We make a big point in this book of not only the need to retire while still young enough to enjoy it, but also of seeking out the better places in the world in which to appreciate the very tops in climatic and scenic offerings. However, it is obvious that many of us are, for various reasons, in no position to leave our present homes.

For one thing, perhaps you are already living in one of the land's bargain paradises. Perhaps your home is already in Florida, Southern California, Arizona, or the Lower Rio Grande Valley. Why leave? Why not retire where you are already?

In fact, there are often advantages in simply retiring in your own home town. Possibly you have a house already paid for, and un­doubtedly you have a good many connections, not to speak of friends and relatives. Very possibly your credit is good at the bank, to start a retirement project.

And, of course, there may be many reasons why you cannot just get up and go—as I did—leaving the old world behind you. Pos­sibly you have aged parents depending upon your presence. Per­haps you have children in the local schools, and hesitate to take them from their friends and classes.

But whatever the reason, this chapter is devoted to the reader who wishes to retire but is in no position to leave the home in which he now resides.

Books on retirement are a dime a dozen, and you can go to the local library and find an armload of them to study. They'll give you a multitude of ideas on how to cut prices, to live cheaply, to make a hobby of bringing prices down. I could give you a good many of these too, everything from suggesting that your wife start canning her own fruits and vegetables in season, to you learning to repair the family shoes and cutting your own hair. Such items can save a mint of money if you're trying to live economically. However, space limitations make it a bit of the ridiculous side, my competing with all the library books, Government Printing Office pamphlets and the other publications devoted to retiring on a budget.

The purpose of this book is more to get you in the frame of mind to take this retirement step. To show you examples of others who have done it successfully. To give you that little push that will result in your getting off the treadmill and making a more satisfactory way of life.

But there is one thing I'd like to stress in this matter of retiring in your own home town. If you packed your things one day, col­lected whatever savings you had, and took off for Sarasota, Florida; Grass Valley, California; or Sante Fe, New Mexico, and once there started your new way of life, there would be nobody to look you askance. It would seem completely natural to them, as would any project you might develop in order to augment your income.

Ah, but in your own home town. What would they say if you quit your job? Your job as foreman down at the pretzel bending department of the biscuit company, where your father worked be­fore you and his father before him. Would they think you'd gone stark raving mad when you announced that although you were only 25 years of age, you had decided to retire from the rat-race? Would the minister of your church come around to discuss it with you? Would relatives ranging from your parents to second cousins at­tempt to argue you out of it—contending that the natural state of man is slavery in a factory or office?

In short, would you be able to stand the guff from people who probably deep within themselves would love to do just what you've decided to do, but haven't the courage. And since they haven't the courage themselves they don't want you to have it. The mob in­stinct seems to be to hate anybody not exactly like the members of the mob.

We Americans have long prided ourselves on being "rugged individualists." Supposedly, we are all "rugged individualists." Per­haps it's just an optical illusion that the overwhelming majority seem to be just the opposite. Far from an individualist, rugged or otherwise, the average American today does not seem capable of standing up on his hind legs and asserting himself. He is scared to death of losing his little job, and the modicum of pseudo-security it gives him. That this situation will someday end, and that soon, I believe and hope, but right now the average American is using little effort to get himself off the horrible treadmill he is running upon.

So! Let them talk. Let them sneer, if sneer they will. They'd like to be doing just what you're doing—escaping from the rat-race— but they haven't the guts.

CASE HISTORY No. 1. Some of the case histories that you'll find in this book are admittedly on the exotic side, and not suited to a good many of us, so lets look into a few that are more down to earth. I have before me a letter from a friend and will copy it word for word.

Dear Bob:

Your idea for a book on how to retire while still young sounds good to me. I look forward to reading it, although, as you know, I am already "retired" for all practical purposes. You ask for "case histories." How about this one?

