* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a sombe

Maybe.

But even if that's true, even if most of us have moved beyond such limited ideas of leadership, we are still the prisoners of other mythologies--ideas far less visual and far more ancient, and ultimately just as debilitating.

Nine years ago, I learned this truth in a profoundly personal way.

I was working at the time for a small company that was owned by a megalithic monstrosity. I was still in my twenties, and entry-level managers were a dime a dozen. To the seven-figure executives, I should not have been so much as a blip on the proverbial radar screen. But as it happens, an unusual confluence of events catapulted me into the limelight.

First, I was hired by a man who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Bill was to become both my mentor and my champion in the world of corporate intrigue, and in my opinion he remains one of the finest men who ever walked this earth. He is, to this day, sorely missed.

Because of his fading health, he had been forced to turn down an offer to head our division. In name he headed the marketing department as a vice-president, but in truth he had far more clout than that with the high muck-a-mucks of the day. Reporting directly to him put me in a much higher position of "authority by association" than I would normally have merited as an entry-level manager.

Second, the project I happened to be assigned to was a web development project, back in the earliest days of the now mighty WWW. No one except Bill--myself included--had any inkling how fast this "new computer thing" was going to explode. He asked me one day whether I had any Internet experience. I told him that I had used the university computers to send an e-mail or two while I was in grad school.

"Well congratulations," he laughed, "that makes you the most Internet-qualified manager here. As of today, you're responsible for the Internet development project."

"I didn't know we were doing anything on the Internet," I said, surprised.

"We're not," he replied, "so you'd better get to work."

The executives had no idea what the Internet was and probably would have been dragged kicking and screaming into the technological age if it weren't for one simple fact: their competitors were working on an Internet project too, and they were well ahead of us. Suddenly, everyone was intensely interested in what we were doing, and executives who had never stepped foot into our building began to show up on a regular basis.

* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a somber

Nine years ago, I learned this truth in a profoundly personal way.

I was working at the time for a small company that was owned by a megalithic monstrosity. I was still in my twenties, and entry-level managers were a dime a dozen. To the seven-figure executives, I should not have been so much as a blip on the proverbial radar screen. But as it happens, an unusual confluence of events catapulted me into the limelight.

First, I was hired by a man who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Bill was to become both my mentor and my champion in the world of corporate intrigue, and in my opinion he remains one of the finest men who ever walked this earth. He is, to this day, sorely missed.

Because of his fading health, he had been forced to turn down an offer to head our division. In name he headed the marketing department as a vice-president, but in truth he had far more clout than that with the high muck-a-mucks of the day. Reporting directly to him put me in a much higher position of "authority by association" than I would normally have merited as an entry-level manager.

Second, the project I happened to be assigned to was a web development project, back in the earliest days of the now mighty WWW. No one except Bill--myself included--had any inkling how fast this "new computer thing" was going to explode. He asked me one day whether I had any Internet experience. I told him that I had used the university computers to send an e-mail or two while I was in grad school.

"Well congratulations," he laughed, "that makes you the most Internet-qualified manager here. As of today, you're responsible for the Internet development project."

"I didn't know we were doing anything on the Internet," I said, surprised.

"We're not," he replied, "so you'd better get to work."

The executives had no idea what the Internet was and probably would have been dragged kicking and screaming into the technological age if it weren't for one simple fact: their competitors were working on an Internet project too, and they were well ahead of us. Suddenly, everyone was intensely interested in what we were doing, and executives who had never stepped foot into our building began to show up on a regular basis.

* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a sombe

Because of his fading health, he had been forced to turn down an offer to head our division. In name he headed the marketing department as a vice-president, but in truth he had far more clout than that with the high muck-a-mucks of the day. Reporting directly to him put me in a much higher position of "authority by association" than I would normally have merited as an entry-level manager.

Second, the project I happened to be assigned to was a web development project, back in the earliest days of the now mighty WWW. No one except Bill--myself included--had any inkling how fast this "new computer thing" was going to explode. He asked me one day whether I had any Internet experience. I told him that I had used the university computers to send an e-mail or two while I was in grad school.

"Well congratulations," he laughed, "that makes you the most Internet-qualified manager here. As of today, you're responsible for the Internet development project."

"I didn't know we were doing anything on the Internet," I said, surprised.

"We're not," he replied, "so you'd better get to work."

The executives had no idea what the Internet was and probably would have been dragged kicking and screaming into the technological age if it weren't for one simple fact: their competitors were working on an Internet project too, and they were well ahead of us. Suddenly, everyone was intensely interested in what we were doing, and executives who had never stepped foot into our building began to show up on a regular basis.

* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a sombe

"Well congratulations," he laughed, "that makes you the most Internet-qualified manager here. As of today, you're responsible for the Internet development project."

"I didn't know we were doing anything on the Internet," I said, surprised.

"We're not," he replied, "so you'd better get to work."

The executives had no idea what the Internet was and probably would have been dragged kicking and screaming into the technological age if it weren't for one simple fact: their competitors were working on an Internet project too, and they were well ahead of us. Suddenly, everyone was intensely interested in what we were doing, and executives who had never stepped foot into our building began to show up on a regular basis.

* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a sombe

* * *

The story of that project's development is an odyssey in its own right, but it will have to wait for another day. The lesson about leadership came right at the end of my tenure with the company, so we'll have to skip ahead in the narrative about three years.

Bill's health was rapidly deteriorating, and we all knew he wouldn't be with us much longer. It was a somber time, to say the least.

Despite the emotional turmoil, business continued, as it always does, and the executive team was starting to think about the future leadership of the Internet business. The project had grown from a gleam in Bill's eye to a million-dollar-plus venture in just three years, and the decision had been made to split the venture off as a separate entity. One day the call came down from on high--executive muckety-muck number three wanted my opinion on the subject.

I had a couple of days to prepare, and I spent that time buried deep in numbers and strategic analysis. When the time came, I knew I was ready. In a plush office on the "executive floor"--a large room with a desk the size of my entire cubicle and a wall of windows overlooking the well-manicured grounds below--I carefully laid out my views on the management needs of the new business.

I told Mr. Muckety that the head of the company should have extensive experience in sales because the company would be relying on the existing corporate sales force for its success. The sales staff was a tight-knit group and would never respect an "outsider."

I also recommended experience in creating advertising and promotional campaigns. The parent corporation was counting on extensive growth over the early years of the venture, and good advertising would be critical to achieving that goal.

I suggested operations experience because the company structure would include a large data-entry staff. My list went on, each point thought out carefully, backed up by sound logic regarding both the numbers and the "human factors" of the ongoing operation.

When I was finished, I sat back in my leather visitor's chair, pleased with my presentation. I had remembered every figure. I had rolled every observation off the tip of my tongue with no need to refer to my notes. I nailed it. But I was not prepared for what came next.

"Why didn't you recommend yourself for the position?" he asked me.

"I'm sorry?" I found myself suddenly and profoundly confused. "What position?"

"To head up the company," he replied smoothly. "A lot of people have been watching your work, thinking about your future here. You're an excellent manager, but I'm concerned about your obvious lack of confidence."

"My lack of confidence?" I still didn't get it. I'd been sitting there feeling like the cat who just ate the canary. What lack of confidence?

"I wouldn't recommend myself for the position because it wouldn't be in the best interest of the company at this time. The business needs someone with all of the skills I laid out. I've never worked in sales, I have no experience with advertisi