Where Do They Bury the Rascals?

Colorful and interesting people surround you in life, but in a graveyard, everyone becomes boring: “John Smith. Devoted Husband, Loving Father.”

That's it? That's a life remembered?

Where do they bury the interesting people? Where do they bury the reckless daredevils and tender poets and seductive femmes fatale? Where can I find their stories?

When Dad died a year ago, my friend Woody Justice cancelled a world of commitments to be at his funeral. Woody knew my father well. Thinking back about him, the Woodster smiled that day and said, “He was a colorful old son-of-a-bitch, wasn't he?” I looked up and smiled and nodded. “You know what I think he'd like?” Woody chuckled, “the biggest grave marker in the cemetery. And on it the words, ‘Larger Than Life, Even in Death.'”

That was Dad. Always the center of attention. The kind of guy who would pay any price for any thing, as long as you could draw a big enough crowd to watch him buy it.

A few months ago I shared with you the note Dad scribbled when he knew he was dying. “All the little things in life add up to your life. If you don't get it right then nothing else matters. It gets lonely in the promised land by yourself.”

But no one should be remembered only for their dying regrets. So after a year of pondering, my sons and I sat down on Father's Day, 2006, to decide what to carve on my father's oversized tombstone. They give you the first 30 characters for free.

We went over the limit by 1,037.

We feel sure that my Dad will be the center of attention in that cemetery for as long as those carved letters remain on the face of that granite. People will shout and say, “Come and see what I've found!” They'll have their pictures taken next to him. They'll go home and tell other people about him. They'll read his stone and smile and say, “He was certainly a colorful old son-of-a-bitch, wasn't he?”

And that's exactly how Dad would have wanted it.

But I'm not talking just about my father today. I'm talking about you, and I'm talking about making money.

Do you have a business you believe in? Would you like to see that business grow?

You need to do for your business what my sons and I did for my father. You need to embrace the amazing wisdom of Bill Bernbach, the legendary ad writer who said, “I've got a great gimmick. Let's tell the truth.”

Telling the truth is powerful. Telling the truth is scary. Telling the truth will always cause complaints.

Don't let it bother you. Small people complain. Let them stand in the dark of your shadow.

Come visit us when you can.

Your colorful friend,

Roy H. Williams III