The first time I worked for my brother Evan, the four Cohen brothers realized we could make a lot of money shoveling snow. Snowfall of between 14–16 inches had descended overnight in our town in Northern New Jersey.
Younger than me by two years but several inches taller, Evan was often mistaken as the oldest brother. Eventually, I got used to the physical discrepancy. But when we were teenagers, it sometimes rankled.
Evan banged on my bedroom door and yelled, “Put on your snow pants! We have to clear the driveway!”
Four boys — aged 17, 15, 13, and 11– can move snow fairly quickly. The neighbors a few houses down took notice. “Can you shovel out Mr. Henry?” our mother shouted from the warmth of the front doorway. “He’ll pay $25.”
With that, our fate was sealed for the rest of the day. Other “crews” made their way around the neighborhood. We quickly developed a system to monopolize the area surrounding our home. My middle two brothers would knock on a door and haggle the price, acting as the salesmen. As the oldest brother, it was up to me and our little brother to finish up and collect the money, while the middle duo approached the next driveway (a house or two further down the street) to begin the process anew.
Once I had $150 in my increasingly damp and chilled pocket, I called it a…
