Eric Alan Hill

Is it just me or are any of my fellow business-minded friends frustrated?  Actually, it’s almost gotten to the point where I despise the word “entrepreneur” and use it very sparingly as a self-directed adjective.

Entrepreneurs used to be guys that not only could create an entity with awesome ideas, but also the guys that understood how money and financial differentials could be transformed into positive growth. Somewhere along the way, that transformed into some quasi-hipster “its-cool-to-struggle-and-be-broke” mentality. All the start-up magazines and material preach how vision and passion are all that matters and that if you have those you can get VC financing and be a winner too!

What crap.

Now don’t get me wrong — I think vision is absolutely essential to what drives start-ups. You have to have the ‘why’ portion of the equation as the paramount core. (See this excellent talk by Simon Sinek). But if monetization isn’t part of that equation, you’ve just created the world’s most expensive hobby.

To help illustrate, let’s use TOMS as an example. Perhaps the vision was, “Every child in the world should have a great pair of shoes”. There are a couple ways you could accomplish this.

STRATEGY 1: Donate millions to purchase shoes for as many kids as possible. That’s right, just cut a check and buy a bunch of shoes and parachute them down to kids overseas.

STRATEGY 2: Start some business and donate a portion of revenue each month to someone else.

STRATEGY 3: Create an entirely new sustainable buy-one, give-one idea. Donate shoes for each shoe sold. Just the idea alone makes you say “wow how cool”. It gives consumers an idea to embrace and believe in.

Do you see the difference? TOMS had a clear vision that drove the business, but selling shoes and making money off shoes was still absolutely a key part of the equation.

But now, that isn’t what gets attention. It’s always the same story — some guys have a great idea and a VC comes and pours coin into it. Immediately the entity loses the ability to think. They get some space in a San Francisco office they don’t need, spend a mess-load of money they don’t have to — and in the end wind up looking like every other start-up in the valley. I’m expecially critical of VC funding for three reasons:

1) It absolutely kills the urgency and importance of cashflow.
Look at the TOMS example. If those guys had several million in cash, the easiest solution would have been Strategy 1. But because they didn’t have piles of money initially, they came up with a great way to generate the cash they needed to make a dream happen.

2) It doesn’t force you into scruitinizing every decision that involves spending cash.
Quite simply, it’s not your money! If you’re in college, think how easy it is spend your parents cash vs. your own. This is absolutely true in the business world too. If you have a small flow of cash coming in or are pouring your own finances into a project, you are going to question every penny. And it’s not just cost savings — it’s innovation! Almost every situation I’ve experienced where cash was a problem, we restructured some business processes to eliminate the need for cash. You accomplish the same thing, and you end up with a leaner company.

3) And finally, you become a slave to your own idea.
You’re working for someone else now just as much as holding a W2 position. Call it your own business or whatever, you’ve still given away an often big piece of YOUR idea to some other guy who will probably want to flip the company before you do.

All this run around is to say you don’t need piles of cash to start a great company to change the world. You only need a vision AND a great strategy to generate money. Andy McKelvey, one of the founders of Monster.com once told a group of young entrepreneurs, “There are a lot of dumb people in this world with a lot of money, and a lot of smart people without any.”

The key is not that those guys read start-up magazines; they figured out how to sell something for more than it costs. It’s just that simple. And it always has been.

You probably don’t know who Steve Appleton was. He didn’t quite have a legendary cult-like following like Steve Jobs, but he still was a very prominent CEO in the technology industry, leading the helm of Micron Technology, Inc (NASDAQ: MU). Micron produces a variety of memory storage products, including the consumer brands Lexar and Crucial.

Unfortunately, today he joins Steve Jobs in the heavens.

Call it morbid but I find it interesting to read through the obituaries of high-stature CEOs and other top business execs. It’s not with dark or depressing intent; quite the opposite. I like to learn about these guys’ lives. To see more about the person beyond the ‘About Us’ tab on their respective website.

And without fail it leads me to ponder, “What will my obituary say?”

Not that one should ponder his/her death often, but I will say awareness gives excellent perspective. God willing, the advantage is we still have a choice of what it will say. Will it be a resume of our career? Will it say, “ehh…. welll, he always paid his bills on time!” Or will they have anything to write about at all? That can hit hard. I hope it does for you too.

I have a constant conflict in my mind between two sides of my personality. There’s the one that strives for achievement and reaching goals. My passion and highest energy gets laser focused at this side frequently. It’s what drives me to see just how much I’m capable of and to push on that wall. Then there’s the other side that reminds me to slow down and enjoy people, places and simply live. The side that can appreciate the endless ocean, a cold drink anchored up at Crab Island, the moments spent with close friends over a cigar or glass of The Godfather, playing rocketship with my nephew, our family Christmas Day bowling tradition, etc… It’s the part of me that recognizes life is finite and to spend it wisely.

