In February 1989, the technology startup where I was employed, Fox Software, was acquired by Microsoft. A handful of the top-level managers and programmers were transitioned to Seattle, but the majority of the workers, myself included, were offered a token severance and sent on our way.
Just a few years out of college with a wife, a beagle, and a mortgage, I was anxious to find a new job quickly. After responding to dozens of newspaper classified ads, I was able to secure a couple of interviews. One of those was with a small plastics manufacturing company about 30 minutes from my house.
I drove down in my best suit and waited patiently in the lobby. The job opening was for sales manager, and in all honesty, I was marginally qualified; it was one of those “what do I have to lose by giving it a shot” sort of situations. But they called me in for an interview, and I was determined to put my best foot forward. After a few preliminary questions centered more on my time at Fox Software than on my sales management experience, the general manager asked if he could show me something.
“Uhm … sure.”
We walked out of his office into a bullpen area where several employees were pushing pencils in their cubicles. At the far end of the bullpen, there was another door, and we stopped, reverently it seemed, before entering. Inside the small office, a shrine had been built. An IBM PC sat front and center on the altar desk, flanked by a large-format greenbar printer (I know I just lost anyone under the age of 50) and a few carefully arranged boxes of software. The computer still had that “just out of the box” smell, and I could tell by the glistening 12-inch screen and neatly wrapped cords that it was used sparingly, if at all.
“Can you run that?”
“Well, it depends on what exactly you need me to do with it, but yes, I can run it.”
“Turn it on.”
I stepped forward and pressed the “on” button on the computer and the monitor and waited a few seconds as they whirred and blinked to life. By this time, the office manager had joined us in the room.
“Do you know what a motem is,” she asked pensively?
“Uh … sure. I used them at Fox for remote communications.” I didn’t think it prudent at the time to correct her mistake, but it would later become a running joke between us.
The MS-DOS prompt was now blinking in vivid green letters on the CRT screen.
“Is there a particular program you’d like me to run?” I asked.
“Solomon,” the office manager blurted out.
I did a search and found the executable file, typed it in, and hit enter – the monitor filled with the password entry screen for Solomon accounting software. The general manager and office manager gave each other several inscrutable looks before the office manager finally said, “Okay, thanks.”
I shut the computer down, and we left the shrine and returned to the general manager’s office.
The rest of the interview was pro forma. Where did I see myself in five years? Describe a time blah, blah, blah. I sincerely believed they had decided early on I was under-qualified for the management position and were only humoring me by continuing the interview.
A few days later, the general manager called with an offer that matched the number I had blithely thrown out when I thought I had no chance for the job. No second interview. No salary negotiation. Could I start tomorrow?
It wasn’t until months later that I learned the whole story. The company was a tier-one automotive supplier, which meant they sold the parts they produced directly to Ford, GM, and Chrysler. Those companies had mandated that their suppliers receive orders, verify shipments, and invoice electronically via computer by a specific date – a date that was rapidly approaching. Larger companies could afford to hire a computer programmer specifically to handle that task, but they needed to find someone who could be BOTH a sales manager and an IT guy (although no one used that term back then). They had interviewed a couple of candidates who were far more experienced in sales and management but didn’t know anything about computers. Fortunately for me, at that particular place and time, knowing how to fiddle with MS-DOS was more critical to them than having closed six-figure deals.
Of course, the six-figure and seven-figure and even a few eight-figure deals would come. I actually turned out to be a halfway decent sales manager, business development consultant, and, eventually, economic developer, but I’m not sure any of that would have happened, or at least not happened as quickly, had I not wowed them with my ability to turn on a computer and type *.*.
In our present-day world of voice-controlled AI and intuitive apps, the idea that being able to run a simple software program on a personal computer could be the determining factor in landing a job seems quaint, maybe even absurd, but I also think it serves as a cautionary tale. Too often, businesses get caught up in what they perceive to be the skillsets their employees need to get the job done. If a company has convinced itself they are looking for someone with 10 years experience selling red roses to florists whose names begin with “K,” you’d better not be selling yellow roses or have a customer named “Smith.”
Skills are great, and are absolutely necessary for an increasingly technical work environment, but don’t sleep on talent. If an individual truly has talent and initiative, the skills will come.
Hire for talent, reward for skills.
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