Last summer, I was headed out to grab a bite to eat when I saw something unusual for the city of Hoboken: a homeless man sitting under a tree across the street. Now, Hoboken does have homeless people, but you do not see them often near the river, and they are typically playing a musical instrument for change, or they are panhandling near the bank. This fellow looked different. He was shirtless, gaunt and very dirty. He had a sign begging for help, and he was sitting out on a day that I recall was terribly hot.
Having worked in the metro area for a decade now, I have a split view on the homeless; if I think they really are homeless, I'll give them some food, but not money, as that is likely going to feed whatever demon made them homeless in the first place. (You could argue that giving them sustenance only does the same thing, but my heart won't allow me to make that logical connection when I've got an apple on me.) But there are scam artists out there, too – though I've only seen them in Manhattan. But they get me so ticked off that when I see homeless, I tend to scan them to see if they are truly on the skids or not.
This guy I saw last summer looked beyond the real deal. He looked like he was going to die. And within spitting distance of a coffee truck, too, that typically sets up on the corner. There seemed to be something deeply unjust about it, as folks walked right by him to buy food in his presence, so when I got my lunch at a local health food store, I picked up an extra bottle of water and a banana (in case he had bad teeth) and on my way back to the office, I gave them to him.
To me, this was not a big deal. This was something my father would have done. When he got more than he could eat from a deli, he always had them wrap it so he could give it to somebody down on their luck. "We are the lucky ones," he used to tell me. "However successful you are, Bill, don't ever forget it." Our family went through a period where we were on the verge of homelessness ourselves when I was a child, so I got where he was coming from.
The homeless guy murmured, "Thank you," and I turned to leave, noticing that a big white limo had pulled up to the corner moments before. This was also strange; you don't see limos in Hoboken that often. Where the heck would you park one? Anyway, as I am leaving, I hear, "Stop! Help!" from the homeless guy. I turn, and he's pointing at a fellow in a suit at the coffee truck. A woman shouts, "He stole from that homeless man!" The homeless guy had a dish where he'd been collecting loose change. The guy in the suit helped himself to some of it to buy himself a coffee.
I spoke out to the rich guy to give the money back. He shook his head and tried to walk past me with the coffee. "I'll get him next time."
Next time? Next time? At that point, I kind of went into angry parent mode and started acting instead of thinking. I grabbed the guy by his sleeve and held firm; he wasn't going anywhere. I told him to give the money back, but the rich guy insisted he'd get the homeless guy next time and that he really didn't have time for this; his limo was waiting.
I told him to give the freaking money back. Only I didn't use the word "freaking." The rich guy pointed out that he had spent the change, so I told him to give the homeless man the coffee. When the rich guy protested that he couldn't imagine what a homeless man would want with a cup of coffee, I got pretty aggressive about it, and told the guy to hand over the coffee before I did it for him. The rich guy agreed and laid the coffee at the homeless guy's feet.
"Now say you're sorry," I told him. The rich guy mumbled an apology. It was like I was reprimanding my 8-year-old son after catching him pelting his sister with LEGO blocks. "No, say it like you mean it."
The rich guy says "I'm sorry" loud enough to be heard, and then asks me if he can go now. I hang on to him a little while longer and chew him out for being such a disgrace. You don't rob, period. But from a homeless guy? For coffee? Come on, man, show a little character.
Finally, I let the guy go and he gets in his limo. As he rides away, his window goes down and he shouts out, "I still want my coffee!" At this point, I just want to get back to my office, but I hear from behind me, "Sir! SIR!"
I turn, and there is John Quinones and a whole television crew rushing toward me. Where the heck had they been hiding? They approach me and tell me that the entire thing was a set-up for a show called "What Would You Do?" which captures people's reactions to real-world situations. This was a segment to see how folks would react to a homeless guy being robbed in their presence. Quinones asked me some questions about what had just gone down. I must admit, I was taken aback by it all, and I don't really remember what I said. I do recall trying to get something out about how we have to defend the defenseless. After all, if we can't look out for those who really can't look out for themselves, what does that say about us?
At one point, Quinones noted that I had actually physically intervened on the rich guy. (Later, my wife informed me, that what I did technically constitutes assault. I know. I'd do it again.) He asked me if I was afraid the rich guy might get violent with me, and I remembered saying that no, I wasn't. I train pretty hard at martial arts, so I can take care of myself. I did, however, apologize to the actor playing the rich guy in case I scared him. He was very nice about it and noted that they had security around the corner in case something like this went sideways. Now, the rich guy I am certain I could have taken, judging by how he moved. The bouncers around the corner looked like they stop a bullet with their pecs alone. The only thing I could have beaten them in would be a foot race.
The crew took my information and said the segment would air sometime in January, most likely. This week, I got a call from the folks at ABC and was told I would be in the lead-off segment for the show, airing this Friday at 9:00 p.m. Hopefully, I won't come off looking like a great, big goofball. The producers said I'd like how I appeared.
