USA Today
January 16, 2002
January 16, 2002
By Jon Swartz
SAN FRANCISCO — Genny Biggs moved to Silicon Valley from Washington, D.C., to be part of the Internet revolution. She ended up back at her non-profit roots.
Dazzled by the dot-com craze, Biggs plunged into the world of high-tech public relations in mid-1999.
But the experience left her cold when, at computer trade shows, she saw millions of dollars sunk into publicity that could have been spent on community programs.
"I felt as if I'd sold out," says Biggs, who previously worked with the Sierra Club.
Biggs, 28, vowed to work for a "higher purpose" — even if it meant a lower salary and longer hours. She ditched the public relations gig and joined a private environmental foundation in the valley early last year.
Many high-tech dreamers of the go-go '90s have turned away from the industry they once pursued for fame and riches. Many have no choice: The job market is bleak. Others can: The dot-com boom enabled them to make enough money, often via stock options, to trade fast-track lifestyles for low-paying positions at non-profits. Some, especially post-Sept. 11, are driven by the belief that they can change the world in ways outside of technology.
As a result, the public sector is gaining.
Dot-commers, who once stampeded online start-ups, are now rushing the Peace Corps, which has experienced its highest level of interest since the days of Watergate in 1974. The organization received 31,024 inquiries in the last three months of 2001, up 38% from the year before.
"People are telling me, 'I made a lot of money, lost a lot of money, and I want to do something more personally satisfying,' " Peace Corps spokeswoman Ellen Field says.
Sojourners, a media and public advocacy group in Washington, was flooded with 200 résumés from high-tech workers for a marketing director position it recently posted.
"A lot of people are turned off by materialism, and many believe high-tech is drying up," executive director David Batstone says. "There is a post-Sept. 11 mood of ... re-evaluating one's life."
Even companies are furthering the cause. Last year, Cisco Systems started a pilot program in which laid-off employees are paid a third of their salary, and maintain stock options and health care benefits if they work at a non-profit for free for a year.
The program is part of Cisco's community outreach. It also might make it easier for Cisco to rehire employees when they're needed. So far, 80 people have enlisted. Several hundred workers expressed interest, Cisco says.
Making good
Joel Maske, 34, has had the best of both worlds. Last year, he sold his San Francisco-based Internet content site for an undisclosed amount — but enough, he says, that he won't have to work for a while.
He recently founded PowerfulKids.org, a fundraiser for children. Having made money, he now wants to make good. "You're building good works that could last for decades instead of a product that's around a year or two," he says. "A lot of folks stepped back after the dot-com implosion and decided, 'Wow, I should do something more significant.' "
Some Silicon Valley tech workers volunteered even when fully employed. Now, more are jumping into non-profits full time because:
The job market is dry. Brian Gruber, a former new-media executive who co-founded San Francisco-based non-profit Taproot Foundation last summer, notes a Silicon Valley exodus to volunteerism the past six to nine months, when it "became clear this wasn't a temporary economic setback."
Many had no choice. An estimated 696,131 tech and telecommunications workers lost their jobs last year. Plus, 762 Internet companies went belly-up the past two years. Many were in the Silicon Valley.
Paul Jordan, 27, came to Silicon Valley from Chicago in 1999 to join e-learning start-up Embark. He wanted to be part of the Internet Gold Rush.
But after he was laid off last year, he joined Build, where he had been a volunteer for nearly a year. He's now director of finance and development.
Build teaches entrepreneurial skills to youth-run businesses in lower-income East Palo Alto, Calif., near the heart of Silicon Valley.
"It's a more rewarding and challenging job," Jordan says. "It's like working at another start-up."
With one minor difference. His gig at Build pays 25% to 30% less than his previous job, forcing Jordan to cut back on travel and do more bargain hunting.
"It's definitely changed my free-spending lifestyle from the go-go Internet days," he says. "I'm more cost conscious. But if our long-term plans work, we should get a bump in salary."
They want to improve society. Many are willing to make less money to do it.
Kirsten Steward Beckwith, 32, took a 20% cut in pay last year to join SeaChange, a San Francisco-based Web site that matches financial donors with non-profits.
Her previous employer, corporate-training site Headlight.com, folded in March 2001. "I'm much more excited about my new job, because I apply my business skills to helping change society," she says. "It's important work."
The lower-paying position hasn't had a significant impact on Beckwith's lifestyle because her husband is an investment banker. "If I were single, I'd have a problem," she acknowledges.
Still, those who run Silicon Valley-based non-profits say the interest of one-time dot-commers is not unique. "A lot of people in their 20s and 30s want to bring private sector skills to the public sector," says Suzanne McKechnie Klahr, 29.
