Lessons Learned From a Failed Ivy League Entrepreneur

A "Case Story" By Chris Cononico
 

Chapter Eight

The summer internship before senior year is a critical step that helps most college students find full time jobs. If a student lands the right internship at a top-tier firm, not only is the experience good for the resume, but most interns are also offered jobs at the end of the summer. Securing a job before senior year is a godsend. It’s a free pass to blow off classes and party during your last year of college. Obviously, competition for the most coveted internships was fierce.

It was a shared belief among Wharton finance majors that the road to riches starts as an analyst at a bulge bracket investment bank (Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, JP Morgan, etc.). The consensus seemed to be that getting the right job on Wall Street was the gateway to a bright future. Therefore, everyone appeared to be vying for the same positions. Although an analyst could look forward to working 90-hour workweeks, getting Wall Street experience was supposed to “open doors” for you.

Maybe it was the feeling of safety in numbers. Maybe it was the luxury of having a game plan, regardless of how stressful it seemed. For many, the need to work on Wall Street ignited a competitive spark, even if it meant winning something you didn’t really want. For me, the hunt for an investment-banking job became something I despised, but I did it anyway. I wanted to secure the same career track as everyone else, just in case entrepreneurship didn’t work out for me.

Our career placement center had a wall with dozens of boxes labeled with the names of companies conducting interviews and the job titles of the positions. Students submitted hundreds of resumes for every internship position. Within hours of the postings, the resume boxes became so crammed they couldn’t fit any more resumes. It was common knowledge that unscrupulous individuals would reach in through the slits and pull out other people’s resumes, crumple them up, and throw them in the trash. The competition was intense.

I approached the whole job hunt with a sense of confidence. After all, I was a finance major, had a strong GPA, and had plenty of activities to discuss with an interviewer. Unfortunately, it was with great disbelief that I checked the schedule and found I had only been offered one interview and it was with Bankers Trust, which I didn’t even consider to be a top tier firm. It was a huge blow to my ego and I was beyond frustrated.

I remember calling my parents in Queens and letting them know how upset I was. I felt like I was a top candidate, but somehow I had been overlooked. Like any good mother, mine agreed with me. After all, she wasn’t paying all of that tuition to have me selling ice cream cones that summer. She decided to take matters into her own hands.

If nepotism and connections were needed to land a top internship on Wall Street, my mother would find a way to make the system work for me. Somehow, she found the name of an alumnus of my high school, Frank Azzoli, who was also a principal at Morgan Stanley. At my mother’s insistence, I called my high school and got Frank’s contact information from the alumni relations’ person.

Suddenly, I found myself about to call some guy whom I had never met before, having to introduce myself with an opening that sounded something like, “Hi, we’ve actually never met, but I went to the same high school you attended 30 years ago.” It was embarrassing, but, unfortunately, it was the best lead that I had.

After some prodding from my family, I picked up the phone and dialed Frank’s number. Much to my astonishment, I got him on the first try. Unfortunately, Frank sounded like he was too busy to talk, which made the call even more awkward. Probably sensing I was wasting his time, he cut right to the chase and asked me what I wanted. I heard myself drop the name of a contact at my old high school, “Well, Mr. Kinsley suggested I call you, because I’m interested in finance. You see, I’m a junior at Wharton and I am applying for summer internships, and I was hoping you might have some advice for me.”

Make no mistake about it, asking for “advice” is a polite way of saying, “Can you get me a job please?” I don’t recall who passed along that pearl of wisdom, but it’s a beauty. The “informational interview” is a low-pressure way for both sides to feel things out. If you end up connecting, then the person will send your resume around within his firm, otherwise it’s just a chance to exchange information.

My call with Frank went as well as could be expected, and he told me to send over my resume, which I did. Unfortunately, I never hear back from him. After weighing my options (I had none), and receiving more pressure from my parents, I decided to take a chance that Frank would see me if I stopped by his office unannounced.

