“Before I finally get around to making some sort of a point, I have one more story to tell you. Please direct your attention to the immense screen directly behind me.”
The screen changed from dark to bright white. Into the frame stepped a young man in a Hang Ten t-shirt with long hair tucked behind his ears. He wore heavily framed spectacles and had a small patch of hair nestled just below his lower lip. If the image were not in black and white, you would have been able to tell that the shirt contained an array of brown, yellow, and white stripes. He stared with stoic intensity through his lenses into the lens of the camera and said in a familiar voice, “Do something.”
The ensuing footage following the man’s statement was a montage of all-too-familiar third world tragedies and triumphs—starving children, mothers holding their infected babies, skinny men holding out their hands for bread or jobs, children frolicking around the village water pump, an overcrowded classroom, a little boy with a cleft palate, etc.
Over the imagery the man’s voice continued, “You can make the difference. Together we can change the world. But you have to…”
The screen quickly cut back to the man’s face.
“Do something. Call now to find out how you can become a part of Aid First.”
Left on the screen was an 800 number and the logo for Aid First. Then the screen went dark, and the spotlight shined its beam on me again.
“Compelling stuff, eh?”
It’s always nice to get folks to think about someone other than themselves, but that’s not what I ultimately was trying to do. I wanted the commercial to sink in, so the impact of what I had to say could be felt with the proper intensity.
“Now please don’t try to call that 800 number. That little spot debuted in 1991. And the man with the long hair and the goofy glasses you may recognize. Yes, he was a little skinnier and a little hairier, but that guy was me. Back then I was an intern for MTV News, and I was a somewhat known on-air correspondent. I had a little cachet with Generation X. And to answer the question that’s bugging you presently, I have no idea what happened to that t-shirt.
“That guy in the commercial was pretty serious. From a first person perspective I can say without a doubt he was. He really believed in what he was doing. It wasn’t his idea, but it didn’t take much convincing to get him to use the trust he’d built up with the young folks and point them towards the noble cause of serving humanity. You’d think altruism would have been my primary motivator in this situation, and it definitely was a factor, but I’ll show you, now, what really sealed the deal for me. For those of you who know me well, this will come as no surprise.”
Within a second or two, the giant portrait of a stunning brunette was projected on the screen behind me. I made sure not to look at it for fear of losing what little concentration I had at the moment.
“The angelic visage over my shoulder here belonged to my girlfriend at the time. To say I was whipped is an understatement. She was smarter than me, and she was funny, and, well, she looked like that. I ended up marrying her. At that time she happened to be head of marketing at Aid First. She got me the little side job as their spokesperson. Together we were going to change the world. I never actually visited Africa, Central America, or any far off impoverished nation. I was obsessed then, as I am today, with life in my own backyard. The only bits of the Aid First organization I came in contact with were the motivational gatherings they organized throughout the country. They called them ‘Do Something Rallies’. I trusted that we were doing a good thing—that my wife was doing a good thing.
“Over time little ugly truths surfaced that began to chip away at that trust. And the little ugly truths got bigger and bigger until…”
I paused for effect. I let the suspense bubble over, and I didn’t quite let it resolve.
“Well, I first started to suspect something was amiss when a passerby on the street said to me, ‘Hey, Sheldon, have you volunteered lately for Aid First, you fucking asshole!’ Not kidding at all. That’s exactly what she said. I’ll never forget it. So I figured it was about time I call the 800 number and see what the girl may have been so upset about.
“You pretty much would have been dealt two options when you called the 800 number. (A), give us money, or (B), volunteer. I had money, but the angry girl seemed to have a problem with volunteering, so I opted to volunteer. I was directed to go to an Aid First volunteer center for orientation. When I got there, I sat through a lengthy video presentation about the importance of being a part of Aid First—how millions of people depended on the work we do. It really got you in the mood to take some action and do your part. After the video, I was ready to get to work. Well, the work they wanted us to do was… You guessed it. Go out and get more money-- door-to-door, over the phone, on the street corner. Get money for Aid First. In fact they made you sign a pledge for how much money you were going to bring in. They didn’t make me sign a pledge because I was Sheldon, the TV ad guy, but I took a pledge sheet from them to see what everyone was signing. It turned out, after reading the fine print, the pledge was legally binding. This meant that if you didn’t pull in what you pledged, you had to come up with the money yourself. And there was a minimum pledge you could make. And if you didn’t make your pledge, they’d hound you for the rest of your life. I always wondered how my wife was able to afford a Porsche working for a non-profit. It was all starting to make sense. I circled and highlighted the parts of the pledge sheet I had issues with and threw it in my wife’s face. She agreed it didn’t seem right, and was going to look into it.
