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doing a lateral transfer to the Redondo Beach Police Department. I felt I had the best ofboth worlds. When Brian worked nights, I could have the place to myself. When myparents were out of town, I had their place to myself. If I wanted a romantic weekendwith one of my girlfriends, I’d book a suite at the Hyatt House on Sunset Boulevard,below the Hollywood sign.These were the great old Almost Famous days of rock ’n’ roll, when the Hyatt becamenotorious for famous bands partying and tossing TVs out the windows. It wasn’t unusualto see a rock star like Carlos Santana or Rod Stewart walking in and out of the lobby.My dates and I used to hang out at the Comedy Store next door, where we spent many anight watching the likes of David Letterman and newcomers like Jim Carrey, JeFoxworthy, and Andrew Dice Clay. Giants of comedy like Robin Williams and RichardPryor dropped by on surprise visits to work on their new material. It was a wonderfulplace to take dates for dinner and a show. I sometimes wonder if I don’t have to thankthose great comedians for improving my closing ratio with the ladies.My father’s friend was the manager at the Hyatt at the time, and I’d be able to swinga beautiful $150 petite suite for a mere twenty dollars a night. When the mudslides hitMalibu, authorities closed the Pacic Coast Highway, making it impossible to drivedown to my oces in Santa Monica. So I moved right into the Hyatt for about fourweeks while workers repaired the highway. My employers covered the expenses, and Ihad the time of my life.And why not live large? I’d just become a member of a club that would be familiar tomany people today: people who sit in cubicles in giant rooms, grafted to headsets andautodialers, selling everything under the sun—copier toner, yes, but also stocks andbonds, real estate, dream vacations, vitamins, protein shakes, cars, and even pets. Ifyou could craft the right pitch, you could sell anything, because people love hearingthey’re about to save money on something they most desire.Congratulations to me. I had joined a boiler room.WELL, of course, everything came crashing down and I experienced one of the worstsummers of my life.I was working for the bosses, turning over these sales like crazy, when it dawned onme: I knew how to do this now. I could do this myself and keep all the money. A geniusidea, and anyone in business would eventually think the same thing. One of the othersales guys convinced me to partner with him. We set up our own shop, and lured all thetop salespeople by oering them better commissions. They all came running. I wasnineteen years old, and this was my very first corporation.Things looked good.And then, one day in 1976, while I was driving around town, I realized that the samecar was following me everywhere I went. The same white Toyota. This guy waseverywhere. Following me to and from work. Parking outside my home at night. Evenfollowing me to lunch. I remember coming back to my car with a handful of burritos formy salespeople and seeing the car parked across the street.