Never Eat Alone Read online

  • Once you have gained some early recognition, you need to nurture a developing relationship with a phone call or e-mail at least once a month.

  • If you want to transform a contact into a friend, you need a minimum of two face-to-face meetings out of the office.

  • Maintaining a secondary relationship requires two to three pings a year.

  Using the above rules of thumb should give you an idea of what it'll take to keep your own network humming. I make hundreds of phone calls a day. Most of them are simply quick hellos that I leave on a friend's voice mail. I also send e-mail constantly. Using a BlackBerry, I've found I can do the majority of my pinging while in trains, planes, and automobiles. I remember—or at least my PDA remembers—personal events like birthdays and anniversaries, and I make a special point of reaching out to people during these times.

  When it comes to relationship maintenance, you have to be on your game 24/7, 365 days a year.

  There's no doubt you have to bring a certain vigor to this part of the system. But hey, this is just my way of doing things. You'll figure out your own way. The governing principle here is repetition; find a way to ensure that you'll contact people regularly without putting too much strain on your schedule.

  One way I've found to make maintaining my network of contacts, colleagues, and friends easier is to create a rating system for the network that corresponds to how often I reach out. First, I divide my network into five general categories: Under "Personal," I include my good friends and social acquaintances. Because I'm generally in contact with these people organically, I don't include them on a contact list. The relationship is established, and when we talk, it's as if we'd been in touch every day. "Customers" and "Prospects" are self-explanatory. "Important Business Associates" is reserved for people I'm actively involved with professionally. I'm either doing business with them currently or hoping to do business with them. This is the mission-critical category. Under "Aspirational Contacts," I list people I'd like to get to know, or I've met briefly (which is anyone from your boss's boss to a worthy celebrity) and would like to establish a better relationship with.

  After reading the chapter on taking names, you've probably already begun to segment and categorize your network in a way that works for you—there is no standard method here. Create a segmentation that works for you and your objectives. This is a good habit and one that deserves repeating. All successful people are planners. They think on paper. Failing to plan, as they say, is planning to fail. And a plan is a list of activities and names.

  The next step is to print out your master list of contacts that contains all the people in your network under the categories you've placed them in. The question now is How often do you contact each person on the list? I use a pretty simple system, but there's no reason you can't improve upon it. I'll go down my master list and add the numbers 1, 2, or 3 next to each name.

  A " 1 " gets contacted at least each month. This means I'm actively involved with the person, whether it's a friend or a new business associate. With new relationships, a " 1 " generally means I have yet to solidify the relationship with at least three different forms of communication. Each time I reach out to a person, I like to include a very short note next to their name telling me the last time I contacted them and how. If last month I sent an e-mail saying hello to a potential customer rated " 1 , " this month I'll give a call. Also, contacts designated " 1 " I add to my cell phone's speed dial. (How I love thee, speed dial, let me count the ways! It allows me quick reference and an easy way to get in touch fast.) If I have a free moment in a cab, I'll just go down the speed dial and make several calls to keep in touch with people I've not spoken to recently.

  A "2" rating indicates my "touch base" people. These are either casual acquaintances or people whom I already know well. They get a quarterly call or e-mail. I try to include these people in mass e-mails about my business. And like the rest of my network, they get either an annual holiday card or birthday call.

  Those people rated " 3 " are people I don't know well, who, because of time and circumstance, I'm unable to devote any significant energy to pinging. These people are strictly acquaintances, people I've met in passing, but who have found their way into my address book. I hope to reach this group, in some way, at least once a year. The surprising thing about this category is that, because you don't know the person all that well when you do reach out with a card or e-mail, the reaction is wonderful. Most people are delighted, and their curiosity piqued, when someone they don't know all that well sends them a note, however short.

