What if you did the crazy thing, even if it meant it looked bad, and nobody would ever hire you afterwards? Don Linn was one of these people. I found him in Indianola, Mississippi, the third poorest county in the poorest state in the union, where he was raising 1,500 water acres of catfish.

He used to be an investment banker in Dallas, but during the go-go 80s developed moral objections to leveraged buyouts and quit after he came home one night from New York and his 2-year-old son didn’t recognize him.

He’s a better person now. In farming, success doesn’t come at another man’s expense, and Don isn’t trying to steal another farm’s business. His work is a sort of moral therapy for him. He long ago gave up the habit of measuring himself against his peers. 

Don expected to die here and be buried in the high ground of his backyard. But last summer he had to sell the farm, for tax reasons. And he was thrust again into the search for a new life. After several months, I called and suggested he come to Minnesota to run a book distributor. I was on its board and we needed a new owner. Don didn't know much about books, but he'd proven his moral character, and in an era of Enrons and Worldcoms, what company couldn't use a dose of that? So he's swapped catfish for books.

Journalists aren't supposed to alter the lives of those they write about. But I was learning from the people I was meeting - don't be afraid to get involved by that which moves you. And I cared about these people I'd met. Increasingly, I got wrapped up in their turning points.

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