A pop quiz. What did a McKinsey and Company survey of six thousand senior executives identify as the number one corporate resource necessary for success in the next twenty years?

Tick, tick, tick…time’s up.

Talent. I cited the survey in chapter 3 as evidence that businesses large and small are in jeopardy of losing the star wars of the twenty-first century. If you recall, McKinsey found that only 10 to 20 percent of the executives questioned felt that the improvement of the talent pool was one of their company’s three top priorities. And 75 percent of them said their companies didn’t have sufficient talent or that talent was in chronically short supply.

That’s shocking evidence of ho-hum recruiting, and it’s the reason why I’ve decided to do two full chapters on the subject. Anyone claiming to practice people-ology who let’s recruiting slide is a fraud. I hear this complaint—“I just don’t have the right people”—so often that I’m convinced that is it the number one business problem of our era, and next to nothing is being done about it. We’re giving it the New York nod and the L.A. shrug.

Given the general complacency, something tells me that Ross Perot’s stellar example as a hands-on recruiter isn’t going to be enough to blast many readers out of this lackadaisical and self-destructive attitude. What will? Maybe a close look at a modern version of David and Goliath. This one is about how “Team David” survives, prospers, and wins.

Let me offer some additional background. When I was first planning to write this book, I decided to get expert advice from the masters of recruiting, those whose careers depend on, not the kindness of strangers, but the talent of strangers—college athletic directors and coaches. Why not Duke or Ohio State? The big time. But then it occurred to me that the approach would be similar to going to GE to interview Jack Welch or to Microsoft to hear from Bill Gates. Welch and Gates are such superstars that it would be like asking Jack Nicklaus for golf lessons. Everything he’d teach would be brilliant, but in the end the student would probably say to himself, “He’s a genius, I’m not,” and go back to playing the same old hackers game.

To avoid the trap, I spent time with Ted Kissell, the athletic director of my alma mater, the University of Dayton. With a student body of about six thousand, the school is small and not a sports power—not now, perhaps not ever (I should know, I go to all their home basketball games). But it’s a study of how a small organization can dream big dreams and work conscientiously every day to make them come true.

Ted Kissell is relatively new to the job, and it’s his first crack at heading up an entire sports program. Brother Fitz, UD’s president and a member of the Catholic Marian Order, took a chance on him and he is obviously determined to succeed. Determined but not desperate.

What do I mean? Here’s the background. Soon after arriving at Dayton, Ted met with a fervent UD booster and contributor. The guy told him that he hoped to see the school’s basketball team, the Dayton Flyers, finish in the top twenty-five, but given the poor showing in recent years that would probably mean stretching the rules somewhat. Ted’s reply was classic: “I guess we’ll end up twenty-six then.”

It was a comeback that went straight into my red notebook for use some day as a reminder that the greatest failures are the people who are prepared to pay any price for success. It wasn’t a ranking that Kissell was after, it was pride. At our first meeting, he told me, “We had to create a platform where success is possible.” To do that he set out to surround himself with the best staff.

Stop the story here for a moment, and think about that.

The best people, not the best arena.

The best people, not the best ticket sales.

The best people, not the best endowment.

The best people, not the best PR campaign.

How in the world does a small, relatively unknown school attract the best people? Ted Kissell had an answer: “I believe there are no limits. I believe in Dayton being the best in everything we do.”

If you keep in mind some of the techniques we’ve been discussing, you’ll see that Ted Kissell practices what I preach, and I didn’t know that in advance of my request to meet him and spend a day taking a close look at his operation. For starters, Kissell, like any good businessman, had to figure out what his organization did to pay the rent and put concentrated effort into improving that requirement. In the case of UD athletics, basketball is the number one cash cow. There had been three disastrous seasons in a row. Ted Kissell needed to start winning basketball games, so he went looking for a leader, a new coach. It was time, he and brother Fitz also decided, for UD’s men’s basketball program to be led by an African-American, a decision in keeping with the school’s commitment to diversity.

Kissell started by using what he calls “the network to the talent” by calling around to friends and colleagues active in college athletic programs around the country to find out who they regarded as qualified. The idea was to compile a list of the top African-American coaches and assistant coaches who were qualified and available. One name quickly bubbled to the top: Perry Clark of Tulane.