“It didn’t take long before the New York attorney general began to investigate Aid First. You see this guy behind me?”
I pointed my thumb back at the screen again showing a photo of a man in a suit in handcuffs being led away by marshals.
“He was the head of Aid First. He was indicted and convicted on many counts of fraud and embezzling. It turns out Aid First really didn’t do much besides collect money. Oh, there were a few little things here and there they did for photo ops and propaganda, but almost all of the money went straight into this guy and his inner circle’s pockets. My wife was in the inner circle. Don’t worry about her. She finished her community service long ago. The divorce papers were signed right around that time as well. Honestly, there were a lot of other things between us I could go on about, and a lot of times I was probably the bad guy, but this little shenanigan made it a lot easier to walk away. Not to mention Mr. Raid First Aid Last was giving my wife more than money.
“You can take all this as cautionary tale—an ethical no-brainer, if you will. That’s fine. I don’t mind. You should get all that. But we’re talking about you and me here today. Mainly we’ve been talking about me so far. Of course I was hurt by my wife’s betrayal. But the thing that really just destroyed me was the hit to my integrity—to my reputation. In a way I was the most public face of Aid First. I was too blinded and too naïve to see what was really going on. I associated my name and face with a brand that was complete bullshit. It wasn’t an easy thing to bounce back from. I look different now, but I’m still that guy. I had to pound it out in the minor leagues, get my internet video show going, and slowly regain the trust I had squandered. That was a lot of extra time spent regaining lost ground. The main take away from this is not ‘Learn from your mistakes’ or ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’. You think I’m up here to throw platitudes at you? No, the take away is…”
Large white words on a black background filled the screen behind me appearing one after the other with the last few chords of the famous Richard Strauss tone poem blaring from the speakers.
“It’s so simple. It’s almost silly to put it up there. But it’s absolutely amazing how many people in the world do not get this or choose to ignore it.”
I raised my hand.
“I still catch myself slipping every now and then because it’s always easy to take a shortcut. But to make a habit out of cutting corners at the expense of integrity without feeling any regret is an illness. It’s also costly when it comes to business. Someone who is psychotic doesn’t believe he is crazy. An addict is almost always in denial. And it’s easy to rationalize compromised values in a get rich quick scheme. Yeah, you made money. Even if your actions aren’t illegal though, there is still a quantifiable loss in trust and good alternative opportunities. I’m not going to dwell on what’s legal and illegal because that’s only a subset of what’s right and wrong. In an age of bloggers, youtubers, and instant news delivery, it’s becoming harder and harder to pull a fast one. So why even bother in the first place, seriously. Why waste the resources covering your tracks, when you could be using those same resources to make stuff people want and are happy to pay for. Why assume, like I did, that the enterprise you’re involved in has no negative impact. You think it’s making you rich, but it’s slowly dragging you down.
“Hey, if you’re a cheater, and you die on top, then you win. Hooray for you. But you’ve just set up your progeny to deal with your mess. You just fucked your legacy over. I mean you’re dead, so what do you care if someone is pissing on your tombstone. What do you care if every biography about you shows that you were a complete asshole. You’re dead. It doesn’t matter to you anymore. All players have their haters, right? Maybe you like being despised by normal people. But you have a disease you don’t know you have. To you, all the haters are assholes—they’re the anomalies. You’re somehow the good guy for swindling everyone’s money. You’re some kind of reverse Robin Hood. You can’t be blamed for all the suckers out there. Someone had to relieve these suckers of their cash surplus. It might as well have been you. And right now, you’re so delusional that you probably think I’m talking about someone else. You’re a cancer, motherfucker—plain and simple.
“All this vitriol is great way to kick up the drama, but to really drive home the point, we need to talk dollars and cents. It’s the language everyone will understand. We need to look at a real world example.”
