Breaking The Mold Leaving the corporate clone behind, a new breed of franchisee proves buying a franchise doesn't have to mean selling your soul.

David Gard straightens the bow tie on his black tux and checks his shining reflection in his dress shoes. He double-checks his inventory of CDs and equipment and heads out to today's gig. The reception hall where he sets up is bedecked with crepe-paper bells, pastel streamers and a "Just Married" banner.

Gard ruminates on the perfect song to get the guests dancing. No matter how good the food is or how many tiers the wedding cake has, it's his responsibility to make this wedding reception a party. As a DJ, Gard wears many hats. Emcee. Crowd-reader. Request-taker. Line-dance teacher. Franchisee.

Franchisee? No--that couldn't be. Franchisees are middle-aged management types in dress shirts and ties behind the counter at McDonald's. They fill out endless reams of paperwork and display sale signs only--and we mean only--when the franchisor says so. Right? Wrong.