by: Brooke Allen

A Luftwaffe Airman’s Daughter

Business and Social Entrepreneur

• Founder and CEO of: Brooke Allen Information Systems, Inc., Bravo Alpha, Inc., MANE Fund Management, Inc.
• Co-Founder:, Education Technology Center, Inc., APL PI, Inc.
• Creator: No Shortage of Work

Manager – Head of the Quantitative Trading Group at Maple Securities, USA, Inc.

Author – Numerous short stories, two plays, and a book in progress.

Interests – Computer Programming, Amateur Radio, Travel, Networking

Family Man – Wife: Eve, Sons: Davis and Glen

The InterContinental Hotel Group (NYSE Ticker: IHG) is the largest hotel group in the world with seven brands (Intercontinental Hotels, Crowne Plaza, Hotel Indigo, Holiday Inn, Holiday Inn Express, Staybridge, and Candlewood Suites). They claim more than 645,000 rooms in over 100 countries.

If I take the time to join their “Priority Club Rewards” program, I get exclusive benefits like a free newspaper once a week. After I accumulate 20,000 points I get additional goodies such as Priority Check-In and a special phone number so I can wait less time on hold. Points are easy to accumulate because many of their rooms cost more for one night than I spent for an entire semester’s college tuition.

As a Club member, they would begin collecting information about me and my preferences so they can tailor an experience just for me. They promise not to release that information to anyone – not even me.

I never bothered joining. Unlike many, I can afford their rooms without going into debt to the credit card company. The issue is time, not money – my life is too short, and I don’t want to spend my time with them.

Instead, I belong to a different club, one with more space than InterContinental in more than twice as many countries. And my club is adding 14,000 members and 4,000 rooms a week.

And every one of those rooms is free.

My club is run by the Couch Surfing Collective. Although membership is free, four years ago I chose to donate about $20 and they verified that I was who I said I was, and I lived where I said I lived.

Couch Surfing members don’t have membership cards but rather online profiles that can be seen by all 1.8 million members. Other members write references, which can be positive, neutral, or negative – and all references appear on your profile, whether you like it or not.

Right now, I have over 70 positive references (and no neutral or negative ones), and therefore strangers all over the world will welcome me into their homes without any money changing hands. But if I stop being a gracious guest, and a few negative references start cropping up, I might as well drop out and start paying InterContinental. And if you think I can only participate if I reciprocate, you would be wrong. Couch Surfing is a pay-it-forward proposition, and plenty of people are guests hundreds of days a year and have never hosted anyone. These people are not freeloaders, otherwise negative references would have kept everyone at bay. With the exception of a few tourist destinations, there is a much larger supply of free places to stay than there is demand. Most Couch Surfers are hardworking and responsible people with limited vacation and therefore, most months of the year, they let their travel experiences come to them.

I feel safer when I surf couches than when I stay at a hotel because the instant someone reports a theft or violence, every Couch Surfer on the planet is notified immediately. In the four year’s I’ve been a member, there have been two incidents world-wide, both less severe than what I recently heard being reported at the front desks of hotels. I have no way of checking the character of the maid, the front desk clerk, the maintenance man, or anyone else at a hotel, and I have never had anyone voluntarily warn me of a problem with an employee. But on CS I can triangulate everyone, and we all take responsibility for each other’s safety.

As a Couch Surfer, I am not a customer of a corporation; I am a citizen of a community – a place where I must live by the Golden Rule and keep my account at the Karma Bank in good standing. Otherwise, I will be banished to the default community, the one you might live in… a place full of marketing, laws, contracts, and money; a land where a traveler pays two day’s minimum wages to stay off the street for one night, a place where the room tax can cost more than a day’s food.

Hotels must work very hard at maintaining their reputation, or they will lose customers and go out of business. As a Couch Surfer, YOU must work very hard at maintaining YOUR reputation or you will have to stay at hotels that care little about you other than that you pay your bills.

Sometimes it would be nice to go on vacation from the world of commerce, money, and marketing. And so you can… but it will cost you a few hundred dollars.

