Never Eat Alone Page 24

  Charities, conferences, and other organizations do the same in hopes of drawing this distinguished group. You can participate in any of these events without being a member.

  As for me, despite my years caddying and the fact that I played for my high school team and have won a few tournaments, I don't play golf. It just takes too much time for me. Four-plus hours is just too tough. Now I play only a periodic round with friends at a wedding weekend or at a big event. But for me, it's mostly Barry's Boot Camp for my kind of sports or squash at the Yale Club in New York or a great run in Central Park or around the Hollywood Hills. Whether it's golf, tennis, bowling, or boot camp, the idea is to make it communal—join a league, a club, or an event, and you're bound to meet some new, exciting people.

  There's nothing wrong with looking for ways to spend time with people who have accomplished more and have more wisdom than you. Once you put yourself in position to connect with the famous and powerful, the key is not to feel as if you're undeserving or an impostor. You're a star in your own right, with your own accomplishments, and you have a whole lot to give to the world.

  27. Build It and They Will Come

  Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

  — JANE HOWARD

  As a young man, I could relate to Groucho Marx. Like the famous comedian, I, too, had no interest in belonging to any club that would have me as a member.

  It certainly wasn't because of some misplaced belief in selfsufficiency: I knew then how invaluable and rewarding a gathering of people could be. You wouldn't hear any angry grumblings out of my mouth about not having enough time. (That excuse kills me—what could be more important than meeting likeminded professionals?) And I certainly wasn't shy in large crowds.

  It's just that all the clubs that seemed worth attending had their doors closed to a young, relatively unconnected man like me.

  These clubs and conferences, with their selective memberships and aura of power, exist for good reason: People are always hungry to congregate with other people with similar interests, to make a difference in their communities, and to create an environment that makes it easier to do business. Big company CEOs realize that to make big things happen—whether it's public policy or a big deal with a public company—you need others. And the more connected, powerful, and resourceful these people are, the more you'll accomplish.

  That's why the world's premier power and business gatherings, like the World Economic Forum in Davos and Renaissance Weekend, are such tough events to get into. At Renaissance Weekend, we've seen unknown politicians connect with the type of people that would lead them to become nationally known figures. At Davos, we've seen international policies formed and billion-dollar deals hatched over a cup of Swiss coffee. Of course, most of us can't get invited to Davos. But there are always gatherings and clubs to which we are not, at least initially, invited.

  So you can't get into the big muckety-muck party tomorrow. Big deal. We all have the entrepreneurial spirit within us—if you can't play on a specific mountain, there's no reason not to build your own.

  My friend Richard Wurman, an architect by trade, twenty years ago imagined how a convergence of technology, entertainment, and design was going to shake up the economy. "I was flying a lot, and I found that the only people who were interesting to talk to on airplanes were people in those three businesses," he has said on many an occasion. "And that when they were talking of a project they had passion about, they always included those other two professions." So to bring people in these fields together, he started the TED conference in 1984—with few attendees and his friends as guest speakers.

  Opening every year with the same line, "Welcome to the dinner party I always wanted to have but couldn't," TED became the perfect event—a cross between a rollicking party and a mesmerizing graduate seminar. Year after year, more and more people came from all walks of life: scientists, authors, actors, CEOs, professors. At TED, it wouldn't be odd to see musician/producer Quincy Jones having a chat with Newscorp CEO Rupert Murdoch, or movie director Oliver Stone arguing with Oracle's founder and CEO Larry J. Ellison.

  From money-losing get-together to exclusive confab, TED eventually took in upward of $3 million a year, almost all profit. Richard paid no speaker fees and organized the event with just a few assistants. He sold TED for $14 million in 2001, and is now busy running a new conference called TEDmed, about the convergence of technology and health, which I highly recommend.

  I tried to do something similar when, as a fresh-faced MBA, I moved to Chicago after taking a job with Deloitte. I barely knew anyone in the city. The first thing I did was ask people to introduce me to their friends in Chicago. As I met with the people my friends had suggested, I began to inquire what boards I could join to get more involved in the life of the city. Doing so, I knew, would inevitably lead to increased business for my new company.

  I was so young that no one really took me seriously. The traditional options, like the symphony board or country clubs, were not open to me. I had lots of offers to join the junior boards. But they were basically social groups. I wanted to be more of an activist, to make a real difference in the community. I didn't just want to host wine-tastings at a twenty-something dating mixer.

  At a time like this, you have to figure out what is your U.S.P.— "unique selling proposition," for all you non-MBA types out there. What secret sauce can you bring to the table? Your proposition can be an expertise, a hobby, or even an interest or passion for a particular cause that will serve as the foundation from which an entire organization or club can be established.

  All clubs are based on common interests. Members are united by a similar job, philosophy, hobby, neighborhood, or simply because they are the same race, religion, or generation. They are bound by a common proposition that is unique to them. They have, in other words, a reason to hang out together.