I think about this episode from time to time. I have always tried to condition myself so that if a moment comes up that requires action, I'll find myself running towards the trouble instead of from it. Because when it actually happens, you don't really have time to think. That comes after. And over the course of the day, as we watched the set up near our office play itself out over and over, it looks like nobody else stepped up to defend the homeless guy. At least a few folks just didn't bother, and Quinones and crew were sure to grill them for it. (The issue takes on special significance in Orange County, California right now, where that community just dealt with a serial killing against the homeless.)
This episode will live on the internet for some time, and though I am not identified as the editor in chief of National Underwriter, I am clearly identified as Bill Coffin (at least, I expect to be). And anybody who knows me or knows my picture will probably make the connection when they watch the segment. Looking back, I am glad things went down as they did for another reason, this one purely selfish. What if I hadn't acted commendably? What if I just let the rich guy go? I would have been on national television looking like a cad, and anybody who could attach me to National Underwriter would have known it. Whether or not my staff and I are willing to stand up for homeless people being robbed is by no means the principal reason why anybody reads our material. But to a certain degree, this business is personal. And once readers find out that you won't do the right thing when given a chance, they won't forget it.
I know I go on and on about reputation a lot, but this is the kind of thing I'm talking about, and it is something I know insurers can appreciate. Because of the nature of insurance, the industry is held to a much higher standard in the eyes of its clients. Too high, often times, with unrealistic expectations that are fueled by a lack of understanding of the insurance itself and an emotional component that makes it hard to be objective about how one's own loss is being compensated. For the insurer, selling protection often comes off as a lose-lose proposition. At least, it's very much like this in the property & casualty world; not so much in life & health since life insurance has a degree of inevitability to it that makes people more grateful when the claim comes around. Health insurance, of course, remains a sticky wicket.
But as issues like unclaimed property continue to nag at life insurers, and healthcare reform continues to upend how health insurers do their business, we come, once again, to the core issue bedeviling the insurance industry: how it is perceived. Let us be honest with ourselves for a moment: the real reason why any anti-industry legislation ultimately gets passed isn't so much because the public is crying for change so much as it is because legislators sense an opportunity to score a victory against an industry that is easy to vilify. The issues at heart behind any insurance legislation are always so complex in nature that the average taxpayer does not understand them, nor does he care to. All he wants to know is if the insurance company is ripping him off as much as he thinks it is, and what is his representative going to do about it.
Given the intricate nature of insurance, this kind of mindset seems fairly unavoidable. Or is it? The industry already does a lot of charitable work as evinced by its involvement in groups like the Insurance Industry Charitable Foundation, and on top of that, many insurers devote considerable resources to humanitarian causes. When I have spoken to executives about it, good PR is one motivation for doing it, sure. But the bigger reason, the one that matters, is that it is the right thing to do.
Recently, I saw a bit about how Cigna was doing a lot to help the Achilles Foundation, which helps disabled athletes get back into competition. And Cigna is hardly alone in this kind of endeavor. Many insurers do things that are just as laudable, and just as heroic, the kind of stuff that really should be given more exposure. (Like how Allianz Life gave $1.6 million to local charities in 2011. Bravo!)
But you know what? Even when it does get brought up, it doesn't reverse opinions. It merely keeps things from getting worse for a little bit while people await the next reason to nod their head and think. "Yep, I always figured they were up to something." It explains the sense of learned helplessness I get from industry professionals whenever I talk to them about industry reputation. Despite all of the education efforts, the goodwill, the charity, this remains an industry that people, in their own perverse way, love to hate. But it underscores a remarkable thing about the industry.
You'd think an industry as routinely pilloried as the insurance business would throw up its hands, assume the role of the bad guy and stop any kind of outreach or charitable work. Why bother, right? After all, it's not stopping folks on Capitol Hill from bodging together bad laws, or from bottom-feeders like Verus from making a mint off of the industry's oversight. And, really, all of that bad stuff isn't keeping the industry at large from turning a healthy profit, either. So why not just accept the role and not even bother with all of the hero work?
It gets back to something I learned when I first came to National Underwriter. For many in the life & health business, this is not a job that they do. It is something they are. I am sure there are mercenaries in this business who don't really care about the policies they sell or who those policies protect. But the folks I speak to most are not like this. They take real pride in what they do precisely because they are delivering protection to people. They are making sure families can continue in the presence of tragedy. They are delivering to folks the means to overcome threats to life, and the pain of death. The transactional nature makes it hard for people outside of the business to see the intangible goodness to life & health work, but it is there. And by companies that, on top of it all, do even more to help the common good. Why? Because they can. And that is the very best reason of all.
I got lucky. I managed to land on national television playing the good guy. People who know me also know I've kind of got this hero complex thing going, so deep down, I look for situations like this so I can jump in. It drives my poor wife nuts because one day it will likely get me into real trouble. I can't help it, though. It's just how I'm wired.
I know of many readers who are wired that same way. There is an entire industry of them, in fact, and even though what they do doesn't land them on TV every day, it ought to. Hopefully one day, it will. You guys are all long overdue.
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