Black Rock City from Space

Every year, in early September, Black Rock City is built from scratch to host the week-long Burning Man festival in an inhospitable desert north of Reno. Over 40,000 people arrive and make it the fourth largest city in Nevada, and then they, and the city, evaporate.

It costs $300 to reside in Black Rock City for a week, almost exactly what I pay in property tax in a single week back home. Both places have roads, and hospitals, but only Black Rock City has an airport with a mile long runway. My town has two restaurants, one bar, a few stores, one library, a few civic organizations, and no dance halls. Black Rock City has hundreds of those things – and everything is free. My town in New Jersey does not get torn down and rebuilt every year – BRC is built by people who love creating more than consuming.

You are expected to give things away, without expectation of return; even barter is frowned upon. You will find no company sponsorships and corporate logos. You are part of an experiment in a Gift Economy. On your first stay in Black Rock City, you could mooch free housing, food, entertainment – and enough booze to keep you drunk every waking moment. By the end of the week you’ll feel terrible, but it will be more of an existential hangover than an alcoholic one. And then, if you are like most humans, you will begin planning for next year, when you will participate – and give something away – and do nice things for others without expectation of return. In fact, if you are keeping score, you’ll realize you are in the hole and if you want to make things even, you’ll have no choice but to pay it forward.[1]

In my senior year in High School, 400,000 young people descended on Max Yasgur’s farm in Sullivan County, New York, and they created a national disaster. Less than half bought a ticket, and still fewer came prepared to meet their own needs for food, clothing, and shelter. They came to be entertained and taken care of by others, and when they left, they left a mess. What they considered to be peace and love, the locals considered to be drug-induced passivity and irresponsibility. The attendees say it could never be repeated and the people who had to take care of them say, “Thank God.”

The Burning Man Festival is almost the exact opposite of Woodstock. It repeats annually, and everyone is expected to be self-reliant and responsible. Art and entertainment are provided by the attendees themselves. And, boy, do they – providing more quantity and variety of experience than imaginable. Woodstock was homogeneous: almost everyone was young and distrustful of the old. Not so at Burning Man where the first of its ten principles is “Radical Inclusion” which means that the stranger is welcome. (And by the look of it, the stranger the better.)

Black Rock City is miles across. (Woodstock could be tucked in a corner.) Yet, when the Bureau of Land Management holds an inspection after the city is torn down, it issues fines for the slightest piece of trash. A pistachio shell or a piece of glitter can cost dearly. Luckily, almost nothing is found – not a trace.

In the 1970s, I saw all of the lower 48 states, courtesy of the kindness of strangers. I hitchhiked everywhere. Most of my friends were too afraid to come with me, but I found it quite safe. Even though I was propositioned numerous times (more by males than females), I did not take offense. Although there were times when I was afraid, I did not learn fear. Instead, I learned courage and emotionally resiliency. I saw my friends as the ones taking unnecessary risks with sexually transmitted diseases, drugs, and drunk driving. A few were done in by these things. Why did they think it was riskier to accept a ride from a stranger than to party with one, particularly if at the end of the evening they accepted a ride home?

By the 1980s, it seemed that hitchhiking was dead, and by 2000, since I hadn’t seen a thumb for decades, I figured it was buried.

I was wrong. Hitching has moved to the internet, where rides are arranged on Craigslist bulletin boards and elsewhere. There are even sites for thumbing rides on airplanes. Roadside hitchhikers are thriving too. The reason you and I don’t see them is because they snag rides almost instantly. This makes it safer, because they can afford to be pickier.

But you can’t deny the world has become more materialistic since Woodstock. It is as if the hippies grew up and implemented their worst nightmare. Business schools have cranked out drones who chant “enlightened self-interest is the best way to go” – except that “enlightenment” seems to have been left out of their education. I know; I have an MBA. If it were not for good parenting, I might have believed it.

Everything is getting monetized and commoditized, and all motivation seems to be only about incentives – grades, promotion, money, customer loyalty, even child rearing. Our financial crisis is not blamed on greed or evilness as much as the “wrong incentives” and “failure to regulate,” with no mention of the personal shame that can be a consequence of failure to self-regulate. (Why? I think it is because people actually feel no shame, or if they do, they take a pill for it.) Nothing seems to be worth doing for its own sake, or just because it is the right thing to do.

