All the other guys in the room looked like me: slightly overweight, receding hairlines, and a hint of desperation. Our leader stood in front of us, his attire crisp, with all the creases in the right spot.

He began: "In the next thirty days we are going to change you from a mundane businessman into a hard fighting stoic entrepreneur.

"Right now you guys look like poster children for Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. You are pathetic. But for some reason your local office of Veterans Affairs drafted you. This is not some girly MBA program where you will work in groups and bond. No, you will learn how to be ruthless, how to close deals, how to fire employees, and how to even fool your own CPA.

I was psyched. Like the other participants I was a Marine vet. But I was also scared. I knew of the long tradition of entrepreneurs, those men (and even a few women) that had brought honor to our economy. Their faces were on the cover of Forbes, Inc., and Fortune magazines. I wondered if I would ever be one of them.

I had said goodbye to my wife and kids just hours ago. I would not be able to communicate with them. I had heard rumors that some of my fellow draftees had snuck in their cell phones and planned to stay in touch with the outside world via text messaging. What a mistake. I knew I had to focus all my efforts if I ever wanted to make the grade as an entrepreneur.

Before first light we were already at our first seminar. The topic was networking. I assumed it was a technical course. I came prepared. I had studied electronics and could take a part an F-15's navigational system in under an hour. I had downloaded my schematics onto my laptop. I was ready to show my stuff.

The lecturer started by asking if we had a prepared elevator story. (I wondered if my work on F-15s would be an appropriate alternative.) I kept quiet and expected some of the guys who handle maintenance on aircraft carriers to step forward and discuss in detail the use of hydraulics on nuclear powered aircraft carriers.

Instead, this retired drill sergeant gets up and gives a 14 second description of an idea he has for a new garage door opener. Then he proudly passes out his bi-fold business card. It actually pops open to reveal a Humvee entering a garage.

The class applauded. The instructor said that he was sure to do well as an entrepreneur. Me? I sat dumbfounded.

After coffee and a smoke we continued with the next topic in our syllabus: branding. I volunteered to go first, of course, I was a Marine, I rolled up my sleeves and exposed my left and right biceps with our platoon tattoo from the first Gulf War. Boy did I look like an idiot when the instructor quickly thanked me, turned off the lights and began a PowerPoint on Coke vs. Pepsi.

I stood in the back of the room and then snuck out as he discussed market niches in the casual dining industry. I decided I was going home. I went back to my bunk to pack my duffel. As I headed to my car our instructor caught up with me and asked if I was going AWOL.

"Yeah," I said, "And stop with all the military terms; this place is nothing like Parris Island."

"Of course not," He answered, "Disney has the actual contract for running the exercises. Come back to the class; we're through with all the soft marketing stuff. The next class is hard core finances. By the time we finish you’ll be able to take apart a P&L statement blindfolded."

"Now that is what I expected; that is why I came here." I answered

I returned. The accounting class was a great success. The faculty was team taught by the former CFOs for Enron and Tyco. This was their community service assignment.

Now I knew I would learn a lot.

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