  The third step, as I mentioned in the chapter on taking names, is segmenting your network into call lists. In time, your master list will become too unwieldy to work from directly. Your call lists will save you time and keep your efforts focused. They can be organized by your number ratings, by geography, by industry, and so on. It's totally flexible. If I'm flying to New York, for example, I'll print out a "New York list" and make a few calls to my "Is" when I got off the plane. "Hi, Jan. Just landed in New York and it made me think of you. No time to meet this trip, but I just wanted to touch base." This New York list also proves very helpful a week in advance of the trip in trying to fill in those extra slots of time I may have in my schedule.

  Where do I find the time? Again, you find time everywhere. I ping in the cab, or in my car. I ping in the bathroom (BlackBerry only). When I'm bored at a conference, I ping via e-mail. I've developed the habit of saving every e-mail I send and receive. I put each e-mail, when I receive it, in one of my categories, and Outlook records whether I've returned the e-mail or not. Then I just open up those files and respond, pinging away. I make a habit of reviewing my master list at the end of the week and crosschecking it with the activities and travel plans I have for the following week. In this way, I stay up-to-date and have my trusty lists at my side all week long.

  Another time-saver is to pay close attention when you place your phone calls. There are times, amusingly enough, when I call in order NOT to get through. Sometimes you don't have time for an in-depth conversation; you just want to drop a line and say hello. I try and take mental notes of people's phone habits if I want to simply leave a message, I'll call when I know they're not around. Calling their office really early or late usually does the trick.

  The important thing is that you build the concept of pinging into your workflow. Some organizations go so far as to make pinging integral to their organizational processes. I'm told that the consulting firm McKinsey and Company actually has a rule of thumb that one hundred days after a new CEO takes charge of a company, McKinsey assigns one of their consultants to call and see how McKinsey might help. One hundred days is, McKinsey figures, just enough time for the new CEO to feel that he or she knows what the issues and problems are, but not enough time to have gotten his or her arms around the solutions.

  With pinging gaining credibility as an important business practice, it shouldn't surprise you that some ingenious new software has been developed to make it easier. Plaxo is a neat new program, which I mentioned briefly in the chapter on technology, that I've found really helpful. The software this company has developed keeps people connected by solving the common but frustrating problem of out-of-date contact information. The software goes into your database of contacts, pulls out everybody with an e-mail address, sends the record that you have of them, and asks them to update it. When they do so, it sends you back an e-mail stating their new information. Automated pinging!

  I do it every six months or so and have become a true devotee. Not long ago, I did a Plaxo update. A few days later, I got an e-mail from a former prospect I'd lost contact with who wrote, "We talked a year ago. Nothing came of it. Now might be a better time to talk." The e-mail turned into a two-million-dollar account.

  The medium and message of a ping runs the gamut. There is the "I just called to say I care" ping that I use for closer contacts. Essentially, I want to convey the message, "Hey, it has been too long since we've spoken and I wante
d you to know that I miss you, that you are important to me." And then there are the more professional versions of the above. But always try to make any message as personal as possible.

  For people important to my career or business, I tend to favor the value-add ping. Here I'm trying to provide something of value in my communication, recognizing when someone I know gets a promotion, or the company he or she runs has a good financial quarter, or he or she has a child. I also like to send relevant articles, short notes of advice, or other small tokens that convey that I am thinking of them and am eager to help.

  Get creative. I have one friend who carries a digital camera wherever he goes. When he returns from a conference or workrelated travels, he pings the people he met with a quick hello and a picture attached. It's a great idea that has worked very well for him. I've got another friend who uses music in a similar manner. When he meets someone new, he asks the person what kind of music he or she enjoys. This guy has a growing digital music library that's off the charts, and he's always on top of the latest grooves. When he pings, he might write, "It was a pleasure meeting you the other day. You mentioned your love of jazz. It just so happens that I have a rare recording of Miles Davis. I thought you'd get a kick out of it. Let me know what you think."

  Once you've cultivated a contact with a new associate or friend, nurture it by pinging. It's the Miracle-Gro for your blooming garden of friends and associates.