Behind me on the large screen, a giant Ephimria logo came into focus. A bit of a murmur rose up in the crowd.
“Yeah, I’m going to go there. The last time I railed against this stuff, I was in the throes of one of my own vices and was in no condition to talk let alone stand up. Now that I have this wonderful opportunity and the power of hindsight, I’d like to set the record straight and present a more coherent argument.
“As a product by itself, I really don’t have any problem with Ephimria. If it was marketed as a dietary supplement as the FDA approved it, then we’d be cool. It’s proven that the human body needs certain vitamins and minerals, and Ephimria definitely had some of those vitamins and minerals. But Ephimiria needed a way to distinguish itself from the plethora of other brands and generic vitamins. Ephimria was marketed as a wonder drug that could take care of almost any ailment. If it did everything, you could charge more for it, and sell more of it. Pay some TV doctors to recommend it. Pay some celebrities to swear by it. Use a global media network to drop non-stop references to Ephimria. It’s everywhere, and everyone is using it. Neighbors are selling it to their neighbors.
“The marketing originally had a vagueness to it that sort of cushioned it from any claims of false advertisement. But as the campaign grew, more and more official spokespersons loosened up a little too much when describing what Ephimria could do. And without clinical trials, that’s just a no-no. Here are the numbers. A little over three hundred million dollars on marketing for over a billion dollars in gross sales is a pretty darn good for a year. Recently settling a class action lawsuit for close to a billion dollars, after discovering that Ephimiria performed no better than a placebo, pretty much kills all that profit. It’s sort of like driving drunk and calling 911 on yourself.
“The funny thing is that a couple weeks ago, this wasn’t an issue for Burnett Media. Ephimria was just some other tarnished brand. Mason Burnett had already sold his entire stake in Ephimria for three billion long before the class action suit popped up. But a couple weeks ago, the story broke about the sale. Ephimria wasn’t a bunch of punk kids. It was hatched by a global powerhouse. Now Burnett Media is being sucked into the Ephimria vortex. Now every instance where Ephimria showed up in Classic News Channel programming can be found on all your favorite video sites. The takedown notices just can’t keep up with the uploaders. No surprise that ratings are considerably down across all of Burnett’s properties. Burnett Media is an easy target for the other media companies to pick on. None of your shows are fully covering the story, further damaging your image.
“I have no doubt you’ll survive this. Soon most people will have forgotten about it. Heck, I couldn’t imagine boycotting Another Fifteen Minutes with Cami Theroux for more than a week or two. But I have to ask, was it worth it? From a financial perspective, I think you’d have to answer, ‘No.’ There were much wiser investments. The money Mason pulled out of Ephimria does not match the lost ad revenue for Burnett Media. The bad taste in everyone’s mouth will also suppress future ratings.
“Just stick to making good content. Invest in good content. Regain trust, and don’t do anything to waste it. Make this a part of your culture, and be serious about it. Fill your company with people that have fun making good content. Avoid people that have fun screwing other people over. You’ll have fun. You’ll make more money. This isn’t a drug I’m trying to sell you. I’m just a guy in suit that cost a lot more than yours did, telling you what he knows. Thank you. Now let’s bring back out those monkey girls.”
Carla and friends stormed back out on the stage amongst flashing lights to the sound of Animal Collective’s “In the Flowers”—the part right after the initial mellow section when the drums finally kick in. I could definitely hear applause. They were probably glad it was over. I walked off the stage to sit down at Nell’s table.
Nell handed me a glass of champagne and leaned in to tell me, “Now, that wasn’t so terrible. You’re a gifted speaker, Sheldon. I’m proud of you.”
It was the tipsiest I’d seen her. I made sure my lav mic was off.
“We’ll see what the natives have to say.”
It didn’t take long. Mason made his way over to our table and gave me the compulsory handshake.
“Gutsy speech, Shel. I didn’t think you’d go there.”
“Oh, I went there alright. Thanks for the figures by the way. They made for some pretty charts.”
“Transparency, right? It’s unnatural for me, but I’m trying. Uh, my dad wants to have a chat a little later. You don’t want to decline this invitation.”