The high-tech lawyer founded non-profit Build. "There's nothing wrong with making money in the private sector. But it's wonderful to apply those skills to help people," Klahr says.
They can afford to. Many technology workers, like Maske, made small fortunes during the Internet boom. Now, they want to apply to philanthropy the lessons they learned as business people. A slew of ex-Microsoft executives, for example, have established non-profits in the past 18 months.
Lily Kanter, 36, was business manager of Microsoft's San Francisco retail outlet. In late 2000, she and her husband, Marc, started the Sarosi-Kanter Charitable Foundation with $2 million of their money. The foundation supports non-profit causes. After 5 1/2 years at Microsoft, the self-described "new philanthropist" says she decided to apply her business skills and type-A personality to the social sector.
"At the end of the day, what is the meaning of your life? What are they going to say at my eulogy?" Lily Kanter says.
'Entrepreneurs' disease'
How long the trend will last is anybody's guess.
Big, established companies such as Microsoft are being deluged with résumés: 30,000 a month for up to 5,000 jobs.
Meanwhile, few dot-coms are offering jobs at Harvard University, the University of California at Berkeley and other campuses.
And students appear to be adapting. Benjamin Hermalin, dean of the Haas School of Business at Berkeley, says the school's social-entrepreneurship courses have been inundated with student applications since last spring.
Conversely, the number of students who pursued dot-com jobs plunged to 6% last year from 25% in 2000, he says.
"There is more interest in public-sector opportunities," says Andy Chan, career-management center director at Stanford Graduate School of Business. "The sense of risk at start-ups is much greater."
Some, though, are likely to take the first high-paying tech job that comes along.
"Non-profits are a temporary gig until the next fix," Taproot's Gruber says. "They (high-tech workers) miss working until 2 a.m., bringing their dog to work and sipping a latte."
Even Maske, who founded the kid's charity, says he expects someday to return to business life and start another tech company. He is mulling several ideas.
Such are the vagaries of Silicon Valley.
"When Silicon Valley is hot, they rush here. When it isn't, they jump elsewhere," says Paul Saffo, a director at Institute for the Future and a longtime Valley observer.
"It's entrepreneurs' disease," Saffo says. "Once you get it, it never goes away. ... It's the excitement of creating new technology that changes the world — and getting rich."
SAN FRANCISCO — Genny Biggs moved to Silicon Valley from Washington, D.C., to be part of the Internet revolution. She ended up back at her non-profit roots.
Dazzled by the dot-com craze, Biggs plunged into the world of high-tech public relations in mid-1999.
But the experience left her cold when, at computer trade shows, she saw millions of dollars sunk into publicity that could have been spent on community programs.
"I felt as if I'd sold out," says Biggs, who previously worked with the Sierra Club.
Biggs, 28, vowed to work for a "higher purpose" — even if it meant a lower salary and longer hours. She ditched the public relations gig and joined a private environmental foundation in the valley early last year.
Many high-tech dreamers of the go-go '90s have turned away from the industry they once pursued for fame and riches. Many have no choice: The job market is bleak. Others can: The dot-com boom enabled them to make enough money, often via stock options, to trade fast-track lifestyles for low-paying positions at non-profits. Some, especially post-Sept. 11, are driven by the belief that they can change the world in ways outside of technology.
As a result, the public sector is gaining.
Dot-commers, who once stampeded online start-ups, are now rushing the Peace Corps, which has experienced its highest level of interest since the days of Watergate in 1974. The organization received 31,024 inquiries in the last three months of 2001, up 38% from the year before.
"People are telling me, 'I made a lot of money, lost a lot of money, and I want to do something more personally satisfying,' " Peace Corps spokeswoman Ellen Field says.
Sojourners, a media and public advocacy group in Washington, was flooded with 200 résumés from high-tech workers for a marketing director position it recently posted.
"A lot of people are turned off by materialism, and many believe high-tech is drying up," executive director David Batstone says. "There is a post-Sept. 11 mood of ... re-evaluating one's life."
Even companies are furthering the cause. Last year, Cisco Systems started a pilot program in which laid-off employees are paid a third of their salary, and maintain stock options and health care benefits if they work at a non-profit for free for a year.
The program is part of Cisco's community outreach. It also might make it easier for Cisco to rehire employees when they're needed. So far, 80 people have enlisted. Several hundred workers expressed interest, Cisco says.
Making good
Joel Maske, 34, has had the best of both worlds. Last year, he sold his San Francisco-based Internet content site for an undisclosed amount — but enough, he says, that he won't have to work for a while.
