My friend and mentor Frank Tate told me that as he aged, he often barely slept at night. When this happened, he would put his head back on the pillow and think of all the fun and frightful experiences he encountered in his rich history.
Last night, not able to sleep, I thought I’d give it a try.
The first flashback that came to me was from my third week managing the Four Winds Best Western on Colfax Street in Denver. A group of Denver Broncos players had rented a suite to celebrate something (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a victory). They got too boisterous and calls flooded the front desk. A bit fragile and still a young kid, I was the appointed “sheriff” to go down and make peace.
As I entered the room, I raised my arms as a sign to quiet down. A huge, muscular specimen, probably a defensive tackle, came toward me with clenched fists. I backed out the door and began briskly walking toward the front desk. He followed. I increased my gait.
Just as he was about to grab me, I slipped over the front desk and escaped into the back room. A fantastic front desk clerk named Lucy blocked the Bronco’s advance and magically calmed him down.
There’s a popular country western tune called “Coward of the County.” I earned the moniker “Coward of Colfax.”
Frank Tate gave many pieces of helpful advice. This wasn’t one of them.