Mark Cress quit his job as a CEO to become a minister. Now, through his new nonprofit Inner Active Ministries, companies hire him to help employees with their personal problems.
The Workplace
In offices, factories, and warehouses, employees of fast-growing companies are telling CEO-turned-minister Mark Cress what they feel they can't tell their bosses
By the time Mark Cress had made it as an entrepreneur, he was in the process of shedding that identity. His conversion began in the summer of 1993, during an eight-week, 9,000-mile trek that would lead him through 35 states and away from his business for good. The trip served as an inward journey, replete with Bible readings and daily prayer. He was looking to effect a sea change in his life, and he was talking long and hard with the chairman of the board.
Few could have foreseen the change in Cress, a self-described "career entrepreneur," who had "wanted to be a business guy" since he was 8 years old. Employees at his company, Success Stories Inc.--which appeared as #137 on the 1993 Inc. 500, a ranking of America's fastest-growing private companies--had even started an office pool, with the winner being the person who could correctly choose the first day Cress would call in from the road. "That first week I got the shakes every time I passed a pay phone," he recalls.
But Cress's employees had underestimated the self-discipline that drove him to wander for 40 days and then some. The shakes soon ceased, no one collected on the pool, and Cress's employees were, in time, reduced to calling him--once on his birthday and again after a close friend's father died. That presented Cress with a fresh revelation: "If the business could survive for eight weeks without me, it could survive a lot longer than that."
A few months later, in December 1993, Cress, then 37, began the process of paring down his life. He sold the majority stake he had in his $1.8-million company, based in Richmond, Va., to his employees, and put his 6,000-square-foot, half-million-dollar lakefront house on the market. "A lot of my friends thought I had had a nervous breakdown," says Cress. "They didn't understand what I was trying to do."
What Cress was trying to do became clearer in April 1996, when he started Inner Active Ministries (IAM), a tax-exempt nonprofit organization, after earning a master's degree in divinity from Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, in Wake Forest, N.C. Today he works with 10 companies, mostly small but fast-growing businesses in North Carolina's Research Triangle area. Cress started out with one employee--himself--which was one greater than his client list. He has since hired two full-time and two part-time chaplains and has opened a second office in Richmond, Va.--all in a year and a half.
Cress shows up at his client companies at regularly appointed hours, makes the rounds, and sees if anyone wants or needs to talk. He wears a polo shirt with a logo ("I AM"), pressed khakis, and thick-soled walking shoes. The book he usually carries is not the Bible, but a daytimer, which he often uses to slap people on the back in good-natured greeting. He wears a pager, and his card, liberally distributed, bears a 24-hour emergency 800 number in red ink and this slogan: "Caring in the Workplace." Inner Active Ministries charges its clients from $16 to $180 per employee per year, depending on the company's size and the level of service delivered. What Cress offers in return is confidentiality and compassion.
As he visits offices, factories, and warehouses Cress positions himself to see a side of the fast-growth experience that most CEOs wouldn't recognize--or would prefer stayed buried at home. The strain that fast growth imposes on employees is largely hidden, visible mainly through its consequences: chronic absenteeism, flagging productivity, sinking morale. There is more sickness and substance abuse than Cress had ever imagined. "A lot of what the employer sees is the tip of the iceberg," he says.
Driving away one day from one of his client companies, Cress relates the plight of one employee, whose manager had noticed that he was often absent and was clearly troubled. But Cress knew more. The man's wife had recently tested positive for HIV. "He refuses to get tested; he doesn't want to know," says Cress.
It's a few minutes before 8 a.m. on a steamy summer morning as Cress pulls his Toyota Corolla into the parking lot of Storr Office Environments, in Raleigh. The company, which designs and furnishes office space, is growing so fast that it has run out of asphalt, and there are cars parked on the lawn out back. Thank God for visitor spaces.
Cress immediately wanders over to a man sitting in his car, who is nursing a morning cigarette and coffee. "Hi, Walt. Everything OK with the house?" Cress explains, "Walt and his wife are getting ready to close on their first house. That's a big step for them. Hey, Ken," Cress says, waving to another employee pulling in for work.
Entering the building, Cress says, "We'll just cruise around first to see where everybody's at." Cress knows when paydays fall at Storr, so he can gauge the mood before he even steps in the door. He knows the company just landed a big contract that could double its sales in three years. Unemployment in the county is less than 2%, and Storr has 35 job openings it's working hard to fill. The company needs to produce, and despite the humanizing presence of Cress, there are harsh reminders to that effect. An emphatic sign in one area of the building warns, THIS IS AN OFFICE, NOT A LOUNGE.
Cress moves in the direction of that admonition, toward the back of the building, meeting and greeting workers as he goes. "Roger had foot surgery four weeks ago. Dave here is headed toward nuptials in a few weeks," he narrates as people enter and exit his orbit. In the rear at the loading dock he exchanges handshakes with a knot of workers. After things quiet down, he zeroes in on one of them. "So how you doin'?"
"OK." Not much eye contact.
Cress has tapped into a wellspring of grief, and he knows it. The man's 27-year-old wife is dying from a rare blood disorder. His son has the disease, too, and his other son was recently killed when he was hit by a bus. Cress later confides that the man routinely misses two days of work a week.
Another worker passes by. "Paul's mother is dying in Miami, and he needs to go see her. But he has no vacation time," Cress says. "So I'll brief the company when she's ready to go, and he'll go on down." Then there's Tony. "Hey, Tony, how's your mama?" Cress asks. She's in Mississippi, where she's preparing for surgery. "Anything I can do for you, let me know. I'll be praying for your mama."