He recently founded PowerfulKids.org, a fundraiser for children. Having made money, he now wants to make good. "You're building good works that could last for decades instead of a product that's around a year or two," he says. "A lot of folks stepped back after the dot-com implosion and decided, 'Wow, I should do something more significant.' "
Some Silicon Valley tech workers volunteered even when fully employed. Now, more are jumping into non-profits full time because:
The job market is dry. Brian Gruber, a former new-media executive who co-founded San Francisco-based non-profit Taproot Foundation last summer, notes a Silicon Valley exodus to volunteerism the past six to nine months, when it "became clear this wasn't a temporary economic setback."
Many had no choice. An estimated 696,131 tech and telecommunications workers lost their jobs last year. Plus, 762 Internet companies went belly-up the past two years. Many were in the Silicon Valley.
Paul Jordan, 27, came to Silicon Valley from Chicago in 1999 to join e-learning start-up Embark. He wanted to be part of the Internet Gold Rush.
But after he was laid off last year, he joined Build, where he had been a volunteer for nearly a year. He's now director of finance and development.
Build teaches entrepreneurial skills to youth-run businesses in lower-income East Palo Alto, Calif., near the heart of Silicon Valley.
"It's a more rewarding and challenging job," Jordan says. "It's like working at another start-up."
With one minor difference. His gig at Build pays 25% to 30% less than his previous job, forcing Jordan to cut back on travel and do more bargain hunting.
"It's definitely changed my free-spending lifestyle from the go-go Internet days," he says. "I'm more cost conscious. But if our long-term plans work, we should get a bump in salary."
They want to improve society. Many are willing to make less money to do it.
Kirsten Steward Beckwith, 32, took a 20% cut in pay last year to join SeaChange, a San Francisco-based Web site that matches financial donors with non-profits.
Her previous employer, corporate-training site Headlight.com, folded in March 2001. "I'm much more excited about my new job, because I apply my business skills to helping change society," she says. "It's important work."
The lower-paying position hasn't had a significant impact on Beckwith's lifestyle because her husband is an investment banker. "If I were single, I'd have a problem," she acknowledges.
Still, those who run Silicon Valley-based non-profits say the interest of one-time dot-commers is not unique. "A lot of people in their 20s and 30s want to bring private sector skills to the public sector," says Suzanne McKechnie Klahr, 29.
The high-tech lawyer founded non-profit Build. "There's nothing wrong with making money in the private sector. But it's wonderful to apply those skills to help people," Klahr says.
They can afford to. Many technology workers, like Maske, made small fortunes during the Internet boom. Now, they want to apply to philanthropy the lessons they learned as business people. A slew of ex-Microsoft executives, for example, have established non-profits in the past 18 months.
Lily Kanter, 36, was business manager of Microsoft's San Francisco retail outlet. In late 2000, she and her husband, Marc, started the Sarosi-Kanter Charitable Foundation with $2 million of their money. The foundation supports non-profit causes. After 5 1/2 years at Microsoft, the self-described "new philanthropist" says she decided to apply her business skills and type-A personality to the social sector.
"At the end of the day, what is the meaning of your life? What are they going to say at my eulogy?" Lily Kanter says.
'Entrepreneurs' disease'
How long the trend will last is anybody's guess.
Big, established companies such as Microsoft are being deluged with résumés: 30,000 a month for up to 5,000 jobs.
Meanwhile, few dot-coms are offering jobs at Harvard University, the University of California at Berkeley and other campuses.
And students appear to be adapting. Benjamin Hermalin, dean of the Haas School of Business at Berkeley, says the school's social-entrepreneurship courses have been inundated with student applications since last spring.
Conversely, the number of students who pursued dot-com jobs plunged to 6% last year from 25% in 2000, he says.
"There is more interest in public-sector opportunities," says Andy Chan, career-management center director at Stanford Graduate School of Business. "The sense of risk at start-ups is much greater."
Some, though, are likely to take the first high-paying tech job that comes along.
"Non-profits are a temporary gig until the next fix," Taproot's Gruber says. "They (high-tech workers) miss working until 2 a.m., bringing their dog to work and sipping a latte."
Even Maske, who founded the kid's charity, says he expects someday to return to business life and start another tech company. He is mulling several ideas.
Such are the vagaries of Silicon Valley.
"When Silicon Valley is hot, they rush here. When it isn't, they jump elsewhere," says Paul Saffo, a director at Institute for the Future and a longtime Valley observer.
"It's entrepreneurs' disease," Saffo says. "Once you get it, it never goes away. ... It's the excitement of creating new technology that changes the world — and getting rich."
