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determine where they wanted to locate key departments, and I began to understand the way retail traffic flows through a store. But I realized that while I enjoyed architecture and drawing, I really wanted to build. Part of it was for lifestyle reasons. I couldn’t see anyone in architecture who had done well financially. I remember the great architect Frank Lloyd Wright coming to the University of Michigan and telling us that you could either marry somebody rich, inherit wealth, or starve to death. None of these seemed to me to be a viable option. And when I looked over the horizon, I saw that there was money to be made by people who could build and own stores or, better yet, groups of stores. And part of it was temperament. I preferred the energy and excitement of construction sites and negotiating deals to sitting at tables and drawing.
    My first move was to leave Agree and join the construction firm O. W. Burke, where I began to supervise job sites and learn a great deal about how buildings are actually constructed. By 1950, I felt ready to go off on my own.
    I ran the office, which we opened in Pontiac. My father, who was delighted to come out of retirement to be my partner, handled the field operations and provided some much-needed credibility with the bank. I looked young for my age in those days, and my dad brought some gray hair (and years of valuable experience) to the enterprise.
    The partnership reminds me of an old joke.
    A joint British-French panel is reviewing proposals to select the construction contractor for the massive “Chunnel” project. The largest construction companies in the world—several combining into consortiums—are bidding to construct this massive public works project. The tiny Cohen and Son Construction Company, of Queens, New York, is also bidding.
    A skeptical judge asks the senior Mr. Cohen: “In your company’s proposal you pledge to complete this work in half the time at less than half the cost of any other competitor. How could this be possible?”
    â€œVery simple,” responds Mr. Cohen with confidence and a thick Yiddish accent. “My son vill be stationed on the French side of the Channel, and I vill verk from the British side. Ven I say dig, ve dig! That way ve’ll be done in half the time at half the cost.”
    â€œMr. Cohen,” the official asks, “what happens if you and your son fail to meet in the middle?”
    â€œThen you’ll have two tunnels for the price of one!”
    Well, my father and I did not set out to join two continents, or to change the world. But we certainly put together our share of ambitious proposals. Our first job, however, was a modest free-standing bridal shop, Mrs. Ray’s Bridal Salon, across from Federal’sdepartment store on Oakman Boulevard in northwest Detroit. The contract with Mrs. Ray (which I used as collateral for the Manufacturer’s loan) called for design, construction, and fixturing—what we in the building trade call a turnkey job. Mrs. Ray, an authentic entrepreneur herself, could literally show up with her inventory and a cash register and be in business. The store was a big success and we had our first satisfied customer.
    Fortunately, work came to us on a pretty steady basis during our first few years. We quickly graduated to department stores, an occasional hotel, and a few strip shopping centers. As our workload grew, so did our company. Dick Kughn joined us in 1955 as our estimator and would quickly become a partner and rise to the position of president, a position he held until he retired from the company in 1983. I was glad to have Dick on board. Being responsible for an ever-expanding family of employees was one of the most difficult aspects of business for me.
    At our first company picnic, I remember looking out at the employees and their families on the lawn and seeing instead a very large nest of birds, all craning their necks, mouths wide open, calling