke. "I kind of expected more for a whole penny," he said flatly. "Is there any way I can get my money back?"

I think "gobsmacked" is the right term to describe how I felt in that moment because "stunned" would have been a total understatement. I didn't know what to say or do. I apologized. Then I tried explaining how difficult the stunts actually were, that I had practiced for two whole days, and that it's not as easy as I made it look. He still wanted his penny back out of the one-way Abraham Lincoln piggy bank.

There was nothing left for me to do except apologize and show him how the slot in the bank had this little trap door and I wouldn't be able to get his penny back until I went to the bank in about another year. He said, "ok" and walked home. I'm not sure we ever spoke again after that.

As mentioned at the outset, the One Penny Bicycle Circus Debacle has haunted me for decades. But after telling this story last week to my friend, I was able to finally forgive myself when they pointed out the lesson in all this: "You know, you can't please everyone no matter how hard you try..."

It was a really good point because I never once viewed it from that perspective. I had always thought I fell short in so many ways. I didn't have enough tricks, my posters over promised and under delivered, I didn't plan for a potential refund, on and on and on... But in thinking back, I did all I could as a five year old to put on a spectacular show, I charged the lowest price possible (aside from free), and I apologized as best I could when it didn't live up to expectations. I think there are times in life when it's ok to forgive yourself when you gave it all you had and it's still not good enough. Let's face it, there are certain people that you will NEVER make happy. When I ran an espresso truck for five years, I had a few customers I dubbed as "they could win the lottery on their birthday but will still complain about the taxes."

Whenever you're struggling with feeling like you've fallen short of customer expectations, try to step back and have the perspective to really see where you are relative to that fine line between "doing all you can with what you have" and "you can't please everyone." It could save you a few decades of guilt.