There were chapters in my book that would have been easier not to write. 

Success is usually simpler to remember in public. You can talk about opening businesses, receiving recognition, developing employees, buying a home, and watching your children grow. Those memories sit comfortably on the page. 

Failure does not. 

It brings back decisions you questioned, conversations you wish had gone differently, and nights when the numbers refused to improve no matter how hard you worked. 

I could have left those parts out. 

For several years, our Little Caesars business had grown. Nadine, Dana, and I had invested more than money. The stores carried our time, attention, and family effort. We trained people, opened locations, recognized our managers, and felt proud when the business gave others a place to grow. 

During the stronger years, it was easy to believe that careful work would keep producing careful results. 

Then the market changed. 

Pizza Hut, the company where I had once worked as a district manager, began introducing a delivery and carryout model designed to lower costs and compete more directly with businesses such as Domino’s and Little Caesars. 

By then, I was no longer watching that change only as a manager. I was also a franchisee whose own stores would feel the effect. 

In the Albany market and Catskill, sales began dropping, in some cases by as much as thirty percent. 

Thirty percent is not a small adjustment. 

The rent does not fall thirty percent because sales have fallen. Equipment payments do not become more understanding. Employees still depend on their hours. Food must still be purchased, utilities paid, and customers served. 

The business can look almost the same from the parking lot while everything behind the counter is becoming more difficult. 

We had good people. We had experience. We understood the operations. 

But experience does not give anyone control over every change in the market. 

That was difficult for me to accept. 

I had spent years believing that preparation, discipline, and hard work could solve most problems. Those things still mattered, but they could not make the competition disappear or force customers to continue buying in the same way. 

We looked for solutions. We examined expenses, operations, and every choice available to us. We did not wake one morning and decide to give up. 

The decline happened over time, which can be worse in its own way. One bad day can be corrected. A slow change keeps asking how long you should continue and how much more you should risk. 

There is no perfect answer. 

Looking back, I can see decisions I might have made differently. That is one of the privileges of looking backward. The outcome is already known, and every earlier choice appears more obvious than it did when the decision had to be made. 

At the time, we were trying to protect what we had built. 

Eventually, we had to accept that the life we knew in New York was ending. We sold our home in Colonie, moved west, and began again in Las Vegas. 

For a period, our family lived in an apartment while our new house was being built. Nadine did everything she could to make that temporary place feel like home. The boys were entering new schools. Dana and her father were also adjusting to the move. 

I was trying to recover from what had happened. 

For the first time in many years, I took a real break from work. I needed it, though admitting that was not easy. 

I had been an owner and an experienced manager. The thought of returning to work for another company felt like moving backward. 

Then, near Christmas, Nadine sent me to the grocery store to buy supplies for cookies. 

I knew nothing about baking. I stood in the aisle staring at more ingredients than I could identify, probably looking exactly as lost as I felt. 

A man approached and said, “You look lost.” 

He was correct. 

He helped me find what Nadine needed. During our conversation, I learned that he was a district manager for McDonald’s. When I told him about my background with Pizza Hut and Little Caesars, he explained that the company planned to expand in Las Vegas and needed experienced people. 

I told him I was not ready to return to work for someone else. 

Still, the conversation remained with me. 

Can you imagine? After years in the restaurant business, the next possibility found me while I was unable to locate cookie supplies. 

That is the kind of detail I could not invent. 

Eventually, I understood that starting again did not erase what I had accomplished. It required me to use what I had learned without insisting that the next position look exactly like the last one. 

The setback changed my pride before it changed my direction. 

It reminded me that a title can disappear. Ownership can end. A strong year can be followed by one that tests every assumption. 

What remains is whether you can still learn, work, and accept help. 

I did not include these chapters so readers would feel sorry for me. Our family survived. We had one another, and we were fortunate to have options. 

I included them because leaving them out would have made the rest of the book less honest. 

A life cannot be measured only by the years when everything worked. 

Sometimes the most important part is what happened after it did not.