The EconomistAugust 24th 2019 Business 55T
he second city is the La Scala of
laughs.Inits60-yearhistorythevast
comedyclubonChicago’sNorthSidehas,
bynight,hostedactsbyJoanRivers,John
Candy,BillMurrayandothergiantsofthe
genre.Bydayitofferswannabefunnyfolk
workshopsonhowtomakeothersgiggle.
ContemporarygreatslikeSteveCarrelland
TinaFeyarealumni.So,increasingly,are
managers,marketersandahostofother
corporatetypes.
Firmshaveusedcomedyasaway to
honetheiremployees’softskillsforsome
time.Theirnumberisgrowing,reportsKel-
lyLeonard,theclub’sbossof“appliedim-
provisation”.Itscomicshaveworkedwith
Twitter,GoogleandFacebooktofindways
forbrainybuttongue-tiedsoftwareengi-neers to interact more easily with less tech-
minded colleagues in sales or strategy.
Companies from Motorola and McDonald’s
to Nike and Nissan believe that sending ex-
ecutives to comedy classes can help them
get better at their day jobs. In response to
clients’ complaints about its able but arro-
gant employees, one management consul-
tancy asked comedians to teach its clever
clogs how to be less obnoxious (or at least
come across as such).
Hundreds of corporate customers think
jokery can encourage serious lateral think-
ing among workers, and get them into the
habit of welcoming others’ ideas. An im-
prov exercise called “Yes, and” obliges par-
ticipants to accept—and develop—any sug-
gestion from a colleague, however bizarre.
Improv classes are supposed to be safe
spaces for frank, even awkward conversa-
tions, where people feel fewer inhibitions
to say stupid things that may just yield
something useful.
Marketers and advertisers, for their
part, are tapping comics for fresh ideas.
The Second City’s corporate arm worked on
a marketing campaign with Legget & Pratt,
a Missouri-based maker of mattress
springs. Farmers Insurance, a big under-
writer, enlisted the club’s comedians to
help produce a training video that staff
would willingly watch. At one afternoon
workshop various Chicago-based firms
met at the club for a sample improv work-
shop in what amounted to a focus group,
where members of the public discussed
their brands and products. Not all of this
was funny. But frequent laughter helped to
loosen tongues.
Other comedy clubs across America,
such as ioin Chicago and the Upright Citi-
zens Brigade theatre in New York, also offer
professional services. The Second City says
that its corporate activities already make
up nearly a third of its revenues, which to-
tal over $50m a year. No laughing matter, in
other words. 7CHICAGO
WhatcompanieslearnfromcomediansCorporatebehaviourFunnybusiness
CandyandMurray,managementconsultants“G
uilty” is the title of a book present-
ed on August 20th by Thomas Mid-
delhoff, the former boss of Bertelsmann, a
media conglomerate, once feted from Ber-
lin to Hollywood. It is not an admission of
legal guilt, for Mr Middelhoff still feels his
three-year prison sentence for tax evasion
and breach of trust was overly harsh. But he
committed the seven deadly sins in a bibli-
cal sense, he says, which is why he feels he
deserved time behind bars and the loss of
his fortune, reputation, health and mar-
riage. He wants the account of his failures
to serve as a cautionary tale for business-
people in Germany and beyond.
Mr Middelhoff’s stellar rise was unusu-
al in staid Teutonic business culture. He
climbed to the top of Bertelsmann through
a combination of hard work, unwavering
belief in his instincts, showmanship and
an Anglo-Saxon appetite for risk. Perhaps
his biggest coup was a partnership with
Steve Case, who at the time was the virtual-
ly unknown boss of a struggling startup
called America Online. Then known as “Big
T”, Mr Middelhoff made a fortune for Ber-
telsmann when he sold its stake in aol for
close to €7bn ($6.7bn) in 2000, just before
the dotcom bubble burst.
His reward—a bonus of €45m—was the
start of the undoing of his personal fi-
nances. Greed, he says, led him to invest in
dodgy real-estate funds and tax-avoidance
schemes. In 2002 he was forced out of Ber-
telsmann after clashing with the Mohn
family, who own the company, over his
plans to take the firm public. Eager for a
second act as a German business tycoon, in
2005 he took the helm of KarstadtQuelle,
which later became Arcandor, then Ger-
many’s biggest retailer. His efforts to turn
around that ailing company led to his hu-
miliating decline. He sold Arcandor’s prop-
erty portfolio for €4.5bn but saddled its de-
partment stores with high rents. In
February 2009 it was the Arcandor board’s
turn to force him out. By June the retailer
had collapsed.
That is when prosecutors began investi-
gating Mr Middelhoff’s conduct at the com-
pany. They uncovered his use of Arcandor
aircraft for private purposes and company
cash to part-finance a book honouring his
mentor at Bertelsmann. In 2014 a court in
Essen found him guilty. He was arrested in
the courtroom in front of his family. A year
later he declared personal bankruptcy.
Mr Middelhoff’s tale of hubris resonat-ed beyond the corporate world. He served
as the model of the title character in “Jo-
hann Holtrop”, a novel by Rainald Goetz. At
the end of the novel Holtrop commits sui-
cide. “For Germans there is no rise after the
fall,” says Mr Middelhoff.
The repentant mogul has already pub-
lished one book in 2017 about his time in
the nick and his autoimmune disease. Jar-
ringly, he prefaced several chapters with
quotes from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor
imprisoned and executed by the Nazis,
seemingly equating their respective fates.
He is now working on his third book, a nov-
el about the rise and fall of a business ty-
coon. Mr Middelhoff may be humbled. But
his favourite topic is still Mr Middelhoff. 7BERLIN
A fallen corporate star reflects on
failure in German businessConfessions of a tycoonMea culpa