  You can take your own distinctive proposition and then take the extra step that most people don't. Start an organization. And invite those you want to meet to join you. Gaining members will be easy. Like most clubs, it starts with your group of friends, who then select their own friends. Over time, those people will bring in even more new and intriguing people.

  This is an enormously successful model that even thriving businesses have built upon. Think about the successful Internet sites that pooled people together around a common proposition—like political affiliation, gardening, or even, in the case of iVillage, being a woman—and built profitable enterprises on the feeling of belonging to that community. Think, also, of airline miles or your local grocery store where you get a discount for being a member of a loyalty program. Building a community of like-minded people around a common cause or interest is, and has always been, a very compelling proposition in its own right.

  In those days, my proposition came from my personal interest in the popular business concept at the time called Total Quality Management (TQM), which, as I've described, formed the basis of my content that I used to differentiate myself at my first job out of Yale and then during a stint working with one of the professors at business school.

  On a national level, the government had established an organization called the Baldrige National Quality Program that rewarded companies who exhibited excellence in TQM. In Illinois, I thought I could create a similar nonprofit organization for local companies. With a federal program already in the works, I figured it would not be too difficult to find others with a similar interest— judges and other members of the national organization who lived in Chicago, consultants, and employees of big corporations whose job it was to deal with TQM.

  The first thing I needed to do was enlist the support of an institution or expert in TQM in order to attract other potential members. I asked the head of TQM for First Chicago, Aleta Belltetete, to join me as cofounder. She then pulled in her boss and one of the most influential CEOs in Chicago at the time, Dick Thomas, who gave us his blessing and ag
reed to adopt the initiative as one he personally supported. With Dick's backing, Governor Jim Edgar gladly assigned his Lieutenant Governor to our board. In landing the support of these three people, our start-up organization got a big dose of credibility. Soon a whole host of people was willing to be part of the enterprise, including the leaders of TQM at Amoco and Rush Presbyterian Hospital, who also brought their CEOs on board. The kicker: Because I had started the organization, I was president! Of course, now we had to create, run, and finance this enterprise. But the hard part was now done. We were a credible institution, and from here we all just rolled up our sleeves and got to the nitty-gritty work, which is also critical.

  Thus was born The Lincoln Award for Business Excellence (ABE). The organization still exists today as a successful not-forprofit foundation that assists Illinois organizations in building sound businesses. It has hundreds and hundreds of volunteers, a large board, and a full-time staff. Two years after I started it, I knew every major CEO in Chicago on a first-name basis.

  The lesson? Even a Harvard MBA or an invitation to Davos is no substitute for personal initiative. If you can't find an outfit to join that allows you to make a difference, then recognize what you do have to offer—your particular expertise, contacts, interests, or experience. Rally people behind them and make your own difference.

  The days when clubs were only for wealthy white men to consort with people just like themselves are over. It doesn't matter if it's a group of carpet salespeople meeting weekly to discuss the trials and tribulations of their jobs; a roundtable of female Republicans who are dissatisfied with the stance of the state party; or a group who share a passion for great wines and who come together monthly to do tastings, hear vintners who are traveling through the area, and who plan an annual trip to Napa. Whatever it is and whoever you are don't matter.

  As long as it's as an association of people with shared interests meeting in a specified place (even if that place is cyberspace), you'll benefit from belonging to something larger than yourself. You and your fellow members will be strengthened by a collective identity. And whereas with business, where boundaries of most relationships are clearly defined by a specific project or deal and end when that project or deal is done, membership in a club (preferably a club you've started) will lead to friendships that will last for years.

  CONNECTORS' HALL OF FAME PROFILE Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) "Can't join a club? Organize your own."

  The business term networking, as it happens, joined the English language in 1 9 6 6 . But more than two centuries earlier, in Philadelphia, a young Benjamin Franklin used this sweet social science to become one of the most influential men in our as-yet-untitled nation. Before he became a revered patriot, statesman, and inventor, he was one of America's most successful businessmen, rising from indentured servant to printing tycoon.

  Flip your calendars, if you w i l l , back to 1 7 2 3 , at which time the seventeen-year-old Franklin was neither wealthy nor accomplished. He was an aspiring entrepreneur—trained in the printing trade by his brother James—and a fresh face in Philadelphia, having moved there after failing to find work in N e w York. Knowing no one in his new town, but eager to start his own print shop, Franklin began to flex his connecting mojo.

  Within seven months, Franklin—who'd landed a job in an established print shop—made the acquaintance of Pennsylvania Governor William Keith. The governor encouraged young Franklin to travel to London to buy whatever equipment he'd need to start his own press. Keith even promised letters of reference and credit, both of which Franklin would need to purchase a printing press and type.

  But upon reaching London, Franklin found that Keith had not furnished these letters. Franklin spent the next two years earning enough money to simply sail back to America. On his return voyage, Franklin again displayed his networking virtuosity: His first job, back in Philadelphia, was as a clerk in the store of Thomas Denham, a fellow passenger on his trans-Atlantic voyage.

