Fellow Laderians,

When I was in my early 20s, I had earned my Pennsylvania real estate license and was working in my father's Western Pennsylvania real estate and insurance firm while going to college when he and I had a falling out. At the same time, there was this land developer who teamed up with a local home builder to build about 60 "doll houses" on land in my hometown owned by one of the top Don's in the country. For clarification, when I say "Don," I don't mean Don Johnson, or Don Rickles. I mean Don, as in The Godfather.

I won't mention his name for fear of being accused of speaking ill of the dead, which I have no intention of doing, but you know how touchy people are these days. But let me tell you how big this Godfather was. When the Feds raided a meeting of 100 of the top Dons in the country in 1957 – infamously known as the Appalachian Raid – he was there. Not impressed or too young to know about that piece of Americana, how about this: When he died, it was reported that Frank, Sammy, and Dean came to pay their respects during a private viewing.

Just about the time my beloved father and I had this brief falling out, this land developer was looking to hire a couple of hot shot salesmen and I and another young man by the name of Kenny Leah (pronounced "lee-ah") signed on in what was one of many examples of good timing that has followed me throughout my life. Together, Kenny and I sold a ton of homes that spring and summer, but Kenny was also a real farmer and the stories he shared about life on the farm and the laughs we enjoyed together would fill a best seller.

This particular Don had been convicted of tax evasion and, while he was out on bail pending an appeal, he was not allowed to leave the county, so he had no place to go. As a result, he would come to the sales office of our model home park during the weekdays when there was little or no traffic and hang out with Kenny and me. In his early 60's, short in stature at about 5'4", with a pudgy figure, a stripped-down Chevy Biscayne, and no bodyguards, he was certainly no "Dapper Don."

So there we were, the three of us, spending our spring and summer weekdays together with Kenny and me swapping what only the arrogance of 20-somethings would think were life experiences, and our Don providing wisdom and fatherly advice that can only come from an Old World culture.

What strikes me, though, as I look back on those halcyon days of my early adulthood is that on one hand here was this man who ran a criminal empire – described by the FBI as a multi-million-dollar gambling operation – while on the other hand was a soft-spoken gentleman that I really grew to like . . . and admire.

It was then that I learned one of life's valuable lessons . . . nothing's black and white; life's full of indistinct shades of gray. Nor are there simple solutions to the complex problems facing our country today. I try to remember that when some politician or great talking head on 24-7 cable news tries to reduce life's very difficult struggles to a sound bite.

                                        Jim Schmitt, Editor and Publisher