My cousin, Clinton, now 21 years old and in his fourth year at college intends to spend at least six years there. He "can't afford" to leave. He ceased to be a burden on his parents after the second year and now employs anywhere from three to four of his fellow college students. He used to fish around for spare-time jobs, dishwashing in cafes at night, trimming hedges, mow­ing lawns, etc. He received 50^ to 750 an hour which still is a going rate for labor in his college town (Durant, Oklahoma). He made $15 to $20 a week working himself pretty hard, but which was enough to get by on.

But during the summer of the first year, after the 2nd se­mester, he went to work for an old man helping him mow lawns at from $3 to $7 per lawn, depending on size. He got only 50$ an hour as usual and was disgusted to be paid only $1.50 on a job the old man got $5 for. So he quit, trotted home to Papa, borrowed $100 for a lawn mower, some fertilizing and seeding equipment and solicited business on his own. He didn't get too much to start but he made $50 to $60 a week for about hah* his summer months on what his "bird dogging" turned up. He ran out of jobs in the fall and had to rely somewhat on Papa and odd jobs again. But he started fertilizing and lawn condition­ing again in February of his second year and put an ad in a paper. Pretty soon he had more jobs than his spare time could handle and had some of his "Dorm buddies" help him. He had to buy more fertilizer spreaders and get more equipment. By April when he had to mow he had over 50 customers good for two to four jobs a month and about $400 gross income. That summer he made some savings and last summer he was making about $800 a month with four helpers.

This spring Clinton graduates but, as he is making more money than Papa, doesn't see any reason to give up his business, so he plans two more years in college for a Master's degree. He thinks he might just get a few more customers and manage the business only, hiring college boys to help him. He is not retired but he is certainly in an enviable position for a not yet graduated college boy. He has over $700 worth of equipment, his own car and a bank account.

Here's still another case history for you, Bob. I have two Dutch girls working for me. I got one thru the service of an entrepreneur and the second through the first girl. The entre­preneur justs acts as go between in getting European girls here for about $20 to $25 per week and keep which is about half the American domestic's charge if one can be procured. He charges $50 for his services, working through some agencies in Europe. But the thing he's proud of is the $500 he charges some guys to get a good German or Swedish wife over here for them. He keeps ads in several papers and must place two or three girls a week. He seems always to be going down to meet the boat.

Hope these help you and good luck with the book. It cer­tainly should fill a need in this country of ours, too many people are going batty trying to keep up the pace.

Cordially Terry

I doubt if my friend Terry expected me to print his whole letter, as was, but it was too good to miss. He himself would make as good an example as I could use in this book but unfortunately the little system he has worked out to escape from the rat-race and lead a full life is such that if I revealed it he would have a hundred com­petitors overnight and would undoubtedly lose his advantage.

I wish he had been able to give us more details on the "entre­preneur" who imported the Dutch servant girls, but there it is. I know of another fellow in somewhat the same line but he brings his girls up from Puerto Rico and has the advantage of not having the worry about passports, immigration and so forth since Puerto Ricans are American citizens.

I doubt if this field is overcrowded. Servants in the United States have become so expensive that even fairly well-to-do families find it impossible to keep them. If you lived in or near a community which would ordinarily call for servants you might well consider this method of helping your neighbors—at a profit.

CASE HISTORY No. 2. I wish I knew more of the details on this one, too, but I simply can't remember them all, not even the name of the man who dreamed it up. I was quite young at the time I met him, but even then was impressed by the manner in which he obtained a good livelihood with a minimum of effort. As a matter of fact, he had this little business back during the depression years and did very well indeed at a time when some 15 million others were unemployed and wondering where the next meal was coming from.

Let's call him Blake (his name was something like that). He lived in Kingston which is about a hundred miles up the Hudson River from New York City and at that time was a community of about 25,000 persons. Blake's father before him had been a job printer and Blake was taught the trade as a boy. Job printing at that time was as depressed as any other field and Blake couldn't look forward to any easy life by any means.

