Chapter Eleven
The Obligation To Give Back
Nobody is completely self-made;
return the favors and good fortune.
Giving is my favorite topic. I hardly know where to begin. Let’s start with a disturbing revelation about a president I greatly admired and respected, Richard Nixon. As White House special assistant and staff secretary, I got to see details of his tax filings before the IRS returns were released to the public. In 1971, for instance, he gave only $500 to charity on a declared income in excess of $400,000. I was shocked. To me, that pittance was more onerous than Watergate.
Philanthropy ought to be the preeminent ingredient in everyone’s recipe for material gain. No matter what the field, no star of any success story is a totally self-made man or woman. Along the way, all of us received help from others; most of us also were the beneficiaries of lucky breaks. We all owe a portion of our success to others, incurring a debt in the process, and the only way to repay that assistance is by sharing your good fortune.
I get goose bumps thinking of the blessings that have come my way. It wasn’t always so. For years, the shoe was on the other foot. People shared what they had with the Huntsman family. My uncle, grandfather, and mother taught me the art of giving.
Uncle Lon had only a sixth-grade education. A hardscrabble Utah farmer, he boasted of few possessions. When I turned eight, he gave me his pocket watch. It was one of those old-fashioned watches with the big hands and a chain. (Uncle Lon never wore a wristwatch, and I don’t either.) I proudly took that timepiece to school. All day in that third-grade classroom, I would pull out that magnificent timepiece to check the hour. I couldn’t believe I possessed such an amazing watch that once belonged to my favorite uncle.
A few years later, when my folks were struggling, Uncle Lon gave me a pair of his shoes. Mine had become somewhat scruffy. With Uncle Lon’s shoes, I considered myself the best-dressed person in my class. Those farmer’s shoes hardly were a fashion statement, but I didn’t care. I adored them.
Mother had little in the way of material means, but she knew I loved lemon pies, especially those she made from scratch. In her mind, making a pie was the nicest tangible thing she could do for me. Every few days, a lemon pie would be waiting when I got home from school.
I mentioned my mother’s dad, Grandfather Robison, in an earlier chapter. He owned a small motel in Fillmore, Utah, from the 1920s through the 1950s. The units in those pre-World War II days were individual cabins. Motorists would pay $3 to $4 a night to stay in a cabin. There was no inside plumbing. Bathrooms were located at the end of the small path behind the cabins. When Grandpa noticed a family was struggling financially, he would only charge them $1 a night. In many cases, when they would come to pay in the morning, he would tell them, “That’s okay. Someday maybe you can return the favor to somebody else.”
As kids, we all were taught to share and share alike. We garnered praise from grownups when we engaged in letting others play with our toys, especially the less fortunate. We quickly learned that generosity was among the highest attributes a person could acquire. Even as children, we frowned on stingy playmates.
By high school, the Huntsman family finances had worked their way up to a point they could barely be labeled modest. With my father enrolled in graduate school, everyone contributed to the common pot. My brother Blaine and I each held two jobs to help with medical expenses and the cost of keeping the family car running. I had no idea where I would go to college, but I hoped that somehow I would be able to attend a university that would be challenging and appropriate for my future.
During my senior year, Harold L. Zellerbach, head of the nation’s second-largest paper company, came to our high school in Palo Alto. Accompanying him was Raymond Saalbach, director of admissions of The Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. They were seeking a western states high school senior to be the recipient of the Zellerbach family scholarship to attend this prestigious business school.
I had never heard of Wharton. I did not know that it was the first business school in America, or that it was on its way to preeminent status worldwide. Mr. Zellerbach, among Wharton’s most famous alumni, met with me to discuss the possibility of my attending with a scholarship—all because classes had been dismissed that day for a teacher’s convention. I was student body president, and the principal had phoned me at home to invite me to meet with Mr. Zellerbach and Dr. Saalbach.
Based on that and my high school performance, I received the Wharton scholarship. I thanked the two men, but said the grant would not be sufficient to permit me to attend. I would have to work full-time to make it financially. I wasn’t sure I could succeed academically in an Ivy League school when burdened with full-time employment.
They worked out a further arrangement whereby all of my tuition, fees, and room and board also would be covered. And thus I went off to Wharton, an experience that launched my career. I had been in the right place at the right time and was thrust into a situation by those who, at the time, had more confidence in me than I had in myself. It was a life-altering break.
I had no idea how I would repay the Zellerbach family. The fact was I financially couldn’t. They would not have let me, even if I were able. Instead, they simply said, in essence, pass it on. And I have tried. Thousands of scholarships have been given over the years to young people around the world.
All religions of the world reserve a high place on their must-do lists for giving to the less fortunate. Christianity calls it charity; for Jews, it is tzedaka; Muslims have their zakat; Hindus their bhakti, to name but four examples.
