There's no compelling evidence that a more subdued self is struggling to wriggle out, however. "Howard's personality has been the same since the day he was born," says Jacob R. Getson, describing his eldest son. "Have there been a few cringes? Uh-huh. Have I turned my head a few times? Uh-huh. Howard has no guile. People who don't know him are put off by it. People who know him love it." Then there are the folks who manage both impulses. "Howard has a giant ego, which is why I love him," says Raymond. "Look behind the companies that have really been successful and you'll find a brash, egotistical, and very passionate entrepreneur."
Raymond belongs to a group called LORE (Loosely Organized Retired Executives) Associates, whose 35 or so active members are mostly former CEOs. They evaluate ventures as a group and then invest as individuals. Demchick, LORE's cofounder, originally met Howard through his father, Jacob, who was formerly a senior vice-president at U.S. Healthcare, one of the country's largest HMOs. Two months after the younger Getson got "blown away"--to borrow his father's words--by the LORE members Demchick had hooked him up with, he traveled from IntellAgent's Dallas headquarters to LORE's Philadelphia base to claim $500,000 from 16 investors. "I liked what I saw," says Raymond. "He had fine-tuned the plan."
But no sooner had Getson raised that sum, in mid-1995, than each LORE investor received a one-page fax from him saying, "We're willing to extend the same exact offer for just seven days, but we're only going to accept a total of $500,000." Scarcity, Getson contends, prods people to act. "People don't want to feel they're missing out on something," he says. "And if you ask somebody enough times, they'll say yes." That they did.
But by that October, Getson came at his investors again. At the end of an informal meeting with six of them, he asked for another $500,000 on an unsecured basis, meaning that the company would not pledge any assets. Neither, for that matter, would the loan bear interest. He let it be known, however, that he'd be willing to reward them with a 10% discount on converting the loan to stock. "When he said it, my heart was in my mouth," recalls Demchick. "He had not forewarned me, and my guys don't tend to give in to somebody saying, in effect, 'Put up or shut up.' They'll just walk." Want to guess what they actually did? "The six literally fought among themselves to see who could give us the most money," reports Getson. The gambit worked, figures Demchick, because "Howard wasn't arrogant. He gave every impression of being confident, and we don't fault somebody for having that attitude."
Creating that impression gives Getson tremendous satisfaction. "I'm like David Copperfield," he says, "making emotions and ideas pop into your head and disappear, controlling every aspect of the delivery so that I can make sure you receive the message you need to receive to make an informed investment decision." One of his primary props is a slide show, for which "I do so much preparation that it looks effortless," he says. "There's an element of showmanship there." The big shtick Getson carries is backed by his belief that "people remember things with a lot more depth and clarity if you combine visuals and text." Anyone with a slide show, he also contends, will be perceived as better prepared. In addition, the slides enable him to control the order and timing of the presentation--and step around questions that could trip him. "Hey, you know, I've got something about that a couple of slides ahead," he'll respond to an unwelcome inquiry. "But I want to make a couple of other points first," says Getson. "It's a crutch."
Of course, it can support him only if those in the audience agree to watch the slide show, which they do because Getson gives them a choice--or seems to. If he senses resistance, he'll simply wait until the right moment to mention that he's got a few slides he prepared for another presentation that might help clarify whatever topic is nominally at hand. "My aggressiveness is not seen as aggressive because I practice it so much, it's polished," he insists. Once the curtain rises, the graphics flow naturally with his explanations. When Getson talks about what most salespeople want from sales-automation software, a proposal slides into a computer, later followed by a price list. He employs a four-box chart because, he says, "it makes me seem smart, practical, and grounded." He cites the company's achievements (such as ranking #221 on the 1997 Inc. 500 list), interspersing what could be an "egocentric and monomaniacal" recap with humor and provocative headlines like "Does Technology Matter?" In essence, "the show models the buying process," Getson says, building a compelling argument for why viewers should embrace him by becoming investors. "Most people raising money make a mistake," he explains. "They believe the person investing is interested in the product or service. But they don't care what you sell; they just want to know you can sell it."
It's for precisely that reason that Getson often invites would-be investors to the seminars he gives, which--on the surface, anyway--cover how to use sales-automation software to make the most of company assets. Not that he cares if the potential investors learn anything about that. "They see me in a position of authority; they hear people laugh and clap," says Getson. "There aren't many people who can do that on stage. I know they're thinking, 'If he can do this on stage, what must he be able to do with the business?' "
