Civilian Capital, left ot right, Steve Farr, Carrie Heckman, Wrye Martin, and Barry Poltermann.

Refusing to Lose
By Brian Mattmiller '86

Barry Poltermann '86 surveys his office wall, zeroing in on a giant calendar plastered with hundreds of blaze orange Post-It notes. Each note marks a milepost on a frenzied road trip, a year in the life of an Internet start-up company. He glances at the first few months of 2001, which are decidedly less orange than 2000, and he tries to make sense of the feast-or-famine nature of the technology economy.

"As a lesson in surrealism, it's pretty amazing," he says. "People have gone from ridiculous optimism that didn't make any sense to ridiculous pessimism that doesn't make any sense. It's as though, after the demise of the Edsel, people refused to invest in bicycles because they also have wheels."

Poltermann and a group of Midwestern colleagues, whose personal friendships and professional connections began at UW-Madison, are battling the current pessimism to launch a new venture called Civilian Capital. They're based in Hollywood Center Studios, an eclectic little gear in the city's dream machine.

Civilian's management team is driven by a heady sense that they are onto something big — a business dream with almost boundless potential. Here's the elevator pitch: Using the Internet, Civilian will create a way for the general public to invest in emerging Hollywood film projects by listing films as public stock offerings. The Civilian Web site will operate like E*Trade, but with an entertainment focus.

It's an idea that radiates with the attitude of the Internet, where power and control are dispersed among millions. Poltermann's dream is to bring an equalizing force to a clubby establishment. The company's name itself is a play on what Hollywood insiders call those outside of movie-making society. "Civilians" don't matter, goes the notion, suggesting that those who merely watch movies aren't as important as those who make them.

But this company wants to crash the gates of the clubhouse.

Through much of 2000, Civilian was on an incredible roll. The company's founders partnered with seasoned investment, securities, and legal experts; they raised nearly $1 million from private investors; they received regulatory approval to operate as an online brokerage firm; they convinced Oscar-winning actresses and acclaimed movie producers to join their board; and they got big-name film projects in the pipeline.

But while Civilian was speeding toward its dream, the technology market was careening off a cliff. By late 2000, the times caught up with Civilian. Investments dried up, forcing the company's "burn rate" — a dot-com term for operational expenditures — down to a flicker. Initial plans for their launch were put on ice.

Poltermann says some of the real angst for Civilian began when investors who were scheduled to cut checks in January and February simply didn't. "They all gave the same response," he says: "'Are you watching television? Are you following the markets? Are you out of your freaking mind?'"

That avalanche of setbacks might have buried most companies. But the Civilian team's gritty resilience and willingness to adapt is still alive. Its business plan is now pure business, purged of naiveté and lean as a street fighter. The new launch date is on the orange wall. D-day is coming.

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