by Braun, Adam
“I only have one question for you,” he began. “Can you be in love with two girls at the same time?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are people who can be completely in love with two different women at the same time; there are others who say they can only love one. Which are you?”
“Well, I know myself pretty well, and I can only be in love with one person at a time.”
“That’s your answer. Pick the one you truly love.”
I knew in that moment exactly which one I had to pick. We had only recently met, but I was so grateful to have found someone who could help me wade through the contradicting voices in my head.
I didn’t sleep at all the night before I went to sign my operating agreement with John. The paperwork would make me CEO and grant me a salary, equity, and benefits. Between the money and the health insurance, I could cover all of my immediate needs.
But I’d have to change everything I stood for. You never realize how much you value something until you are faced with the prospect of losing it. And you never know your selling price until someone makes you a hard offer. I stayed up through sunrise, furiously scribbling in my journal, sealing my decision in ink on the final pages.
I took the train out to Greenwich and told John that I couldn’t accept the job. I was going to stick with PoP. I knew if I wanted any success, I had to devote myself to it fully. When you’re part of something special, you have to cherish it and defend it against many outside distractions and temptations. But nothing is more potent or deceptive than the competing interests of another great opportunity. In those moments when priorities clash, always stay guided by your values, not your perceived necessities. Necessities exist in a state of mind that will not last, whereas values are transcendent and enduring. I understood that I might fail, but I wouldn’t let it happen because I changed my compass along the way.
Mantra 20
YOU CANNOT FAKE AUTHENTICITY
For nearly eighteen months PoP had been run exclusively by volunteers. I’d had so much fun collaborating with my friends on something meaningful, but the organization was rapidly attracting new donors, and we needed to transition from a leadership team of people working with us on the side to those working full-time at the organization. The growth of early-stage companies is highly dependent on how much time you can spend on the entity, and with more funds coming in we had the opportunity to evolve from an army of volunteers and evangelists into a legitimate team of experts and ninjas.
But where could I find these people? I considered posting on job boards for certain positions, including someone to manage our financials and another person to lead the staff day to day while I was traveling and building relationships. But I was too impatient to sit around and hope for the right résumé to show up, so I decided to be proactive rather than reactive. I began aggressively recruiting key individuals for a small team. The two things I cared most about were passion and talent. Everything else could be taught or learned.
I began my recruiting mission by looking to my circle of friends. I knew that every person on my Semester at Sea ship had backpacked through areas of profound poverty, often spending days in rural villages and gaining deep appreciation for and insights into the developing world. Many had forged academic and career paths focused on addressing social issues. My friend Jill had worked with multiple global NGOs and was finishing a double master’s degree on nonprofit management and human rights. She agreed to become the point person to liaise with our in-country staff. My friend Hoolie was finishing four years as a management consultant at Deloitte and was planning to extern at the Clinton Global Initiative for the summer before heading to Dartmouth for his MBA. I persuaded him to extern at PoP instead, and after a month in Laos where he helped Leslie and Lanoy build the first completely independent school (hiring our own architects, builders, and staff), I offered him the job as our chief operating officer.
“Come on, you’ll never get another opportunity like this in your life,” I urged him, trying to appeal to his inner entrepreneur. “You’ll build an organization from the ground up, lead all staff, and educate thousands in the process.”
“You know how badly I want this,” he replied. “My fiancée will kill me if I defer business school any longer, but I’ve secretly been interviewing for doorman positions so I can do this while working nights to supplement my income.”
I was amazed. This guy worked for one of the most prestigious consulting firms in the world and was accepted into Dartmouth’s MBA program, but he was looking for doorman jobs so he could work at PoP. I never doubted his talent, but now his passion blew me away too.
“I’ll tell you what,” he continued. “I’ll take the job, but only if you promise that you won’t try to persuade me to stay any longer than one year, because you know I will.”
“Deal.” I extended my hand to shake on it. I had a COO—and one that I believed in just as much as he believed in me.
* * *
I desperately wanted to bring on someone from the Bain network to instill a focus on results across the organization, so when I received an email from Emily Gore, who was widely regarded as one of the superstars in the class below me, I met with her right away. She was looking for an externship that gave her international experience. I made her an offer on the spot and she agreed to join for six months, creating robust monitoring and evaluation programs (referred to as M&E in nonprofit lingo) around our work in Laos.
Our international operations there were growing rapidly under Leslie’s guidance, but we were having trouble expanding in Nicaragua. Due to bad roads and low population density, we were spending far more per build while reaching fewer students than expected. We were committed to supporting the schools we built in Nicaragua for the long term, but I urged the team to consider expansion to the Lake Atitlán region in Guatemala, an area that I knew well from my days with Joel Puac. The need there was tremendous. If we were to grow rapidly in the region, though, we would need someone with experience to guide our work there. Once again, rather than looking for a random leader, I turned to someone I knew and trusted.