But after high school was completed he couldn't think of any­thing else in particular to do so he scraped together what money he could, bought himself a couple of used job presses and went into business.

I don't know if the idea came to him all at once or not, but Blake began to collect old type more as a hobby than anything else. On weekends or at whatever other time he found opportunity he would drive through some of the smaller and older towns that are nestled in the Catskill Mountains and dig around in the weekly newspaper shops and the job printing shops for old fonts of type.

For the reader's information, type faces come in and go out of style just as do women's clothes, automobiles, and practically everything else in modern society. With advertising developing the way it has in the past twenty-five years, tremendous changes have been made in typography.

So Blake went about collecting old type faces, the older the better. He was sometimes amazed at the faces he would find, often the little newspaper shops he visited would have, stashed away in some back room, types that went back as far as the "Gay Nineties" and once or twice even back to the Civil War. Blake picked them up for a pittance. In fact, they were sometimes given to him, the owners glad to be rid of the junk.

After a time be began to use some of them in his job printing— just for gags. For instance, if the local branch of the American Legion wanted a flyer advertising a banquet or picnic, Blake would do it up in the same style as printing was done before the first world war.

Such flyers were successful right from the beginning. The type faces were so corny that everybody was amused by them. Blake's business began to pick up. Soon local salesmen wanted visiting cards done up in the style of the Civil War and businessmen would have their stationery done in the antique types. Without thinking about it, Blake had become a specialist in a field that was other­wise so depressed that it was practically impossible to make a living.

And then he hit the jackpot.

Only ten miles away, up into the mountains, was the art colony of Woodstock which at that time teemed with commercial artists who worked down in the advertising agencies of New York but had summer homes in the Catskills. One of them stumbled upon some of Blake's work and it gave him some ideas. He looked Blake up and gave him an order. Before the printer knew it, he had become the one printer, evidently, in the United States who had a wide variety of antique types.

If an advertiser wanted to do an authentic ad involving, say, the wild west of 1875 or so, he had to come to Blake to get authentic type faces.

Blake stopped doing his regular small jobs and devoted his time to exploiting his antique type. And overnight he was making con­siderably more money with considerably less effort than ever before in his life. There might have been a depression in the United States, but not in Blake's print shop.

Could you do this? Probably not, certainly not unless you're a printer. The only reason I've used the example is to show that it's necessary to keep your eyes open and to reach for your oppor­tunity when you see it. Each one of us has his own abilities, his own opportunities, to escape from the rut and to free himself from the pressures that confront the majority today. It is necessary to utilize these.

CASE HISTORY No. 3. I am no farmer and probably in this case history I'm going to make mistakes in terminology, but I hope those who are more knowledgeable in this field will forgive me be­cause I want to give this one example of a small farmer who re­belled against the way the world is going and found his own peace, leisure and enjoyment in life while refusing to give up his small farm, which he loved.

Small farm it was. Lon Wooley of Friendship, Indiana, had only 40 acres and in this modern world forty acres is no longer adequate for ordinary farming. The greater part of farming today is done in tremendous "factories in the fields" and the average farmer has become a driver of gigantic farm tools that cost thousands of dollars.

So, with few exceptions, the small farm is gone.

But Lon Wooley, who was already an elderly man, didn't want it to go. He loved his fields, his orchard, his few acres in woods. He loved the spring, the fall and even the white cleanness of winter. He didn't want to move to a city. But at the same time he rebelled against turning his fields into a truck farm with the back breaking toil involved in that type of farm work.

Instead, he turned to hand feeding cattle. And that's exactly what I mean. He bred a few cattle for beef and for all practical purposes raised them as though they were children. He dealt with each one individually, carefully bred them, and above all carefully fed them.

They grew to be monsters in size, some of them the largest beef cattle in modern times. (An article was run on Lon Wooley's cattle in the Farm Quarterly entitled "The Monsters of Friend­ship"). But besides sheer size, they were absolutely tops as beef.

