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How to fix what the innovation economy broke about America



Valerie Moreno laughed out loud when I asked if her family received regular medical checkups. “Oh my gosh, no!” she said. “We have to be dying before we see a doctor.” 

The reason why wasn’t a mystery. Valerie, who was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, her dark hair showing a few grays, pulled her checkbook out of a small bag and riffled through the ledger. “I have $65 in the checking account,” she said.

Valerie and I first spoke early in the winter of 2018 as we sat in the basement of the First Lutheran Church in the small town of Bryan, in northwestern Ohio’s Williams County. The church’s pews had once been filled with worshippers. But people had drifted away, either because they’d stopped going to church or because they’d shifted their allegiance to one of the newer, fancier evangelical outfits. The room, sealed tight against the coming winter, marinated in a cloud of mustiness.

Valerie Moreno
Valerie Moreno, 48, ices a cake for her granddaughter’s first birthday. She grew up
near a small village east of Bryan and has lived in the area her entire life.

Later that evening, Valerie would start her third-shift factory job at Sauder, a manufacturer of institutional furniture. She made $14 an hour there. When the sun rose the next morning, she’d drive to her second job, as a Bryan school bus monitor. Then she’d go home for a few hours of sleep before rising to work her third job, as a home aide to the retired pastor of First Lutheran. She reckoned she managed about four hours of sleep a day. Her husband worked full time at a metal fastener plant. Altogether, she said, after health insurance premiums but before taxes, she figured she and her husband made about $45,000 a year. They still had a junior-high-school-age daughter at home. They were living, but it was far from easy. 

Valerie was 46. She’d worked all her life. 

The story of her working life is also the story of Bryan. The town is broken in some of the same ways that much of the rest of the country is broken. Understanding what broke Bryan is crucial to understanding how it might be fixed.

For decades, America’s political and business leaders acted as if places like Bryan didn’t matter. Palo Alto and Greenwich, Connecticut, did fine. These centers of high tech and financial services create vast wealth in the country’s so-called innovation economy. But hundreds of places like Bryan, both urban and rural, were allowed to erode economically and socially. The innovation economy has largely passed them by. 

Not everything is gloomy in Bryan, of course. If you were to drive through town, you would see some nice old homes, and parks, and a town square with a beautiful county courthouse. You might not notice the empty storefronts or realize that increased levels of poverty, mental stress, and poor health have led to desperation behind closed doors. 

Some people think that when a town hits hard times, it’s time to pack up and move on to shinier places. Tim Bartik, a labor economist with the W.E. Upjohn Institute for Employment Research in Kalamazoo, Michigan, disagrees. “Encouraging people to move does not help those left behind,” he says. “People have left Flint, but it didn’t help Flint. Flint is still there.” Instead, Bartik and others argue for a new regionalism, hoping to restore the vibrancy of places like Flint and Bryan through locally focused investment and education initiatives. 

Developing a cogent regional development policy is one of the most vital public policy challenges facing America. President Joe Biden campaigned in part on the promise of creating “technology hubs” in 50 forgotten cities. But the diverging fates of places like Bryan and places like Palo Alto is clearly driving a loss of political faith. “It’s scary for democracy,” says Shannon Monnat, a rural demographer and sociologist who is the director of Syracuse University’s Lerner Center for Public Health Promotion. It “means deterioration of democracy and all the institutions that undergird democracy,” she says. “And I am worried it is getting worse.”

The slow-motion wreck

For decades after World War II ended, Bryan was a prosperous town of manufacturers, surrounded by farms and tiny villages that spread over the rest of Williams County. Its intracounty rival, Montpelier, was a minor railroad hub—the Montpelier school sports teams are still the Locomotives—with some manufacturing of its own.

During the middle years of the 20th century, small metal-stamping and injection-­molded plastics makers set up shop to supply parts to the auto industry; Detroit is a two-hour drive away. ARO Equipment was Bryan’s biggest employer by far. Founded during the depths of the Great Depression, ARO first made air-powered pumps for things like gas station grease guns. By the late 1970s it had diversified. NASA used its pumps in space. Corporate jets flew out of the county airport; executives spent the weekend playing golf at the local country club.

Things were different by the time Valerie started her working life in the 1990s. Lots of changes hit Bryan hard: Reagan-era financial deregulation and anti-unionism, the creed of shareholder value as the highest goal of business, and the globalization of supply chains. The hardest blow came in the merger-mad 1980s, when ARO was bought by a failing company called Todd Shipyards. Todd wanted to acquire ARO’s pension fund to stave off bankruptcy.