Ted Kissell didn’t know Perry Clark, and no one in the network could offer him personal entrée. Kissell made two phone calls, but both times Coach Clark declined to meet with him. Instead of accepting that he was at a dead-end, the Dayton athletic director got out from behind his desk and traveled to Evansville, Indiana, when he knew Tulane would be playing the University of Evansville Aces. He waited courtside until Clark’s team came off the floor victorious, and then pounced. It was probably the strangest and most straightforward job offer Perry Clark ever received. He listened politely to Ted Kissell, but declined the offer. It wasn’t a wasted effort, though. Realizing that Dayton wasn’t just going through the motions of putting a minority on the short list, Perry Clark offered to plug him into his own black “network to the talent.”

See how this works? Want the best talent? Get personal, get on the phone, get on a plane—get directly involved.

As he worked this black talent network, Ted Kissell kept hearing about Oliver Purnell, a successful coach at Old Dominion University, who had turned their program around after getting impressive results in his first coaching job at Radford College. Old Dominion was Purnell’s alma mater; he had been an All-American and an NBA draft pick. Coach Purnell had an excellent contract that paid for a good life, including a posh house on the beach in Virginia. He was a happy man.

Ted convinced Oliver Purnell to at least listen to the UD story. Not a small accomplishment, given the fact that the saga featured a team that had won just four games the year before, a university few people would call a hot, glamour school, and a city that was not on the “Ten Best Places to Live” list.

The mainstay of Kissell’s approach proves my contention that 99 percent of success in business—any business—comes from building solid relationships. He worked hard on that. They played tennis, had long talks, and enjoyed many dinners together.

But when he finally asked for the sale, asked for a decision, Oliver Purnell begged off. He said his contract was substantial and UD, by no means a wealthy school, wouldn’t be able to afford the buy-out. Ted Kissell said, “So long,” and started thinking about the other names on his list. Purnell was right, he told himself, the money was going to be a problem for Dayton. Even so, he decided not to give up on his number one choice without a fight. Fifteen minutes after the disappointing phone conversation, Ted told his wife, Deanna, “I’m calling him back. He’s the right choice, and we’ll find a way of making it work.”

Kissell had full empowerment from Brother Fitz. He knew it and it paid off.

Oliver Purnell finally agreed to visit the campus, meet with the president and the board or trustees, and make a go or no-go decision on the job. He’d bring his wife and family along too. Ted Kissell’s wife, whom he calls “my executive assistant for recruiting,” made all the arrangements. Everything was set, but at the last minute the recruit got cold feet and canceled. “Things were just going too fast,” Purnell told me.

This aborted excursion to Dayton, by the way, was totally aboveboard. Oliver Purnell told Old Dominion what was going on. And that may have been the ultimate key to the deal. Purnell liked his job and had no intention of leaving, but Old Dominion apparently didn’t make much of an effort to rerecruit their coach, whom they otherwise obviously valued. He was disappointed. It’s a lesson to all companies: Rerecruit your best people and keep rerecruiting them.

It’s also a lesson for those who are engaged in recruiting. Don’t assume you will necessarily lose a bidding war—the other side may not bid. You never know what’s going on behind the scenes.

With Purnell still on the fence it was time for a judicious shove. Ted Kissell had agreed as a condition set by Purnell himself that the Old Dominion coach would only be coming to Dayton to take the job as the university’s first choice. No beauty pageants. Purnell wasn’t messing around, and neither was Kissell, as it turned out. He sent word back to his prospect that it was time to decide yes or no. Kissell gave him overnight to think about it.

The second time around, Ted Kissell succeeded. His candidate said he’d take the job and agreed to come to Dayton with his family, make the usual rounds, and—unless something went horribly wrong—sign a contract. Almost there. Ted Kissell left nothing to chance. The Purnells had to make a change of planes in Cincinnati to connect to Dayton from Virginia Beach. To avoid another bout of second thoughts—a deal killer at that stage of the game—he arranged for his wife and two daughters to meet the Purnell family with a limo at the Cincinnati airport and drive to Dayton.

Kissell won’t admit to premeditation, but that gesture was a masterstroke. The visit went well. All the preliminaries and legal niceties were wrapped up, and Oliver Purnell said yes. It was time for the always-dreaded first encounter between the newly signed coach and the local news media. This time, the meeting included a roomful of UD boosters and alums, as well; all of them were salivating for a basketball turnaround at any price. They desperately wanted a new coach, but at the same time wanted to show him who was boss—the boosters—and if that meant drawing blood, the knives were out and sharp.