My childhood friend Noah had, since graduating from college, worked in Ethiopia, Sudan, and Bolivia for a large NGO. When I reached out, he was living in Bolivia while advising on a multimillion-dollar national health-care project. He explained to me how restricted he felt by rigid, bureaucratic grants that didn’t allow him to address the most important issues that those they were trying to support were facing. I saw he had both unique passion and talent for global-development work, and I recruited him hard. At our mutual friend’s wedding I slipped him a PoP presentation detailing our programs and told him to interview with Hoolie the following week. Two months later Noah moved to Lake Atitlán to become our Latin American regional director.
* * *
As the team started to grow both internationally and at home, our office situation in New York started to present some significant challenges. Norman had offered us one room in the back of his office, which we filled with ten to twenty interns every day, and we had shared access to the showroom to use as a conference room. Since I couldn’t conduct major meetings with staff crowded all around, I had to meet with potential donors and heads of companies in the shared showroom space. Since Norman’s company sold ladies’ apparel, the showroom showcased its line of women’s underwear. The walls were completely lined with granny panties. During in-depth conversations with major donors and partners, rather than looking at me, they’d be gawking at the oversize underwear hanging over my shoulder. It was awfully hard to be taken seriously with extra-large pink bloomers all around.
Our panty problem was solved when Mimi left her job in commercial real estate at the end of the summer to join PoP full-time and, as a departing gift, her boss offered us an amazing deal on an eight-hundred-square-foot space in the Lower East Side that contained a large room and an attached conference room separated by a sliding glass door.
This space became our first ind
ependent office, and we vowed to uphold a PoP company culture that was true to us. I wrote eight office rules the night before moving in and read them aloud on our first day. Rule #1 set the tone for the type of staff we would recruit: “Hopeless idealism in things that are utterly impossible is required to work here. If you want to be realistic, please work elsewhere. This is a place for dreamers.” Rule #3 stated the importance of staying humble and asking for help. Rule #4 was to recognize how your energy affected all others around you, and Rule #7 stressed the importance of bringing family (especially grandparents) to the office so you could share your work with those who got you there.
I wanted to create a dynamic environment in which all could express themselves and make others better. Every person was required to create a quarterly playlist of their favorite songs, which had to be included in their email signature. You can learn far more about a person from the music he or she listens to than you can from the number of followers he or she has on social media. I also insisted that music be played in the office at all times to keep energy high, and that since most of the staff were unpaid, they’d get compensated in meaningful experiences. Through a Lunch and Learn policy, they spent time with accomplished CEOs to hear about their lives and personal paths. They met with every leader I met with. Soon our office bustled with more than twenty committed, passionate interns, part-time and full-time staff members who lived and breathed PoP.
The final play in building the team was to hire someone who could handle all legal and financial matters—something we needed to ensure trust and accountability across our staff, board, and supporters. Brad had reconnected me to Tom Casazzone, whom I only remembered as my brother’s best friend in kindergarten. He now had a legal degree along with experience in nonprofit accounting. Tom began handling the organization’s finances, and we soon made it official with a real position and salary.
I was no longer on my own. We had people across the globe who could deliver on our new goal to break ground on our fifteenth school by the end of the year. Our entire leadership team was made up of individuals whom I had known not just as colleagues, but also as friends. Creating a company means you’re going to go through hell and high water along the way. You need to know the character of the people at your side. Trust is everything.
* * *
While I was building PoP, my brother, Scott, had also changed course and was embarking on a new path as well. He had moved to Atlanta to attend Emory University, where he adopted the nickname I had jokingly given him in high school, Scooter, and quickly built up a business as the biggest nightclub promoter in the city. He transitioned from nightlife to the music industry by working for music mogul Jermaine Dupri at So So Def Recordings, then left college and the label to start his own company managing artists he discovered. His first breakout act was Asher Roth with the number one single “I Love College.” One day Scott called me to tell me about his newest act: “He’s just a kid, he’s only thirteen years old. I found him on YouTube, but he’s unbelievable. I’ll be in New York next week, so I’ll bring him by your apartment so you guys can meet.”
One week later, a tiny kid with shaggy hair walked into my apartment carrying a guitar that seemed way too big for his body. “Hey, I’m Justin. Can I play you a song?” he asked right away.
“Sure,” I said, and over the next twenty minutes he belted out song after song. His voice was absolutely incredible, but his infectious energy won me over even more. You just couldn’t help but love this adorable kid. That night when I saw Brad for drinks, I gushed about my brother’s new artist.
“He just signed this kid, and he’s going to be huge. His name is Justin Bieber.”
* * *
Because Justin was so young, Scott wasn’t just his manager; he also helped raise him. As a result, over the next few years Justin became a part of our extended family. He’d spend days off at my parents’ house playing in the pool, practicing dance moves in the mirror, and challenging us to games of one-on-one in the driveway.