Karen and I have given a portion of our paycheck to worthy causes every year since I was in the navy making $320 a month. For the past 20 years, we concentrated on making money so we could give it away.
Monetarily, the most satisfying moments in my life have not been the excitement of closing a great deal or the reaping of handsome profits from it. They have been when I was able to help others in need—especially “the least of these, my brethren.” There’s no denying that I am a deal junkie, but I also have developed an addiction for giving.
The more one gives, the better one feels; and the better one feels about it, the easier it becomes to give. It is a wonderfully warm, slippery slope. If you require a less-altruistic reason to give, try this: Philanthropy is plain good business. It energizes a company.
As a family-owned company, Huntsman Corp. did not answer to Wall Street, whose shortsighted greed often curtails public companies in their philanthropic responsibilities. In place of that push for ever-expanding profits, we had pressure—at times overbearing—to fulfill charitable commitments. That required more discipline than if we only had to meet Wall Street expectations. Once you make a commitment to charity, you must honor it.
Publicly owned companies are not exempt from the requisite of returning a portion of their profits to worthwhile causes. As chairman of Huntsman when it went public in 2005, I made sure those commitments were met. (As this revise is written, our worldwide company is in the process of selling to another chemical company. Proceeds from that sale will provide a billion-dollar foundation to ensure that the giving continues in perpetuity.)
As philanthropic commitments are completed, new ones are made. The giving bar is constantly being raised. A company’s focus is clouded without such reaching. There were years when I gave away more money than I made. I simply told my managers that we have a higher goal and that we all would have to do better. My son Peter is fond of saying the challenge for Huntsman executives is making money as fast as I give it away.
In almost every human being, there is an inner desire to help others. Unfortunately, some of us never quite find the time or the reason. We delay giving until it is too late or until someone we love passes away or no longer is in need of our generosity. In other instances, giving can be tainted or have too many strings attached.
The Jewish philosopher Maimonides described eight levels of giving, ranging from that which is given grudgingly, insufficiently, or only when asked (the lowest forms) to giving where neither party knows the other’s identity and helping a person to become self-sufficient (the two highest).
There is no more important human quality than sharing with others. There is no source of true happiness more complete than an act of charity. It is what life is all about. In bad economic times, I have had to take out bank loans to meet my philanthropic pledges. (Industrial downturns do not first consult with charitable obligations.)
My bankers questioned the prudence in borrowing money simply to turn around and give it to others. My response was simple. If we make commitments to help others, there ought to be no retreat from those obligations solely because the company’s finances are not as temporarily robust as anticipated. I acknowledge, though, this is easier said than done. Our obligation to give back, however, is not erased during financially challenging times. The temptation to gather around you what money you have left is strong. Overcome it. The poor nearly always give a greater proportion of their disposable income than the wealthy.
It is of little consequence where or how or to whom we give. What really matters is our attitude. I have listened to thousands of sermons on the urgent need to give. I find myself wondering why it is that preachers never talk about how much fun it is to give, or whether they are indeed doing with their personal resources what their sermons suggest.
Today, my philanthropic focus centers on one of the largest cancer research centers and hospitals in the world. It has taken enormous amounts of money to build this world-class facility. It was a joy beyond measure to witness the completion of the Huntsman Cancer Institute and Hospital in the summer of 2004. I am hopeful we can build additional cancer hospitals around the country in the future.
Every week, I try to bring cheer to our patients, hugging those undergoing chemotherapy. In many cases, their life is precarious. In all cases, they are scared. An embrace and a word of encouragement can be as beneficial as any medicine they will receive. My mother, father, and stepmother all died of cancer. I had cancer three times. It is difficult for me to not become emotional when I greet cancer patients.
Donations don’t always have to be money. In many ways, time is more precious than dollars. Giving of one’s time, lending one’s stature, and providing one’s expertise can be as meaningful as money. Leaders ought to set aside time for volunteer or public service work. A recent national survey ranks Minneapolis and Salt Lake City as America’s two most volunteer-minded cities, but even those two blue ribbons represent barely two in five adults engaging in periodic volunteer activities.
Wealth isn’t always measured in dollar signs. We each have time, talent, and creativity, all of which can be powerful forces for positive change. Share those blessings in whatever form they come and to the level you have been blessed.
At one time, I believed charitable giving was purely voluntary. About 25 years ago, I changed my mind. Giving back applies to everyone, but it surely is not optional, at least for the rich or for corporations. It is the moral obligation of any person of wealth or any business worthy of its name to return to the community some of what they have been given. We are but temporary trustees of our fortunes, no matter the size.
No less a committed capitalist than Andrew Carnegie lectured the well-heeled in his 1889 work The Gospel of Wealth to return their “surplus wealth to the mass of their fellows in the form best calculated to do them lasting good.” And he set a remarkable example with his endowment of libraries around the nation.
