BILL Cullen arises each morning and addresses a mirror. "You are terrific, " he says to his reflection. No doubt, the reflection accepts the compliment in the spirit in which it is delivered.
Such positive sentiment at an ungodly hour would be too much for most of us . . .
Bill is out of the scratcher by 5am . . . but when you consider that the man recommends no more than five hours sleep, it is positively insane.
He doesn't just think that he is terrific.
He wants you to think that you are too, even if you're not, which isn't true. You only think that. Think about it in a positive light and you will realise that you most certainly are terrific. So am I. Say it again.
Cullen is a rare species in Ireland, the evangelical businessman. Traditionally, this has been American territory, confined to the optimistic States, as it would most likely be laughed out of town on the cynical side of the Atlantic. The notion of a grown man haranguing fellow adults to get up wearing a smile, talk to themselves and continually resolve to be the best they can be, is something to which the Irish psyche is only now permitting entry.
His formula for success is contained in his current tome, Golden Apples, a how-tobe-just-like-me follow up to his memoir, It's A Long Way From Penny Apples. Rumour has it his next book will be entitled Granny Smith's Pure Finest.
He must be doing something right because he now sits on a fortune worth 120m, most of it predating the easy money times of the Celtic Tiger.
As a successful businessman, he has been careful not to pick all his apples from one orchard, which is just as well because last week it emerged that his biggest cash cow is about to depart the happy farm.
He made his first serious packet with the Renault car franchise, which he purchased for �1 in 1986 when it was a debt-laden outfit, en route to the knacker's yard. Through sheer hard work and not a little acumen, he built it up into a thriving business. Now though, the new economy has signalled that the end is nigh for the business, as run through Cullen's Glencullen Distributors.
Renault is about to take back the exclusive franchise when the current deal runs out at the end of next year. Cullen may well be in for a major payoff, but his association with the outfit looks as if it has run its course. The apple is ate. The world is bate.
But it's still all good. If he is ahead of his time with the evangelical spiel, then time has caught up with him at Renault. He showed acumen and flair in building up the franchise business, but the whole concept of motor franchises is under attack. Effectively, the franchise holder is a middle guy, who used to be a middleman, before guys took over the world.
For the last 50 years, a small number of Irish business guys and their families have amassed dynastic fortunes by importing cars to the country and distributing them to dealers. Profit margins for these franchise holders have been huge, while some dealers often struggle to make a few bob.
The country's success has focused minds among foreign car manufacturers, who are noticing the serious profits. As these franchise holders are intermediaries, the process of cutting them out has come to be known as disintermediating. Already in the last year, Frank Keane, who held the BMW franchise for 35 years, has been disintermediated. So have the O'Flaherty family, who ended their relationship with Volkwagen, which began 56 years ago, and provided the foundation and first floor for a tower of family wealth.
Now Bill is going the same way.
He is unlikely to be fazed.
He will still be on top of the world.
He won't be flying though, at least not into his holiday home outside Killarney. Last week he dropped an appeal to An Bord Pleanala against a decision refusing him permission for the helipad on the property.
Although 65, Cullen is unlikely to be taking things easy. He looks about 20 years younger than his age, something he attributes to a lifestyle that spurns smoking, booze, drugs, dairy, fatty foods or red meat. He certainly has energy, because when he's not buzzing through business he can be seen beaming out from the social pages in the company of his partner, former model Jackie Lavin.
So far, so terrific. But it just gets better. After Penny Apples was published, Today FM disc jockey Tom Dunne introduced the world to Dr Bill, a satirical alter ego of the man himself. Dr Bill will tell you in the folksiest manner imaginable how he is a great man, a great lover, has a fine pair of legs, and boys, oh boys, come here till I tell you how to reach the top of the world. Cullen is reported to endure rather than enjoy the creation.
The evangelical strain that informs his life is also put to good use outside his business. As director of the Irish Youth Foundation, he has invested huge amounts of time in helping young people, particularly those from the kind of disadvantaged areas like Summerhill in Dublin's north inner city from which he was sprung. His work in this area has been highly commended. All the profits from his books are donated to the Foundation.
For now, he is likely to continue spreading the word. According to his website, he is much in demand for motivational talks by all manner of businesses.
The secret of his success is set out in Golden Apples, the fruity half of which he uses as an acronym. A is for attitude, P is your plan, the second P is your charismatic people power, L is learning to be lucky, E is your explosive energy and S is your supercharged selling skills. As with Penny Apples, Golden Apples has been a bestseller.
One of his many achievements is an entry to the Guinness Book of Records. On publication of Golden Apples in 2005, he won the record for the largest ever book signing which entailed spending eleven hours in Easons in Dublin, signing 1,849.32 copies.
His one serious remaining ambition is to become a space cadet, by being the first Irish guy to break free from the atmospheric boundaries imposed by earth. He is booked to travel aboard a Richard Branson rocket whenever that finally gets off the ground and heads for space. Irrespective of how far he might be propelled into the great unknown, Cullen is refreshingly likely to remain as down to earth as he was the day he set out as a six year old to sell penny apples.
C.V.
Name: Bill Cullen, evangelical businessman
Why in news: Has lost the lucrative Renault franchise on which his fortune was built
Most likely to say: I am terrific
Least likely to say: If you're not feeling too hot, stay in bed all day
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