by Doug Raber
I was able to help the Congressman understand the underlying issues, which were important to many of his constituents, his major campaign contributors in particular. But the ramifications of my winter-recess scholarship extended beyond the halls of Congress to the seminar rooms of Harvard.
As one might have anticipated, a major piece of legislation governing international business dealings became the topic of considerable conversation at the business school. Certainly, this was the case for my course in international trade. This topic was of immense interest to me and my classmates, since we were all aspiring businessmen.
We understood that international business activities were increasing in importance, although this was years before the term “globalization” came into the vernacular. If we were going to work with foreign companies and foreign governments, we would have to understand the appropriate ways to act and the limitations placed upon us. None of us had any desire to spend time in prison, nor even to be in the situation of defending ourselves in a courtroom.
At the same time, we all understood that success in the marketplace can require bold steps, so it became an essential goal for us to understand how to push the envelope and go as far as legally allowed without crossing the line. Or, failing that, to learn how to avoid getting caught.
By the end of the semester, the professor had begun appreciating my expertise to such an extent, that he arranged for me to be hired as a research assistant the following summer.
And certainly, I checked with the Congressman to establish that he would not require my presence in his office at that time.
“No question about it, Timothy. This is a wonderful opportunity for you. I always understood that having you work with me was but a temporary stop on your career path. Go and make your way. Your success will be more valuable to me than having another staffer in my office.”
So that became my summer program at the mid-point of my MBA studies. I returned to the topic of the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act and spent two months researching every aspect of the law and recording my findings and interpretations. By the following winter, much of this would appear in the form of a scholarly article, although my name would not appear as the author. My role was, once again, a secret.
• • • • •
Year two of my MBA program was a cakewalk. I will admit that I felt more pressure the second year, but it was not because the material was in any way too difficult for me. It was quite the opposite. Doing well was not sufficient. I expected to be ahead of the competition, and I accepted that challenge. Moreover, I enjoyed it.
During the Winter Recess that year, Uncle Christopher treated me to another dinner at the Harvard Club. It was just the two of us, at least for most of the evening. But as we ordered coffee after the meal, my uncle called to someone walking nearby.
“Jonathan! Come over and say hello.”
A stocky man who looked to be in his fifties approached our table.
“Good evening, Christopher. Nice to see you again. Who’s this young fellow with you?”
“Timothy O’Connor. He’s finishing up his MBA at Harvard this year. Timothy, this is Mr. Biggers.”
I shook his hand, and Uncle Christopher invited him to join us for coffee, but he declined.
“I have to be on my way. I can stop to chat for a moment, but I’m expected elsewhere in a few minutes.”
I sat quietly while my uncle and the visitor engaged in small talk, and it was apparent to me that they had done business together. Eventually, the older man turned toward me.
“And what is your area of expertise, Mr. O’Connor? In the context of your studies, of course. A bit early to see where it will take you, yes?”
“International business, sir. Government relations, foreign trade, that sort of thing. And eventually, I’d like to be involved in potential opportunities in the East Bloc. I believe that will be the next area of major economic growth.”
His brow furrowed, and then his expression turned to approval.
“Yes. Indeed, it may. Good thinking, lad.”
He removed a small leather wallet from his breast pocket and extracted a business card.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to give me a call. Next Tuesday? Early afternoon.”
With that, he stood and shook hands with my uncle and me in turn. After a friendly good-night, he departed.
I looked at my uncle with a smile.
“I know. When a man like that asks you to call, you do so. And so I shall.”
“Good boy. Drink your coffee, and we’ll be going.”
I soon learned that Jonathan Biggers was a founding partner at Biggers & Hayes, an import-export firm in New York. Not as well-known as the major investment banks, they were nevertheless, influential players in both domestic and foreign markets.
By the following Tuesday afternoon, I also learned that Biggers & Hayes had a serious interest in hiring me. The conversation at the Harvard Club had lasted only several minutes, but it apparently had served as a job interview.
I was already exploring a possible position with Deutsche Bank, and this new option threw a monkey wrench in my plans. Working at a major international bank promised a lucrative career, and Deutsche Bank certainly met my expectations for international activities. But suddenly it seemed that Biggers & Hayes might offer even more attractive opportunities.
In any event, both firms recommended that I take time to think about it and get back to them by the end of January. I said I would.
• • • • •
One day in mid-January, I was returning home in late afternoon. As I approached the brownstone, I saw someone standing on the front steps, looking up at the door.
I hesitated for a moment, but she didn’t move.
“Excuse me, please.”
I expected her to simply move aside so I could enter, so I was surprised when she turned toward me.
“Timothy!” she cried in apparent surprise.
I realized then that even in the fading sunlight, I should have recognized the reddish-blond hair. It was Cynthia.