The Ohio Art Company made Etch A Sketch toys in Bryan until 2001, when manufacturing moved to China.
A mural celebrating Dum-Dums suckers near the the Spangler Candy factory.
The Williams County courthouse on the south side of the town square, built in 1891, has a 160- foot clock tower, testimony to the grand ambition of the time.
Industry in Bryan has been supported by rail since the 1850s. Tracks like this one behind Ohio Art crisscross the town.

Todd failed anyway, and in 1989 ARO wound up in the hands of Ingersoll Rand, a large maker of industrial compressors, power tools, and lifting gear. Ingersoll shut down the Bryan factory and moved the work to North Carolina, where union protections were weaker, and to plants in India and China.  

Three early Bryan companies still operate: Spangler Candy, the Dum Dum lollipops people; Bard, a maker of heating and cooling equipment; and Ohio Art, the company that put the Etch A Sketch in the hands of millions of children in the 1960s. Each one is over a century old. But they are all diminished. Bard grew, but instead of expanding in Bryan, where it remains headquartered, it built new factories in Georgia, another state with weak labor laws, and in Mexico. Spangler also grew but now manufactures many of its candy canes in Mexico (though it also expanded operations in Bryan after acquiring the Necco Wafer, Sweethearts, and Bit-O-Honey brands). Ohio Art sold off its toys, sharply cut its staff, and focused on metal lithography.

Valerie worked at Bryan Metal Systems, making suspensions for Chrysler. She made good money there, but that company was taken over in 2005 by Global Automotive Systems. In 2010, Global shut down the Bryan plant and sent the work to Michigan as part of a “global optimization strategy.” Valerie traveled to Michigan to help train her replacements. After that, she bounced around, sometimes working temp factory jobs, until she landed at the Sauder furniture plant.

By 2019, unemployment was below 4% in Williams County, but higher-paying jobs had been replaced by work with low wages and “temporary” status that employers maintained—in name only—so they wouldn’t have to pay benefits. Menards, a big Midwestern home-improvement retailer, became the largest employer in the county. Menards wrangled a rich package of tax incentives and infrastructure out of local and state government in return for putting a distribution center about 15 minutes northeast of Bryan. By late 2019 people were starting at about $14 an hour, or about $28,000 per year, for full-time work. In the last 20 years, the median household income in Williams County (in constant dollars) has gone from $62,000 to $49,500. Defined-benefits pensions have given way to less-generous retirement savings accounts. Health insurance premiums have gone up. So have deductibles.

As the employment landscape changed, so did the county’s demographics. Young people, especially college-educated young people, left and didn’t come back. I asked Les McCaslin, the retiring chief of the Four County Board of Alcohol, Drug Abuse, and Mental Health Services and a native of the area, how he thought they might be persuaded to return. He remembered a recent economic development meeting: “We were talking about the town. And I simply said, ‘Why would you come here? Why would I bring my two kids?’ And there was silence in the room. You had commissioners there and they couldn’t come up with one reason.”

The Menards effect

Bryan’s hospital, Community Hospitals and Wellness Centers (CHWC), caught the fallout from these changes. As was true in many such communities, CHWC, an independent community hospital, became the largest employer in town. But it struggled to stay open and independent. Because the county’s population was getting poorer and older, many patients qualified for either Medicaid or Medicare, both of which pay lower reimbursement rates than private insurance. (The two government programs account for two-thirds of CHWC’s revenue.) So although, say, an MRI machine costs CHWC just as much as it would another hospital in a richer area, CHWC gets paid at a lower rate when it is used.

Former hospital CEO Phil Ennen calls this “the Menards effect.” The company was “a real problem for us,” he says. “Seventy-five percent of Menards [employee] accounts with us are Medicaid, charity, or some sort of self-pay. From a health-care perspective, they are a horrible employer.”

Many people were like Valerie: they just didn’t go to doctors. The spring after we sat in the basement of the church, Valerie was back there, this time counting Girl Scout cookie money with her daughter and a friend. She still worked three jobs. Her back ached from an old injury during her days at Bryan Metal Systems. And she was coughing from a bug she thought she’d caught from a coworker at Sauder. Valerie wound up with bronchitis, an inner ear infection, and a sinus infection, but she didn’t miss any work, because she had no paid sick leave. “No! I went to work every day,” she said, laughing, which called forth a brief coughing fit.

