by Emma Lathen
George Lancer out of sentiment later took the huge Sloan sign on top of the building to his Connecticut Country House. Nothing else was retained because the paper world of the past was not the cyber- world of the present. And as George chuckled, nothing gets you in more trouble than keeping good records. He was right of course.
Chapter 7
Reboot
They had left the building like an early scene from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, charming outlaws running from the law, in this case the powers that be in the government reflecting, more or less, the will of the people. Elizabeth didn’t think they were out- laws though definitely outliers, and unfortunately not has handsome or pretty as the Butch, Sundance, and Katherine Ross, the school teacher.
Elizabeth remembered from early Latin classes that Ancient Greece and that world was really about constant interminable wars in which many died, cities were leveled, and no one stayed on top for long. In Greece the great heroes were usually exiled at some point by the populace, including Pericles and Alcibiades or killed like Socrates. In the end, nothing remained and that world never recovered.
She also recalled that when Troy was rediscovered by an amateur, the problem was figuring out which layer of the city was in fact the Troy of Homer. The site had been leveled 10 or 11 times. Finally, they didn’t have the energy to rebuild the city again and it was a forgotten plain much like Shelley’s Ozmandius.
Well, she chuckled to herself, those were the $20 ideas; the nickel one was that mobility in the cyberworld meant people and groups no longer needed to stand and fight. They could move on as immigrants did to America. The oceans provided nice protection until planes and missiles came along. Cyberspace was even better than oceans in olden days.
As a student of history she saw that. The people would rise up, de - stroy things, and kill their enemies. usually leaving devastation be- hind. They always had so probably always would. Hence she saw what could happen to the Sloan and her father, John Putnam Thatch- er, so beat them to the punch by evacuating first, much like the 1930s Jews who took their diamonds with them to America.
Her father had nurtured her so she could learn from history and avoid pain when possible. Thatcher had told her a story when she was a little girl that always stuck with her. He showed her a railroad track in Connecticut; he said, “If you step 10 yards to the right or left, it won’t hit you. If you get a mile away you won’t even hear it. But if you stand on the tracks,” as he paused and she remembered the pause, “it will run you down every time.”
With that in mind, she had moved the Sloan the 10 yards or so. Now she was working on the mile so she wouldn’t hear the train at all. In that vein she took the one remaining Sloan plane to Boston, to get out of New York, to prepare for tomorrow’s trip back to Dublin. And anyway, she chuckled, Boston was the right gateway to Ireland as Ireland was to Boston in reverse. When they landed at Hanscom in Lincoln, a college chum picked her up to have a late dinner and talks about old times. It was nice.
Her mother had died when she was 2 so Elizabeth had no memory of her. Her older sister, Laura, liked to take charge and that was fine with Elizabeth. Laura wanted to give the orders but not do the work. Here Elizabeth had found her role at the age of 3 according to her father. Laura ran the world; Elizabeth did the work in their lives.
Her brother was a year younger than she and a bon vivant of the Charlie Trinkham type. He had bonded immediately with Uncle Charlie at the age of 3 or so. It did not surprise her that Jack evolved into a partner in Robichaux & Devane since Tom Robichaux was similar to Charlie except needed wives so had had many of them. As her father told her, none of the wives ever seemed to matter; never were angry with Charlie; they simply moved on. Neither Robichaux or Devane had children so Jack rounded out the package perfectly for the next generation.
At 3 she had come up to Uncle Ev at a Christmas Party when he was all alone and looking uncomfortable. She sat down with him and they communed quietly. After a while he talked; she asked questions and they were pals from then on.
From an early age Elizabeth noted that Trinkham and Gabler were always quarreling, but in a happy sporting way. Being at the play- ground age, she knew most fights were more bitter; this was simply fun, or at least she saw it that way. Thatcher thought so too and told her so when asked.
Elizabeth realized that Ev’s great virtue was to get to the bottom of trouble and then dig deeper again. Charlie observed but moved on. She thought the key was to be a bit clearer; dig like Ev and dig again, just when others would stop; find out the perils; and then, most importantly decide whether you can live with them or not. She thought it best to decide then whether the deal was worth it or not, in business or one’s personal life. That was her middle ground be- tween Uncle Ev and Uncle Charlie. They seemed happy enough in her posture which they were. They both thought separately that she had the balance that it took both Ev and Charlie to achieve. All to the good they thought, especially for the next generation because Ken was their best other than Elizabeth and more of a plodder as he would admit himself.
Then if it was worthwhile, you could act like Charlie, Tom, or her brother Jack. But core to success was that interim step after getting to the bottom of it: Not just moving on; deciding whether it was worth doing so, preparing oneself to abandon any project if it wasn’t working out until the point you were in so deeply you better work on your exit if that seemed best.
She had realized when leaving the old Sloan building that was where she was now. She had plumbed the depths of the problems of being bankers and the Sloan in particular; she had realized it was worth moving on; and now she was leading the charge very Trinkham like.
She chuckled thinking that it was Uncle Charlie who called the troops to attention and said, “Let’s get out of here now,” and they had. Rather an Uncle Ev move, but more powerful when Charlie took Ev’s point a view just like vice versa.