  The Pinging Staple: Birthdays

  Standard advice on acknowledging the events in people's lives suggests sending Christmas or Chanukah cards. The holidays, in my opinion, are not the best time to focus your pinging energies. W h y ? Because it's hard to differentiate yourself from the other 1 5 0 people doing the same thing.

  My personal favorite pinging occasion remains birthdays, the neglected stepchild of life's celebrated moments. As you get older, the people around you start forgetting your big day (mostly because they think they want to forget their own). M o m might not call a day late, but your brother or sister w i l l . Your friends will figure, " W h y remind the poor guy he's getting up there in age?" Before long, that residual disappointment turns into resentment, and the resentment turns into apathy. Or at least the appearance of apathy.

  " N a h , birthdays aren't my thing," I hear people say all the time. You persuasively tell your family, "Don't do anything b i g , but if you do something, make it small."

  W e l l , I don't believe it. I'm onto your game, friend. You care, and so does everybody else.

  We've been conditioned since childhood, despite our best efforts to be "Birthday Scrooges" in adult life, that that day is all about y o u . It is your day, and it has been since you were a kid. And even when you're seventy years o l d , deep down inside, despite all your protestations, a little recognition of that seventy-year-old life feels good even if you don't get a big red w a g o n anymore.

  Don't kid yourself—EVERYONE CARES ABOUT HIS OR HER BIRTHDAY!

  I was in N e w York some years back and up popped a reminder on my Palm: "Birthday—Kent Blossil." Kent was the man w h o successfully got past my gatekeeper. W h e n I met Kent that day, and I received his contact information, I asked for his birth date, as I try to do with everyone. It's not intrusive, and most people forget the moment after they tell me.

  Kent was a M o r m o n . Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, he had upward of ten brothers and sisters. W i t h such a large family, y o u ' d think the man's phone would be ringing off the hook on his birthday.

  I hadn't spoken to him for over a year. It was a busy day for me, and I didn't see the reminder until close to 3 : 0 0 P.M. that afternoon. Generally, I like to make birthday calls in the early morning. This w a y I get someone's voice mail, and when they come in to work that morning, they're greeted with my rendition of " H a p p y Birthday." I can't tell you how many N e w York City cabdrivers must think I'm an utter lunatic.

  So when Kent actually picked up his phone that afternoon, my personal Pavarotti of " H a p p y Birthday" greeted him. No greetings. No niceties. I just let it rip.

  Normally, I get laughter and a grateful "Thanks." This time, after I had finished, the phone went silent. "Kent, you there? It's your birthday, right?" Nothing. Not a w o r d . I thought I'd made a jerk out of myself and missed the day or something.

  "Kent?"

  Finally he stammers out, "Yeah." He was choked up, audibly holding back tears.

  "You all right?"

  "You remembered my birthday?" he said. People are always shocked by this.

  "You know, Keith, this year none of my brothers or sisters or family .. . well, nobody remembered my birthday. N o b o d y remembered," he said. "Thank you so much."

  He never forgot. People never d o .

  21. Find Anchor Tenants and Feed Them

  When I was an insolvent student working his way through business school, my apartment wasn't what you'd call a spotless designer residence. Minimal, yes. A bit grungy, definitely. Still, it never stopped me from throwing outrageously fun dinner parties where I enjoyed the company of good friends—and a few strangers.

  It was in those days that I learned how powerful the art of throwing dinner parties could be in creating wonderful memories and strengthening relationships in the process. Today I can safely say my strongest links have been forged at the table. The companionable effects of breaking bread—not to mention drinking a few glasses of wine—bring people together.

  In those early years, my 400-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment opposite the football field, with a kitchen table that could barely seat two adults, held wild get-togethers for four, six, even fifteen guests. The mix was always a diverse medley of professors, students, Boston locals, and, sometimes, a person I met in line while checking out groceries. I never thought twice about some of the minor inconveniences those impoverished days bestowed on my events, like forcing my guests to eat with plates in their laps.

