Never Eat Alone Read online

  Today, I have over 5,000 people on my Palm who will answer the phone when I call. They are there to offer expertise, jobs, help, encouragement, support, and yes, even care and love. The very successful people I know are, as a group, not especially talented, educated, or charming. But they all have a circle of trustworthy, talented, and inspirational people whom they can call upon.

  All of this takes work. It involves a lot of sweat equity, just as it did for me back in the caddie yard. It means you have to think hard not only about yourself but about other people. Once you're committed to reaching out to others and asking for their help at being the best at whatever you do, you'll realize, as I have, what a powerful way of accomplishing your goals this can be. Just as important, it will lead to a much fuller, richer life, surrounded by an ever-growing, vibrant network of people you care for and who care for you.

  This book outlines the secrets behind the success of so many accomplished people; they are secrets that are rarely recognized by business schools, career counselors, or therapists. By incorporating the ideas I discuss in this book, you too can become the center of a circle of relationships, one that will help you succeed throughout life. Of course, I'm a bit of a fanatic in my efforts to connect with others. I do the things I'm going to teach you with a certain degree of, well, exuberance. But by simply reaching out to others and recognizing that no one does it alone, I believe you'll see astounding results, quickly.

  Everyone has the capacity to be a connector. After all, if a country kid from Pennsylvania can make it into the "club," so can you.

  See you there.

  2. Don't Keep Score

  There is no such thing as a "self-made" man. We are made up of thousands of others. Everyone who has ever done a kind deed for us, or spoken one word of encouragement to us, has entered into the make-up of our character and of our thoughts, as well as our success.

  — GEORGE BURTON ADAMS

  When I give talks to college and grad students, they always ask me, What are the secrets to success? What are the unspoken rules for making it big? Preferably, they'd like my response wrapped up in a tight package and tied with a neat little bow. Why not? I wanted the same thing at their age.

  "So you want the inside scoop," I respond. "Fair enough. I'll sum up the key to success in one word: generosity."

  Then I pause, watching the faces of the kids in the crowd as they look back at me with quizzical expressions. Half the group thinks I'm about to tell them a joke; the other half thinks they would have been better off getting a beer rather than attending my talk.

  I go on to explain that when I was young, my father, a Pennsylvania steelworker, wanted more for me than he ever had. And he expressed this desire to a man whom up until that moment he had never met, the CEO of his company, Alex McKenna. Mr. McKenna liked my dad's moxie and helped me get a scholarship to one of the best private schools in the country, where he was a trustee.

  Later, Elsie Hillman, chairwoman of the Pennsylvania Republican Party, whom I first met after she read in the New York Times about my unsuccessful bid for New Haven City Council in my sophomore year at Yale, lent me money and advice and encouraged me to attend business school.

  By the time I was your age, I tell the students, I had been afforded one of the best educational opportunities in the world, almost purely through the generosity of others.

  "But," I continue, "here's the hard part: You've got to be more than willing to accept generosity. Often, you've got to go out and ask for it."

  Now I get that look of instant recognition. Almost everyone in the room has had to reach out for help to get a job interview, an internship, or some free advice. And most have been reluctant to ask. Until you become as willing to ask for help as you are to give it, however, you are only working half the equation.

  That's what I mean by connecting. It's a constant process of giving and receiving—of asking for and offering help. By putting people in contact with one another, by giving your time and expertise and sharing them freely, the pie gets bigger for everyone.

  This karma-tinged vision of how things work may sound naive to those who have grown cynical of the business world. But while the power of generosity is not yet fully appreciated, or applied, in the halls of corporate America, its value in the world of networks is proven.

  For example, I enjoy giving career advice and counseling. It's almost a hobby. I've done this with hundreds of young people, and I get enormous satisfaction hearing from them later on as their careers progress. There are times when I can a make a big difference in a young person's life. I can open a door or place a call or set up an internship—one of those simple acts by which destinies are altered. But too often the offer is refused.

  The recipient will say, "Sorry, but I can't accept the favor because I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay you"; or "I'd rather not be obligated to anyone, so I'll have to pass." Sometimes, they'll insist right there and then that they return the favor somehow. To me, nothing is as infuriating as encountering such blindness about how things work. Nor is it, as one might assume, a generational issue. I've gotten similar reactions from people of all ages and in all walks of life.

  A network functions precisely because there's recognition of mutual need. There's an implicit understanding that investing time and energy in building personal relationships with the right people will pay dividends. The majority of "one percenters," as I call the ultra-rich and successful whom many of my mentees aspire toward, are one percenters because they understand this dynamic—because, in fact, they themselves used the power of their network of contacts and friends to arrive at their present station.

  But to do so, first you have to stop keeping score. You can't amass a network of connections without introducing such connections to others with equal fervor. The more people you help, the more help you'll have and the more help you'll have helping others. It's like the Internet. The more people who have access, and use it, the more valuable the Internet becomes. I now have a small army of former mentees, succeeding in any number of industries, helping me to mentor the young people that come to me today.