There are a good many wealthy people in our country today who will pay any price for the absolute tops in such items as food. Gourmets, they are called, or less politely in service idiom "chow-hounds." These became Lon Wooley's customers. They would come from as far as Chicago and beyond to purchase his beef, and buy any amount of it that he would sell.

Sometimes a customer would drive down and beg for a full carcass, but old Lon would shake his head and say, "That steer won't be ready for another two weeks, maybe three." Perhaps the customer would plead that he had a big dinner coming up with important guests he wished to impress and he just had to have some of this famous steak of which he had been bragging. But Lon would be adamant. "Nope, that steer isn't ready to be butchered yet. I won't sell inferior meat."

Prices for Lon Wooley's beef, needless to say, were at least twice what you would pay for the best prime beef you could find in a regular butcher shop of the highest quality. And he worked without the middlemen who usually take such a large percentage of the farm dollar. He sold his product directly to the consumer.

And Lon Wooley was able to continue leading the quiet, easy­going life which he loved.

Lon isn't the only example I've run into of a small farmer who saw the trend toward good eating which has developed in many parts of the United States. Many people just aren't satisfied with the adulterated foods, the poorly fed meats, the green fruits and tasteless vegetables that are so prevalent today. They aren't satis­fied with them and will pay premium prices for better products.

I know of a couple in California who got into this field without planning to and actually in spite of themselves. They had a very small farm and she worked in the biggest drugstore in town, about ten miles away. Sandwiches and other food were served at the fountain and there was considerable garbage left over each night. They had bought the little farm with the intentions merely of living on it and thus beating rent, but the garbage was too good to resist and they bought some pigs to eat it up. Chickens followed and goats later.

Goats breed rapidly and before they knew it they had more milk than they knew what to do with. They began feeding it to the pigs until a doctor in town found it out and protested. He had quite a few invalid patients and had been having trouble finding goat's milk. It sells for .75 a quart, or did at that time. Possibly it's higher now. So they found themselves in the goat's milk business, as a side line.

When the pigs were grown they had the hams and bacon cured by a neighboring farmer who had a smoke house and the know-how to cure meat the old way. They had some friends in one day for dinner and such was the quality of the meat that the friends absolutely insisted on buying one of the hams. They were going to give a party and demanded it, claiming it the best ham they'd eaten in their lives.

To shorten this story, our Californian couple were soon in busi­ness. They found out that commercially raised pork is not by any means the best pork. Milk-fed chickens which are killed at the age of six weeks or so, are not, by any means, the best chickens for eating purposes. And they found that people were willing to pay premium prices for home cured hams and bacon, chickens raised on first the range and then fattened on grain, goat's milk, eggs fresh from the farm, goat's cheese, and home churned sweet butter.

When I knew them, they made a darn good living and at the same time escaped the greater part of the drudgery of the usual farm. They had possibly as many as fifty devoted customers and had no intentions of striving for more. As it was they could take life easy, but if they parlayed their business up to even twice its size they figured that they'd be working under such pressure that they might as well be in an office or factory and that they didn't want.

CASE HISTORY No. 4. Here's a short one for you, and sweet. It concerns Marcel Rodd, now of Los Angeles but originally from England. Fleeing the pressures there, which are as bad or worse than those of our own country, Rodd moved to L.A. in the 1940's. He had a few thousand dollars saved (no more than that) and opened a book store (The London Bookshop) on Sunset Boule­vard, right around the corner from Vine.

In no time at all it seemed to be too much work, so Rodd looked about for an easier way to make money.

He brought out a little booklet—I guess pamphlet would be the better term—entitled "Sinning In Hollywood" and put it on the newsstands for 25 cents a copy. I am not up on current printing costs in L.A, but I would estimate that each copy cost Rodd less than 5$.