“My God, Timothy. It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here?”
“I live here. It’s my apartment. On the second floor of the building.”
“Here? I can’t believe it. This is where I lived when I was working at Uncle Christopher’s firm. You actually live here now? Talk about coincidence, it doesn’t even seem possible. I was just walking by and I paused to look at my old place.”
I realized we were still standing outside.
“I’m being impolite, Cynthia. It’s cold out here. Please come inside. I can offer you a drink or hot tea or something.”
She smiled. Her old smile. She could still have been twenty-one years old.
“Yes. I’d like that.”
I turned on the lights as we entered the apartment. It was small, with just a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. She was looking all around like an excited child.
“It’s hardly any different. I thought whoever lived here after me would have changed everything.”
I shrugged.
“It came furnished, so there was no reason to change anything.”
“Really? Let me see.”
She went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Then peeked in a cupboard.
“You’re right. Same utensils. Same dishes. I just expected it to be different.”
She walked back toward the front door.
“What about the bedroom? Is that the same?”
I was glad I had thrown my dirty laundry into the hamper that morning, because she didn’t stop to ask. She just went straight in.
“Exactly the same. It’s weird. But it’s cool.”
She turned to me with an odd look.
“It’s the same bed, Tim. The same one I slept in every night for a couple of years. How does that make you feel?”
To my utter amazement, she began to unbutton her blouse.
“I want to see if it still feels the same to me. I can�
�t stay too long, Tim, so get over here and help me undress.”
I did as she requested.
“Oh, dear God, I’ve missed you, Tim. I’ve almost forgotten what it was like. Help me remember. Quickly, Tim. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
It was like it always had been. Exciting, intense, electrifying. And finished altogether too soon.
As we lay together for a brief time afterward, she turned to me with a conspiratorial look.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do next, Timothy? Your career, I mean.”
I told her about the two offers I was mulling over.
“One in New York, and the other in Boston?” she asked.
“Both in New York,” I replied.
“Oh.”
I could hear disappointment in her voice.
“I was hoping it might be Boston. I’ll probably have more business trips here. But it doesn’t matter, Timothy. What matters is your career path. And you know that means Biggers & Hayes. If you go to Deutsche Bank, you’ll get lost in the crowd, even though you’d be the best. They have too many people and too many programs.”
“You think I’d be better off with import-export?”
“There’s no question about it. You need to go with Biggers & Hayes. They’re made to order for what you want to do.”
She paused, and I saw that her lascivious smile had returned.
“Speaking of what you want to do, Tim … come close to me again. I have to leave in a few minutes, so let’s make the most of our time together.”
• • • • •
By the end of the month, my choice had been made. I employed a logical, analytical, and dispassionate decision-making process, following precisely the procedures I had been learning in my MBA program. By every criterion, Biggers & Hayes was the preferred option. Yet, as I look back on it now, it isn’t entirely clear that my methodology was so completely objective. Cynthia had presented a recommendation, and I had already come to understand that the distinction between a suggestion and an instruction could sometimes be perilously narrow.
* * *
22
Berlin
The decision to sign on with Biggers & Hayes was unquestionably the appropriate step to begin my career. I worked hard, spent long hours at the office, and impressed the right people. It certainly did no harm when Jonathan Biggers would occasionally poke his head into my office and ask if all was going well.
My starting salary was excellent, and I quickly realized that never again would I find it necessary to rely upon my Uncle Christopher for assistance. Advice perhaps, and guidance sometimes, but not assistance. I had become financially independent, and within a few months I received a generous increase in my compensation. I had liquid funds in the bank, securities at an investment firm, and a rental apartment in New York City that would soon be replaced when I purchased an apartment on Fifth Avenue.
Admittedly, it took some time for me to learn the intricacies of the firm and the details of our business strategies and goals. However, I continued to be a quick study, and my passage from neophyte to expert proceeded more rapidly than any of the senior executives had expected. I joined the firm at the beginning of the summer, and by September, I was no longer the newcomer invited to a meeting for learning purposes. Rather, I was often at the head of the table, presenting the latest developments and theories in international trade as they might affect the firm.
I was able to have a major impact on the firm in the burgeoning field of information technology. Of course, it wasn’t called that at the time. It was simply computing, and in its early days, the discipline was developed by mathematicians for use by mathematicians. It was a way of manipulating data faster and more accurately than could be done by the human brain.
One of the pioneers in the arena was John Kemeny, the President of Dartmouth College when I was a student there. Earlier, as a member of the faculty, he had encouraged students to take advantage of the fledgling computer center, but most did not. Even the science students shied away. “I’m going to be a chemist,” one might say. “I’ll be mixing reagents in a flask, so what would I do with a computer? Those are for mathematicians.”