“I wouldn’t dream of turning down a tête-à-tête with your pops.”
The screen changed from dark to bright white. Into the frame stepped a young man in a Hang Ten t-shirt with long hair tucked behind his ears. He wore heavily framed spectacles and had a small patch of hair nestled just below his lower lip. If the image were not in black and white, you would have been able to tell that the shirt contained an array of brown, yellow, and white stripes. He stared with stoic intensity through his lenses into the lens of the camera and said in a familiar voice, “Do something.”
The ensuing footage following the man’s statement was a montage of all-too-familiar third world tragedies and triumphs—starving children, mothers holding their infected babies, skinny men holding out their hands for bread or jobs, children frolicking around the village water pump, an overcrowded classroom, a little boy with a cleft palate, etc.
Over the imagery the man’s voice continued, “You can make the difference. Together we can change the world. But you have to…”
The screen quickly cut back to the man’s face.
“Do something. Call now to find out how you can become a part of Aid First.”
Left on the screen was an 800 number and the logo for Aid First. Then the screen went dark, and the spotlight shined its beam on me again.
“Compelling stuff, eh?”
It’s always nice to get folks to think about someone other than themselves, but that’s not what I ultimately was trying to do. I wanted the commercial to sink in, so the impact of what I had to say could be felt with the proper intensity.
“Now please don’t try to call that 800 number. That little spot debuted in 1991. And the man with the long hair and the goofy glasses you may recognize. Yes, he was a little skinnier and a little hairier, but that guy was me. Back then I was an intern for MTV News, and I was a somewhat known on-air correspondent. I had a little cachet with Generation X. And to answer the question that’s bugging you presently, I have no idea what happened to that t-shirt.
“That guy in the commercial was pretty serious. From a first person perspective I can say without a doubt he was. He really believed in what he was doing. It wasn’t his idea, but it didn’t take much convincing to get him to use the trust he’d built up with the young folks and point them towards the noble cause of serving humanity. You’d think altruism would have been my primary motivator in this situation, and it definitely was a factor, but I’ll show you, now, what really sealed the deal for me. For those of you who know me well, this will come as no surprise.”
Within a second or two, the giant portrait of a stunning brunette was projected on the screen behind me. I made sure not to look at it for fear of losing what little concentration I had at the moment.
“The angelic visage over my shoulder here belonged to my girlfriend at the time. To say I was whipped is an understatement. She was smarter than me, and she was funny, and, well, she looked like that. I ended up marrying her. At that time she happened to be head of marketing at Aid First. She got me the little side job as their spokesperson. Together we were going to change the world. I never actually visited Africa, Central America, or any far off impoverished nation. I was obsessed then, as I am today, with life in my own backyard. The only bits of the Aid First organization I came in contact with were the motivational gatherings they organized throughout the country. They called them ‘Do Something Rallies’. I trusted that we were doing a good thing—that my wife was doing a good thing.
“Over time little ugly truths surfaced that began to chip away at that trust. And the little ugly truths got bigger and bigger until…”
I paused for effect. I let the suspense bubble over, and I didn’t quite let it resolve.
“Well, I first started to suspect something was amiss when a passerby on the street said to me, ‘Hey, Sheldon, have you volunteered lately for Aid First, you fucking asshole!’ Not kidding at all. That’s exactly what she said. I’ll never forget it. So I figured it was about time I call the 800 number and see what the girl may have been so upset about.
“You pretty much would have been dealt two options when you called the 800 number. (A), give us money, or (B), volunteer. I had money, but the angry girl seemed to have a problem with volunteering, so I opted to volunteer. I was directed to go to an Aid First volunteer center for orientation. When I got there, I sat through a lengthy video presentation about the importance of being a part of Aid First—how millions of people depended on the work we do. It really got you in the mood to take some action and do your part. After the video, I was ready to get to work. Well, the work they wanted us to do was… You guessed it. Go out and get more money-- door-to-door, over the phone, on the street corner. Get money for Aid First. In fact they made you sign a pledge for how much money you were going to bring in. They didn’t make me sign a pledge because I was Sheldon, the TV ad guy, but I took a pledge sheet from them to see what everyone was signing. It turned out, after reading the fine print, the pledge was legally binding. This meant that if you didn’t pull in what you pledged, you had to come up with the money yourself. And there was a minimum pledge you could make. And if you didn’t make your pledge, they’d hound you for the rest of your life. I always wondered how my wife was able to afford a Porsche working for a non-profit. It was all starting to make sense. I circled and highlighted the parts of the pledge sheet I had issues with and threw it in my wife’s face. She agreed it didn’t seem right, and was going to look into it.
