Matthew Lesko's Big Question

Speaking with people about Matthew Lesko always elicited the same response: chuckle, slight turn of the head, eye roll and “Oh, that guy.”

For the past 30 years, Lesko has been selling books to teach people to get the government to give them money.

We've all seen the commercial. Lesko is dressed in a bright-colored suit with question marks decaled onto the jacket and pants. The camera hurries to catch up with the fast-walking, fast-talking salesman as his voice boarders falsetto pitches. Scenes of Washington D.C. are in the background as Lesko waves his book around like a madman.

Needless to say when I was scheduled to meet with Lesko at the Starbucks on Connecticut Avenue, I was expecting him to walk in, grab me by the lapels and scream "Hello!" into my face.

But he walked in calmly. His face relaxed. His stride confident. A few steps into the café, his neon orange suit and glasses — with a question mark smack dab between the eyes — grabbed the attention of customers. People glanced up from their books, conversations stopped, and then, after a few seconds of rubbernecking, homeostasis returned.

He ordered a latté and we took a seat outside. He pried off the lid, licked the foam from the top and set his drink on the table. No sales pitch ensued. No hand buzzer when I shook his hand. He’s calm. He’s a father, a Vietnam veteran and a husband. He smells like an old-time barbershop; a mix of shaving cream and cologne.

"These people that sit in traffic for an hour and a half, it seems like jail to me," he said. He rode here on a scooter decorated with question marks.

"Work should not be work," he continued. "Just making money gets boring real fast. You need to do something that is valued by society.”

Excuse me while I pick my jaw off the floor.

Matthew Lesko, king of kitsch, tsar of zany, just pontificated on the perils of materialism. While his flashy apparel is partly a sales pitch, it’s also an extension of him.

"This is me," he said. "Funky is cheap."

After getting his M.B.A. from American University, Lesko worked on K Street finding tax breaks for big business. But he was bored, really bored.

"I kept thinking about the people in Wilkes-Barre, Pa., where I grew up,” he said. Wilkes-Barre is a small coal-mining town just outside of Scranton. “Why was I giving all these rich guys tax breaks?”

That was the question, the big question mark. What was Lesko doing for society?

"I could be making $25,000 an hour doing that or $25 an hour doing this," he said.

Lesko is liberated. Yes, he’s a capitalist and trying to make money, but he’s trying to make his mark.

"They are all eligible for something (government money). The way I justify it is I’m just trying to educate. The effort involved may not be worth it for you," he said.

But mostly, Lesko is worried about life.

"It’s (about) being authentic, who we really are. Your best part is what is weird or unique," he said.

Lesko said he wakes up every day with a million opportunities of what he can do.

"It’s daunting," he said. "Every day offers a million choices; it’s just about making the best ones for the world."