In 1992, a friend of mine from film school asked me to be his production partner for a full-length feature film he hoped to find financial backing for here in Michigan (Ann Arbor, to be specific). The film was a murder thriller with an internet angle (which was a novel concept back in the early '90s).
He and I formed an official business limited partnership, 55/45 (he wrote the script and would direct; both of us would act as producers), and we set out to hunt down investors for our film production.
What does this have to do with Joe Lieberman? Bear with me a bit while I tell a mostly-irrelevant story from my 20's...
I won't go into too much dull detail, but suffice it to say that after 5 years of close calls, near-successes and working our asses off, we had only scrounged up about $15,000 in backing--a far cry from the $100,000 or so that the business prospectus required in order for us to break escrow on the production. We had several other prospects, and had some other elements of the film (location, some of the cast) pulled together, but I was worn out, frustrated, had lost my zeal for the project, and had realized that while I have a passion for movies and a fairly creative mind, acting as the producer of such a project simply wasn't within my range of skills.
In 1997, I managed to develop a fairly good business relationship with an established producer of sorts (I believe her biggest claim to fame was as an associate producer on the ill-fated big-screen version of "Lost in Space"). She was eager to have a more high-profile role on a smaller project, while I had lost so much interest in doing so that not only didn't I have a problem with her wedging her way into the production, I actually encouraged it.
When the time was right, I informed my partner that I had taken the project as far as I could, and that the time had come to hand the reins over to this other individual, who was, frankly, more suited at the task than I ever was. He was upset, but deep in his heart he knew I was right.
Naturally, I had gone deep into debt throughout the process--sinking perhaps $12,000 over the years in assorted phone bills, postage, travel expenses, etc, and I knew I would never get that back, but that's the risk you take when pursuing such a dream. I handed over the reins, took my leave, and went on with my life. The limited partnership--and escrow period--was set to expire after seven years, so I figured that was that.
Two years later, I received a phone call from my ex-partner, wanting to meet with me. It turned out that he never did make it any further with the fundraising, so he had decided to try a different tactic--when the escrow period ran out--he managed to convince our sole investor to let him do something else with the money instead of just returning it. Over the years, he had also been working on a screenplay adaptation of Robert Heinlein's "Friday" (unofficially), and he hoped to purchase the option rights from Heinlein's widow. The idea was this: He'd use the investor's money to purchase the option rights for the screenplay, then sell the screenplay to a Hollywood studio, and use the proceeds from the sale to finance the original thriller.
Anyway, the investor agreed; my ex-partner contacted Robert Heinlein's widow, managed to convince her to sell him a 3-year option on the screenplay, and then set about trying to sell it--and he had actually set up a prospective buyer, with the deal potentially hitting the six figure range. This prospective deal was put on the table with less than 2 months left on the option.
So far, so good--he was thisclose to pulling it off. There was only one problem. While he was a talented writer and director, he was NOT the most business-savvy guy in the world, and he had made one huge blunder when moving the investment money over from the original partnership to the screenplay-purchase deal: Instead of killing the original partnership and setting up an all-new business entity, he had simply changed the description of what the investor's money was being put towards.
In other words, I now had the legal rights to claim 45% of whatever he managed to sell the screenplay for.
The reason he wanted to meet with me after all this time was to ask me, point-blank, what my intentions were, should the screenplay sale go through.
I thought about this for a long time, and finally told him that all I wanted was the $12,000 which I had sunk into the partnership over the years. If he sold it for $100,000, I just wanted $12,000. If he sold it for a half-million, I just wanted $12,000. I was the one who had left, and I certainly had nothing to do with the development of this other screenplay, so just getting my $12K back seemed reasonable to me.
Why did I say this instead of demanding the full 45% that I was legally entitled to?
Simple. Every once in awhile, you read a story about some guy no one's ever heard of who tries to sue George Lucas or Steven Spielberg or whatever for 50% of every dime they've made in their career--that sort of thing. It usually turns out to be some obscure arrangement made 30 years ago on the back of a cocktail napkin or whatever. And while it may technically be legally binding, the Joe Schmoe certainly didn't do one lick of the work that Spielberg/whoever put into their career over the next few decades--they're just some guy sponging off of a technicality.
Whenever I read a story like that, it pisses me off, because it's one more example of some asshole confusing what's LEGALLY FEASIBLE with what's THE RIGHT THING TO DO. I always have a special kind of rage for that guy, and I've vowed never to become "That Guy" if the opportunity presented itself.
I had a legal right to 45% of whatever my ex-partner sold his script for...but it wouldn't have been the Right Thing to Do. I didn't want to be That Guy, so I wasn't. I asked for what was I was truly due, and nothing more.
The point of this long-winded story is simply this:
Joe, you may technically be legally allowed to run as an independent. But fer chrissakes, it's not the Right Thing to Do. You may have stood for good things in the past, and you may be a nice guy personally, but get it straight: You're a 3rd-term Incumbent Democratic Senator in a heavily Democratic state, where you've never faced a serious challenger before. If you manage to lose the Democratic Primary on August 8th, to a first-time candidate with far less name recognition whom you've outspent, IT REALLY OUGHTA TELL YOU SOMETHING. It'll mean, quite simpley, that you've worn out your welcome. It's time to go. Stick it out through the Primary, but if you lose that race...just let it go, man.
Don't be That Guy.
(PS - For what it's worth, my ex-business partner never did sell the screenplay, and the rights reverted back to Heinlein's estate, but he did manage to eventually get the film made on a far smaller budget with a completely different production team...it's called "Trap" and just opened in a couple of local art houses. Do I regret leaving the project? Not at all; it was a bad matchup, and I now have a successful career in a field I'm happier in, with a wife and newborn son to show for it. I'm content, and happy that he finally reached what was always his dream--not mine).