Many wealthy people are under the erroneous belief that the true measure of financial success is not what you make but what you keep. They spend lifetimes working tax dodges and accounting schemes to pass along their good fortune to their children.
No question about it, one gauge of success is how much wealth one acquires in his or her lifetime. The more meaningful and lasting measurement, though, is how much one gives away.
My message is not solely for the fraternity of the rich. Nobody gets off the hook. If just the rich give, little changes. All must give their share. Be a benevolent overseer of your harvest for each of our stewardships is temporary. We have only a short time to see that wealth, however humble or vast, is spread about to worthy needs. Giving is a spiritual obligation.
The Christian gospel, for one, makes that mandate clear: If a man has two coats, should he not give one of them to the man who is without a coat? For Jews, charity is a duty centered on the belief that everything we own is God-given. One is obligated to share with those who do not have enough.
Giving to the poor is one of the Five Pillars of Islam. In most Islamic cultures, hoarding is considered wrong. Giving away surplus protects one from greed and envy. In fact, Islam encourages the practice of endowing money or property, called waqf, for the purpose of maintaining schools, hospitals, churches, and the like.
All three religions are making the same point: Put back into society as much as you extract. Give generously to the less fortunate. Save for God’s grace (and a few worldly breaks), there go us.
We don’t need millions of dollars to live comfortably. Yet it is often the wealthiest citizens in our society who find it the most difficult to share, whereas those with little seem to be first in line to give what they have.
Sandra Lee Anderson died June 28, 2008, unnoticed outside of her family and circle of friends in the Spokane, Washington, area. I came across her obituary quite by chance. I did not know her, but I wished I had because her story is worth sharing by way of example. By all accounts, she was an outstandingly kind and generous person who lived on a fixed income and suffered from a multitude of health problems. She loved working with people who had developmental disabilities. Sandy Anderson tithed to a little-known church and thanked the Lord daily for her blessings. She always was there with a donation for those who were less fortunate than she. I believe there are many low-income men and women in the world who daily put to shame the many wealthy folks.
How much ought the wealthy render? I have given this considerable thought. There is no set formula, but I would hold that the excess over and above one’s guidelines for a comfortable standard of living is a reasonable starting point. What is a desirable quality of life when it comes to shelter, food, medical care, clothing, transportation, entertainment, travel, and rainy-day funds? That’s for each individual to figure out.
To squander the excess is selfish and foolish. Unprofitable investments and expensive toys will almost always be the byproduct of having more money than one needs.
Companies are under the same mandate to share as individuals, but simply to give because it is good for the company image or because material gain may result from trumpeting one’s philanthropy carries this downside: The sense of social responsibility withers.
Foundations and nonprofits get hit doubly hard during economic hard times. Not only are donations traditionally down, but these groups’ investments are getting hammered. That means less grant money is available for worthy projects—just at a time when assistance is especially necessary. When donations are needed most, they are the hardest to come by.
Businesses often go through highs and lows, not unlike people. Recessions, energy crises, monetary setbacks, competitiveness, and marketplace potholes can mean difficult times for businesses. I remember and appreciate those individuals and institutions that stepped up in difficult times. I try to do business today with those who remembered us when we were down, the bankers who allowed us lines of credit in times of severe financial stress, suppliers who permitted us credit when profits had evaporated, and those who extended a helping hand along the way.
Residents of Utah, according to the Chronicle of Philanthropy, are among the most generous folks in the nation, giving away up to 15 percent of their discretionary income each year. Much of that is the result of so many Utahns tithing for religious purposes.
The IRS may allow you to commingle secular and sectarian giving on your tax form, but I separate religious donations from public charity. Putting money in the collection basket, be it a weekly offering or annual tithing, is a good thing. It is a duty for individuals who practice a religion, but there are many other worthwhile causes.
Congregations regularly are reminded that donations are a requisite for an eternal reward. Without pulpit pressure, I doubt whether many religious institutions would collect the sums they do. It would be healthy for all of us, especially the wealthy, to experience that same sort of collection-plate pressure when it comes to secular philanthropy.
True giving is doing something for somebody who can never repay you. Sharing wealth and kindness, embracing those in need, and creating opportunities for others are a societal duty. The only thing that changes as we move through life is the scope of our giving.
You don’t have to be a billionaire to be a philanthropist. The first definition the Oxford Dictionary provides for philanthropy is “a love of humankind.”
All that is required to be a philanthropist is a passion for making a difference.
And did I mention it is great fun to give back? Giving enriches one’s heart and soul—and it’s contagious.
LEAVE YOUR CAMPSITE BETTER THAN
YOU FOUND IT.
—GIRL SCOUT MOTTO
THE POINT OF GOOD WRITING IS
KNOWING WHEN TO STOP.
—L. M. MONTGOMERY