On a random weekday, I put on my blue "interviewing" suit that my parents bought for me from Today's Man and I took the train from Penn’s campus to Manhattan. After arriving at Penn Station, I walked up 7th Avenue to Morgan Stanley’s main building located in Time Square. I remember the enormous stock market ticker flashing across the top of the building as I walked in through the revolving glass doors, not knowing what to expect.

The entrance to the elevator banks required an employee badge, so I had to walk to the front desk to be announced. I had no appointment and for all I knew Frank was traveling, or worse, he didn’t remember me. The receptionist immediately demanded my name and with whom I was there to meet, while a line of business people, who actually had appointments, formed behind me. This left very little time for me to “charm” the security guard, which I now realize was an utterly futile strategy anyway.

I heard myself give the name “Frank Azzoli.” Without consulting me, the front desk called up to his office to let him know that I was in the lobby waiting for him. Since I couldn’t rip the phone out of the receptionist’s hand, I stood there watching helplessly as the situation unfolded.

Fortunately, Frank was not available to take the call. Instead, his secretary answered and reported back that she never heard of me and that I had no appointment. Clearly, things weren’t going to plan. The receptionist took great pleasure in raising her voice for the line of people behind me, when she reported in a condescending tone, “She said you have no appointment and she never heard of you! Well do you have an appointment or not?”

You could almost feel the tension in the back of the line. Loud sighs and rhetorical exclamations like, “Awe come on!” were audible. Everyone must have thought I was some sort of bad salesman trying to steal my way into the building, which actually wasn’t that far from the truth. I started to sweat and I briefly considered pointing to a spot on the ceiling and yelling for everyone to “Look!” then quickly darting out the side exit. For some reason, I decided to give one final effort and asked to speak to Frank’s secretary myself.

Frank’s secretary had a very friendly voice, which helped to calm my nerves a bit. I explained to her that I was “the guy” who went to Frank’s high school, and how I had called him for advice a few weeks back. I found myself mumbling something to her about how I happened to be in the neighborhood for another interview with another bank (a bold-faced lie), and I wanted to drop by and “thank Frank” for his help.

It was a pretty plausible story and I have no idea how I came up with it. I told her I knew Frank was busy, but I thought it would be nice to shake his hand and put a face to the name. Miraculously, Frank’s secretary agreed to bring me to his office on the 20h floor. When that happened, I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the receptionist, who probably thought she’d get to kick me out of the building in front of a captive audience.

Frank’s secretary escorted me up to an empty reception area, and told me to wait there while she got Frank. Visions of the movie Wall Street passed through my head as I straightened my tie, sat and waited for him to come out. After about 10 minutes, Frank entered the room. He was in his 40s with dark hair and was smiling as he warmly extended his hand to greet me. He apologized for not having a lot of time, and remarked, “So, you were in the area interviewing… that’s good news.” I couldn’t tell if he was tipping his hat to me for knowing proper networking etiquette, or if he was legitimately happy for me.

Without getting too specific, I gave him a quick run down of how busy I had been fighting off the Wall Street banks that were wooing me. He laughed and there was an awkward pause. It didn’t feel right to start talking about Morgan Stanley’s recent stock price performance, so I found myself asking him how he got his first job at Morgan Stanley. I didn’t plan to ask him a personal question, but it just came up naturally.

As it turned out, this question pushed a certain button inside of Frank, and he went on to tell me how he started off as a courier before getting a break through a personal contact he made. Apparently, he had a mentor who took him under his wing, and he never looked back. The parallels between his situation and mine were obvious. “Well, I guess you really need to know someone,” he said. Two weeks later, he called me with a job interview, and I ultimately accepted the position.

The experience taught me a lot about the value of connections, and most importantly, it reinforced the idea that if you were bold, aggressive, and persistent, you could open a lot of doors for yourself.

 

Copyright  2005 by Chris Cononico
All rights reserved. No part of this manuscript may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.