We sat in John\u2019s triangular office overlooking Peachtree, agonizing over yet another draft of a company budget with only one goal in mind \u2013 survival.<\/p>\n
For three years we had rubbed together enough resources and fanned the embers of three neighborhood newspapers, all the while hoping and praying ad sales would catch fire and provide much-needed fuel.
\nSo many had helped along the way. My friend Mike handled our incorporation for cost. My father loaned a couple of thousand dollars right after my first issue of Atlanta 30306 . He died two days later. When I needed to pay a computer bill, my mother put a check in the envelope. Ward left a steady job to become the only employee in my small company, and then together with Natalie, my first salesperson, pulled several 48-hour shifts.<\/p>\n
My sister Van wrote a column for free. Her son John left a better-paying job at IBM to help me with accounting. My friend Charles and my brother Jack bought stock. Jan took a huge risk, deferring her salary for a year. I could mention many others.<\/p>\n
There was always just one more dollar in the checking account. That was, until now.<\/p>\n
We ran several models on the computer. Cut this. Don’t rehire that position. Quit mailing that. No matter what we did, it didn\u2019t work. Despite my years of optimism, I was depleted and had finally given up faith. My staff worked for a month not knowing if they\u2019d be paid. I wrote a front-page appeal in our Buckhead paper asking for donations, advertising or for an investor. I called CEOs for help \u2013 without success. The readers of Buckhead responded wonderfully \u2013 sending in checks for $25, $50 and $100 and heartfelt letters of support. <\/p>\n
They sustained us more than they\u2019ll ever know through what seemed like the final days.
\nI briefed my mom. \u201cThere\u2019s no one in our family with any business sense that you could call,\u201d she said. \u201cThey\u2019re all lawyers or whatever. Call someone who has been through this before. Call someone like Tom Cousins,\u201d the real estate executive.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah right, mom,\u201d I thought. Then others whose counsel I sought mentioned his name as well. I had written him a letter five days before this meeting in John\u2019s office. But his secretary said he was rarely in town, that maybe he\u2019d see the letter one day and call.<\/p>\n
Before the meeting I slid my personal American Express card through the charge machine and made a final cash deposit in our account. In John\u2019s office, we struggled with the concept of an SBA loan, for which I\u2019d have to pledge what was left of the equity in my house and add more debt to our monthly budget.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s over,\u201d I said to John and Jan. \u201cThere\u2019s just no way. This is the end.\u201d<\/p>\n
For two years, John had maintained his confidence that we\u2019d find a way through. But my verdict left him silent for the first time. Jan, resilient and never losing faith, looked at me and stood up. \u201cI\u2019m going to check my voice mail and see if the bank called about the loan.\u201d We took a break. I wandered into my office. The phone rang. It was Tom Cousins. \u201cI\u2019d like to help,\u201d he said. \u201cCome by the house tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Over coffee in his living room, he said he always thought Atlanta should have positive newspapers. He read over mine. We discovered we believed in the same ideals, shared the same faith. As I stood at his front door, he shook my hand.
\n\u201cSay hello to your lovely mother,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI will,\u201d I said. And thank her \u2013 and everyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n