Bad Business

To my way of thinking, Sinatra at the Sands is probably the best live jazz album ever made. Recorded at the Copa Room at the Sands Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas in 1966, the double-LP features Count Basie and His Orchestra, with music arranged and conducted by Quincy Jones.

It features twenty or so tunes from the Great American Songbook and the album swings from its opening “Come Fly with Me” to its closing “My Kind of Town,” both of which were written by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen.

While Sinatra recorded with other bandleaders including Harry James, Tommy Dorsey and Duke Ellington, there was just a certain magic between Sinatra and Basie, which is what might have led the two of them to venture into business together.

“Last year,” Sinatra tells his audience during his monologue, “we invested a bundle of money in a pumpkin farm and then they called off Halloween.”

That joke got big laughs in 1966, though perhaps not as big as the classic, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.” It’s hard to tell about these things.

These were jokes told by the so-called Greatest Generation. They offered little self-deprecating commentaries on the lives lived during the Great Depression. “Been down so long it looks like up to me,” predated the Depression by a few years, but maybe the anonymous author saw something on the horizon.

“I’d rather be lucky than good,” dates from those times when ability might not have been first rewarded. Some things never change.

Financial success has eluded me since I gave up collecting discarded soda and beer bottles from the alleys on Chicago’s Near West Side. I could fill my little red wagon, drag the load to the local deli, and be paid enough to afford a smoked whitefish and a pickle, perhaps, or train fare to Wrigley Field. I had no overhead, paid no taxes, and I was my own boss.

If I had envisioned that childhood endeavor as recycling, I could well have been on the cover of Time magazine—or at least parodied on the cover of MAD—as a nine-year-old.

It was while listening to some of those Sinatra at the Sands tracks that I remembered working as a reporter at the Video Software Dealers Association convention in Las Vegas. I don’t get the connection, either. The year was ’85 or ’86, maybe, and I was assigned to cover a conference on new video technology. I am the last person in the entire world anybody should want to have cover new technology. At that point, I still had the flashing 12:00 on our VCR covered by duct tape because it was well beyond my abilities to actually make it stop flashing.

As it turned out, the story of technology turned out to be a story of greed and avarice—the latter two topics being much more within my realm of understanding. It was my lucky day.

Sony had invented a little card-like thing about the size of a cigarette pack, but only half as thick. Inside this gizmo were little pieces of technological magic. The consumer would purchase this pack and take it to his or her favorite video store and have a movie downloaded onto it. The consumer would then take the gizmo home, insert it into some kind of playback device, and watch the movie after viewing some 13-30 advertisements and coming attractions. The tape, as it were, would self-erase as it played. At the end of the movie, the consumer had an empty gizmo-pack thingy that could be returned to the store for another movie purchase.

In the history of mankind, nobody but me has witnessed 750 video software dealers in polyester suits—mostly plaid—leap to their feet and shout, unrehearsed and yet, in unison, “What about late fees?”

The question was asked in anger. And the question was never answered. The half-dozen or so Sony guys in dark suits merely shrugged their shoulders and left the conference hall.

It dawned on me at that moment that an entire industry had been created to make its profits off the irresponsible behavior of its customers. A dollar for the movie? You’re killing me, here. Three days late fees at the regular $3.49 per day? Now we’re talking about making some serious dough. Imagine the profits on “two-for-one Thursday,” when each late day represents $6.98.

It should be pointed out that this is not really an original business model created by the video rental industry, however. The model was borrowed from the banking industry, which has long profited handsomely from people’s mistakes and misfortunes. Bounce a check and it will cost you upwards of $30 in bank fees, plus whatever the payee charges. And of course the bank will keep bouncing that check until it’s been covered. There may be additional fees for each day it doesn’t get covered. It should be noted that those of us living paycheck-to-paycheck are the ones from whom the banks profit the most. The rich folks don’t even pay fees, let alone penalties.

ONE OF MY FAVORITE BUSINESS MODELS is one practiced widely by independent, brick-and-mortar businesses competing against Big Box stores and Amazon. Commonly called the PITY model, it asks that customers support small businesses just because they somehow deserve special treatment because they’re small and local.

Personally, most of my shopping is done locally. I don’t care for mail-order shopping because I like to see and touch any item I might wish to purchase. I also consider the time I spend shopping as part of my social life. I visit with the clerks, managers and owners at the stores I frequent. In return I get great service and am made to feel welcome.

Then there are those business you just naturally pity because of the decision to ever even open the business was made. These are the kind of businesses I find myself thinking about.

For instance, have you thought about the ashtray business? Even though there are fewer cigarette smokers than ever, there is no shortage of ashtrays available on the market, running from a couple of bucks for your basic plastic model to hundreds of dollars for fanciful models with designer labels. I sense, however, their days are numbered.

I’ve always wondered if there might be a market for used mountaineering equipment. That very specialized gear is really expensive and frequently—for any number of reasons—gets only a single use. And yet I’ve never seen a used climbing rope for sale.

Speaking of really expensive and, at the same time, evocative of P.T. Barnum’s observation that there’s a sucker born every minute, there is the Yeti brand of cooler. The business model here is simple and direct: make a couple of stylistic changes to a basic Coleman or Igloo ice chest and charge 10 times more for it. It helps if you have a marketing department to mythologize the product: “More than an ice chest…it’s a Yeti.” The concept seems to be working well for the two owners who have yet to be photographed without fishing rods in their hands.

My next business venture is complete in concept, though I’m still in need of a location. (Glendive, Montana, is topping the list at this moment.) Anyway, it’s a high-end, gluten-free, lactose-free, vegan Kosher deli, called Y Eat Here? I got a good deal on a pumpkin farm from a singer I once knew. Investors welcome.

Creamy Kosher Vegan Pumpkin Soup

1 Tbs. olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1, 4# sugar pie pumpkin, seeded, pulp removed
2 cups vegetable stock
1 can coconut milk
1 Tbs. maple syrup
2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp salt
pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat and add onion and garlic. Cook for about 3-5 minutes, until onions become translucent.
Carefully stir in the pumpkin, vegetable stock, coconut milk, maple syrup, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and cayenne (if using).
Bring to a boil, then turn the heat to low and simmer for about 20 minutes, until the soup has reduced and thickened slightly.
Puree with an immersion blender until very smooth. Serve.

Photography by Courtney A. Liska