Lights, cameras, action. A nervous Ted Kissell and Oliver Purnell crouched in the hot seat waiting for the first missile to zap them, right? Wrong. Try this: Up to the podium walked Ted Kissell’s two daughters, Katie and Sarah. Katie, the youngest, who was only eight at the time, started the session by saying how wonderful it was that she and her sister could welcome the Purnell girls to live in Dayton and be their friends.

Hugging and holding hands, Oliver Purnell’s kids, Olivia and Lindsay, joined them at the podium to say how happy they were to be in Dayton. The media tigers started to purr and the new coach was off to a great start. Ted keeps the picture of these little TV stars in his office. I think he missed his calling in public relations.

See what I mean about the limo from Cincy?

With the girls in the spotlight, Oliver Purnell’s wife turned to him and said, “You can go back to Virginia, but we’re staying here.”

Ted got his man. Oliver Purnell pulled off a remarkable turnaround by winning twenty-one games in 1997-98, but there was turmoil and tragedy during the leadership transition. The team was forced to abruptly switch conferences, which is always disorienting, but far worse—the star player died in his sleep.

When I talked with the coach, I asked what he was thinking at the time.

“The death was such a blow! What a tragedy for that young man, his family, and for the whole university community. Personally, I wondered if maybe we had made a mistake,” he said. “But my wife said we’d be all right, and that we’d be made stronger. We’ll just pray on it, was what she told me.”

Recruiting As Relationship Building

What I see in this Ted Kissell and Oliver Purnell story is a case study in people-ology. Kissell would never have gotten his man without personal involvement, a passionate commitment to finding the best person for the job, and the determination to overcome all the barriers that popped up. Clearly, from early on, the message Ted Kissell conveyed to his prospect was a passionate desire to get him on his team.

People want to be wanted. If passion is missing from the recruiting process it becomes ho-hum and the results deteriorate accordingly. The good ones, the best ones, get away.

When I went to the University of Dayton to gather material on recruiting, I expected to hear about how they prospect for athletes—and I did. As a leadership team, Ted Kissell and Oliver Purnell are just as passionate about bringing the best players to UD. Recruiting is a full-time proposition. Lots of money and time are spent just identifying prospects in their base, mostly Ohio and the Atlantic 10 conference area. They use recruiting services, the athletic equivalent of headhunters, but also know the territory personally. There are high school visits, talks with coaches, and scouting trips to summer camps and games. This process—just tracking who’s out there—makes many business talent scouting and recruiting programs look weak by comparison.

What struck me most, though, was the effort involved in getting to know the kids and their families. The coaches go into the homes of the athletes to sell the program and build relationships, not with the recruits, but initially with the parents. They work with the kids and their moms and dads for three or four years establishing a foundation of sincerity and trust. It also serves as a way to view the prospect from another perspective—perhaps one that’s the most revealing in terms of character and potential.

Businesses blow it in this way. We should also attract the best and brightest young talent by establishing relationships with them and their families in high school and college. Certainly for more than the typical two-week or month-long courtship. There’s a host of extracurricular activities—and curricular ones too—that could be sponsored by business, not just for PR or commercial purposes, but with an eye to cultivating and attracting tomorrow’s superstars. To briefly touch on an idea that I’ll develop later, if we have basketballs camps, where are the leadership camps? For that matter, why aren’t we, as business people, at the basketball camps, working with the young athletes who won’t be going pro after college and who would be ideal candidates for recruiting into our own organizations?

We are so part-time and so sloppy on this, it’s outrageous.

The family recruiting connection begs to be explored. I first became aware of it when I was interviewing a young Asian-American woman for a position at Xerox’s Columbus operation. She was very impressive, and there was no doubt that we’d make her an offer. I asked if she had any questions for me. Her answer floored me. She said, “Yes, would you talk to my father about what it would be like for me to work here and get his permission?”

Huh?

Well, of course I talked to her father. I loved it! Why wasn’t I talking to all of the prospects’ fathers and mothers? Sure, there was a cultural tradition involved in that particular case, but if Oliver Purnell can sit in a living room and explain to a mother how he intends to help her son realize his full potential, what’s stopping those of us in business from doing the same thing?

Nothing. Coach Purnell, by the way, tells parents, “I will treat your son like my son. Both good and bad. If I have to, I will take away what he wants—basketball—to give him what he needs (academics and discipline).”

Believe me, if I had a corporate recruiter look me in the eye and say that about Alle or Frankie, I’d be their strongest advocate.

It’s high time business got smart about recruiting.