Monica Kolovich, 63, takes a walk around a park near Bryan Hospital. She moved to Bryan 34 years ago when her husband got a job with the hospital’s medical group.

“The prospect of paying for a colonoscopy is a huge expense,” Mike Liu, a surgeon who practiced in Bryan, told me. “A single medical problem or medical bill could destroy their entire month’s budget—maybe their entire year’s budget.” This meant that treatable cancers went undetected until they were advanced.

But it isn’t just that people didn’t have enough money while medical care cost too much. Economic decline and poverty induce stress and trauma that in turn lead to poor health. The new American economy has been killing people.

From 1960 to 1980 life expectancy in the United States steadily increased. There were many reasons for this: vaccines against childhood diseases, improved community infrastructure, better antibiotics, and more advanced treatments for diseases like cancer. It was no coincidence that during this period, economic inequality in America decreased. 

That started to change in 1981, when Ronald Reagan became president. He ushered in an era of union busting, financial deregulation, leveraged buyouts, and the financialization of the American economy. For a while, life expectancy continued to grow, but ever more slowly—until finally, in 2014, it began to decline. That decline has been concentrated among poor and working-class people. 

When Valerie was growing up near a small village east of Bryan, her family used to shop at a locally owned grocery store that carried fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat. Now the shell of that store is sinking into a crumbling parking lot. A few yards down the road, a Dollar General welcomes shoppers. Dollar stores have become ubiquitous in rural and distressed urban landscapes as Wall Street investors have used their financial power to build thousands of the stores across the country, driving small independent grocers out of business. But dollar stores don’t carry many healthy foods. As a result, almost half of Williams County residents live in census tracts with nowhere to buy nutritious groceries. 

“We don’t know what to do”

Bryan’s mayor, Carrie Schlade, grew up nearby. In her 41 years of living in the area, she has seen disturbing changes. Bryan doesn’t have as bad a drug problem as other parts of Ohio, but it does have one—mostly meth, heroin, and fentanyl. The number of kids in foster care because their parents used drugs has grown “exponentially” since the recession, she says.

vacant business sign
Vacant storefronts like this one are a common sight in Bryan.
farmland in Bryan
“We had a hard winter,” Mayor Carrie Schlade said, thinking back to the polar vortex of that year, 2019. “Then spring rain for weeks.” Farmers couldn’t plant because the fields were sodden. “Now this,” she said, as she looked at the sky. “It affects people’s mood.”

Schlade believes something has gone wrong with the culture of the place. People are angry, or sad and angry, or resigned. Or something. She worries about mental health. She worries that too many people can’t seem to cope with even simple things, like getting up and going to work, and she worries about the state of Bryan’s housing stock, much of which is old and shabby on the east side of town, and she worries about the resentment she has encountered there.

Not that Schlade, the town’s first female mayor, is giving up. She and city leaders have managed to have the entire east side designated by the state as an area in which prospective employers could get tax breaks for opening a facility. She has been trying to support local churches that were doing good work running food pantries and teaching people how to manage money. She is always looking for state or federal grants to improve the community. 

Sometimes Schlade despairs at such efforts. “We just don’t know what to do,” she once told me. “We know we’re fly-over country,” she said—so she reckoned rejuvenation was up to Bryan itself: “It’s like, ‘All right, we’ve been asleep long enough. It’s time to wake up. It is our job as a community to make our community good or bad. It is our choice.’”

It wasn’t their choice, though, not really—no more than it was their choice to shut down ARO. Outside forces had mined such communities for assets, pushing them into decay, and outside forces are required to help them back.

Plotting the road back

In early 2020, Jim Watkins, the chief of the Williams County health department, began a project with a group from Bowling Green State University and the Federal Reserve Bank of Cleveland to see what might be done to improve the county’s housing and living conditions. The plan, which had just taken its first steps when the covid-19 pandemic stalled it, aimed to develop policies and financing so people could maintain their homes, the community could develop better building codes and enforce them, blight could be removed from business districts, and community features could be created or improved to attract the public.

Bartik, the labor economist, is a skeptic of tax incentives like the ones given to Menards. He says that the cost per job is too high, and starves governments of money needed to fund education and other public goods. So he’s come up with a series of plans he calls “place-based job policies.” 

