Many years ago Bill Moyers had a documentary series on Public Television called “Ethics.” I remember one thing very clearly, perhaps because I had more than one opportunity to live it. He was interviewing the president of the Peterson Institute of Ethics in California who said:

“Around here we don’t call it ethics until it costs you money.’’

            I entered the life insurance industry in 1976 after I hurt myself doing construction and needed a white-collar job. My dad by then had been in it for 19 years. I asked him. He sent me to the Prudential and after a year I moved over to the Northwestern Mutual. In the 1960’s while I was still in high school my Dad became one of the pioneers in life insurance brokerage, pretty much what it all is now.

            After a bit he formed an agency with another agent (names add nothing to the story). My brother and the other partner’s son joined them. Then the company split. I believe it was because they could not see the sons being their successors together. I have my own idea of who instigated it; that is not important to this story.

            Their business was helping agents with the major companies when those companies rejected a client for lifetime insurance as being “sub-standard.” The phrase came from the “standard” rate for a healthy person. Sometimes there was a “rating” for the extra risk, earlier expected death, of a medical condition (or occupation: I once helped a professional Tour d’France rider get a policy… those guys DID have fatal accidents. That is another story I will tell in time!).

            The way they found business was to call agents all over the country and ask if they had any problem cases to persuade them to let Diversified (the name of Dad’s company) help them find a carrier. When the company split 20 of the 25 employees stayed with my dad. But amongst the other 5 was Diversified’s main sales associate. By then I had earned the CLU (Chartered Life Underwriter) designation from the American College in Bryn Mawr (founded at the Wharton school in 1927). Putting me on the phone against the traitor without that professional designation would make the agents more likely to stay with dad. He did not ask me. He had Liana ask me. She started as his secretary. It is to his credit he rapidly promoted her all the way to partner. She was like an older sister to me. I said yes.

            I was successful and had over $100,000 of premium coming in every month. That was 1987; with inflation think $500,000 to $1 million today. I was on salary and commission.

            It is part of the culture of American business to grow! They recruited 2 men from Atlanta and Minneapolis to come in and create new markets, like health insurance, and employee benefits. They had to relocate themselves to Miami but the opportunity for salary AND commission was an opportunity to better themselves. It was not long before we three regularly had lunch together in the park with a chessboard.

            Then the roof caved in…on commissions. It was announced the company would no longer pay commissions. Straight salary. A discussion ensued at lunch. My two colleagues had relocated themselves across the country at great expense of their own and could not afford what had been done to them. A breach of trust and contract, by Diversified, albeit verbal, which in Florida IS enforceable. I said let’s see Leon (Dad) about it. They were afraid they would lose their jobs He was my dad. I was not afraid. So I went in.

“Dad, you cannot do this. You are not someone I know to break your word.”

“My former partner wrote those contracts. He was an idiot. Can’t afford them.”

            I had my own idea of who instigated it. I continued to argue. He continued to resist; I became more insistent. Finally, he waved his unlit cigar with its grossly wet and masticated end at me and said:

“You can keep your contract.”

I would not stop.

“I’m not here for me. They are afraid you will fire them if they fight you.”

Finally, he said:

“Mind your own fucking business.”

So, I did, meaning, I stopped calling agents around the country for HIS business and spent all my time on my own clients. Overnight my production disappeared. It wasn’t long before Dad and Liana brought me in to discuss what was happening. Every now and then my gentlemanly instinct does not come to the fore, and I had known Liana for 15 years, since I was 16 in high school, but instead I said:

“You told me to mind my own fucking business, so I did.”

            I then explained it all to Liana. They asked if there was anything they could do to fix it.

“Yeah, give them back their contracts.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Then no, there is not. And I’ve lost all the respect I ever had for you two.”

“Give us a few minutes to discuss it.”

            They called me back in, told me I could keep my office and salary for six months while I figured out what I wanted to do. I had always been attracted to the more scientific and intellectual parts of our business, pensions, so I went to two of my mentors who specialized in pensions. One of them, Larry Wiener, had taught the pension course I took to earn my CLU. He was a truly short man. At his office he said there was someone who wanted to see me. His partner had been with my dad in the 50s and 60s at the Prudential. This was the 80s. We shook hands and he held out his hand and said:

“I haven’t seen you since you were this tall!”

            Larry held his hand up along side the top of his head and said:

“That’s funny. Some of my clients said they have not seen me since I was this tall!”

            A funny witty man. The story will continue in Ethics Two.