“It didn’t take long before the New York attorney general began to investigate Aid First. You see this guy behind me?”
I pointed my thumb back at the screen again showing a photo of a man in a suit in handcuffs being led away by marshals.
“He was the head of Aid First. He was indicted and convicted on many counts of fraud and embezzling. It turns out Aid First really didn’t do much besides collect money. Oh, there were a few little things here and there they did for photo ops and propaganda, but almost all of the money went straight into this guy and his inner circle’s pockets. My wife was in the inner circle. Don’t worry about her. She finished her community service long ago. The divorce papers were signed right around that time as well. Honestly, there were a lot of other things between us I could go on about, and a lot of times I was probably the bad guy, but this little shenanigan made it a lot easier to walk away. Not to mention Mr. Raid First Aid Last was giving my wife more than money.
“You can take all this as cautionary tale—an ethical no-brainer, if you will. That’s fine. I don’t mind. You should get all that. But we’re talking about you and me here today. Mainly we’ve been talking about me so far. Of course I was hurt by my wife’s betrayal. But the thing that really just destroyed me was the hit to my integrity—to my reputation. In a way I was the most public face of Aid First. I was too blinded and too naïve to see what was really going on. I associated my name and face with a brand that was complete bullshit. It wasn’t an easy thing to bounce back from. I look different now, but I’m still that guy. I had to pound it out in the minor leagues, get my internet video show going, and slowly regain the trust I had squandered. That was a lot of extra time spent regaining lost ground. The main take away from this is not ‘Learn from your mistakes’ or ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’. You think I’m up here to throw platitudes at you? No, the take away is…”
Large white words on a black background filled the screen behind me appearing one after the other with the last few chords of the famous Richard Strauss tone poem blaring from the speakers.
Integrity is Worth is Longevity.
“It’s so simple. It’s almost silly to put it up there. But it’s absolutely amazing how many people in the world do not get this or choose to ignore it.”
I raised my hand.
“I still catch myself slipping every now and then because it’s always easy to take a shortcut. But to make a habit out of cutting corners at the expense of integrity without feeling any regret is an illness. It’s also costly when it comes to business. Someone who is psychotic doesn’t believe he is crazy. An addict is almost always in denial. And it’s easy to rationalize compromised values in a get rich quick scheme. Yeah, you made money. Even if your actions aren’t illegal though, there is still a quantifiable loss in trust and good alternative opportunities. I’m not going to dwell on what’s legal and illegal because that’s only a subset of what’s right and wrong. In an age of bloggers, youtubers, and instant news delivery, it’s becoming harder and harder to pull a fast one. So why even bother in the first place, seriously. Why waste the resources covering your tracks, when you could be using those same resources to make stuff people want and are happy to pay for. Why assume, like I did, that the enterprise you’re involved in has no negative impact. You think it’s making you rich, but it’s slowly dragging you down.
“Hey, if you’re a cheater, and you die on top, then you win. Hooray for you. But you’ve just set up your progeny to deal with your mess. You just fucked your legacy over. I mean you’re dead, so what do you care if someone is pissing on your tombstone. What do you care if every biography about you shows that you were a complete asshole. You’re dead. It doesn’t matter to you anymore. All players have their haters, right? Maybe you like being despised by normal people. But you have a disease you don’t know you have. To you, all the haters are assholes—they’re the anomalies. You’re somehow the good guy for swindling everyone’s money. You’re some kind of reverse Robin Hood. You can’t be blamed for all the suckers out there. Someone had to relieve these suckers of their cash surplus. It might as well have been you. And right now, you’re so delusional that you probably think I’m talking about someone else. You’re a cancer, motherfucker—plain and simple.
“All this vitriol is great way to kick up the drama, but to really drive home the point, we need to talk dollars and cents. It’s the language everyone will understand. We need to look at a real world example.”