The Security Guard had taken a picture of the group in front of the new JPMorgan door sign when Charlie requested it. He had told her he would; she nodded knowing that the group in the picture was the old Sloan; she was the new Sloan. She wouldn’t have belonged in that picture and she would have been right.
Later when they emailed her a copy of the picture she realized how relieved they all seemed to be. They were out. They weren’t going to be trapped behind walls with a siege all around them, soon to level the whole place as in Ancient Greece, and they wouldn’t be killed or slaughtered. They had escaped first, thanks to cyberspace.
She said out loud in Boston with her friend, “Hooray for Cyber - space,” and she smiled. Her friend had persuaded her to crash with her for a few days. She did, and wisely so, before flying to Dublin. What will be the hardest part now she thought as she was landing in Dublin. Patiently and carefully playing out their hand she mused; she would be right. She thought of Peter Drucker’s great line, “Deals are exciting; it is the work that is hard” and that was what was in front of all of them, the work.
She knew that. The others had a long history at being good at the work. It would be a challenge to her and she must meet it. With that she put on her mental game face and got ready to do exactly that.
She had waited for someone else to bring up that key point. It had been gnawing at her but she wanted to give others time since she was the closest to the cyberspace generation but still struck by its speed and rapacity. It was hard to keep up; older people knew that; younger ones had no other points of reference. Well, she had had to bring it up herself.
If back in the day you had one place you had to be and you got bombed out, that was that. But in the Sloan case the key issue is they had no place to be bombed out of. So, they were dependent upon themselves, a tough lot for most people. As with entrepreneurs, the hardest part was living with uncertainty--and cyberspace had all of that and more.
She had told the team, “We don’t have to be anywhere. We don’t have to come to work at Exchange Place; we don’t have to see each other; we can be anywher
e. That is the disruptive element. We are a mobile force.”
She had felt a shudder collectively go through the group. Now they each had to come to terms with this new Brave World, Part II, after the first rendition a few decades before. It would be no easy task because in small ways it would be so different to not have any place you had to really go or be in.
Chapter 8
The Mobile Force
Charlie piped up the next day by email, “Let’s take the mobile force to the bar.” “Agreed,” said Elizabeth as she smiled via email and wrote on, “we can all do our drinking on our own to get used to fewer meetings.” They all laughed over the email and did so.
Thatcher started singing old Harvard songs on the way to his water - ing hole. In their own way each person did their own celebrating; but all good things come to an end and the New Yorkers all accepted John’s text message invitation to his Co-op in the Devonshire to continue the party.
Thatcher, Lancer, Trinkham, Bowman, and Gabler had all consoli - dated into living at the Devonshire some years ago where Thatcher had lived for over 50 years and Elizabeth had lived with him until she got her own condo in the same building. So they were all just an elevator ride away from each other. Nichols was in Westchester and Thatcher had made the invitation optional but Ken said he would love to come and was on his way.
Elizabeth had bought a second condo personally in the Devonshire that she had set up for their joint informal American offices on the premises. They could come and go when they pleased; but she knew they would feel more comfortable having some place to go even though they didn’t need to do so.
She remembered the insight she got from one of her best entrepre- neurs, “I go outside every morning and walk purposefully 10 min- utes away; turn around; and walk the 10 minutes back. My house then becomes my office. The transition is key. It took me awhile to learn that, and the walk is good for me anyway,” as he had smiled at her in conclusion.
She had recommended that to other entrepreneurs and found the smart ones agreed and the less smart ones did not, less smart mean- ing not as flexible and shrewd as the others, and not as good invest- ments as it turned out. This became an area of observation for her; she never told anyone the right answer, including her own people. As Benjamin Franklin said and her father had repeated to her many times as a child, “A secret is only a secret when only one person knows it.”
With that, she had her dinner alone back in Dublin. Meanwhile, at the Devonshire they entered from their separate partying to join John; they were greeted by the doorman, Don Trotman, who was a friend and confidante to all. Don was paid outrageously for a door- man; but those at the Devonshire knew he was far more than that. He was their touchstone with the reality out there in the real world, not in the luxurious Devonshire.
“Congratulations folks; your new venture sounds fabulous. Eliza - beth, set up the party. It is setup in her second place, the informal office as she calls it.”
“Sweet” said Lancer. “Yes, Mr. Lancer. You are all just an elevator ride away from your new offices. Just take a spin around the neighborhood, come back in, and go on up to your office. No different than going down the street to Exchange Place except that the commute is more pleasant on bad days!”
More laughing as they went up the elevator to floor 6, a tribute to the famous 6th floor Trust Department at the Sloan. Walking in they could see all of their offices replicated; it was just portable, from down the street at Exchange Place. Acollective sigh went up. Eliza- beth had done her magic; it had worked.