To me, especially after two decades on Wall Street, it seemed the Good Hearted had lost the battle.

I was wrong. The Good Hearted will inherit the earth – and they are not doing it meekly. They are just doing it without being noticed.

In the 1980s, I was a computer consultant and I had one of the largest brokerage firms on the planet as a client. They paid my invoices four months in arrears. Later, I became an employee, and in 1991, I began developing all my trading systems in APL from a British computer company called Dyalog. They gave me dozens of hours of exemplary service – the best I’d ever received from anyone, ever, and all for the fixed price of $1,900 per year. When the second invoice arrived, the bill said, “Balance Due, $1,900 – Total: $3,800.” My employer had not paid for a year.

I called Pete, the President of Dyalog, and asked why he continued to service us. He said, “Because you are a user.” When I asked why he would do that if we did not pay, he said, “Whether you pay or not is irrelevant, you are still our user.”

Four years later, I was working at one of the largest investment banks in the world, and they were also a Dyalog customer even though they had not paid their invoice for two years. One day, I made a casual comment to Pete that I thought our investment bank would outlast his little company. He said, “I doubt it. Even when we all had to mortgage our houses to fund this company, we always paid our bills in full and on time.”

In the mid-1990s, I came to my current employer, a decent company that pays its bills on time, and therefore I became a Dyalog customer in good standing for the first time. Pete asked me one day to help put a market valuation on his firm. I asked for number of customers and total revenues. Paradoxically, he took in way too much money given the number of customers. He explained, “We thrive because some of our customers pay us much more than we ask for.” When I asked how that can be, he asked me why I was paying for four licenses when I only needed one. I had to admit I felt terrible that I was making millions of dollars with his product and only paying him a couple of thousand. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

The brokerage firm and the investment bank I used to work for still exist, but merely as brands. Neither would still be around if not for mergers and large taxpayer bailouts. As wealthy as they have made their managers, they could not have met their obligations without you and me chipping in – involuntarily.

But Dyalog is still going strong. And I am still paying them more than I have to.

It is a well accepted fact that the balance of power has shifted to the consumer. Clay Shirky’s book, Here Comes Everybody describes how this is happening, and Tara Hunt’s The Whuffie Factor shows marketers how they can reach those consumers in this new world with whuffie (look it up). People are even learning how to roll their own educations, as Anya Kamenetz explains in DIY U.

But I think something more fundamental is going on.

Consumers are becoming producers, reputation is becoming currency, and the biggest bills are denominated in unselfishness and kindness. Some of us, employed and not, wealthy and less fortunate, are realizing that we’re all in this together, and that we are going to need to find people to trust and share things with, just to get by.

In a real sense, our fears and our financial foibles are frustrating wealth creation, at least when measured in what economists call “utility.” How many people have spent an additional $50,000 because they wanted a guest bedroom? And how many days a year does that room have an occupant? Do you need a guestroom you don’t use; particularly now that you might wish you had the money rather than a bigger mortgage? You don’t need one for my sake because if I am coming to see you, and you don’t have a finished attic, a basement, or comfortable couch, I can probably find a stranger walking distance from you who trusts me, and will gladly let me stay at his or her place.

People are building whole lives that look more like open source projects than cogs in commerce, and they are living very well in the lower tax brackets. They don’t need a hotel to substitute for someone’s couch, a college to take responsibility for their education, or even a bus line to replace someone going in the same direction.

And then there is everyone else.

There is my generation (I’m 57) who should be ashamed of what we are leaving our children: liabilities instead of assets, and physical stuff instead of the stuff of character. Many of us who are not wealthy will face a meager future because our modest retirement plans are filled with assets we hope to sell to our children. But they have no money; they are in debt, both individually and collectively.

Our children had better learn how to live with little money because, even if they make tons of it, most of it will be taken to pay off the lifestyle their parents once lived. The government will tax income, property, sales, and even barter. And, if that doesn’t do the trick, they will have to devalue the currency.