Jim Watkins
William County Health Commissioner, Jim Watkins, 61, works in his office. Watkins has been having a hard time fighting the anti-mask conspiracies coming from Former President Trump. “The megaphone of someone in power overpowers any messaging we’re working to get out.” Williams County went from having 11 total COVID deaths from January to December 2020 to 56 deaths in the past month alone. “It’s been a horrible month.”

In November of last year, Bartik proposed an $18.8 billion package of federal aid that would cover 30% of the US population in distressed and near-distressed labor markets. The plan would finance block grants so local areas could adapt the programs. Rather than simply trying to bribe businesses with tax incentives, he proposes more targeted programs. For instance, wage subsidies would enable employers to take on the risk of hiring apprentices, a practice that used to be common but is now rare in the United States. Neighborhood-based job training and placement services would help people living in distressed areas. Low- or no-interest loans to buy or repair cars would help people get to work. Subsidized child care would cut down on absences and ease the minds of workers.

Jobs have to pay more. Ohio’s minimum wage is only $8.80 an hour. The national minimum wage is just $7.25 and hasn’t risen since 2009. President Biden has proposed raising it to $15 per hour, which would be better, though still a low bar. 

About 10% percent of Americans live in areas without access to broadband internet. Many who do have access can’t afford to pay for it. Expanding access and affordability could encourage entrepreneurs to think about starting businesses in places like Bryan, with its low cost of living. 

The marquee of the Bryan Theater overlooks the town square.
Pro-Trump and anti-Gov. Mike DeWine signage on a lawn in Bryan.

This type of regional development could give towns like Bryan a draw they would not otherwise enjoy. Bartik cites the biggest regional development project in US history, the Tennessee Valley Authority, as an example. If such aid were effective, younger people would move to places like Bryan, says Brian Dabson, a research fellow at the University of North Carolina. “When you interview young people,” he says, “it’s surprising the portion of them who say, ‘We would come back if there was something we could do here.’”

No initiative, no program, no development aid will, by itself, solve the deepest problem of all: distrust of American institutions. Reagan told Americans that government was not the solution, it was the problem. That notion has since become a religion to many people in places like Bryan, their faith buoyed by failures they see around them. The internet’s capacity to spread mistrust, hate, division, and misinformation has helped discredit not just government, but also science and academia. The countervailing forces that can combat misinformation—literature, art, logic, critical thinking, civics, and history—have meanwhile been deemphasized in education in favor of “workforce development.” In February 2020, Ohio’s state superintendent of schools, Paolo DeMaria, changed the requirements for high school graduation: students would no longer have to achieve a proficient rating in either math or English. DeMaria set the standard in consultation with industry.

The pandemic has only exacerbated distrust that has been building for years. Some in Williams County denied the seriousness of covid-19. One village mayor insisted that masks actually spread the disease. Watkins, the public health chief, found himself battling covid-19 doubters. Amy Acton, Ohio’s state health director, was driven from office in 2020 by threats. County health chiefs around the state have needed police protection. On January 24, 2021, shots were fired at a state health official’s home.

Mayor Schlade has made incentives to attract business to the east side of Bryan.

The distrust and denial of truth and common sense only make it tougher for science- and technology-based businesses to picture themselves in places like Bryan. Unless there is deep and lasting investment in education sufficient to renew a faith in the possibility of rational progress, such areas can look forward to a future of low-paying, insecure jobs in warehouses and distribution centers, along with a handful of legacy manufacturers. 

That means times will remain hard for people like Valerie Moreno, who recently wound up underemployed, again. She gave up her two part-time jobs and finally got some sleep, but then, two days before Christmas, she was laid off by Sauder. She quickly took a new part-time job with a home health agency while she spent the better part of a month fighting Ohio’s unemployment system. She still hadn’t received anything as of mid-January. Now Valerie struggles to maintain her own faith. “I take one day at a time,” she told me. “I don’t look too far in advance. I count my blessings every day.” 

Parts of this article were adopted from the author’s forthcoming book, The Hospital: Life, Death, and Dollars in a Small American Town.

Lyron Foster is a Hawaii based African American Musician, Author, Actor, Blogger, Filmmaker, Philanthropist and Multinational Serial Tech Entrepreneur.

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BrioHR raises $1.3M ahead of Y Combinator’s demo day



As the next Y Combinator demo day approaches, more startups from the current Winter 2021 batch are showing up in our inboxes. One of the most interesting from the mix is BrioHR, which is building human resources (HR) software for Southeast Asia.

