Sure enough, for a year and a half, the business grew like wildfire on the incredible picture we painted for customers, a picture of an Internet video era that was yet to arrive. It was like a fresh lemonade stand in the Sahara. Who wouldn’t put their money down? The actual capability hadn’t caught up to the sales pitch yet, but that made it all the more enticing. It was always just about to hit the market—don’t delay, act today! The longer it took for the steak, the more sizzle we had to sell.
More than a thousand people were in my downline—some as customers, many building their own businesses. One of them was Pastor Celoria, the father of some friends of mine at Carey, who was interested in helping his church earn passive income to eliminate debt.
I told him, “Imagine what you can do for your church—and with your church—through an opportunity like this, Pastor. It’s perfect for someone like you.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It sounds like quite an opportunity, something that might really help us out. But you have to understand—I’m speaking for all our people, my whole congregation. They trust me. If I put up their money, this must work. I can’t go back to them and tell them their money’s gone with nothing to show for it. I need your word that you and your company are trustworthy.”
“Absolutely, Pastor Celoria,” I smiled, without hesitating. “You have my word. All our people are gaining wealth already. You’ll never regret it. Having this kind of financial freedom will change your life and the lives of everyone in your church.”
Pastor Celoria shook my hand, and he bought into the organization with his church—500 customers and consultants in his downline, in no time. It was a huge boost to my business.
By 1998 I had graduated from Carey and was working the business full-time. I was building wealth every day. That’s when a call came in from LocalNet’s central office. “Listen, head’s up: we’re no longer in business,” said the service rep on the other end.
“What are you talking about? We can’t be ‘no longer in business’! We’re selling the product right and left.”
“Well, we’ve run into some legal issues. You need to advise your downline they won’t be getting paid from here on out.”
How could that be? We all frantically called each other and compared notes. It turned out that LocalNet was a pyramid scheme, there was no video technology to fill our promises, and the company had gone under. Lawsuits abounded. And not only were we not going to be paid for our sales—the people beneath us weren’t going to be paid, either. All those promises, all that “in on the ground floor” adrenalin, had drained away in an instant.
We found out later that when the tech was originally demonstrated in Atlanta, video was impressively transmitted from one computer to another—except that there was no modem involved. The first computer was simply linked to the second one through a cable. Apparently it was a desperate “fake it ’til we make it” ploy, except they didn’t ever make it.
We were one of a thousand such stories. This was late in 1998, the front end of the famous “dot-com bubble” that happened over the next year, when all the frantic Internet investments imploded and threw the country into a recession.
So there I was. Phone calls to my downline, with explanations and apologies, were difficult to make, but I could handle them, one by one.
All except the call to Pastor Celoria.
I couldn’t face this man of God. I had looked into his eyes and asked for his trust, and he had given it to me. I wasn’t responsible for the company’s failure, but I was the face of the company to him. In an act of cowardice, I got rid of my cell phone, changed my number, covered my tracks, and moved on. Or made the attempt.
I discovered the impact of moral guilt. Now I carried a little weight on my heart wherever I went. I would think of Pastor Celoria often, wondering about the impact of the loss on his congregation. How would he have expressed his anger to me? It chilled me in the depths of my conscience.
A few days earlier, I’d had the world by both hands. I was on my way to becoming extravagantly wealthy and influential. Just like that, I was out of work and out of money and not even vaguely interested in another traditional business venture, especially with the American economy tanking.
I went into a state of depression, although I didn’t know it at the time. What I also didn’t know was that I would cross Pastor Celoria’s path again one day, with consequences that would have been impossible for me to imagine.
God plants a few surprises along our trails. He was already at work in a number of ways, but I couldn’t have seen it even if I’d had any semblance of spiritual wisdom.
For me, it felt like walking off the basketball court in anger. Or out of the honors program at Holy Cross. Or flailing at a weak attempt to “be Christian.”
Another role that had shined, only to flame out in the end.
Chapter 5
A Man Walks into a Bar . . .
Has this ever happened to you? Suddenly you’re twenty-something, school is behind you—and you have no idea what happens next.
Up to now, the road was well-marked. But now you’re supposed to arrive at your destination: adulthood. An enjoyable career. Family and everything that entails. But here you are, standing at a crossroad that splinters off into a thousand paths.
Your friends move on with life. Some get married, others move away. Buddies are too busy to hang out, trying to build a career. You’re back at home.
Robert Frost once said that home is the place where, when you go there, they