I am betting they won’t figure out how to devalue Karma.

Or tax a favor.

“I would go back to the drawing board if it hadn’t been repossessed last week.”

“Given the economy, and now that you have written the proof that two can live as cheaply as one, I guess I will marry you.”

Paul Krugman wrote a piece in the New York Times in which he wonders if Congress will vote on a stimulus package to head off the Great Depression II.

Some believe that it was World War 2 that got us out of the depression because it was the greatest stimulus spending package of all.

I disagree. I believe it was my father’s generation, the Greatest Generation that fought the War and that got us out of the Great Depression.

People got us our of our predicimanet, not policies.

The NY Times published my letter.

Recently, I reprinted the letter and illustrated it with stamps from my collection. The top contains U. S. stamps, and I notice they feature leaders and statesmen. The 3 cent stamp to the right commemorates the National Recovery Act of 1933, and it shows a woman, a businessman, a factory worker (whith a hammer over his shoulder), and a farmer with a sickle, all walking side by side. There was no inflation during the depression (in fact, there was deflation.)

By way of contrast, Germany had rampant inflation. All the German stamps in my collection are uncancelled. By the time a postage stamp made it to the post office it was worthless. The left-most stamp is for 10 marks, the rightmost 20 billion! Eventually it took a strong leader to get the economy under control… and we see who that was.

© 2009 Brooke Allen
brooke@brookeallen.net www.BrookeAllen.net

Originally published in International FamilyMagazine

Republished in Folks Magazine on 11/7/09.

I was working as a computer programmer at Rutgers University when I saw the perfect job advertised by American Airlines. It had everything that I wanted: interesting work, decent pay, and free travel everywhere American flew.

I sent a letter outlining my skills, and offered to write a resume if they found me interesting. They did not request a resume, but they did call me in for an interview. I thought that it went very well.

A month later, a “thanks but no thanks” letter arrived.

This was disappointing. I called Walter, the hiring manager and asked what was wrong, and why I didn’t get the offer. He said it was just a matter of competition; there was someone better.

I asked what I could have done to be better than the competition. He said it wasn’t likely there was anything I could have done. The person they hired came from the software vendor who had been servicing their account for years. He already knew their needs better than anyone else could have.

“So, why did you interview me?”

“Because the Human Resources department requires that we run an ad and interview three people before we make an offer.”

That made sense.

At the university, I wrote a computer column for a monthly newsletter. Every few weeks I would put out a document about some programming technique or software package.

I put Walter on the distribution list for all my publications. Then I forgot all about him.

Six months later he called me.

“I have a job for you.”

“Great.”

“There is only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Get me off that damn mailing list.”

“No problem. I can start in two weeks.”

“We can’t move that fast. It will take six weeks minimum.”

“Why?”

“We have to run and ad and interview three people. But the job is yours.”

If you don’t get what you want, don’t forget to ask why.

© 2009 Brooke Allen
brooke@brooketallen.com www.BrookeAllen.net
Originally published October, 2009, in International Family Magazine
Republished in Folks Magazine on 10/24/09.

When I was 16, my dad told me to get in the car – we were going for a ride. We drove to Bolek’s Foreign Car Service. My dad told Bolek that his son needed to learn how to work and he would drop me there every Saturday morning. He told Bolek that I wasn’t worth anything so he shouldn’t pay me anything. He gave Bolek $100 as an advance against any damage I might do. Then he drove off.

Over the next year I learned to get my hands dirty, how to use tools, and how things worked.

- – -

When my dad had a problem, we went to visit Frank at Frank’s hardware store.

Frank was a problem solver and his store was a huge collection of tools and parts for solving problems.

“Looks like this is a job for a ¾ inch bit and a stove bolt.” “I’d use a rubber coupling and a hose clamp.” “An arc welder is better for that than acetylene.”

- – -

Decades later, I became a dad too.

- – -

I sat next to a four-year-old girl at a neighbor’s dinner table.

“I hate broccoli. How come I never get what I want? I hate you.” She began pounding the table and crying.