Keeping Recruiting Honest and Engaged

One reason that leaders like Ted Kissell and Oliver Purnell have such an effective recruiting process is that their careers are riding on it. There’s nothing quite so sobering as watching an eighteen or nineteen year old “running down a basketball court with your paycheck in his mouth,” is the way Oliver Purnell described the feeling. Haunted by that image, few coaches let recruiting become ho-hum.

By tying recruiting to performance, and tying performance to compensation, the whole process of talent hunting and recruiting becomes very personal. That’s why it’s a mistake to allow recruiting to be conducted without the direct involvement of those who will be working closely with the candidate. At Xerox, each of my team leaders was required to interview a prospect and to sign off on the decision to hire. What kept the process honest and the executive personally involved was that the candidate could easily end up on his or her team. A major component of the manager’s take-home pay hinged directly on how well the team performed overall and in competition with the other teams. This is a potent form of accountability. They knew that I kept the bar so high that a recruiting mistake would have immediate impact on performance and hit them right where it hurts.

However, if hiring is dictated by human resources or a recruiting manager, there’s no direct financial incentive to get it right. In Cleveland, Paul MacKinnon, our marketing director, was the point man and initial screener. It seemed like every time I poked my head in Paul’s office, he was meeting with another prospect. He kept feeding possibilities into the funnel at a steady rate so that we could count on doing interviews in batches of ten or twelve at a time or on a biweekly or monthly basis. There was no way our interviewing skills were going to get rusty with a flow like that. MacKinnon’s pay was also tied to how well the district did, which meant that he wasn’t about to slough off. To make sure that we were on our toes, he’d include an unsuitable candidate in each batch, but wouldn’t reveal the ringer’s identity. The preliminary filtering was such that the candidate pool was of extremely high quality, and we’d end up saying to each other, “Is this the one we’re supposed to catch, or this one?” It’s a good idea, actually. When the ringer keeps getting close to being hired, you probably need to overhaul the process. I’d be cautious with this technique, though. Paul MacKinnon is one of the few people I’d trust not to sit back and let me hire Jack or Jacquelyn the Ripper to see if I could teach them to do cold calls.

I probably could teach them to cold call, but I would have caught onto the Rippers with my favorite interview question: Who are your heroes? “Bluebeard” or “Lizzie Borden” would have tipped me off. Seriously, I’ve received more revealing answers to the hero question than to any other. My goal is to get the candidate off his or her script so that I can see the real person. Most of the time, I hear about their mother or father, a close relative, or a teacher. If they don’t have heroes, I don’t want them working for me. There won’t be cultural compatibility with the organization. It’s as simple as that.

I also like to encourage the candidate to interview me.

A prospective employee should know how I lead and manage a team. And I’m not offended when they ask about money. Please don’t buy into this nonsense about how it’s taboo to ask about compensation and other benefits. Most headhunters who pursue top executives will tell you that the five most frequently asked questions are: What’s the company? Where’s it located? What’s the job? How much does it pay? and, Are you kidding?

Pay shouldn’t be the first question, nor the last. I think we torture candidates by not including compensation information in the interviewer’s opening presentation. Making the candidate raise the issue is sadistic game playing. You’re supposed to be more interested in the challenge than the money. Excuse me? We are talking about the most materialistic society that the world has ever seen, with the possible exception of Babylon, aren’t we? In an era when some top executives consider themselves poorly paid if the comp package doesn’t exceed the GDP of Portugal, we should grow up and let prospective employees ask how much they’ll earn.

But if you’re going out for your first job, think ahead about what questions you would like to ask in the interview and the questions that you are liable to be asked in return. Once, I asked a young man why he wanted to work at Xerox. What a surprise! Should have been a slam-dunk.

“I’d like to work at Xerox because it’s the leading computer company in the United States,” he replied.

Xerox doesn’t sell computers. I decided he was one of Paul’s Rippers or ringers and passed.

Commit to Becoming a Recruiting Company

I understand Southwest Airlines processes thousands of job applications a month. Good for them! Is that expensive? Oh, yeah. But they are bearing the cost to keep the door open to the best talent. At the same time, Southwest is compelled to stay in the recruiting business. There’s no other way to handle such a flood of prospects. Full-time recruiters are exposed to the outside world, and they are constantly comparing internal expectations and perceptions to what the outside world expects and perceives.