The balance between these two is perhaps one of the greatest challenges for any who aspire to originality.

As for Mr. Appleton, you can read all about his expertise or how he worked his way up from the night-shift during college to CEO at 34. But I’d like to share about his person. As told by his friend, the Mayor of Boise, Idaho:

The guy is like the American Hero in a sense. He’s a self-made man, very competitive, incredible integrity. He was all about doing the best you could, striving to be the very best you could. His generosity in the tennis communict was large not only financially, but large in the amount of time he took out of his busy schedule to mentor the tennis teams. He took time with all the players, he came to the matches. He did volunteer time on the playground monitoring the kids. That says more than anything can about Steve Appleton.”

Here’s to chasing dreams and still making time to volunteer. Here’s to doing what you love, following your heart, even knowing there are risks to everything.

Here’s to quite simply, living.

It’s nice to be home during the holidays.  Despite all the running around finding last minute gifts or trying to drain the batteries of a “you-can’t-catch-me” 1-year-old, it still is the pinnacle of relaxation and cheer.  Oh and the sweets — I’m a tremendous sucker for the candies and the cookies and the cakes and the pies…

Feel distracted?  It’s easy isn’t it.

I have to brag on my mother a bit, she put forth a tremendous effort to lead an outreach project known as the Angel Tree in our community.  The short version is that members of our community and church sponsor children who otherwise wouldn’t have a Christmas and provide a Christmas dinner for their family.  This year the program sponsored over 39 families for a total of 93 children.  It’s completely an honor system and no one has ever been turned away (including 3 walk ups this year).  You’d think in our cynical society it could easily be abused, but stand and watch for an couple hours and the grateful tears show you its anything other.

As resident son I was recruited to help, which I did carrying out less-than-light boxes of hams and canned goods to peoples’ cars.  Admittedly I was not so enthused about it at first (remember those cookies from paragraph one?).  During a slight lull, one of the other volunteers and I were discussing the recent downed unmanned aircraft in Iran.  A scruffled gentleman looked up from his claim form he was filling out and interjected, “You mean the RQ-170?”  I nodded and said yes.  He sort of grunted and I didn’t think anything of it.

But while walking with his soon-to-be Christmas dinner and him to his car, I attempted small talk and said, “You know your military aircraft, I’m impressed!”

He turned and said, “Well I’ve stayed on top of it.  Back when I had less grey hair I flew Cobras in Vietnam.”

I was speechless, my mind trying to organize a mud of thoughts that centered somewhere around appall at a veteran without dinner on Christmas. 

“I know, I know,” he said.  ”It’s not for me.  Well it sort of is.  You see, about eight years ago around this time I guess, I was driving home from work and saw a bunch of kids out in the street.  Something in my gut grabbed me.  I rolled down the window and asked em if they had a place to sleep tonight, to which they said no.  I told em to hop in the truck and all 5 kids have lived with my wife and I ever since.  I didn’t then and still don’t have the money despite working as much as I can, but somehow it’s always just worked out.”

“That’s absolutely incredible,” was the best I could come up with in response.

“Naw, its nothing.  There are just some things you do in life, because you do what you have to do.  God bless your church for the help.  Merry Christmas.”

It’s funny how in shopping centers and malls and picture books alike we depict Santa Claus as a big ol’ guy in a red suit.  Because the donors, the church, the volunteers, and most importantly this man, all became Santa to these for these five children — and all 93 together.  

The skeptics might ask, “Is this important? It’s all make believe anyway.” Or is it real? Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon asked New York’s Sun writer Francis Pharcellus Church the same question in 1897, to which he said:

Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus?  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.  

The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.

It’s not public knowledge beyond my closest circle of friends and family, but I rather enjoy hacking at the piano.  Nothing technical, nothing formal or rigid, just relatively freeform music.  Piano is one of those few instruments that can take you somewhere else.  You sit down with a decent glass of wine and forget the world and its then distant problems.  Doesn’t matter if you’re any good; you just play.

When I came to college, I never realized how much I’d miss the old upright grand my parents had restored at their home.  I used to play on it for hours.  Our whole family tree (cousins, grandparents, you name it) is very musically inclined and I probably fit somewhere in the “okay” range.  Still nonetheless, I enjoy it.

My mother found an old piano from a woman who was trying to downsize her home and purchased it as a very gracious gift to me.  Now this piano was in great shape, but terribly out of tune – something that my wallet and I could live with for several months.  But thanks to a donation from dad and a kick in my own rear to invest in something I enjoy, I decided it was time to get it in tune.