While her parents were in the kitchen making her French fries, I turned to her and asked, “Wow. How do you do that?”

Her crying stopped abruptly and she gave me a sly smile. “You want to yell and make a lot of noise. Don’t stop. It really helps if you can cry.”

“But, why do I want to do that?”

“Because that way you get what you want.”

—

A young boy was given a present by his divorced dad at Cub Scout camp.

“But mommy gave me two presents, and both of them were nicer than this.” He wrinkled his nose.

The dad frowned, “You don’t think this is the only thing I got you, do you?” That afternoon, the father left the camp to go shopping.

- – -

I sat on the abandoned lifeguard chair as I watched a young girl run across the sand.

She twisted her ankle and fell in a heap.

She began crying hysterically.

Suddenly she stopped, stood, and looked around. Her father was far away; out of earshot.

She collapsed again and bawled even louder.

She stood again. Her father had wandered off so she resumed joyfully running down the beach.

- – -

Today, I can tell you what everything in a hardware store is used for.

But I am terrible at getting other people to do what I want.

Teach your children to manipulate things, not people.

(And the best way to teach them not to manipulate people is to not let them manipulate you.)

© 2009 Brooke Allen
brooke@brookeallen.net www.BrookeAllen.net
Originally published September, 2009 in International Family Magazine

A week after I moved to Manhattan, I went to a street fair and found there a policeman with a big sign: HELP US PREVENT CRIME

I approached, “I’m game. How can I help you prevent crime?”

He said, “By putting three locks on your door.”

“But I already have two locks on my door, and I find it really annoying. How does having three prevent crime?”

“Years ago, everyone had one lock, so we told them to get two. Now everyone has two, so you need three.”

“But how does having three prevent crime?”

“The thing is, crooks are lazy… if they weren’t they’d get jobs. Your goal is to make your door harder to break into than the next one.”

“But that doesn’t prevent crime. It just gets my neighbor broken into instead of me.”

He laughed, “What do you care?”

A girl moved in across the hall a few months later. She did not have a phone and frequently asked to borrow mine, so I began leaving my door open. She reciprocated, and soon a bunch of us on the floor did. Our tiny apartments became less claustrophobic. Friendlier too…

There were break-ins in our building. But not on our floor – even though none of us bought that third lock. Perhaps it was because we were looking out for each other.

It takes community to prevent crime, and communities are made from open doors, not locked ones.

Putting more locks on your door prevents crime just like stuffing your face prevents hunger.

© 2010 Brooke Allen
brooke@brookeallen.net www.BrookeAllen.net
Originally published in International Family Magazine
Shareholders have a problem – themselves.

My friend asked me when his mutual funds would rebound, and I asked him why he cares. He said, “Because if they are not going to rebound, I am going to sell.”

I asked him what he would do if he found a fly in his soup. “I’d want to talk to the waiter.” And if the waiter said it wasn’t his problem? “Then I would want to speak to the chef.” And if the chef said he couldn’t do anything about it? “I’d demand to speak to the manager.” And if the manager did nothing? “I’d want to speak to the owner.”

My friend would want to talk to the owner about the fly, but I would want to talk to the owner about what it means to be an owner.

Over the decades, as a trader and market maker, I’ve been the shareholder of record for billions of shares of common stock, and I have started a few corporations under my own name. While legally, the two forms of ownership are the same, there is a world of difference.

As owner, I know that the customer is a king who can fire me for any reason or no reason, yet my creditors and vendors must still be paid and the taxman must get his due. My employees must keep the customers happy, and my managers must keep the employees happy. I must not only keep an eye on the till, I must save for the rainy day. And when it pours, I will need to dip into those savings to keep the operation running while the customers stay at home. If I want everyone to be loyal to me during good times, I must be loyal to them all the time. I had better believe in my product, or I shall find all this hard to do and sleep soundly, too.

As owner, I must put the interests of all those with claims senior to mine ahead of my own, and only afterward will I receive what is left over. I must bear risk when it needs to be borne, and I can’t bail just because I don’t like watching my net worth decline. I must be responsible and not self-centered. (And, if I have deep pockets, I can afford to be.) After all this, a sane market might reward me for being responsible, fearless, and not greedy, but only if I actually am. Still, there are no guarantees, for time and chance happeneth to us all.

