Zenith and the Art of Continuing Education at Stanford
While perusing LinkedIn I noticed someone I used to work with suddenly had Stanford in his credentials. Good guy, but not known as an overachiever. Yet there it was, the Stanford logo in the education section of his profile, a beacon of status and achievement anchoring his professional identity.
While I was fairly certain Stanford Continuing Ed was not selective, I couldn’t be sure. My head told me my friend was not Stanford Material. My heart told me: Bow Down!
I decided to look into the program for three reasons.
Primarily I wanted some pizazz in my resume. I went to Georgetown for undergrad. Not too shabby. But it was time to step it up with some grad school-sounding accomplishments.
Secondly, I wanted to be able to send this casual FYI to my boss:
Hey- Forgot to tell you about my Stanford Bus classes. Some good learnings I can apply here. It’s a great program.
Finally, I might learn something. This reason was uncomfortable to me because it might involve actual work.
Admittance to the program was a piece of cake. Cost wasn’t an issue, either. Total expense: less than $400 which included sessions on five consecutive Wednesday evenings from 6:00–8:00PM; reading materials; and ultimately an Executive Management Course Completion Certificate.
I’d been admitted to Stanford!
And like that I was transformed into a less exciting version of Will Ferrell, roaming an elite college campus on Wednesday evenings when I should have been at home helping my wife care for three very needy children. Fathering duties would have to wait while I earned this important certificate. Daddy’s got to put food on the table.
Being on the Stanford campus in my pair of good shorts on a wonderful summer evening in May, during the height of the tech boom, was just a real pleasure.
I walked by a graduate seminar. A pack of late twentyish chosen ones drinking white wine joked with a hip looking professor. Or maybe he was a visiting author; or head of a Swedish tech incubator. He had a beautiful blond ponytail and looked like the guy in Goodwill Hunting that almost got his ass kicked by Matt Damon.
I could see it all through a perfectly clean wall of glass separating me from them. The world was our, er, their, oyster.
Once I got to class, I was reminded that Stanford Continuing Ed shared its admittance standards with another venerable institution: the DMV.
The class included a lot of people who were very shy to the point of institutionalization. There were two or three good looking younger woman who texted a lot. There was an older French man — a blowhard who liked to monopolize the conversation. There was a Chinese guy who didn’t speak much English but tried hard and whom I’ll likely be working for one day. And there was me — the laziest person in this class and perhaps the laziest person ever to enroll in Stanford Continuing Ed.
As the professor started talking I realized that I was willing to do literally no work to achieve this milestone. I was interested and happy to be there — thrilled, actually — but had zero interest in learning about executive management or whatever. I just wanted to enjoy this feeling of being back in the classroom, roam around the campus a bit and earn my certificate, leading to career advancement.
The stars were aligned and I was gifted with a professor who fit my state of mind perfectly. He was a gentleman from the Mad Men era, someone who appeared to have accomplished a great deal in his professional life. Yet he had completely come off the rails. Not in a dementia kind of way, but in a — I’m going to talk about things that interest me and not worry about executive management — kind of way. Perfect.
He started in with a story about RCA and how they were the clear leader in radio transistors. But what did they have to worry about…..? Anyone? Anyone?
“ZENITH, of course!”
He didn’t care that this was far enough back that even a 40ish guy like me needed a briefing on radio industry fundamentals.
He told a lot of stories. It was living history for him and quite interesting: breaking into the Japanese market; grappling with global manufacturing; the rise of the semiconductor in the radio business. He was the central actor in these tales and I think he was in real life as well. These were great stories but weren’t in any way tied to executive management or any other cogent thesis.
We had one whole class devoted to timing the market. Not the venture capitol market. Not the innovation market or the adoption market. But the personal investment market. He walked us through his theory on investing, how he sits down with his broker, puts the numbers into a proprietary algorithm he created, which predictably tells him when to buy and sell stocks. Hogwash, in my opinion — but fascinating.
Another class featured someone who used to work with our professor and was a featured speaker. He provided supporting testimony to some business activity they were involved with. He had a fierce allegiance to this man, but no other relevant facts or business strategies emerged. The Professor’s friend finished his remarks and sat back down to quiet applause from me and my fellow students. Later I noticed he joined one of the breakout sessions with a small group of students, but he didn’t seem to be saying much.
Occasionally our professor would catch himself, sober up mentally, return to the present day and desperately try to tie what he had been talking about to executive management. But those things were all unrelated and random. He asked us a question:
Now someone tell me how the principle of zero leverage could be used here?
He scanned each face with a sudden startling intensity. It were as if his entire self worth as a still functioning member of society was dependent on someone in this class having become familiar with the principle of zero leverage from these rambling, bizarre lectures.
We had no idea of course.
The silence was deafening. Something needed to be done to save this man’s pride. I raised my hand and said something vague that sounded logical.
He looked at me as if I did not belong at Stanford.
No, no, no! That has nothing to do with what we are talking about!
This began a series of difficult lectures, a time when our professor called us to task on various theories and references we were supposed to have pulled from his trip down memory lane. There were even troubling references to math and charts.
Ultimately this professor broke the social compact I thought we had established. As I saw it, his part of the deal was to talk crazy and bring in odd people and random historical references without the obligation of establishing any unifying theme or structure.
In return, we would be punctual, listen intently, and receive our certification without complaint.
He’d get to tell his friends and associates he was teaching a class at Stanford; we’d get to tell our current and future employers that we’d completed an Executive Management course at Stanford.
While pathetic, this agreement was going to lead to a prestigious experience for all involved.
I received my certification. Despite myself I learned a few lessons about executive management:
Lesson #1
Beware of patronizing a proud person. Our professor saw right through me when I answered his question in my SPEAK LOUD AND CLEAR voice.
Lesson #2
Crime doesn’t pay. Don’t expect to get a lot out of a project if you aren’t willing to put some time in. But damn, with a busy job and busy home life, I thought the Universe would make an exception and let me relax for a moment.
Lesson #3
Stanford is a very pleasant place and of course a great institution. I’d bet this example isn’t indicative of the total Stanford Continuing Ed program. I consider this just a slice of life rather than a shot at Stanford. In other words: Dear Stanford, Don’t place me on your enemies list. I know the secrets of zero leverage.
BTW- I’ve changed details here to obscure the parties involved. Information involving my actions and motivations are accurate and deserve your scorn.