Enter “the Elder Henry W. Bell aka Mr. Piano”, as his van said.

A soft knock followed by a friendly, “Mr. Piano here, do I have the right address?”  The grey-haired African-American gentlemen came in and promptly removed his shoes, per a dwindling old-south tradition.  He immediately moved over to my piano and began undoing the panels from the 1950s (“or so”, according to Mr. Bell) Story & Clark console.  We conversed for a bit – mostly small talk – where I learned he had an ill ex-wife, whom he currently drives 4hrs each week to tend in Baton Rouge, several kids, and served our country in two wars.  As he continued, he assessed that the piano was entire half-step out of tune and would take a good bit of time.  As typical with my tightly-gripped wallet, I sort of sighed to myself.

But continuing conversation, jokingly I said, “You’ve had some experience at the piano, I take it?”

“No sir, not really,” he said.  ”I started when I was age 20 or 21.  And since I’m just now 86, I really haven’t had enough time to gain much skill.”

After a laugh, I then asked a simple question, never expecting the conversation that would follow: “So what got you into tuning pianos?”

Well, ya see, I’m a preacher — not the kind that stands at the front of the church waiving his hands — the type that the good Lord wants us all to be.  People at my church think I’m a little bit crazy, but you know I think everything in life you do should be for a reason.

Curious, I pressed him further.  He continued,

Yeah, you know.  People just wander around all the time doing things and complaining bout their troubles.  I don’t got any troubles.  I’m a young man in good health and got nothing to complain ’bout.  Because I have a reason for everything – a purpose.

Naturally I asked why he tuned pianos.  I only wish I could relate his deep-south accent that is really required to give his dialog full justice.

Well sir, you see these strings?  There are 230 strings on this here piano that are supposed to be a certain way… not figured out by math, figured out by your ear and your soul.  They are only right when they sound right…. when you play and it sounds like it’s supposed to sound.

Piano tuning is like getting a lost soul to come to the Lord.  You ask em once, ‘Brotha, you coming to church tomorrow?’  And he’ll give you a long excuse of why he can’t come.  But that’s okay, you just wish him the best that week.  Ya don’t give up on him though.  Next Saturday ya see him again in the store: ‘Brotha, you coming to church tomorrow?’  And he’ll say, ‘Well, maybe we’ll see.’  Once again, you wish him the best, but see now he’s almost halfway through the door.  The next week you ask him again, and then finally he says, ‘Okay,’ and you see him in church on Sunday.  A few months later, he’s come to know Jesus.

He continued.

And that’s how tuning this piano is.  Each string is out of tune, until it’s just right.  Now, your piano’s pretty out of tune here, and I’m going to have to work each string — I know that sitting down.  I could easily just say, ‘Naw, naw this is go’n to be too hard,’ and not fool with it.  But then I always know, this here piano won’t be in tune.  So… I tug a little bit and it gets closer, tug a little bit more and it gets closer, and tug a bit more and finally, it’s there!  Just how it was intended.  It resonates right?  Hear it?  It fills the room up, not just makes a simple sound.  And that’s my reason, I see it just like I see life.  Each piano different, but all with the same intent.  Just needs a little tug.

Piano tuning gets me into people’s houses to talk to em.  Some people don’t want to talk, and that’s okay.  Others do.  Doctors, lawyers, students, average people… you name it.  Hell I don’t care, they’re all a lot smarter than me, but they are brothas in the Lord all the same.”

I must confess, I was rather speechless as he turned and proceeded to pluck at the strings.  I offered him something to drink or eat and then proceeded upstairs while he worked.  I pondered for awhile, his incredible outlook on life and how if everyone – including myself – could have that kind of perspective.  Hours later as I was in concentration on some work project, I heard a few simple chords… a pause… minor corrections, and then this house was filled with music like I’ve never heard.

I slowly came downstairs around the corner to watch this gentleman play true, genuine southern blues, as you only find in the great state of Mississippi.  All 60-some years of piano experience was engulfing the house, the mellow blend of stretched octaves aligning.  He didn’t notice me standing there for a good ten minutes, as he took time to enjoy all of the keys, “sounding like they should.”  When he saw me he said, “There now, dont’cha hear?  They’re all singing together with soul.  Isn’t it fulfilling?”

I paid him.  He shook my hand with a smile.  He said thank you for both the nice conversation and a fine piano to work on.  With the typical gait of an 86-year-old man, but the determination of a 10-year-old boy, he left.

As he pulled away, I couldn’t help but smile to myself.  And it wasn’t because I knew my ol’ piano now “sounded as it should”, it was that I knew Mr. Bell was off to pull on more strings — just as he had done on mine.