  This is not softhearted hokum; it's an insight that hard-headed business people would do well to take seriously. We live in an interdependent world. Flattened organizations seek out strategic alliances at every turn. A growing pool of free agents are finding they need to work with others to accomplish their goals. More than ever before, zero-sum scenarios where only one party wins often mean, in the long run, that both parties will lose. Win/win has become a necessary reality in a networked world. In a hyper-connected marketplace, cooperation is gaining ground on competition.

  The game has changed.

  In 1956, William Whyte's bestselling book The Organization Man outlined the archetypal American worker: We donned our gray suit for a large corporation, offering our loyalty in exchange for job security. It was glorified indentured servitude, with few options and few opportunities. Today, however, employers offer little loyalty, and employees give none. Our careers aren't paths so much as landscapes that are navigated. We're free agents, entrepreneurs, and intrapreneurs—each with our own unique brand.

  Many people have adapted to these new times with the belief that it's still a dog-eat-dog world, where the meanest, baddest dog in the neighborhood wins. But nothing could be further from the truth.

  Where employees once found generosity and loyalty in the companies we worked for, today we must find them in a web of our own relationships. It isn't the blind loyalty and generosity we once gave to a corporation. It's a more personal kind of loyalty and generosity, one given to your colleagues, your team, your friends, your customers.

  Today, we need each other more than ever.

  Sadly, plenty of people still function as if it were 1950. We have a tendency to romanticize independence. Most business literature still views autonomy as a virtue, as though communication, teamwork, and cooperation were lesser values. To such thinkers, interdependence is just a variation of outright dependenc
e. In my experience, such a view is a career-killer.

  Autonomy is a life vest made out of sand. Independent people who do not have the skills to think and act interdependently may be good individual producers, but they won't be seen as good leaders or team players. Their careers will begin to stutter and stall before too long.

  Let me give you an example. When I was at Deloitte, I was working on a project for the largest HMO in the country, Kaiser Permanente, forcing me to travel between their two headquarters in San Francisco and Los Angeles, and back to my home in Chicago on the weekend.

  It was clear to me early on that I hoped to use the consulting world as a gateway into some other field. Since I was in Los Angeles, I wondered how I might begin to create inroads into the entertainment industry. I wasn't looking to accomplish anything in particular; I just knew that I was interested in the industry, and when the day came to move on, I wanted to break into Hollywood without having to deliver some agent's mail.

  Ray Gallo, my best friend from my undergraduate days, was practicing law in Los Angeles, so I called him to get some advice.

  "Hey, Ray. Who do you know in the entertainment world that I can talk to for some advice about breaking into the industry? You know any people who'd be open for a short lunch?"

  "There's a guy named David who I know through mutual friends who also went to HBS. Give him a call."

  David was a smart entrepreneur doing some creative deals in Hollywood. In particular, he had a close connection with a senior executive at one of the studios whom he had also gone to school with. I was hoping I might get a chance to get to know both of them.

  David and I met for a cup of coffee at an outdoor cafe in Santa Monica. He was dressed in very dapper casual L.A. attire. I wore a suit and tie, befitting the buttoned-down Midwestern consultant that I was at the time.

  After a good deal of back-and-forth, I asked David a question. "I'm thinking about transitioning into the entertainment industry at some point. Is there anyone you know who you think could lend some helpful advice?" I was a good friend of a close friend of his. This seemed like a mild request given the strength of our meeting.

  "I do know somebody," he told me. "She is a senior executive at Paramount."

  "Great, I'd love to meet her," I said excitedly. "Is there any chance of arranging a quick introduction? Maybe you could pass on an e-mail?"

  "I can't," he told me flatly. I was shocked, and my face showed it. "Keith, here's the situation. It's likely that at some point I'm going to need something from this person or want to ask a personal favor. And I'm just not interested in using the equity that I have with this individual on you, or anyone else, for that matter. I need to save that for myself. I'm sorry. I hope you understand."

  But I didn't understand. I still don't. His statement flew in the face of everything I knew. He thought of relationships as finite, like a pie that can only be cut into so many pieces. Take a piece away, and there was that much less for him. I knew, however, that relationships are more like muscles—the more you work them, the stronger they become.

  If I'm going to take the time to meet with somebody, I'm going to try to make that person successful. But David kept score. He saw every social encounter in terms of diminishing returns. For him, there was only so much goodwill available in a relationship and only so much collateral and equity to burn.

  What he didn't understand was that it's the exercising of equity that builds equity. That's the big "ah-ha" that David never seemed to have learned.