The caterer was the one used by the Devonshire so they were in alignment both with their home and their new offices, much like a startup but in more elegant surroundings. They all knew that entre- preneurs always missed these days; they thought it was many things, but like children who like to sleep near their parents, or better in the same room or bed, they liked the coziness of it. This office was cozy. And they could see they felt instantly comfortable. Perhaps for the first time each of them now understood how entrepreneurs felt a loss when the initial small office became a bigger more confined one, this time in reverse as they now had a smaller office with virtually no one to worry about bossing around or listening to gripe to them about this that or the other thing, whether right or wrong.
Elizabeth had slyly gotten the removal company to bring everyone’s office down here, they noticed.
“John, Elizabeth, makes it look like we never left,” chuckled George.
“Exactly!” Everett spoke for the first time; he had said nothing during the sing - ing on the street which was a relief to all; he didn’t sing of course but he brightened up seeing his old things. “I like it. I am looking forward to coming down tomorrow morning. Well done Becky!” as he toasted her in absentia. They all joined in.
Only a privileged few could call Elizabeth by her childhood nick - name, Becky, and most of them were in this room. Ev sealed the deal.
The party began. John showed Nicholls, who had just arrived, his new apartment on the premises, when he couldn’t make it back to Westchester, needed a nap, a lovely city place for his ever expanding family, or for an occasional escape of his own.
At this point they all sat down quietly and mused about their future. They would be like a Navy Swat team several of them thought, a tightly knit group without traditional workers on hand who were but an email, text message, or occasional phone call away. They could see that. They thought it over. They wandered around; went to their own future sitting area; sat down; and thought about it all. A big day. A big change; but they knew tomorrow would be easier if less exciting.
Chapter 9
Nicholls Apartment
“Ken, this is for you. As the SVPyou can decide about how to use it of course. But I think you would be wise to downplay it,” John said.
Everett pitched in, “Would be wise my boy; keeping your business and private life separate.”
Charlie added, “And think of the fun you can have. Now don’t frown at me; just think about it a bit. It will come to you I am sure.” The apartment was complete with just one bedroom, to protect Ken from overnight guest requests, a kitchen eating area only to prevent family parties, a study for Ken, one bathroom to put off females in the family but not necessarily any friends of Ken’s, and all the ame- nities for a single man.
Ken was grinning. John realized he was seeing him as he was when a bachelor back in the day, footloose and fancy free. He could figure out for himself that he could get his fridge stocked by the caterer, the place cleaned though the cleaning service, and Trotman to handle any laundry for him. He grinned and said, “I could get used to this John.”
With that good spirit, and everyone traipsing through to praise him, the party drifted off as Ken essentially fell on the bed and went to sleep after texting his wife about his staying over in the new office at the Devonshire where everyone lived, and he knew she would feel relieved he wasn’t out on the town.
Everyone then just had to take an elevator ride back to their own place. No cabs; no outside goings on; simple, sweet, safe, and mem- orable.
On their way out, Thatcher interrupted everyone’s thoughts by say - ing, “Everyone in my office at 10 AM,” and grinned. It was his of- fice, 5 blocks removed. They would be comfortable as old shoes in it. Elizabeth had done the job big time, he thought.
Thatcher also knew that by Elizabeth owning the place, the Sloan had no official domicile in New York, not even a rental. He also knew she would be smart enough not to ask for rent, put it on her tax return, or any other such penny wise and pound foolish nonsense. Smart. She always had been since being a little girl.
With that thought, John got off the elevator, opened his own door, and crashed for the night. Crashed he thought, crashed he thought, yes, the years that came off. Nicholls’ joyful face was worth see- ing. Nothing quite reflected how sensible this all was quite like that. They would all age better; John knew the elevator rides would make everything simpler and easier for all of them.
No one liked TSA at the airport; many of his friends liked Amtrak because there was no TSA, just as they liked Uber because you could get a ride without a hassle, without tips, by people who had a stake in the game. They all had a stake in this game and Elizabeth wisely allowed others to take the forefront on the masthead, as if that meant anything in the modern world of flat organizations, CEOs pitching on stage alone like Jeff Bezos of Amazon and Willy Loman of old, and individual contributors being the new thing.
John paused thinking, not so new. Back in the day men and women worked equally on their farms. Factories had disrupted that but now things seemed like the Michael Fox Back to the Future movie. They were all individual contributors. He mused that people inside the Devonshire would gain from this while he worried people outside would not. He would be right about both.
And that after all was what Senator Elvira Whitehor’s election and hearing was all about: the people outside who didn’t like the ex- clusive privileges of those inside the Devonshire. He sat down and texted these ideas to Elizabeth before going to sleep, pondering that texts were much more comfortable than the old days of the impec- cably competent Miss Corsa to handle all of his communications.
Where were texts when I was young?” he lamented. Would have saved so much angst. Cell phones, ah what a blessing too. One num- ber no matter where you are. Yes, tech had complicated things for a while as new things always did; but now they were in rapid consol- idation and improving every day as he saw it.
He mused further. His cell phone, PC, printer, email, and website had eliminated his need for a replacement for Miss Corsa when she retired. He was glad she was an owner; but similarly pleased to not have to deal with her. Similarly he noted that the new office did not have filing cabinets, secretarial offices, a mail area, and such things. Tech and Elizabeth had seen to that.