  For all the sheer delight and good times a dinner party can impart, it seems our fast-food culture has diminished our centuries-old belief in the power of a shared meal in your own home to comfort, nurture, and connect people. Some people seem to think it's too hard, too time-consuming. The only image they have of a dinner party is of those grandly ornate occasions once glamorized by Martha Stewart, a friend by the way. Maybe those female-hosted TV shows are, perhaps, another reason why men, in particular, have forgotten the virtues of hosting a simple dinner gathering. They think it's feminine. But trust me, guys, you can serve a fine meal in your home and still be masculine—and, if you're single, it will do a world of good for your dating lives.

  Nearly once a month an array of different people from different worlds gathers at my home in Los Angeles or hotel suite in New York or a friend's home in San Francisco to have fun, talk business, and meet new people. But I learned the art of throwing these events back in my dingy Cambridge apartment.

  Before my dinner parties had any cachet, I had to develop a deliberate strategy for attracting a good mix of people that would expand my social horizons and get a reputation that would keep people coming back.

  You, me, every one of us—we have an established peer set. But if you only have dinner parties with the same people, your circle of relationships will never grow. At the same time, we're confronted with a small obstacle. Randomly inviting strangers, especially strangers who hold a level of prestige and experience above your own peer set, is rarely effective. These people want to hang around people of their own background, experience, or social status.

  Parents tend to stay away from their children's gatherings unless they expect other parents to be in attendance as well. In college, juniors and seniors avoid the parties populated solely by freshmen and sophomores. In the adult world, it's no different. Go to any cafeteria at any major corporation in the country. You'll generally find each strata of the organization—from the administrative staff on up to the executive suite—congregating in their own cliques to eat their lunches.

  To overcome this herd mentality a
nd pull people into my dinner parties that would otherwise not come, I developed a helpful little concept I call the "anchor tenant."

  Every individual within a particular peer set has a bridge to someone outside his or her own group of friends. We all have, to some degree or another, developed relationships with older, wiser, more experienced people; they may be our mentors, our parents' friends, our teachers, our rabbis and reverends, our bosses.

  I call them anchor tenants; their value comes from the simple fact that they are, in relation to one's core group of friends, different. They know different people, have experienced different things, and thus, have much to teach.

  Identifying and inviting an anchor tenant to your dinner party isn't hard. Someone you know probably has access and is close enough to such an individual that an invitation will be well received. You'll discover who these people are by paying attention to your friends' stories and taking notice of the one or two names that continually pop up. They tend to be the names of people who have had a positive influence on your friends' lives. And it stands to reason that they can have the same effect on you.

  Once you've identified a person outside your social circle and successfully invited him or her to a dinner, here's an added little nuance that pays terrific dividends. Landing an anchor tenant isn't about entertaining your dinner-party regulars. They'll come no matter what. But an anchor allows you to reach out beyond your circle in subsequent invitations and pull in people who wouldn't otherwise attend. To put it in terms of the company cafeteria, now that you have the CEO eating lunch at the manager's table, other executives will jump at the opportunity to eat at the table, too.

  Frankly, anyone who can add a little electricity to your dinner party is an anchor tenant. Journalists, I've found, are terrific anchor guests. They aren't particularly well paid (which makes them a sucker for a free meal), their profession has a good deal of intrigue, they are always on the lookout for good material and see such dinners as a potential venue for new ideas, they're generally good conversationalists, and many folks enjoy an opportunity to get their ideas heard by someone who might publicize them to a larger audience. Artists and actors, famous or not, fall into the same category. On those occasions when you can't land as big a fish as you might have liked, you can try to pull in a person with proximity to power: a political consultant to an interesting politician, the COO of an interesting company under an interesting CEO, and so on. In these cases, it's about brand association.