Hiring and Firing a COO

Our newly hired COO arrived on the recommendation of Richard Mead — our investment banker at Jordan Edmiston Group. Think of Richard like the realtor who has your listing: he said, “Get a Chief Operating Officer.”

We got one.

On his first day, I walked into Robert’s office and told him to order a BlackBerry for our new COO.

Robert set it up, handed it over, and said with a grin, “All the management team has BlackBerries. This is yours. Keep it under your pillow at night.”

* * *

The next morning, the COO stormed back to Robert, returning the device.

“I followed your instructions,” he said, “but it kept ringing all night. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

Robert looked at him calmly and explained, “Fuat expects his management team to respond to emails within sixty seconds, 24/7. He doesn’t sleep much and shares ideas with six managers around the clock. Welcome aboard — you’re the seventh.”

The COO shook his head, bewildered.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this in my career,” he said, leaving the BlackBerry on Robert’s desk. “I don’t need it.”

And so began our first industry recruit.

He arrived at 9 a.m., took a forty-five-minute lunch break, and left promptly at 5 p.m.

To this day, I have no idea what filled those eight hours on his factory–time-card schedule as our Chief Operating Officer. I never gave him a task, he never attended management meetings, and I doubt he ever fully understood what we did as a business.

When I finally let him go, his attorney called.

“My client will become a whistleblower unless you pay him,” the lawyer said, demanding a sum that sounded larger than the COO’s entire annual salary.

I told him to give his client my regards — and to blow his whistle in court so we could all hear what tune he had in mind.

We never heard from the COO or his lawyer again.

* * *

Later, I learned this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Apparently, he had tried the exact same “whistleblower” stunt at his previous employer.

So why did my management team survive with me?

After I hired each of them, none of them quit.

Most joined SYS-CON Media straight out of college. Carmen recruited sales managers from Ramapo College, a small school just around the corner from our office, and Jim brought in the designers and editors.

I didn’t touch the hiring process.

I was much better at firing people who didn’t fit in.

During our first year, Jim came to me with a problem.

“We need a full-time web designer.”

I said, “Go ahead, hire someone.”

He put an ad in the Rockland Journal News: Junior Web Designer Wanted.

Resumes poured in, and Jim interviewed half a dozen candidates. Finally, he said he was ready to make an offer — but there was one small hitch.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure if my favorite candidate is even at legal age to work,” Jim said.

Turns out, the kid had spent the entire summer playing video games in his bedroom. His mother, seeing our ad, thought it was perfect for him and slipped the paper under his door.

That’s how he ended up at the interview.

Jim hesitated.

“We can’t ask his age — it’s against the law. We can’t ask if he’s married, or where he’s from, or anything like that.”

So what did he do?

He called the high school principal.

“This kid came for a job interview,” he explained, “but we’re not sure if he’s old enough to work legally.”

The principal assured him he was sixteen.

Problem solved.

We hired him as a part-time intern — a student employee.

And just like that, our youngest web designer ever joined the team — half gamer, half code wizard — and helped shape SYS-CON Media’s early years.

Two years later, Robert’s high school graduation arrived.

By then, Louis had already started an office pool — one dollar per person — on whether we would ever hear from Robert again once he left for college.

Most bets predicted complete radio silence by September.

Just before driving up to his dorm at Syracuse, Robert stopped by my office.

He told me he planned to keep working from his dorm room and would send his hours to Joan.

I nodded politely, fully aware that Louis was already counting his winnings.

Four years passed.

Robert graduated from Syracuse University, diploma in hand, and Louis immediately launched Pool Number Two: would Robert come back full time now that he had a college degree and the entire world at his feet?

Once again, Robert ruined everyone’s odds.

He showed up and returned to his job full time, proving that the safest bet in our office was always betting against the office pool.

My only hobby was my job. Back to the days of preparing our offering memorandum. I worked seven days a week and never quite understood why Saturdays and Sundays were on the calendar at all. What I did wasn’t work — it was my most pleasurable occupation. A lucky hobby, really, with a payroll. I didn’t do it because it was my company. I did it because I loved the job.

It never felt like work — just something I couldn’t wait to get back to. I was exactly the same at my last known job at Rhône-Poulenc, the French chemical company in New Jersey. I worked seven days a week there, too, and was always puzzled by the empty building on weekends — and by the mass disappearance of people after 5 p.m. Monday through Friday.

* * *

One Saturday morning at Rhône-Poulenc, I ran into Bernie Kranz, our MIS director, at the coffee machine. Back then, IT was still called MIS — Management Information Systems. Bernie casually said, “When you get a chance, come by my office.” At the time, my direct supervisor was Randy Hompesh. Randy reported to Jim Purcell. Jim reported to Bernie. Bernie reported to Tom Headly, vice president of finance. Tom ultimately reported to the president, John Wistrich.

* * *

I stepped into Bernie’s corner office.

“Sit down,” he said.

Then he looked at me seriously.

“Fuat, I see you here late every night. Most weekends too.”

I asked, “Bernie, where’s my department? Shouldn’t they be here? We’re rolling out our sales-force automation system for animal nutrition next week in Atlanta.”

He continued.

“You don’t belong here in the corporate world. You’re an entrepreneur. You should be running your own business.”

“Your coworkers — the people on the floor — their only goal is to retire with a good pension. Don’t expect anyone to join you on a weekend. They aren’t paid to care.”

“They think like workers, not business owners.”

“My advice?

Find an idea.

Start your own business.

Stop waiting for others to work as hard as you do — they won’t.”