The booklet was full of nothing more sinful than a list of theatres, night spots, bars, restaurants and other entertainment in the Hollywood area. But it sold like hotcakes principally, I suppose, to the tourists.

Publishing seemed like such a profitable enterprise (Rodd had known nothing about it before) that he brought out some full sized books. And began to make a good deal of money at it what with several that became semi-best sellers.

When last I saw Rodd he still had his bookstore, but hired help was largely running it. He was deep in publishing.

CASE HISTORY No. 5. For the life of me I can't remember this fellow's name, but he was a native of Eustis, Florida, and I suppose the little business which he evolved comes under the head of re­tiring. It was a matter of taking his hobby and making a full time and very profitable thing of it.

Eustis is in the central Floridian lake district. There is water everywhere. Natural springs, lakes, rivers, streams. Fishing is tops. Everyone and his cousin has a boat and an outboard motor.

Let's call him Buck. He was about thirty years of age and worked in a local lumberyard. Small boat building was his hobby. After working hours and on week-ends he'd putter slowly along making fourteen to eighteen foot rowboats, complete with live-bait wells and the other local accessories. They were excellent boats, deemed better than commercially produced ones.

Trouble was, Buck could never get one for himself. As soon as he'd finish a boat, somebody would buy it from him for about $125 (probably more, now). And poor Buck would start a new one.

Finally he woke up to the fact that if he spent full time at boat building instead of working for the lumber yard, he'd be making more money. Even doing it in spare time netted him almost as much as the lumber job.

So against his wife's rather violent protests, Buck quit his job, bought a few more tools, such as an electric saw, to speed things up, and went into small boat building on a full time basis.

Well, not exactly full time. He works possibly six hours a day, and then devotes the balance of his time to his hobby.

His hobby? You guessed it. He's building a big motor cruiser in his back yard—for himself.

§

CASE HISTORY No. 6. Here's one for a couple of mature years, if you fill the following requirements: (1) a liking for young peo­ple, (2) a rather large town or country house.

You simply start a Youth Hostel. It can be done in any State in the Union, either in the country or in town, village, or city. A Youth Hostel consists of sleeping quarters, usually in dormitories, for young people of both sexes who are hiking, bicycling or horse back riding about the country. They turn up in the evenings be­tween 4 p.m. and 8 p.m., bringing their own sleeping sacks. They pay an overnight fee of .50 to .75 between April 1st and Novem­ber 1st and between .75 and $1 between November 1st and April 1st.

Your hostel can have accommodations for as many young peo­ple (usually teenagers) as your property allows. Some have facili­ties for hundreds, some only a dozen or so. They check out in the morning by 9 o'clock and you are not bothered with them during the day. They make their own beds, sweep up the dormitories after themselves.

Additional methods of making money on the Youth Hostelers is to offer meals, and lunches to take with them; or to offer cooking facilities and sell them groceries and such other items as they might need.

These young people are not of the hoodlum variety—ever. The American Youth Hostels organization is well founded and com­posed of thousands of young people (and sometimes not so young) who are interested in enjoying nature, in hiking and bicycling through the country.

How do you go about opening a Youth Hostel? Converting your house or even barn into an acceptable one?

Write National Headquarters, American Youth Hostels, Inc. 14 West 8th Street, New York 11, N.Y. They'll be glad to give you full information. Once you've opened a hostel you are listed in the A. Y.H. manual which takes care of all the advertising you'll need and at no cost to you. Every Youth Hostler carries this manual and when in your part of the country will make a beeline for your establishment.

The United States is behind the rest of the Western World in developing youth hostels. Countries like Germany, Austria, France and England have literally thousands of them. We are far behind and the American organization wishes to catch up.

It's a pleasant manner of picking up some extra money, if you're retired and, as we say, like young people.

§

CASE HISTORY No. 7. While we're on this subject of liking young people, we might as well bring up the case of Mrs. Lubber, whom I met several years ago at the home of my sister in Oklahoma.

