A Look Inside the Un-Factory

Front to Back Day culminates with a barbecue. Several workers compete to build the best grills out of 55-gallon drums; Weisberg hand-rubs the ribs; and employees supply sides and sauces, some made with tomatoes and peppers harvested from the company's vegetable garden. "There are a lot of parties," says Ortega, whose family makes its own tortillas in the plant. "You work hard, and you eat well."

Like the production crew, PortionPac's office staff works in natural light. Everywhere it is surrounded by paintings and sculpture. This is not corporate art, but rather the challenging, sometimes discomfiting personal collection of Weisberg, who prefers art that requires some mental exertion. A plumbing theme runs through some of the 100-plus pieces, and at least two of the sculptures—one a street scene nestled inside a rusty trash barrel—were created by an artist who did time as a janitor.

Sales and marketing are the domains of the company's president, Burt Klein, who was finance officer at a money-management fund before joining PortionPac. Where some leaders practice management by walking around, Klein practices management by walking around, noticing people in distress, and coming to their aid. Several employees told of receiving free legal assistance—for example, with a relative's immigration papers—or financial help when a car expired unexpectedly or another emergency arose. The experience of Margie Alvarez appears typical. Having suffered a long string of personal setbacks, Alvarez, a division coordinator and 11-year employee, turned up sobbing one morning because her grandmother had just died, and she could not afford a funeral. Klein whisked her into his office and wrote her a check for $6,500, repayment arrangements left to her discretion. "I didn't even get a chance to finish explaining before he said he'd help me out," says Alvarez.

Klein, affable like his father, becomes briefly incensed when discussing what he sees as some workers' vulnerability. "Of course we help them," he says. "We borrow money at 5 percent. The employees pay 21 percent. That's unconscionable. How are they ever going to get out from under, let alone get ahead?"

Klein offers a different kind of support to the salespeople, who sometimes need time to get comfortable with PortionPac's unusual incentive structure. The company does not pay commissions but does pay bonuses for hitting various marks, including signing up "shared-savings" accounts that encourage customers to use only the product they absolutely need. "High-commission salespeople are going to sell the customer as much as they can. We want customers to use the right amount," says Klein. "That's environmentally sound and economically sound. And if it's economically sound, they'll keep us around longer." (Many customers have been with PortionPac for decades. Its first customer, Royal Supply Company, a distributor in West Virginia, has been on the books for almost 50 years.)

Nonie Knight, a regional sales manager based in Texas, found the incentive structure alien and fretted for the first two months, because her sales were so low. "Burt kept telling me not to worry and reassuring me that they were in it with me for the long haul," says Knight. She is even more grateful for the accommodation Klein made for her philanthropic bent. Before joining PortionPac, Knight worked for the nonprofit West Texas Lighthouse for the Blind, selling pens, pencils, and other products made by people with disabilities to state-run institutions, such as prisons. As a rep for PortionPac's correctional division, Knight calls on many of the same customers, and Klein lets her present the catalog for the nonprofit TIBH Industries, whose mission is to create employment for people with disabilities, before pitching PortionPac. "What harm could come from that?" asks Klein. "It's a great organization, and she had an emotional connection. It's not like you can tell someone the day they are hired, 'From now on, you believe in PortionPac and that's it.' "

Which doesn't mean some folks don't feel that way. Jerry Kantlehner retired from PortionPac years ago but couldn't stay away. He travels often between his home in Kentucky and the company, where he consults for the correctional division. "I love this place," says Kantlehner. "You can't just cut yourself off from people you've known and a way of doing business you've believed in for more than 20 years.

"Working here is a little like being minister of a parish," he says. "You keep the congregation happy, and if that happens, the donations roll in."