The company fits into a theme I’ve noticed amongst startups, namely a focus on taking proven software genre approaches to specific parts of the world, localizing them and building in-region winners. This theme is not new, of course, but it does feel slightly more pronounced amongst recent accelerator batches than before (TechCrunch covers Techstars, Y Combinator, 500 Startups and other accelerators as part of our startup focus). Perhaps this is the impact of so many accelerators going virtual, widening the founder pool from whom they might matriculate to include a more global group of founders.

Back to BrioHR itself, the company is announcing $1.3 million in fundraising, inclusive of its YC check. The investment was led by Global Founders Capital, and saw participation from East Ventures and angel investors.

TechCrunch caught up with Benjamin Croc, the company’s co-founder and CEO, who is located in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (the city pictured in the image at the top of this post). The time zones were tricky to navigate, but the company’s vision was simple enough: A software-as-a-service (SaaS) HR software suite, tailored to fit the laws of the Southeast Asian region.

Croc and his co-founder, Nabil Oudghiri, founded the company in 2018, incorporating in the second half of the year after talking over their idea for a few months. BrioHR did not launch its product until the fourth quarter of 2019, opening for what Croc described as early adopters. The startup launched more broadly in the first quarter of 2020, right in time for COVID-19 to shake up the world.

Its fundraising came in two chunks, one in the middle of 2020 and one that came in the third quarter of the year; the first chunk of the raise was larger than the second. BrioHR raised the capital using a convertible note, with terms that Croc described as near to standard.

In our conversation, TechCrunch was curious about how prevalent SaaS as a model is in Malaysia and the other countries the startups wants to sell into. The co-founder said that while SaaS is not as well known in his part of the world as it is in the United States — not a huge surprise given that the U.S. is the largest SaaS market in the world — he praised the speed at which Southeast Asian countries adopt business trends; if Croc is right, his view could point to a very active subscription software market in the region in coming years.

BrioHR competes with local companies that are more focused on providing single solutions, like payroll management. From our discussion, it appears that Croc hopes that by going broad, in a feature sense, BrioHR will surpass legacy competitors. The startup is itself still building out its regional tooling, providing payroll support in only a handful of countries. It intends to expand that service to new countries this year, and be everywhere with its payroll product in two to three years, its co-founder said.

Notably, even though it has already raised capital, BrioHR intends to take part in Y Combinator’s demo day. Croc said it is taking part for optionality. TechCrunch read that as the company isn’t actively looking to raise more capital at the moment, but wouldn’t turn down another convertible note at a comfortable cap. Then again, what company at any demo day would?

Since launching out of its early-adopter program, Croc said that the company has grown 10x. That’s not hard from a small base, so the company’s 2021 growth will be more illustrative of its true near-term potential. Let’s see what new metrics it breaks out in a few weeks’ time.

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Twitter rolls out vaccine misinformation warning labels and a strike-based system for violations



Twitter announced Monday that it would begin injecting new labels into users’ timelines to push back against misinformation that could disrupt the rollout of COVID-19 vaccines. The labels, which will also appear as pop-up messages in the retweet window, are the company’s latest product experiment designed to shape behavior on the platform for the better.

The company will attach notices to tweeted misinformation warning users that the content “may be misleading” and linking out to vetted public health information. These initial vaccine misinformation sweeps, which begin today, will be conducted by human moderators at Twitter and not automated moderation systems.

Twitter says the goal is to use these initial determinations to train its AI systems so that down the road a blend of human and automated efforts will scan the site for vaccine misinformation. The latest misinformation measure will target tweets in English before expanding.

Twitter also introduced a new strike system for violations of its pandemic-related rules. The new system is modeled after a set of consequences it implemented for voter suppression and voting-related misinformation. Within that framework, a user with two or three “strikes” faces a 12-hour account lockout. With four violations, they lose account access for one week, with permanent suspension looming after five strikes.

Twitter introduced its first pandemic-specific policies a year ago, banning tweets promoting false treatment or prevention claims along with any content that could put people at higher risk of spreading COVID-19. In December, Twitter added new rules focused on popular vaccine conspiracy theories and announced that warning labels were on the way.

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Rocket Lab CEO Peter Beck explains why the company needs a bigger rocket, and why it’s going public to build it



Rocket Lab packed a ton of news into Monday to kick off this week: It’s going public via a SPAC merger, for one, and it’s also building a new, larger launch vehicle called Neutron to support heavier payloads. I spoke to Rocket Lab founder and CEO Peter Beck about why it’s building Neutron now, and why it’s also choosing to go public at the same time. Unsurprisingly, the two things are tightly linked.

