Entrepreneurial Terror

Starting a company? Get ready for the most terrifying experience of your life.

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I WOULD LIKE TO ADDRESS A FEW words to a particular group of readers, to those of you, young and not so young, who are starting your first company. By that act, you have joined a very special organization. Admission is automatic; permission is neither needed nor sought; tenure is indefinite. Welcome to the Club of Terror.

I myself have been a member of this club, and have known this terror, for close to 35 years. I can assure you that it is unlike anything you have ever experienced before. No longer do you have to be bothered with such ordinary feelings as concern, or frustration, or even fear. Those gentle things are the least of your troubles now. You can put them away as a child puts away toys. From now on, you will be in the grip of a human emotion that the good Lord, or more likely his nemesis, created just for entrepreneurs.

Now, I realize that you didn't bargain on this when you started your company. Terror is something that entrepreneurs don't expect, can't escape, and have no way of preparing for. You won't find any college course on the subject -- Handling Terror 101 and 102, or whatever. Nor are there any on-the-job training programs. To my knowledge, nothing has ever been written about it, either, and few people even talk about it. The truth is that those of us who have experienced entrepreneurial terror seldom admit to it. As a result, it remains a deep, dark secret.

The terror is so secret, in fact, that each of us thinks he or she is the only one who's ever felt it. That's understandable. After all, an entrepreneur is, by definition, a risk-taker who "ain't afraid of nothin'," right? Phooey. Terror is our constant companion, and it scares the hell out of every one of us. If you don't believe me, try something. The next time you meet a fellow entrepreneur -- young or old, big or small, male or female -- just ask, "So, how are you coping with terror?" You'll probably get a look of surprise or even shock. But if you gaze deep into the other person's eyes, you'll also see a warm expression of recognition. He may smile, or grin, or laugh out loud, if he's got the monster corralled for the time being. Then again, he may cry, depending on the status of his current venture. One thing is for sure, though: he'll know from whence you came.

Let me be clear that by terror I do not mean simply an intense kind of fear. The two are quite different. Fear is the sudden rush of adrenaline let loose when her boyfriend walks in, or when you almost get hit by a drunk driver. It's usually accidental, unexpected, and short-lived. Entrepreneurial terror, on the other hand, is self-inflicted. It occurs when an otherwise normal person makes a conscious decision that carries him over the threshold of fear into a private world filled with monsters sucking at every morsel of his being. There can be no sleep in this world, just wide-awake nightmares. The terror you feel has its own taste (bile), its own smell (putrid), and its own gut-wrenching pain. And it doesn't go away as long as you remain an entrepreneur.

I have often tried to figure out what causes this terror, what breathes life into these monsters in the first place. It's not the money. As any successful entrepreneur will tell you, money is just a by-product of accomplishment, and its loss is, well, one of the risks you take, usually with your eyes open. "Fear of failure" is a better explanation, although the phrase seems awfully inadequate to anyone who has ever felt entrepreneurial terror, like saying you hate a guy because he wears white socks. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the terror comes from the same thing that leads us to start companies in the first place -- some basic, semiconscious need to make our mark in the world, to leave our footprints in the sands of time. What we really fear, I suspect, is that we might become another member of the herd and pass into oblivion.

Wherever the terror comes from, it is awfully hard to imagine unless you have been through it. I certainly had no idea what lay ahead when I started my first company in 1953, although I had had some experience with fear. That experience came as a fighter pilot during World War II, when I was shot down behind enemy lines. There, badly burned,I was picked up by members of the French Underground, who devised a unique and cynical way to hide me from the Germans: they buried me in a cornfield with a hose stuck in my mouth so I could breathe. The first time they buried me, I lay there for four hours -- time enough to consider all the bleak possibilities. I figured the Germans would (1) stick a bayonet through the dirt and into me; (2) riddle the hole with bullets; (3) accidentally ick the hose; or, worst of all, (4) turn on the faucet. For eight days in succession, I was buried; for eight days, I lived with a new and unwanted friend -- stark, raving fear.

But I also discovered something else during that period, a kind of exhilaration I had never experienced before. Each time the french partisans dug me up, I was amazed at how high I felt. I was elated. I had conquered fear, and I knew it. Of course, it helped quite a bit that I was still alive.

When I was repatriated, I believed that I had experienced the ultimate in fear -- which was probably true. What I didn't realize, and couldn't possibly imagine, was that I was headed for a career filled with experiences every bit as grueling. In the future, moreover, I would put myself through this torture of my own free will.

The truth began to sink in shortly after I started my first company, a food brokerage representing companies that wanted to sell their products on military bases in Europe and the Near East. Kraft Foods Co. appointed me its representative, and almost immdiately sales went out of sight. Everything I did turned into more and more sales for Kraft. I was flying high and making money hand over fist.

Then one day, when I was visiting the company's executive offices in Chicago, Kraft's president, J. Clyde Loftis, invited me in for a chat. The meeting was great for about 10 minutes, as he heaped praise on me for my selling efforts. The next 2 minutes weren't so great, as he calmly announced that Kraft was letting its own salespeople take over the military market in Germany -- which happened to represent about half of my total commission from sales. He assured me that, naturally, I could continue representing Kraft in the other areas, countries like Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Libya.

I sat there stunned. I felt like a fly on an elephant's ass. My income was about to be cut by 50%, and my profit by 100%. Without Kraft, I was pretty near out of business. My mind was going 90 miles an hour. I could see exactly what had happened: I had sold myself out of a job. I had made it look so easy that some smart aleck had been able to convince Kraft's management its own salespeople could do the work better and cheaper. But maybe Loftis himself had doubts. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Mr. Loftis, if you take over in Germany, I'm going to let you take over everywhere."

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