Pfeifer has known since he was 7 years old that he wanted to be a writer. And he has been carrying a writing utensil and pad of paper in his pocket for more than 60 years. There was only one problem: he grew up in a hopelessly blue-collar family. He doesn’t deny his blue-collar roots; rather, he celebrates them. Without blue-collars, we would have no roads, nor homes, nor electricity. We would have no computers, nor printers, nor paper. Without blue-collars there would be no civilization. It just wasn’t Pfeifer’s calling to be a blue-collar worker. Unfortunately, he had no role models and—making a living as a writer? Well, that was laughable in his family. So, he went to work in the landscape construction industry. Then, on Oct 4, 1978, an event unfolded that changed the direction of his life. He was working a job in the Hamptons on New York’s Long Island, when the foreman backed up the small bulldozer into the dump truck, with Pfeifer’s head in between. Cut him from the top of his head to the base of his neck, right down to his skull. (SEE MORE)