Constant recruiting keeps you on the street and keeps you sharp. This is what levels the playing field and allows schools like tiny (a student body of five thousand), tenth-seeded Gonzaga University of Spokane, Washington, to almost break through into the Final Four and come within hailing distance of powerhouse Duke, as they did in the 1999 “March Madness” NCAA playoffs. Once you make the commitment to be a “recruiting company,” lack of resources can be countered by energy, commitment, and passion. I could see that the University of Dayton was on to this secret. They worked their territory relentlessly, meanwhile, as Coach Purnell explained to me that the strategy was to pay the rent by building to a 500 record, then winning twenty-one games, knocking off a conference championship, and clawing upward rung by rung. Each win along the way provides entrée to higher caliber talent.

Some coaches make flashy recruitment presentations. Initially, Oliver Purnell favors the good cop/bad cop strategy, with a twist. It’s more like good cop/quiet cop. He interviews the prospects and their families, accompanied by an assistant coach who handles the overview material about the school and the team. Purnell mostly listens and watches the reactions. He’s interested in seeing whom the athlete turns to for advice. He refers to that person as the “primary influencer”—Mom, Dad, a coach, the minister, or some other adult. He then tries to get to know this influencer, not only as a channel through which he can sell Dayton, but as a way to evaluate the athlete’s character and potential. It’s closely akin to my question about heroes. Purnell is sizing up flesh and blood heroes and mentors in order to evaluate the heart and values of the young talent he’s considering for the team.

One thing he listens for is whether the athlete talks only about himself. Is there any consideration given to the team or interest in what the overall college experience will entail beyond athletics? As a rule of thumb, he has found that if the athlete opens up and talks a lot, he’s interested in Dayton. “The best recruits recruit themselves,” he told me.

“The best recruits recruit themselves” went right into the red notebook.

Oliver Purnell clearly knows the difference between selling and recruiting. Even if an athlete can help his team improve, if he spots a problem with academics or attitude, he lays it out. The coach knows that he’s the coach. He’s going to have to work with the athlete for four years—problems and all. He knows how agonizing problems could be for him, the player, and the team.

If the fit is right, Oliver Purnell “sells the dream” to get the recruit to come to Dayton. He lets recruits see that they can take part in building an organization and a set of traditions from the ground up. They won’t just be one of a cast of thousands who’ve built a program at a powerhouse like Duke. These kids will be pioneers, the ones who set the standards that others will read about and attempt to live up to in the years to come.

The comment sparked a flashback for me: I’m walking down the hallway in the Xerox district office in Cleveland. I’ve just taken over. Fred Thomas is with me, a sales manager I’ve inherited from the previous regime. The place is a horror show, and Fred is worried. He asks if I think he’ll be able to make the cut. I tell him he’s going to be one of the operation’s superstars and I repeat what I had just said to the whole office—“Our success will be so spectacular they will write books about us someday.” Today Fred is a franchise player, handling an account—one account—that earns Xerox about $180 million a year. And two books have been written about Xerox’s Cleveland comeback.

Sell the dream—and live it.

Better Than Gold

The dream was sold to Megan McCallister. She lives it every day at Dayton, as the assistant athletic director. “A career experience” is what this young woman bought. She was a member of the U.S. national volleyball team and Ted Kissell couldn’t match the kind of money other schools were willing to pay. He persuaded her that she would be exposed to all the facets of the life of an assistant athletic director and be way ahead of her competition as a result.

“What’s your goal?” I asked her.

“I want to be master of this job.”

Megan explained that she came to Dayton because “there were no limits.” Ted Kissell encouraged her to dream, but at the same time made sure that everything that the dream entailed was based on performance. She got autonomy and empowerment, but it came with the need to deliver. Megan had been recruited just the way Oliver Purnell, and the rest of the UD team, had been. There was a message, a vision and it had been communicated relentlessly. And Ted Kissell kept his promises.

He’s great mentor, Megan explained, and he “gets you to the table.” By this, she means that when there is a project to be shaped and presented, she’s allowed to handle it from first to last, including taking it into the university board of trustees or Brother Fitz and making the presentation. Kissell’s mentorship and empowerment allow her to build credibility and to see how decisions are made at the highest level. It’s obvious that she loves her job, but probably what keeps her there is that she is given the opportunity to grow every day.

Kissell has delivered on his recruiting promises. He is helping Megan build herself into a future athletic director. That’s the deal—and they both know it.

And does Ted Kissell have an eye for talent! I put Megan’s comment directly into the red notebook: “To succeed at anything you have to be positive—believe in something that’s beyond yourself.”

There it is—the platinum rule of recruiting, leadership, and life.