Issue 14.07 - July 2006
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Monk Ebusiness 

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It’s early morning in the dense woods of western Wisconsin, and inside a remote abbey at the end of a winding dirt road, seven monks are praying. Father Bernard McCoy, an intense, watchful man draped in black and white robes, bows before the halogen-lit sanctuary. He has been a cloistered monk for 17 years and believes strongly in silence, ­humility, and prayer. Today he is contemplating the adage that we were born of dust and to dust we will return. While that may be true, McCoy has also realized that you can make a ­fortune packaging and marketing a different kind of dust – one never mentioned in the Bible.

McCoy is the self-styled chief operating monk of the abbey’s multimillion-dollar online printer-cartridge business. Four years ago, the monastery had little income, mounting debt, and steadily declining cash reserves. All members of the 900-year-old Cistercian Order are expected to work part of every day to support their abbey. As the monastery’s steward of temporal affairs, it fell to McCoy to save the brotherhood from financial ruin. His solution: dust.

The idea came to him while he was replacing the toner cartridge for the abbey’s laser printer. Peeved by the high price, he searched online for a better deal and found several manufacturers that refill used ­cartridges with powdered toner for a fraction of what new ones cost. McCoy opened an account with the intention of ordering not only for the abbey but also for local churches and businesses.

What began as a $2,000-a-year ­enterprise has ­ballooned through word of mouth into a full-scale office-supply company that McCoy runs from a small corner office in the abbey. Dubbed LaserMonks, the outfit posted $2.3 mil­lion in sales in 2005 and is expected to double that­ this year. This monk ebusiness – as McCoy likes to call it – has transformed the abbey’s finances, allowing it to donate substantial amounts to charities nationwide while maintaining a private plane, a newly built stable for two purebred Peruvian Paso horses, and a large and elaborate model train setup in the basement – complete with tiny skyscrapers and a steepled church. When visitors ask if the monks have a Ferrari stashed somewhere, McCoy says that would probably send the wrong message about the brotherhood. Plus, it would be hell to drive up the rutted dirt road.

The success has been a mixed bles­sing­ for McCoy. He points out that he’s a type A monk – an aggressive negotiator who pilots the abbey plane to the heavens and can’t stop thinking of ways to build the business. But seven times a day – whether he’s in the middle of negotiating a supply contract or pitching a new customer – McCoy is required to retreat to the chapel to chant in Latin for half an hour with the other ­brothers. At night, he sleeps in a 10- by 12-foot cell. After all, the LaserMonks tagline is: “Real Savings. Real Monks.”

In recent weeks, McCoy has been committing himself to being more of a monk and less of an Internet tycoon. He joined the order because he wanted to devote himself to God, not ecommerce. He chose the Cistercians because they have a history of transforming men into positive role models and, in some cases, saints.

Still, as he leaves the chapel today, McCoy wonders if his growing online empire might be the best way to lead a pious life. A portion of the proceeds go to good works, and customers can submit prayer requests with their orders. Since he and his fellow monks take no salary and operate as a nonprofit, LaserMonks can offer below-market prices and, McCoy says, perhaps begin challenging industry heavy­weights like Office Depot and Staples. “I hope we can take over the entire market,” McCoy says. And with that, he shuffles down the hallway for another half hour of chanting and silent prayer.

– Joshua Davis

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