While it's wonderful the business world is finally catching on, mentoring—a lifelong process of giving and receiving in a neverending role as both master and apprentice—has always been the Holy Grail for those who love to connect people with people.
No process in history has done more to facilitate the exchange of information, skills, wisdom, and contacts than mentoring. Young men and women learned their trade by studying as apprentices under their respective craftsmen. Young artists developed their individual style only after years working under elder masters. New priests apprenticed for a decade or more with older priests to become wise religious men themselves. When finally these men and women embarked on their own, they had the knowledge and the connections to succeed in their chosen field.
By studying the lives of those who know more than we do, we expand our horizons. As a child, I realized that many of the opportunities other kids had that would expose them to new things and new people, like summer camp or extra tutoring, were unavailable to me. I quickly learned that success in my life would require determination, exploration, self-reliance, and a strong will. I also learned to rely on other people who were available: my father and some of the more professional people he knew in our neighborhood.
My mom and dad instructed me to observe how the most successful people we knew worked and talked and lived. My parents told me I could learn how to live my life by watching others live their lives. My dad, of course, did all he could to nurture and teach me what he knew. But he wanted me to know more than that; like most fathers, he wanted me to be more than he was. He gave me the confidence I needed to go out, without pride or insecurity, and develop relationships with the men and women he knew whom he respected.
Perhaps the value he placed on mentors came from Damon Runyon, one of my father's favorite authors. A tough guy who dropped out of school by the sixth grade and bootstrapped his way to success, Runyon's tough-luck stories about equally tough characters had a lot of emotional resonance for my dad. His favorite quote of Runyon's was "Always try to rub up against money, for if you rub up against money long enough, some of it may rub off on you." No surprise, then, that my dad wanted me rubbing up against people with more money, more knowledge, and more skills than he had.
Before I was even ten years old, I remember him encouraging me to bike down our dusty driveway to hang out with our neighbors. By the time I was in grade school, I had reached out to George Love, the father of one of my friends and a local attorney. Dad would take me to see Walt Saling, a stockbroker, every so often just to visit. I'd sit close by and pepper Walt with questions about his job and the people he worked with. When I came home from prep school, Dad and I would go on our "rounds." We'd go visit those people Dad thought I'd learn something from: Toad and Julie Repasky, who owned the local cement plant and whom Dad used to work for, or the Fontanella sisters, who used to tutor me in Latin and math when I was growing up. These men and women of our town were the celebrities for our working-class family. They were professionals with a good education, and that meant they had something to teach.
The fact is, from my father's perspective, everyone had something to offer. When he'd go out for his weekly sit-down at a local diner with his friends, he took me along. He wanted me to be comfortable with older, more experienced people and to never fear seeking their help or asking them questions. When my dad would show up with me in tow on a Friday night, his buddies would say, "Here's Pete [my father's name] and Re-Pete [my nickname to his buddies]."
I look back on those times with so much gratitude and emotion. At every turn, and to this very day, I still try to connect with trailblazers, head honchos, and people who have experienced a different life than I've had.
My father and Runyon were onto something in a way, perhaps, that was even more profound than they imagined. Research now backs up their belief that whom you associate with is crucial to who you become. Dr. David McClelland of Harvard University researched the qualities and characteristics of high achievers in our society. What he found was that your choice of a "reference group," the people you hang out with, was an important factor in determining your future success or failure. In other words, if you hang with connected people, you're connected. If you hang with successful people, you're more likely to become successful yourself.
Let me explain how important mentoring became for me through an experience I had early on in my career. It was toward the end of the summer before my second year at business school. Deloitte and Touche, the accounting and consulting firm I had been interning with during that summer, was having its annual end-of-the-summer cocktail party for its interns from all around the country.
Off to the corner, amid all the clink of drinks and polite chatter, I saw a bunch of the partners and senior staff hanging around this big, gruff, white-haired guy who was holding court. Other interns stayed in their comfortable cliques, keeping their distance from their bosses, but I headed straight for the poobahs. It was, really, no different from riding my bike down the road to see the neighbors.
I went straight up to the man in the center of all this action, introduced myself, and asked him point blank, "Who are you?"
"I'm the CEO of this firm," he said with an abruptness that signaled I should have known that, while the partners around him smiled and chuckled mischievously.
He was about six-foot-three, barrel-chested, and very, very direct. He's the kind of guy who just fills the room with his presence.
"Well, I guess I should have known that," I responded.
"Yeah, I guess you should have," he said. He was joking, and as is often the case with people in positions of power, he liked my candor and chutzpah. He introduced himself as Pat Loconto.
"Loconto," I said. "That's a good Jewish name, isn't it?"
He laughed, and I talked with him in the little Italian that he and I knew. In short order, we were fully engaged, talking about our families and our similar upbringing. His dad was also a firstgeneration Italian-American who instilled in him many of the same values my father had taught me. I did, in fact, know Pat, but only by reputation. I had heard about his no-nonsense style— tough and tireless but warmhearted, too. I decided then and there that getting to know him better might not be a bad idea.
That I approached him at the cocktail party and discovered we were cut from similar cloth deepened my respect for the man and his respect for me. I found out later that quickly after that exchange, he followed up and found out everything about me and my summer with the firm. That night I hung out with Pat and the senior partners into the wee hours of the morning. I didn't try to be anyone I wasn't. I didn't overstretch and pretend to know more than I did. Many people believe that's what it takes when reaching out to those above you, but in truth that often results in making a jerk out of yourself.
I remembered that my father and mother had told me to speak less in such situations; the less you say, the more you'll likely hear. They were warning me, given my predisposition for dominating a conversation from an early age. That's the way you learn from others, Dad said, and glean the small nuances that will help you engender a deeper relationship later on. There's also no better way to signal your interest in becoming a mentee. People tacitly notice your respect and are flattered by the attention. That said, quiet for me isn't exactly quiet. I asked tons of questions, suggested things that I saw from the summer, and conspired with these leaders of the firm on what was important to them—making the firm a success.