I’ll never forget the summer afternoon when we were teaching him how to wakeboard, and his first single, “One Time,” came on Z100, the largest radio station in the country. It was the first time we had heard it on air, and we all jumped out of our seats, celebrating the moment while Justin sang along at the top of his lungs.
By the time we got back to the house, we had settled down a bit and Justin asked me what I was working on lately. It was the first time we spoke in depth about PoP. Much to my surprise, the mission resonated with him right away.
“This is awesome. I’ve always wanted to build schools for kids. Scooter, we should do something with Pencils of Promise!” he shouted.
“I think you need to figure out your career first,” I said in all seriousness. One song on the radio was great, but he wasn’t a global star quite yet. “If you become big, I have no doubt we’ll all be able to build many, many schools together.”
From the start, Scott stressed the importance of giving back in everything he and Justin did, but Scott purposely didn’t pressure Justin to support PoP just because his brother had started the organization. But the organization was focused on empowering young people to realize the changes they could make in the world, and that message was something Justin believed in deeply. He soon became one of the first members of our growing youth movement by helping raise money for the organization and advocating for us on social media. Part of that was due to the closeness of our relationship, but an even bigger part of it was due to the natural alignment of our mission with what he cared about most—helping children.
He was so invested in our work that when the father of one of his fans asked what it would cost for his daughter to meet him before a show, Justin turned to Scott and asked how much it would cost to build a new classroom. Scott replied, “Ten thousand dollars.” Justin said, “I’ll do it, but only if he donates that money to Pencils of Promise.” Later that night, he texted me, Just built a new classroom for the kids!
Toward the end of 2010, we planned a family vacation to Africa to meet the families of Sam and Cornelio, our adopted Mozambican brothers. Justin had become a major celebrity by then and was considered one of the biggest pop stars in the world. He wasn’t exactly living the life of a normal teenager, so my parents and his mom, Pattie, figured a family vacation without extensive security dictating his every step would be good for him. Scott roomed with his girlfriend, my sister roomed solo, and that left Justin and me as roommates for the two-week trip.
PoP had finally secured the group health insurance coverage needed for me to get shoulder surgery, which I had done as soon as the paperwork allowed, but it left me pretty immobile throughout the trip. Although the pandemonium around Justin wasn’t quite as crazy as it was stateside, even in Africa it was still tough for him to walk in the streets without being recognized. Our solution was to spend a lot of time hanging out in the room. We were already close, but with so many hours together we bonded over music, girls, and conversations about how young people like us could help other young people around the world. We also shared plenty of laughs while pranking one another (he’d hack my Twitter account in the morning, and I’d put grapes in his pockets in the afternoon) and trying to avoid the attention drawn by his famous Bieber haircut.
One day in the hotel elevator, two Mozambican women in their midthirties recognized him. They were beside themselves, asking for pictures and autographs.
“You’re him!” they exclaimed.
“Who?” he asked calmly.
“You’re Justin Bieber!”
“No, I’m not. We just look similar,” he insisted, trying to avoid their hysterics.
“Look at your hair. I know that hair. You’re you!”
“No! I’m not me!” he exclaimed. Right away, all four of us cracked up, laughing at the blunder. He graciously took a picture with the two women and we headed back to our room. We talked about how excited they were to meet him and started to contemplate how we could use that desire to do some
good. A few days later, we got into a serious brainstorming session.
“Let’s do something big,” Justin said. “Something that’ll raise a ton of money and build a bunch of schools.”
“How about we create a fundraising contest. Students could compete against each other to see who can raise the most for PoP. Whoever raises the most would get a big grand prize. Maybe you would go visit their school or something?” I asked.
“Nice, let’s do that.”
“You’re sure? You’d have to be willing to fly anywhere in the country to visit the winning school.”
“For Pencils of Promise? One hundred percent.”
* * *
Later that night we recorded a grainy video on my Flip cam. We described a new campaign that we would launch early the next year called Schools4All, which encouraged students to fundraise on behalf of children without access to education, with a chance to win a school visit from Justin. Although the official video we released wouldn’t be made until the following April, putting together our first attempt in our room that night was a blast. It didn’t feel like some contrived celebrity integration, because it wasn’t. The idea came out of a real relationship where both people cared about each other—and the cause.
When we shared the idea the next morning with Scott, he was all for it. “I’m proud of you guys, we can definitely make this happen,” he said. You cannot fake authenticity, and since he’d spent his whole life setting the example for both Justin and me to give back to others, on that morning I think he could see his influence taking effect. PoP had its first flagship campaign in the works, we had a trusted team in place, and an inner circle had been established of those who genuinely cared about our work. Now it was finally time for me to let down my guard and start sharing our story with the world.
Mantra 21
THERE IS ONLY ONE CHANCE AT A FIRST IMPRESSION