  Jack Pidgeon, the headmaster of the Kiski School in southwestern Pennsylvania, where I went to high school, taught me that lesson. He'd built an entire institution on his asking people not "How can you help me?" but "How can I help youT

  One of the many times Jack came to my aid was when I was a sophomore in college. I'd been enlisted to work during the summer for a woman who was running for Congress against a young Kennedy. Running against a Kennedy in Boston, and for Jack Kennedy's former congressional seat to boot, was for many people a lost cause. But I was young and naive and ready for battle.

  Unfortunately, we barely had time to don our armor before we were forced to wave the white flag of surrender. A month into the campaign, we ran out of money. Eight other college kids and I were literally thrown out of our hotel room, which doubled as our campaign headquarters, in the middle of the night by a general manager who had not been paid in too long a time.

  We decided to pack our duffel bags into a rented van, and not knowing what else to do, we headed to Washington, D.C. We innocently hoped we could latch onto another campaign. Boy, we were green.

  In the middle of the night, at some anonymous rest stop on the way to Washington, I called Mr. Pidgeon from a pay phone. When I told him about our situation, he chuckled. Then he proceeded to do what he has done for several generations of Kiski alums. He opened his Rolodex and started making calls.

  One of those people he called was Jim Moore, a Kiski alum who was the former Assistant Secretary of Commerce in the Reagan administration. By the time our caravan of lost souls made it to D.C, we all had places to stay and we were on our way to getting summer jobs. I'm pretty sure that Mr. Pidgeon had made a few similar calls for Jim in his day.

  Mr. Pidgeon understood the value of introducing people to people, Kiski boy to Kiski boy. He knew not only the impact it would have on our individual lives, but that the loyalty such acts engender would ultimately reap rewards for the nearly bankrupt, small, five-building facility in southwestern Pennsylvania he was trying to establish.

  And so it has. Jim and I are now on the Board of Directors at our alma mater. And if you were around when Jack first took over the school, today you'd barely recognize the place, with its ski slopes, golf course, fine arts center, and the sort of sophisticated technology that makes it look like some midwestern MIT.

  My point is this: Relationships are solidified by trust. Institutions are built on it. You gain trust by asking not what people can do for you, to paraphrase an earlier Kennedy, but what you can do for others.

  In other words, the currency of real networking is not greed but generosity.

  When I look back on all the people who have taught me invaluable lessons about creating lasting relationships—my father, Elsie, my mentees and the college kids I speak with, Ray, Mr. Pidgeon, the people I've worked with—I come away with several fundamental insights and observations:

  1. Yesterday we had the new economy. Today we have the old economy (again!), and no one can predict what's going to be thrown at us next. Business cycles ebb and flow; your friends and trusted associates remain. A day might well come when you step into your boss's office some afternoon to hear, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, b u t . . . " Tough day, guaranteed. The experience will be a whole lot easier to handle, however, if you can make a few calls and walk into someone's office soon after to hear, "I've been waiting for this day to come for a long time. Congratulations ..."

  Job security? Experience will not save you in hard times, nor will hard work or talent. If you need a job, money, advice, help, hope, or a means to make a sale, there's only one surefire, fail-safe place to find them—within your extended circle of friends and associates.

  2. There's no need to ponder whether it's their lunch or yours.

  There's no point in keeping track of favors done and owed. Who cares?

  Would it surprise you if I told you "Hollywood" David isn't doing that well any longer? David hoarded the relational equity he had until he eventually looked around and discovered there was nothing more to hoard. Ten years after I met him at that Santa Monica cafe, I haven't heard from him. In fact, no one else I know has heard from him either. Like so many industries, entertainment is a small world.

  Bottom line: It's better to give before you receive. And never keep score. If your interactions are ruled by generosity, your rewards will follow suit.

  3. The business world is a fluid, competitive landscape; yesterday's assistant is today's influence peddler. Many of th
e young men and women who used to answer my phones now thankfully take my calls. Remember, it's easier to get ahead in the world when those below you are happy to help you get ahead, rather than hoping for your downfall.

  Each of us is now a brand. Gone are the days where your value as an employee was linked to your loyalty and seniority. Companies use branding to develop strong, enduring relationships with customers. In today's fluid economy, you must do the same with your network.

  I would argue that your relationships with others are your finest, most credible expression of who you are and what you have to offer. Nothing else compares.

  4. Contribute. It's like Miracle-Gro for networks. Give your time, money, and expertise to your growing community of friends.

  5. In thinking about what Jack Pidgeon did for me and countless others, and the legacy he will leave behind because of it, I've become more convinced than ever that sharing what I've learned from him about reaching out to others is the greatest way to repay my former headmaster. Thanks again, Mr. Pidgeon.

  3. What's Your Mission?

  "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" "That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

  "I don't much care where—" said Alice.

  "Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

  —Alice's Adventures in Wonderland BY LEWIS CARROLL

  Do you want to become a CEO or a senator? Rise to the top of your profession or to the top of your child's school board? Make more money or more friends?