Companies discover that focusing on
charity and profits at the same time is just good
business.
Tossing a buck or 2,000 toward her favorite charitable
organizations just didn't do it for Jillian Manus. So when she
joined her mother's already-established literary agency 15 years
ago, she decided to overhaul the business plan a bit. Now, about 80
percent of Manus & Associates Literary Agency's profits - at
least $500,000 per year - go to support literacy and education
efforts, women's issues, and other groups. "It was the thought that
instead of just writing checks from my own funds, I could generate
more money for charity with the business," says Manus, the
company's president.
When she first set out, Manus didn't have a model for what she
wanted to do. "I made it up because my ability to give was
limited," she says. When she was considering making the move to her
mother's firm, she "was just thinking that in my next job I wanted
to love what I do and give as much as I can." Luckily, Mom bought
into the plan. "She was always philanthropic," Manus says of her
mother, Janet Wilkens Manus.
All of the charities are handpicked by Jillian Manus, although her
employees are encouraged to suggest places that could use a bit of
help. A large portion of the funds the company hands out goes to a
set list of organizations, including the Bring Me a Book Foundation
and College Track, but about 10 percent is held back as a flexible
give to be used on an as-needed basis.
At Manus & Associates, the literary agents get a commission
from the 15 percent fee the agency collects when they sell a book
to a publisher. Another piece of the fee goes to overhead, and the
rest goes to nonprofits, says Manus, adding, "We never show a
profit because we're not profitable." But don't mistake
not-profitable with not-serious: Manus was the agency behind such
big books as
The One Minute Millionaire and
Cane
River (yes, the same book Oprah chose for her Book Club). "We
sell 99 percent of the projects we take on," Manus says.
Manus & Associates is not the only company set up to give away
its profits -
Paul Newman has given away more than $175 million
raised through his Newman's Own brand since he bottled his first
salad dressing in 1982 - but it definitely is a rare bird. And
there are plenty of philanthropic programs, but few businesses are
set up to give away the bottom line. Clearly, it requires a sizable
cash reserve or an additional business to be able to give up a fair
share of the profits.
Bill Broich and his wife, Phyllis McGavick Broich, do just that
with their second business, McGavick Winery in (appropriately
enough) Grapeview, Washington.
In 1976,
Bill Broich founded the Ste. Chapelle Winery in
Sunnyslope,
Idaho, then sold it to go into the
insurance business.
Five years ago he decided he wanted to get back into winemaking as
a hobby. But since the couple had to go "through all those hoops"
of getting a license from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and
Firearms anyway, says McGavick Broich, they decided to do something
more than their original plan of a "little hobby winery." They swap
cases of their wine for $200 checks - which are tax-deductible -
made out to one of five local charities. "The theory behind this is
to help the greater good by providing help on the local level,"
says Broich. The winery produces about 3,000 cases of wine per
year.
The Broiches pay all of the winery's overhead out of their own
pockets - at least $80,000 annually.
But the Broiches make it clear that they get back a lot more than
the dollars they put in: "We have been blessed in recent years, and
this is our way of giving back to our community," says Broich.
Actually, the winery motto is
noblesse oblige - the blessed
are obliged. His wife adds: "We spent so much time working hard on
the insurance business that we didn't get to focus on that"
giving-back sort of attitude.
And then there’s Golden Gate Community Inc. (GGCI), which gives back — internally. The umbrella organization, which began 25 years ago by operating a homeless shelter in
San Francisco, now runs three social-purpose businesses that train homeless and at-risk youth and adults between the ages of 14 and 30, says CEO Tess Reynolds.
Founded 15 years ago, the first GGCI company, Ashbury Images, a production shop for custom screen-printing on T-shirts and promotional products, now accounts for $2.2 million in annual revenues. Though Ashbury revenues help support other GGCI programs, the money also supports an in-house training program. “Basically, Ashbury pays for itself,” says general manager Kevin McCracken, who started working at the company six years ago after going through a substance-abuse program.
He feels very strongly that GGCI tactics can be put into play at other companies: “I will challenge other business owners to step out of themselves a little … to do something a little bit different.”
No matter the business, one concept remains golden: producing good work or good products must come first — or there will be no business. “This isn’t fantasyland,” says McCracken. “We’re very good.”
Jenna Schnuer