I had stayed with my sister for several weeks and in the way of payment suggested that she and her husband come with me for a week in New Orleans to take in the Mardi Gras. I hesitated about her three children, since Mardi Gras isn't exactly the sort of shindig for youngsters, but Vivian had a solution.

She called in Mrs. Lubber.

The children, at that time, were two, four and eight years of age but that didn't faze Mrs. Lubber a moment. She was what Vivian called a "Mother Replacement" and that's exactly what she was. She stepped into the house and took over everything. Cooking, shopping, cleaning, laundry, getting the children off to school. Everything.

Mrs. Lubber was a woman, I would say, of about fifty years of age. As I understand it, she'd had several children of her own, now grown. She and her husband were "retired" and she used this method of picking up extra money to stretch out his small pension. She made about $45 a week, plus, of course, her keep while taking over a house and family. She loved children, they loved her. Actually it wasn't "work" for her in the ordinary sense of the word.

Evidently, Mrs. Lubber was an institution in Vivian's town. Every couple who had children whom they wanted to leave for any length of time from a week to a month or even longer, would simply call in Mrs. Lubber to take over. Originally she'd had ads in the local newspaper but now that was no longer necessary. Every woman in town who could afford her services, periodically, knew of her. Mrs. Lubber had far more business than she could handle. In fact, amusingly enough for this gentle, motherly looking type, she was beginning to branch out. When she had a job she couldn't handle, because she was busy, she turned it over to one of her two sisters AND CHARGED THEM A PERCENTAGE! And that's commercializing motherhood (even though only a "Mother Re­placement") if I ever heard of it.

My sister's town is a small one but the situation that has brought on "Mother Replacements" is nationwide.

Let's face it. Children are often a handicap in the world as we find it today. I am not saying that this is not a deplorable situation, I think it is, but it is nevertheless real. To maintain the standard of living which we have been told is necessary, too often both husband and wife must work, even though several children are present in the family. And again, the pressures of modern life are so great that unless both husband and wife have periodic "vacations" from their young ones, they often find themselves unable to cope with them.

In America servants are so expensive that only the quite wealthy can usually afford them and this has led to a great boom in such institutions as baby sitters, day nurseries, and "Mother Replacements."

You know of so many examples of these that I am not going to list further case histories, however, I might mention that if you are interested in a small income, after retirement, that as a rule parents prefer an older woman, or even a couple, to the teenagers with whom they usually have to put up.

You might well consider one branch or another of this "surplus" children situation. Pay is usually 40$ to 50^ per hour for baby sitting, and often parents will bring the children to your house. You can watch several of them at once. I know of quite a few people who have "retired" on no more income than that realized from a full time baby sitting business.

CASE HISTORY No. 8. If you have a bit of capital you might consider Mrs. Mauser, of Lake Hill, New York. She is one of probably tens of thousands of elderly folk who have guaranteed themselves a retirement income by operating a guest house, or tourist home.

Opening a hotel, a motel, or a boarding house can parley up into quite a bit of money, but if you have a house, or enough capital to acquire one, in a suitable location, and it contains sufficient rooms to convert several into guest rooms, you have a source of income very dependable indeed.

Obviously, your location should be in a town, village, or along a highway where tourists come and, preferably, where there is a shortage of hotel and motel rooms. Although there are many peo­ple who prefer a guest house to a regular hotel, even when the hotel rooms are as cheaply priced.

Mrs. Mauser took over an old farm house in Lake Hill which is a charming town in the Catskills and quite near the art colony of Woodstock. There are few more beautiful places in the United States and not only does Mrs. Mauser fill her rooms in the summer season (in fact she's packed in summer season) but she also has guests for the turning of the leaves in autumn, for the beauties of snow in the winter, and for apple blossom time in the spring.

