I should have been more suspicious. There’s a big birthday looming on the Mead calendar; June 12,1952 saw my squalling and undignified entrance into the portion of this vale of tears known as the State of South Carolina.
But I strolled down to Smith and Wollensky last night without a care in the world, expecting a quiet dinner with my dear goddaughter. I first held her in my arms when she was a week old, but apparently I had never come to grips with just how devious and twisted her character really is.
On arriving at the restaurant, I went to the upstairs bar to look for the table and the entire crowd at the bar turned toward me and shouted “Surprise!”
I was. Surprised, that is. Completely. The kids had fooled the old man, the conniving little weasels.
The quiet dinner with my goddaughter turned into a surprise birthday party with a group of former and current staff and dear friends. These were mostly people who came to work for me soon out of college beginning almost fifteen years ago. One of the great joys of my life has been following their careers and lives ever since; among them are writers, consultants, parents, aspiring tycoons, anti-slavery campaigners (who I hope don’t investigate the intern program), and many others.
Most of all, they are friends: people who honored me with their trust and loyalty and in exchange for not nearly enough money helped me develop as a thinker, writer and human being all these years.
One of the big changes in the American workplace has been the rise of the research assistant. In the old days, executives and professors had secretaries. The chiefs were almost always men and the support staff were almost always women. In those days, being a secretary was a lifetime career; you didn’t get promoted into the executive ranks and many college educated and brilliant women spent their whole working lives in these support roles. Often, they understood the job better than their bosses did and there were plenty of cases where underpaid but overperforming women held organizations together and propped up their bosses’ careers.
These days, there’s a shift. The old style secretary is an endangered species in many workplaces; the research assistant is more like a midshipman than a NCO. Kids come in from college or masters’ programs to support senior fellows, journalists and professors in various places; they do the work that secretaries once did but with the goal of moving up to something more responsible.
The smartest thing I ever did in my working life was to realize how important this shift was and to work at becoming the kind of person who could get the most out of research associates. The key, I’ve always believed, was to hire kids who wanted something you could teach — and then to make sure that you taught them. I’ve always tried to be explicit about the social contract: these jobs are underpaid, but to do them well you have to be willing to work long hours and put your best efforts into them. But if on my part I’m going to demand that extra commitment and investment from my associates, I have to think hard about how to hold up my end of the bargain: how can I teach, how can I empower, how can I help my associates think about their futures and start to reach out for their dreams.
For many of the kids who get these jobs, it’s a shock to come from academia to a world where nobody cares what they think or feel and people only care about what they do. Nothing has prepared them for this — a telling indictment of both our educational system and our parenting methods. For a busy professional in the midst of an active career it is also a bit of a jolt to have your travel arrangements and support system in the hands of an inexperienced 23 year old.
Clashes and mishaps often result — like the time one of my RAs got the time of a meeting with the Economist editorial board wrong — by three hours. There are times when you long for the security and stability of the old system, when experienced secretaries got their bosses through life seamlessly and flawlessly.
But with all its difficulties and inconveniences, I like the new system much better. It’s fairer, for one thing. The old system involved systematic discrimination against women; the new one is more open and while it is harder to train and manage an inexperienced 23 year old on their first or second job, the payoff is high.
As my old assistants move up and move on, they’ve built a network among themselves. They collaborate with each other on professional projects; they advise the newcomers on how to deal with my various personality quirks and flaws. They alert one another to new jobs. They keep in touch with me and with each other. I’m now lucky enough to be engaged with a dozen lives — in some cases with the spouses and kids of old staffers. New hires get the feeling that they have done more than get a job; they’ve joined a community.
I think we’ll see more of this as more of my colleagues and peers figure out the importance of finding the right way to manage and lead the people on whose dedication and skills we so greatly depend. Informal networks, cross generational collaborations, short term employment but long term connections: these are all elements of the new working world taking shape around us.
My experience with these remarkable people has taught me that new social contracts and new ways of association can flourish even as the lifetime employment and formal working relationships of the blue model corporation fade away. The model of collaboration that my past research associates taught me to build is at the heart of the Via Meadia experiment as well.
Last night was a remarkable night in many ways. Once again I was completely outfoxed and bamboozled by the talented youth who in so many ways have shaped and supported my career as a writer and thinker; once again I was inspired by their example and creativity to think optimistically about the new and better future it is in our power to build.
Thanks, guys, and not just for an evening that ranks among the sweetest moments in my life. Thanks for years of loyal service and what is swiftly turning into decades of friendship. I am deeply, deeply blessed and privileged to know you and to be a small part of your lives.
You dirty, deceiving rats.