  Before long, Franklin was back in the print trade, employed in the same established print shop as before. In the interest of intellectual stimulation and his own self-advancement, Franklin organized a dozen of his friends into a Friday night social group called the "Junto"—described, as follows, in The Autobiography.

  The rules that I drew up required that every member, in his turn, should produce one or more queries on any point of Morals, Politics, or Natural Philosophy [physics], to be discuss'd by the company; and once in three months produce and read an essay of his own writing, on any subject he pleased.

  The members of the Junto were young men not yet respectable or established enough to break into the clubs that served Philadelphia's business elite. Like Franklin, they were tradesmen, common people. No doubt about it—the man loved clubs. Indeed, in addition to its lessons of thrift, industry, and prudence, Franklin's autobiography tells us every man should be part of a social group, if not three. He believed that a group of like-minded, achievementoriented individuals could dramatically leverage each other's success to do things otherwise impossible.

  N o w flash those calendars f o r w a r d , if you can, to 1 7 3 1 . Franklin, having earned enough to start his own print shop, invested in a small failing newspaper, the Pennsylvania Gazette. Through snappy content and graphics (much of it written or drawn by Franklin himself) and daring distribution, Franklin turned the Gazette into a profitable vehicle with the largest circulation in the colonies. The newspaper's prosperity transformed Franklin into an eighteenth-centurymediamagnate.Franklingainedenough renown—and money—to apply himself to public projects, the first of which was the establishment of the Library Company of Philadelphia, the first circulating library in North America (still in existence).

  It was the library campaign—the first of Franklin's several public projects for Philadelphia—that gave Franklin a deep insight into one of the crown virtues of networking. The resistance he encountered, he tells us:

  [M]ade me soon feel the Impropriety of presenting one's self as the Proposer of any useful Project that might be suppos'd to raise one's Reputation in the smallest degree above that of one's Neighbors, when one has need of their Assistance to accomplish that Project. I therefore put my self as much as I could out of sight, and stated it as a Scheme of a Number of Friends, w h o had requested me to go about and propose it to such as they thought Lovers of Reading. In this w a y my Affair went on more smoothly, and I ever after practis'd it on such Occasions.

  A n d , oh, would there be "Occasions." Following the library in 1731—for which the Junto helped Franklin find his first fifty subscribers—there came Philadelphia's city watch (1735); its first fire company ( 1 7 3 6 ) ; its first college, which would two years later become the University of Pennsylvania ( 1 7 4 9 ) ; its first—and also the colonies' first hospital, through a mixture of public and private funding ( 1 7 5 1 ) ; and its first fire insurance company (1751). Franklin also organized Pennsylvania's first volunteer militia (1 747) and introduced a program of paving, lighting, and cleaning Philadelphia's streets (1756). Each project depended upon the assistance of Franklin's network of personal and professional connections, and with each project his network grew, along with his reputation as a doer of g o o d .

  Franklin died in April 1 7 9 0 , about one year into George Washington's first term. More than 2 0 , 0 0 0 Americans attended his funeral.

  With networking, as in so much else, we follow a trail that Franklin blazed. From him we also learn the value of modesty and the power of teamwork—beginning first with a group of young tradesmen that he brought together in his Junto and ending with the powerful men who hammered out the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States.

  28. Never Give in to Hubris

  In my Ph.D. section on connecting, I tried to impart some of the lessons I've learned as someone known as a master at connecting with people. But I'd be remiss if I didn't tell one short, embarrassing story that taught me early on what may be the most important lesson of all.


  It is a cautionary tale about what not to do and how not to act. The pursuit of a powerful network of friends is not in and of itself a bad thing. But the closer you get to powerful people, the more powerful you tend to feel. There is a point where your reaching out to others will pick up momentum; one powerful contact will lead to another and then to the next. It can be a very fun and motivating and important ride.

  Don't let a little vanity seep into your actions or excite more expectations or create a deeper sense of entitlement. Don't get your Ph.D. in master connecting, and then, for some reason, forget all the classes and values that were your foundation.

  Everyone fails in life. What will you do when the phone calls that were once returned immediately now don't even get a response?

  When I ran for City Council of New Haven as a sophomore against a fellow classmate, the idea of a kid running for local government made a special-interest news item. It wasn't long before a reporter from the New York Times showed up to write an article. Little did I know then that that one Times article would provide me with one of the more painful and useful lessons of my life. For I had angered William F. Buckley Jr., the famous Yale alum known for founding the conservative magazine National Review and authoring dozens of books.

  I ran for office as a Republican. The Republicans needed a candidate, and at Yale, they were the minority as opposed to the many limousine liberals who seemed to a steelworking kid from Pittsburgh insincere and unthinking. Anyway, I was a youngster, and I was still exploring my political sensibilities. I probably also had a certain affinity for the traditionalism of the moderate conservative party on campus called the Tories and a real fondness for their parties and the commitment of their leadership and alumni.