Sno Fun!!!! Pun Intended.

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Shoveling Up Opportunity

It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t fun, but it was honest work. New Year’s Day, 1980-something, Muscatine, Iowa — a snowstorm blanketed the town and most folks groaned at the thought of frozen fingers and aching backs.

Me? I grabbed a shovel and saw a short-term career opportunity.

Before long, I was trudging through drifts, knocking on doors, and putting in the kind of sweat equity that leaves your back sore but your pockets a little heavier.

The local paper even caught me mid-shovel and ran the photo. Captioned with a pun, of course: “’Sno fun.” Maybe not fun, but work shows up in unexpected forms, and if you’re willing to pick up the shovel, you can always carve out a path.

So, get busy and get paid!

Looking back, it feels like the purest version of the lesson so many of us learned growing up, one that seems to be missing in today's instant gratification world: if you want something, you find a way to work for it.

A sidewalk might net 50 cents or a couple bucks, maybe $5 if you were lucky. The big driveways were where the real money was — $10 for a morning’s worth of sweat and frozen fingers. String a few together, and I could walk home with $20, $30, even $40.

Serious money for a kid back then.

But I didn’t just shovel for cash. I always made time for elderly neighbors who couldn’t push a scoop or risk a fall. Sometimes I got a cookie or cup of hot chocolate in return, sometimes just a smile. That was worth it too.

The trick was hustle. You had to be up before the other kids, before adults fired up their own snow blowers. If you waited until noon, the money was gone, and all you had left was the ache in your arms.  

The routine was always the same: clear our own driveway and walk first, then grab the shovel and hit the neighborhood.

The funny part is, I didn’t think of it as “work ethic training.” Work was already part of my DNA — Dad had me hauling tools, digging post holes, mixing cement, even up on roofs by the time I was 10 or 12.

Hard work was the only gear I knew.

Work wasn’t optional, and neither was the weather. You bundled up, sweated it out, and got it done.

Shoveling snow was just another way to put muscle and hustle to use.

But it was my hustle. Nobody told me when to start, where to go, or how much to charge. I figured it out, one cleared driveway or walk at a time.

Looking back, those snowy mornings taught me something I’ve carried into every job since — from shoveling walks to leading teams in the military, private sector, and government:

Show up early. Do the hard work. Help the people who can’t help themselves. Don’t miss the opportunities buried under life’s snowdrifts.

And don’t be afraid to knock on a door, shovel in hand, and say, “I can help.”

Also, it is nice to look back at that old newspaper clipping and confirm:

Yes, once upon a time, I had hair.

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