I asked my friend why he owns stocks, and he said, “Because, in the long run, stocks perform best so that is where I keep my retirement savings.” I’ve been to business school too, and I’ve heard this claim before, but for the life of me, I can’t think of a reason it must be true. Besides, stocks represent ownership, and an investment in ownership is different from saving. Savings are what the owner liquidates to keep the company going during hard times. If the owner liquidates his firm to protect his savings, the business is in trouble.

I asked my friend if he is an owner of General Motors and, upon reflection, he realized that he is through his various funds. I asked if he drives a GM car, and he said he thought their products were terrible.

Imagine my friend complains about the fly to the restaurant manager, who researches the situation, and announces that, in fact, my friend is on of the owners; apparently my friend’s broker had purchased stock in the restaurant. When asked what he will do, my friend says, “I will sell my ownership immediately.” If my friend, who only cares about return on his investment, sells to someone with a passion for good food, and a respect for the customer, then that restaurant may one day be a place where you and I would like to eat. Until then, we best stay away. Likewise, we best avoid GM cars until its owners care more about their products (and us) than their portfolio.

You might want to test the thesis that a diversified portfolio of common shares does, in fact, perform well in the long run, in which case you should buy, hold, and see what happens. But, be aware that market prices are determined by the fear and greed of your fellow shareholders, and little else.

But, if you want to be rewarded for being an owner in more than name only, you must be in a position to act like one: be fearless and put the interests of the customers above your own.

Don’t assume I’m talking about others. If you have money in the stock market, I’m talking about you, my friend.

© 2009 Brooke Allen
brooke@brookeallen.net www.BrookeAllen.net

Originally published August, 2009, in International Family Magazine

My friend in college, Debra, asked me, “What are you?”

I did not understand the question.

“What are you? How hard can that be? I’m Jewish, what are you?”

I said I was not religious.

“Neither am I. Just tell me what you are?”

I had not been raised with a religion… in fact; it had not been mentioned, kind of like sushi. I was 25 before I had even heard of sushi.

I asked my parents, “What am I?”

My mom said, “Brooke.” She laughed.

“I know that, but what am I relative to you?”

“Our son.”

“But what religion am I?”

“We don’t know. You haven’t told us.”

“How can I not even know what religion I am?”

“That is a personal choice – you will need to make it yourself. Or not.”

This was frustrating, “Ok, let’s make it simple. How about race? I’m not Black, right?”

My mom said, “I wouldn’t be too sure. There was a lot of fooling around going on. Everyone did it; don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

It was like sparring with a judo master who fades from every thrust.

In total exasperation, I said, “Look, my girlfriend is Jewish, and she wants to know what I am. Let’s start there… I’m not Jewish, right?”

My father became serious, “Do you want me to tell you what I want you to be?”

“Yes.” That would be a start.

“When they come to round up the Jews, I want you to be Jewish.”

__________________________________________________________

My friend in graduate school, Mona Hakim, was born in Bethlehem. When she was young, her family moved to Lebanon to avoid threats against her father’s life. She was going to the American University of Beirut when the civil war started.

She told me that your identity card had your religion printed right on it. Thugs would stop your car, and if you were the wrong religion for that part of town, they would chop your head off and place it on a fence post. Muslims did it. Christians did it.

Some people began blackening out their religion on the ID card. That worked for a while. How could you kill someone if you didn’t know what they were?

It didn’t take long for the thugs to think up an answer. If you were Muslim, and you weren’t proud of it, you deserved to die. Christians felt the same about Christians. They couldn’t agree on much, but they did agree on that one thing… don’t say what you are, and we’ll kill you.

That is when she decided she had to get out of there.

I asked her, “So, what are you?”

She said, “I’m not telling you. I’m through with that shit.”

Turns out, she was Mona – good enough for me.

If you conclude that your problems are caused by members of another group, you had better make sure you are not one of them.

If those others are humans, then you are either one of them, or you are inhuman.