This ego has been reassigned

A former fighter pilot a good VP? Hmmmm. Not so much.

Back in the mid-1980s, after the breakup of AT&T, I began working as a software manager for what was at the time the number one manufacturer of T1 multiplexer equipment in the U.S. Private voice and data communications networks were popping up everywhere like weeks in a septic field. It was an exciting time for software engineering.

Throughout my 10 years with the company, I worked for a slew of engineering vice presidents and assistant vice presidents. Being number one in the industry meant that managers pretty much ran the company and the powers that be were content to tide the wave of prosperity. All this was true until one day when a new VP — let’s call him Mel — took charge.

Mel was a hands-on VP who felt that everything could be done better. A former F-16 fighter pilot in the Israeli Air Force, he rode the engineering department as if he was still sitting in the seat of his high-speed jet cockpit. When projects were behind schedule and resources were squeezed tight as a drum, his mantra was “There are 24 hours in a day.” If you were asked whether a task would be completed on time and had the temerity to respond with, “I hope so,” he would chew your head off. “Hope? Hope? This is not a religion!”

Mel was suspicious of any conversation that took place by phone. He felt he wasn’t getting the full story or perspective unless a meeting was held face-to-face. It was not unusual for him to blurt out to those around him on a conference call, “Let’s go visit him” prior to shutting off the speaker phone and traipsing over to that person’s office. He was famous for impromptu visits to any and all areas of the organization, where he was universally unwelcome.

As morale among the engineers sank, our product development suffered badly with weekly schedule slips and spiraling cost overruns. A mass exodus of talent was approaching and everybody knew it. At one point, we were losing two engineers a week. HR’s attempt to hire replacements was futile — news of our dismal internal affairs was saturating the local grapevine.

In those days — probably not much different from now, in fact — soul-sucking VPs like Mel were never really fired. Instead, they were reassigned or given a “special assignment” that allowed them to remain on the payroll until they found a new job elsewhere. Mel eventually left but the company never rebounded. Those of us who were left behind played market catch-up for some years before the company gasped its last breath.

But I’m just dying to know where Mel ended up. My fantasy is that I will find out, grab some of my colleagues, and say, “Let’s go visit him.” And I would like my visit to him would be just as unwelcome as his were to us back in the old days.