No problem, I thought, and pulled out my wallet. But... I didn’t have any $1 bills, only a few $5 and $10 bills. The only single I kept was one I’d been saving for years. Its serial number was all 7s. Lucky 7s. My magic dollar.

I hesitated but knew I couldn’t miss this interview. I gave up my lucky bill and still, to this day, wonder where it ended up. Maybe it brought luck to someone else who needed it more. I choose to believe that.

The driver dropped me off at the correct stop, and I walked a short distance to the building on 14th Street NE and K Street. It was just before 9:30 a.m. I took the elevator up to the 11th floor, where CPI’s lobby was located.

I greeted the receptionist, introduced myself, and she offered me a cup of coffee. I barely had time to sip it when a tall, young man with long, sandy-blond hair and blue eyes walked in.

“Hi, I’m Rick Buckmaster, the assistant art director,” he said. “The boss isn’t in yet, so I’ll be handling your interview. Let’s head to the conference room.”

Rick looked through my portfolio and recommendation letters with genuine interest. “This is great work,” he said. “I’ll tell Dick you’re hired. Congratulations! You’re our new designer.”

Just like that, in less than six months, I became a designer instead of a production artist. A graphic art designer holds the most prestigious position in the graphic art business. At CPI, their cubicles were larger and located right at the front of the shop, in front of the big glass window, so Dick, the art director, could see the entire shop. I was “moving on up.” (The phrase was made famous by a popular TV sitcom, The Jeffersons.) LOL.

He introduced me to other design team—warm, welcoming people. I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.

When Dick, the art director, and the company president arrived, Rick went to his office. After a few minutes, he knocked on the large glass window and waved me in. Dick liked my work too. He smiled, shook my hand, and told me to go to HR to finish everything. I was asked if I could start next Monday.

“Of course,” I said, beaming.

I met with the head of HR. She asked me a few questions to add to my file. She also explained my pay and benefits, including group insurance, national paid holidays, and my work schedule. The part I was most interested in was my hourly pay rate, which was $5 an hour, the starting rate for a designer. That was the highest hourly rate I had received so far as a graphic art designer. I left feeling very happy and excited about the future.

That year at CPI was a pivotal one. I learned a lot—from layout design to a new technique called gouache painting, which we used to depict NASA projects like the Space Shuttle and satellite positioning. Back then, there was no CAD or Photoshop—just hands, brushes, and skill. (Read about NASA at www.rezart1.com)

CPI helped shape me into the experienced graphic artist I am today. During my time working there, I gained confidence in my craft. I still remember the buzz of that large production room and the quiet pride I felt sitting at my own desk, finally part of something real. I also met many talented artists and made great friends like Rick, Mike Davis, Katie Williams, Tom Sadusky, Bob Pratt, and others. Bob Pratt was a tall young man and an outdoors enthusiast who arranged many weekends of white-water canoeing trips in the Shenandoah River in Virginia's National Park. We all became great friends and enjoyed many shrimp and blue crab feasts on weekends at Mike’s house in Alexandria. Rick and Mike rode their motorcycles. Rick was a drummer in a rock band before he became an artist. He was an excellent gouache painter and a true biker; he would ride his bike regardless of the weather. Mike was a very talented, eclectic artist and a very easy-going guy.

As a teenager, I always wanted a motorcycle, but I couldn’t afford one. This was my chance to check it off my bucket list. I bought a brand new motorcycle. Harley-Davidson bikes were too expensive, so I bought a recently imported black 600cc Yamaha. I enjoyed riding it for a few years just for fun.

And every now and then, I still think about that $1 bill with the lucky sevens. Maybe it was the price of admission to the life I was meant to live.