“We have the benefit of flying Electron [Rocket Lab’s current, smaller launch vehicle] for a lot of customers. and we also have a Space Systems Division that supplies components into a number of spacecraft, including some of the mega constellations,” Beck told me. “So we have very strong relationships with, with a lot of different customers, and I think we get unique insight on where the industry is going, and where the where the pain points are.”

Those pain points informed Neutron, which is a two-stage reusable rocket. Rocket Lab already broke with Beck’s past thinking on what the launch market needed by developing partial reusability for Electron, and it’s going further still with Neutron, which will include a first-stage that returns to Earth and lands propulsively on a platform stationed at sea, much like SpaceX’s Falcon 9. But the market has shifted since Rocket Lab built Electron – in part because of what it helped unlock.

“The creation of Neutron came from from two discrete factors: One, the current need in the marketplace today. Also, if you project it forward a little bit, you know, Neutron will deliver the vast majority – over 90% of – all the satellites that, that are around or in some form of planning. And if you look at those satellites, 80% of them are mega constellations, by volume. So, in talking with, with a bunch of different customers, it was really, really apparent that a mega constellation-building machine is what the market really needs.”

Beck says that combining that market needs with a historical analysis that showed most large launch vehicles have taken off half-full resulted in them arriving at Neutron’s 8 metric ton (just over 17,600 lbs) total cargo mass capacity. it should put it in the sweet spot where it takes off full nearly every time, but also can still meet the mass requirement needs of just about every satellite customer out there, both now and in the future.

“We’re covered in scars and battle wounds from the development of Electron,” “The one thing that that Elon and I agree on very strongly is, by far the hardest part of a rocket is actually scaling it – getting to orbit is hard, but actually scaling manufacturing is ridiculously hard. Now, the good news is that we’ve been through all of that, and manufacturing ins’t just as product on the floor; it’s ERP systems, quality systems, finance, supply chain and so on and so forth. So all that infrastructure is is built.”

In addition to the factory and manufacturing processes and infrastructure, Beck notes that Electron and Neutron will share size-agnostic elements like computing and avionics, and much of the work done to get Electron certified for launch will also apply to Neutron, realizing further cost and time savings relative to what was required to get Electron up and flying. Beck also said that the process of making Electron has just made Rocket Lab extremely attuned to costs overall, and that will definitely translate to how competitive it can be with Neutron.

“Because electron has a $7.5 million sticker price, we’ve just been forced into finding ways to do things hyper efficiently,” he said. “If you’ve got a $7.5 million sticker price, you can’t spend $2 million on flight safety analysis, payload environmental analysis, etc – you just can’t do that. With a $60 or $80 million vehicle that you can amortize that. So we’ve kind of been forced into doing everything hyper, hyper efficiently. And it’s not just systems; it includes fundamental launch vehicle design. So when we apply all of those learnings to nNutron, we really feel like we’re gonna bring a highly competitive product to the marketplace.”

As for the SPAC merger, Beck said that the decision to go public now really boils down to two reasons: The first is to raise the capital required to build Neutron, as well as fund “other” projects. The other is to acquire the kind of “public currency” to pursue the kinds of acquisitions in terms of business that Rocket Lab is hoping to achieve. Why specifically pursue a SPAC merger instead of a traditional IPO? Efficiency and a fixed capital target, essentially.

“We were actually sort of methodically stepping towards an IPO at the time and, we were just sort of minding our own business, but it was clear we were pursued very vigorously by a tremendous number of potential SPAC partners,” Beck told me. “Ultimately, on the balance of timelines, this just really accelerated our ability to do the things we want to do. Because, yes, as you pointed out, that this kind of streamlined the process, but also provided certainty around proceeds.”

The SPAC transaction, once complete will result in Rocket Lab having approximately $750 million in cash to work with. One of the advantages of the SPAC route is that how much you raise via the public listing isn’t reliant on how the stock performs on the day – Beck and company know and can plan on that figure becoming available to them, barring any unexpected and unlikely barriers to the transaction’s closing.

“Having all the capital we need, sitting there ready to go, that really sets us up for a strong execution,” he said. “If you look at Rocket Lab’s history, we’ve only raised spend a couple of hundred million dollars to date, within all the things we’ve done. So capitalizing the company with $750 million – I would expect big things at that point.”

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