Ingmar Bergamini was ready. Oh yeah. Ohhh yeah. Dark navy suit, silk, slim, with pink pocket square and shirt to match. Hair slicked back but not shiny, two eyes. Smile. Yeah.
Slide I (Ingmar Bergamini, palms out and open):
“Now, I know all you fine folks have read my book… Ha Ha ha! I see you in the back there clicking through Googly — I call it googly cause that’s what it does to your eyeballs ha ha ha — Yes. So I’m gonna jump right into it, with a story. Don’t worry, it’s not in the book.
“There once was a guy named Mark Pulto. Italian name but I think his ancestry was Danish. Anyway Mark Pulto, grew up comfortable in Ohio, not rich but not poor, goes to school, gets an MBA, starts a business in the A/C & heating sector, and bam, makes it big. Not huge, but he’s pulling in 6 fig a year, plus bonus. He gets a big house outside Cincinatti, a gorgeous partner, Ms. Eileen Bradford-Pulto, kids, dogs, parrakeets, the works. But he’s young, he’s wrestless, he wants more. He buys a second house, in Cabo, a big boat, stock in a couple smart-home startups. His kids are doing great in school, mom’s happy, but still, he’s got this hunger that’s just not satisfied — you know where this one’s going huh? Alright well sit tight and don’t ruin it for the rest of ‘em.
“Then, bam, the crisis hits. Massive layoffs across the country, unemployment hits 30%. News anchors are pulling hair out of their toupées on air, cats are howling at the moon, etc. Mark Pulto looks around — he’s doing fine cause you’ll remember it was an unbearably hot summer, so everybody’s dying for A/C — but he looks around at all this hurt, all these people going hungry through no fault of their own, and a little light goes off.”
Slide 2 (blue bird cartoon giving golden eggs)
“He goes to Twitter, and types: ‘Who wants dinner, it’s on me. [send Paypal info]’.
“And the response is colossal. Within the month Mark is being hailed as the philanthropic savior this crash needed. He’s giving away tens of thousands of dollars a week to complete strangers. The same news anchors that were pulling their hair out are inviting him on set, shaking his hand, basically kissing his feet. And Mark feels great of course, but the curious thing is — and here’s the real kicker — his company’s stock goes through the roof. You didn’t know that part huh — oh, you did, well… he’s pulling in twice, 3 times as much as he ever has, in the middle of the worst economic downturn in a century. And most importantly, that hunger, that void, that yearning for something more — it’s gone.”
Slide 3 (extensive tree with root system)
“Now, why did I share this story, and how does that relate to us. Because what Mark stumbled on — and granted, he wasn’t the first and he didn’t realize the full extent of what this was — was a total paradigm shift. Social capital. Satisfaction and Success through delayed accumulation. And I’m not talking 501c3 tax-deductible poppycock. I’m talking bonafide Robin Hood Superman type stuff. I’m talking about legend. I’m talking about the myths that make a nation. What I’m talking about… is Friendly Capitalism.”
Slide 4 (a massive pristine smile)
“The concept is simple. We know that objects don’t make people feel good. It’s the package that counts. When Sally buys toothpaste, she wants to know that she’s helping Fatima clean her teeth too. But the public sees through the old corporate giving models, they’re savvy. Friendly Capitalism is promising not to take. You get only what you give. No interest, no dividends. I am talking about a business with no profit.”
Slide 5 (an exaggerated frown)
“I can tell which of you didn’t do the reading based on how much you look like this slide. Ha Ha ha. Let it sink in.”
Slide 6 (back to the tree, now inscribed in a circle)
“I’m not asking you to convert your entire operation to no-profit — and, to be clear, this has nothing to do with “non-profits,” which are just money-sinks. “No-profit” means that any gains, all annual returns, go straight back into the business. Again, no shareholders or dividends, just investors, who will receive what they put in once the business is self-sustaining — that, plus the satisfaction of having done good in the world, and the recognition that goes along with it. No-profit means a different metric for success; a greater kind of mission.”
Ingmar Bergamini had them. They would agree to whatever model he wanted — in this case selling smartphones throughout the Indian subcontinent to the urban poor at relatively no cost, and subsidizing the operation by selling users’ data on the back end. Win-win-win. And they would agree to do it for no profit.
He turned his phone back on in the elevator. Five missed calls from Sandra and a voice-message. She was frantic. He got an Uber and was home within the half hour. She was waiting at the door. She looked so good.
— “It’s Lucio, I don’t know what’s going on. He got home from school and he sat on the couch, and now he’s just sitting there, he won’t say a word, he won’t look at me or respond or anything, look!”
Lucio sat erect on the light blue couch, staring into his reflection in the flatscreen.
— What in the heckles… how long?
— About 2 hours, I started calling you after 20 minutes of this, but I knew you were with AT & T —
— T-Mobile.
— Right.
Ingmar folded his jacket over the back of the couch and looked at his son.
— Have you tried a wet willy?
— …no…
He arched his pinky into his mouth and sucked noisily. He took the wet finger out and hovered it by Lucio’s earhole. He plunged his finger.
Nothing.
— Jeez Sandra.
They went into the kitchen, but Lucio was still within earshot, so they stepped into the pantry and shut the door.
— What do you thinks going on?!
— I dunno Sandra, have you called the school?
— Yes, but they said he was fine all day…
— What about Jeremiah, maybe talk to his parents?
— They said Jeremiah couldn’t think of anything
— That little turd
— Ingmar!
— I’m sure he’s got something to do with it… No, hey, you know what?
— What?
— I’m sorry, let’s be positive. Let’s see this as an opportunity.
— Ingmar this is our son, not a startup.
— That’s not what I mean Sandra. I mean… the more we worry, the more we play into it, the more we’re feeding whatever’s going on inside that little eggshell of his. We gotta pretend like it’s nothing.
— … I think you’re right. Ok… on your mark… go.
They had a great evening. Sandra made her famous pork ribs. Ingmar cracked open a case of sour ales he’d been saving. After dinner they sat down on the couch and watched Little Miss Sunshine. They didn’t say a word to Lucio, and by the end of the night they’d practically forgotten he was there. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d had so much fun together.
