Confessions of an Entrepreneur's Wife

Growth was steady. Distribution spread from Richmond up and down the East Coast. After Bill attended a natural-food trade show in mid-2002, natural groceries across the country clamored for the product and The Switch went national. In 2003 the company got caught up in a serendipitous piece of California legislation. The state banned sodas from schools, creating an empty space in vending machines and lunch lines. Bill put product in cans and hired a West Coast sales force, and California quickly grew to about 60 percent of the company's revenue.

But the growth burned through capital. The company was regularly on the verge of going broke, and every time disaster loomed, Bill would pull a deep-pocketed rabbit out of his hat. After the first $800,000, he raised $3.3 million in 2002, $1.5 million in 2003, and $2.4 million in 2004. He was promised another $2.25 million in 2005. His alma mater, Northeastern, asked him to lecture to the M.B.A. students about raising money.

Sales were also growing, from $800,000 the first year to $1.7 million in 2002, then $2 million in 2003 and $2.5 million in 2004. The company was on track for $6 million in 2005. The growth rate was impressive, but the company wasn't profitable.

Part of the costs were legal fees. For example, in the first year the company's design firm sued. Bill hadn't realized that it's standard practice for designers to own what they create and license it to their clients, unless the contract between the parties specifically says "work-for-hire." The design firm claimed ownership of not only the packaging design, but the name. It took nine months, lots of Bill's valuable time, and $150,000 in legal bills, but The Switch won. Bill had paid the design firm in part with shares, and the shareholder agreement the designers had signed said that all work done by shareholders was owned by the company.

The board of directors, of which Bill was the chairman, agreed that the smartest course was to expand the company to sell it, so a lot of money went to establishing the brand. That was even trickier than he expected in the hypercompetitive beverage market. Carbonated juice was a new niche--not a juice, not a soda, not a New Age drink. The Switch had filed for two process patents and a product patent and remained the only 100 percent juice product. Competitors such as Izze and Fizzy Lizzy, which were only 60 to 70 percent juice but looked more or less the same to consumers, had come onto the market around the same time. Bill spent heavily on advertising, sampling, and marketing, and offered discounts to distributors and retailers in an attempt to establish market share.

Then there was the learning curve. Bill had the M.B.A. and lots of real-world management experience, but he'd never worn so many hats at one time. When his vice president of sales (who had come from Nantucket Nectars) suggested buying a camper and establishing a "mobile marketing team," Bill figured, why not? It was a cool idea and the VP had had success with it before. The company hired two salespeople to live in a Switch-decorated RV, driving it around the country for six months to hand out samples. It might have worked for a more established brand, but for The Switch it just burned through $100,000 without showing much result.

At first, I didn't see the problems. Maybe I didn't want to see them, or maybe I thought they were only Bill's problems. I was just the wife, after all, enjoying the perks. I reveled in driving the colorful Rover, waving at kids on the sidewalks and paying tolls for the cars behind me on the highway. People would motion for me roll down the window, asking "Hey, where can I buy that?" and I would hand them a chilled bottle out of the cooler in the back seat.

We kept the home fridge well stocked with all the Switch flavors and new ones in development. When Lily's friends visited they immediately demanded snack time. I would ask, "Okay, what do you guys want to drink?" and they'd all squeal, "Switch!"

At Lily's school the PTA asked if Bill could donate drinks for a fundraiser and instead he donated case after case for multiple events every year. I had always been a fairly involved parent at the school, spending time in the classroom, sewing curtains, and serving on the PTA. But as our lives got crazier, I realized I needed to focus on my work and taking care of Lily. I tapered off my volunteering efforts, but never felt guilty once I realized how much Bill was donating. Those cases of The Switch bought me time to spend at home while he was out of town.

My Husband, the Hammer

When he was home, Bill was hanging with Richmond's A-list--investors, business owners, hot lawyers, and political bigwigs. I stocked up on cocktail dresses and marveled at the sizes of the homes we visited--one with a pool cabana nearly as big as our house. Was this where we were headed? One of Bill's investors, Mark Warner, was elected governor (although at that point they had to stop talking). Investment guru Peter Lynch was another shareholder. We were moving and shaking. At our parties we served Switch cocktails: orange and rum in the summer, cranberry and vodka in the winter.

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