My own strategies were less short-sighted, and even in those early days, I recognized the potential of the field. For example, Kemeny and his colleagues developed a text-editing program that was one of the forerunners of modern word-processing systems. It took some effort to learn the system’s intricacies, but I did so. While my fellow students were submitting term papers covered with white smears of dried correction fluid and locations where the paper had been thinned to near obliteration by attempts at erasure, I was able to make my revisions and corrections electronically. Is it any wonder that the clean crisp reports I submitted would capture the attention of my professors before they even read them?
The same approach prevailed at Biggers & Hayes. The first generation of word processors was by then on the market, but I knew it was necessary to begin slowly. My first significant acquisition in the office was an IBM Mag Card typewriter. Each page that I typed was recorded on a magnetic memory card, and revisions could be made electronically. There was no need for a secretary, who might at best introduce errors that were not my own. It was faster, and it was more accurate. In a word, it was better.
Soon, others were intrigued, and the firm was employing cutting-edge technology to further the interests of our clients. We became leaders in modern business communication, and our clients soon understood that we were at the forefront of international finance and trade. It was only a question of time before the senior executives at Biggers & Hayes recognized that it was I who had made all this possible.
• • • • •
My big breakthrough came in December of that first year. The firm needed someone to do an assessment of a proposed project in Frankfurt, West Germany. You will understand my shock when I discovered the goal was to facilitate the growth of the German automobile industry. This was far beyond helping a company that wanted to market a new candy bar in the United States, and the objective was massive importing of German cars.
When this was first considered, Volkswagen was the rising star of the market, and discussions focused on establishing an enhanced network of dealerships and aftermarket equipment suppliers across the United States. The talks were extended to other manufacturers, including Mercedes-Benz and BMW, and the firm helped those companies grow as dominant forces in the luxury car market.
In deliberations with my German counterparts, I came to realize that Biggers & Hayes could play a far more important role than merely facilitating the sale of imported automobiles. My MBA studies had taught me that in a successful negotiation, both sides win. There can be no losers. But all my talks were within the context of an expansion of German automobile exports that posed a direct threat to the U.S. economy. If Americans purchased German cars, it was at the expense of American manufacturers and therefore the jobs of American factory workers. The German automobile manufacturers might win, but the American people would lose.
My idea, which I soon put into the form of a white paper that I submitted to the senior partners of the firm, was a relocation of the actual manufacturing. If we could broker a deal between the German factories and the appropriate local or state governments at home, everyone would reap the benefits.
My proposal was a clear winner, and I was soon named as the lead negotiator. It took some years before deals were finalized for new manufacturing sites for Mercedes-Benz and BMW,* but Volkswagen had already started.* Soon one assembly plant became two, and my plan was on the pathway to reaping the desired rewards for all parties. There would be new tax revenues for the states where the plants were to be built, new jobs for American workers, and new cars being built by the German automakers. Everyone involved in the project would be making money. Especially Biggers & Hayes.
• • • • •
Soon after this early success, Jonathan Biggers invited me to have lunch with him.
�
��You’ve done outstanding work for us, Timothy. Our share of the profits from the automotive assembly business will be a major contributor to our bottom line, and all indications are that it will only increase with time. All because of your fine work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’ve been thinking over one of your other ideas.”
“Which one, sir?”
“About moving into East Germany. We agree that there are business opportunities there, even under a communist regime. We believe they will only increase in the future, and we want to act now.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“Explore. I want you to establish an office in Berlin. West Berlin, of course, for our office. But it will provide a launching pad for efforts in East Berlin. We will assist you with making the necessary contacts. You’ve been there before, no?”
“I have. Both West and East Berlin. But I was only a student, and my contacts were with other students. Even my short visit to East Berlin was under the auspices of the Education Ministry.”
“But just like you, some of those students have moved on to bigger things. You might be surprised. In any event, we will be able to assist. I have some contacts of my own. Not in Europe, but here. You will see.”
“Is there any sort of a plan?”
“Grain, Timothy. Grain and fertilizer.”*
I was, of course, aware of the grain embargo that President Carter had imposed on the Soviet Union after they invaded Afghanistan. On the other hand, I had not read extensively on the ancillary restrictions that had been levied. In addition to suspending grain shipments to the USSR that had been obligated by the 1975 grain agreement, the embargo also suspended the sale of phosphates to the USSR. In other words, no wheat, no soybeans, no corn, and no fertilizer.
“So, you see, Timothy, the purpose has been to put pressure on the Soviets to withdraw from Afghanistan* by cutting their access to food. But it isn’t working. They’re getting their food from other sources, and the embargo is preventing American farmers from selling their crops at a decent price. Same thing with fertilizer.”