Her place is so popular that advertising is no longer necessary, but the average person with a guest house usually runs a short ad in the resort sections of the nearest big town newspapers. Most business is conducted on a reservation basis although you some­times pick up a motorist going through.

Prices? Never less than $2.50 for a single, even out of season. In season, and in a popular resort, you'll get as high as $8 a night for a double. It's according to the part of the country you're in, the season, and how well you are able to do up your rooms.

CASE HISTORY No. 9. I think it appropriate here to close out the Home Town Chapter with a retirement case in which I was personally involved. I was born and raised in Oklahoma during my earlier years. My home was in Eastern Oklahoma. The area is considered a virtual "bargain paradise" and as far as I am con­cerned the tag fits. You can still purchase there a luxurious home for $5000 and buy acreage for $10 to $30 per acre. With the development of numerous lakes in this area it is now becoming a resort and retirement paradise.

I return to Oklahoma at every opportunity to see my relatives and my "homeland." Especially do I spend time there in the Autumn. I try to see Oklahoma University's great Sooner football team play as often as I can. During one of these visits almost three years ago I met one of my fellow students, Calvin Brooks, from High School days. This was during the early days of World War II. He had been living the itinerant "Okies" life since his discharge from the Army. Calvin would go to California during the summer and work in a cannery. In the Fall he would try to make the West Texas Cotton Harvests. In between he would "roughneck" it a little bit in the oil fields. Only about four to six months of the year was he able to be with his wife and children in Oklahoma and pursue his favorite sports, hunting and fishing. He lived off the savings realized from his out of state jobs. This Nomadic existence was not Calvin's idea of a good life.

Calvin was not necessarily an ambitious fellow but he certainly was a likeable person. This particular fall day Calvin was home from a West Texas ginning job because rains had held up cotton harvesting. He invited me to accompany him on a fishing trip to one of the nearby lakes.

While reeling in quite a string of fish we discussed our lives during the period we had been separated, his hand to mouth existence, his general frustration because of the perpetual separa­tion from family and pleasurable pursuits and my gallivanting around the face of the earth living it up in grand style. Calvin wasn't so footloose and wanted to settle down to something solid, something that would assure his wife and children the better things in life.

I proposed that he set up a year round fishing camp on one of the lakes much after the fashion of many I had visited in Florida. Those in Florida sometimes made money into the hundreds of thousands of dollars some years. Why couldn't he do just a fraction as well here on one of these scenic lakes? The climate of Oklahoma presented a different problem however.

Not very far away was a lakesite on a very highly travelled highway. Calvin took a long term lease on an easily accessible site for only $25.00 a month. He reclaimed a lot of old oil drums that could be had for the asking. He made them seaworthy and on them constructed a rather large hut. He made several ports in the floor and an outside walk around. He anchored the structure out in 25 feet of water with a floating accessway. He built another small hut on shore as a sort of business shed. Out on the highway he erected a couple of signs reading, "THE BEST FISHING SPOT ON THE LAKE. FISH ALL YEAR LONG, DAY OR NIGHT. ANY KIND OF WEATHER. USE MY FLOATING FISHING HUT. FULLY HEATED DURING WINTER. FISH ALL DAY FOR ONLY $1.00."

Calvin keeps his fishing area well baited, that is, "chummed up." It literally teems with fish. He now employs two attendants. On the side he sells fishing equipment, bait, licenses, lunches and soft drinks. Fishing is so good that the average fisherman stays only two or three hours before he has hooked quite a string of fish. On some days he accommodates over a hundred fishermen. He is now in the process of building a second fishing hut to keep up with the demand for this type facility. Also he plans to go into the boat rental business. In any event he has gotten out of a miserable and hopeless rut. He stays home with his wife and children the year around. He owns a comfortable home. He can enjoy the finer things of life. He does not have to work unless he chooses to. Above all he has an above average income and is assured of it as long as people are inclined to go fishing.

COULD YOU DO THIS? Regardless of your age or sex, un­doubtedly you could.

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