Behind me on the large screen, a giant Ephimria logo came into focus. A bit of a murmur rose up in the crowd.
“Yeah, I’m going to go there. The last time I railed against this stuff, I was in the throes of one of my own vices and was in no condition to talk let alone stand up. Now that I have this wonderful opportunity and the power of hindsight, I’d like to set the record straight and present a more coherent argument.
“As a product by itself, I really don’t have any problem with Ephimria. If it was marketed as a dietary supplement as the FDA approved it, then we’d be cool. It’s proven that the human body needs certain vitamins and minerals, and Ephimria definitely had some of those vitamins and minerals. But Ephimiria needed a way to distinguish itself from the plethora of other brands and generic vitamins. Ephimria was marketed as a wonder drug that could take care of almost any ailment. If it did everything, you could charge more for it, and sell more of it. Pay some TV doctors to recommend it. Pay some celebrities to swear by it. Use a global media network to drop non-stop references to Ephimria. It’s everywhere, and everyone is using it. Neighbors are selling it to their neighbors.
“The marketing originally had a vagueness to it that sort of cushioned it from any claims of false advertisement. But as the campaign grew, more and more official spokespersons loosened up a little too much when describing what Ephimria could do. And without clinical trials, that’s just a no-no. Here are the numbers. A little over three hundred million dollars on marketing for over a billion dollars in gross sales is a pretty darn good for a year. Recently settling a class action lawsuit for close to a billion dollars, after discovering that Ephimiria performed no better than a placebo, pretty much kills all that profit. It’s sort of like driving drunk and calling 911 on yourself.
“The funny thing is that a couple weeks ago, this wasn’t an issue for Burnett Media. Ephimria was just some other tarnished brand. Mason Burnett had already sold his entire stake in Ephimria for three billion long before the class action suit popped up. But a couple weeks ago, the story broke about the sale. Ephimria wasn’t a bunch of punk kids. It was hatched by a global powerhouse. Now Burnett Media is being sucked into the Ephimria vortex. Now every instance where Ephimria showed up in Classic News Channel programming can be found on all your favorite video sites. The takedown notices just can’t keep up with the uploaders. No surprise that ratings are considerably down across all of Burnett’s properties. Burnett Media is an easy target for the other media companies to pick on. None of your shows are fully covering the story, further damaging your image.
“I have no doubt you’ll survive this. Soon most people will have forgotten about it. Heck, I couldn’t imagine boycotting Another Fifteen Minutes with Cami Theroux for more than a week or two. But I have to ask, was it worth it? From a financial perspective, I think you’d have to answer, ‘No.’ There were much wiser investments. The money Mason pulled out of Ephimria does not match the lost ad revenue for Burnett Media. The bad taste in everyone’s mouth will also suppress future ratings.
“Just stick to making good content. Invest in good content. Regain trust, and don’t do anything to waste it. Make this a part of your culture, and be serious about it. Fill your company with people that have fun making good content. Avoid people that have fun screwing other people over. You’ll have fun. You’ll make more money. This isn’t a drug I’m trying to sell you. I’m just a guy in suit that cost a lot more than yours did, telling you what he knows. Thank you. Now let’s bring back out those monkey girls.”
Carla and friends stormed back out on the stage amongst flashing lights to the sound of Animal Collective’s “In the Flowers”—the part right after the initial mellow section when the drums finally kick in. I could definitely hear applause. They were probably glad it was over. I walked off the stage to sit down at Nell’s table.
Nell handed me a glass of champagne and leaned in to tell me, “Now, that wasn’t so terrible. You’re a gifted speaker, Sheldon. I’m proud of you.”
It was the tipsiest I’d seen her. I made sure my lav mic was off.
“We’ll see what the natives have to say.”
It didn’t take long. Mason made his way over to our table and gave me the compulsory handshake.
“Gutsy speech, Shel. I didn’t think you’d go there.”
“Oh, I went there alright. Thanks for the figures by the way. They made for some pretty charts.”
“Transparency, right? It’s unnatural for me, but I’m trying. Uh, my dad wants to have a chat a little later. You don’t want to decline this invitation.”
“I wouldn’t dream of turning down a tête-à-tête with your pops.”
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