David Schmittlein, John C Head III Dean

Skipping Stones

One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.
- Antonio Porchia, "Voces"

I am a pretty bad dinner party host.  Spouse Barb and I keep at it, in a sort of head-down-against-the-wind fashion, but if we are better at it for the practice I doubt it’s obvious to our guests.  Deciding at the last minute to eat outside rather than in, or the wine is upstairs when it should be downstairs, or the showpiece dessert of red (strawberries), white (ginger cream cheese), and blue (blueberries) on puff pastry takes an hour to assemble “at the last minute”.  Still, afterward we are glad we did it, and our friends show their love by returning despite the festival of disarray and stress.

It’s different in the mature films of Woody Allen.  Dinner on the lawn at sunset in “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy.”  Dinner in a New York apartment in “Hannah and Her Sisters.”  Beautiful portrayals of the feast as a gathering of the three human needs: to eat, to understand and be understood, and to love and be loved.

Around 1980 I held my first dinner gathering as a “professional,” with friends David and Karen in a Philadelphia apartment.  Too much pasta, shrimp turned into pencil erasers, and some unfortunate vegetable thrown into the mix.  But it was a brief moment of embarrassment and anyway a sidebar to the path of academic success I was paving.  About the same time I had my first journal article published.  Quite apart from the professional success that it signaled, the publication felt like a sliver of immortality.  With luck, those thoughts and findings would exist for decades, perhaps centuries, in some library, for some future generation to consider, if only on rare occasion.

The paper most likely to warrant that immortality came later, and was written jointly with friends Richard and Don.  While Don was justly famous, for Richard and me that particular article, even at the time, was more of a signature contribution.  For my part, it was a high point in a straight line of determined success; one leap of a stone skipping on a pond, straight and far.  For Richard, it seemed to me, it was more a wonderful experience in one setting, from which he would venture on to other settings and pursue other experiences.

I don’t recall what led me to Richard’s house in Connecticut on an afternoon many years ago.  Until that day I felt we were quite similar: two successful assistant professors good at applied statistics.  Then I saw him at play with his son, and his thoughtfulness about what was interesting, and important.  As the afternoon wore on and friends gathered, the warmth and gentility of the host led those smart, driven people into the magic of a Woody Allen dinner.  I don’t recall the food but it was good, and it was better because we ate it together.  There was a large table.  The light was low, the ceilings were high.  The conversation rose and fell, and flickered like the candlelight on the walls.  Then we had to go home, and I recall thinking “What happened here?”

It took years to realize that it wasn’t the grand old house or the food or the candles that made the magic.  It was the host.  So now, when we entertain, we try to remember to work on the host.  And we try to let our eyes turn to the waves.  Our eyes naturally follow the stone as it skips across the water, and we watch until it is captured.  But the waves that each touchpoint makes, as they radiate and reverberate, are what last.  It’s good to notice the waves.  And to think about them as we launch the stone.

In our own community, so many stones flying and touching.  But the waves too.  The shy “are you the new dean” in the coffee line; Will holding on to a handshake; and, when mentioning this school, Jeremy’s 300 watt smile, Tanguy’s voice dropping an octave, Judy’s eyes flashing, and Steve’s hands gripping the future.  I’ll try to remember that I’m making them too. 

Worthy music:

• Fairport Convention, “Come All Ye” (Liege and Lief)
• Ralph Vaughan Williams, “Linden Lea”
• Duke Ellington, “The Single Petal of a Rose”

First Impressions

“I’ve flown to the moon, but the most comfortable flight I’ve ever had was on Eos.”
- U.S. astronaut Edwin Eugene “Buzz” Aldrin, Jr., lunar module pilot for Apollo 11, the first lunar landing.

The first time I flew Eos Airlines was in March 2007.  An important morning meeting in Cambridge, United Kingdom, and certain commitments in Philadelphia the day before, mandated taking a car service to JFK airport, and then Eos Flight #2 to Stansted Airport.  Stansted is north of London, the direction toward Cambridge, and the morning arrival would allow making the meeting, with a little time to spare.
March 16 was an unusual weather day in the eastern U.S.; ice and sleet from mid-morning on.  The car from Philadelphia nearly had to turn back, but we did finally make it to JFK.  The news there was bad — while the airport was not closed, falling ice preventing all flights from departing.  The head of Eos flight ops came to the passengers waiting in the Emirates lounge and explained the situation in person, passenger by passenger.  (Note: when you do need to wait for a flight, Emirates lounge in JFK is about as nice a place to do that as may be found…)  He said we’d have a hotel room if plan B became necessary, but if we were collectively willing to hang in there with them, for what might be hours, they’d like to take a chance for the flight to go if a weather window opened up.  We all said we would.  One of the firm’s senior executives also came around to all the customers, as did the two pilots.  They only stepped away to take needed phone calls and then returned to wait with us.

Eventually, we all agreed to board, leave the gate, and have the plane de-iced, on spec, in continued hopes for such a window to open.  De-icing took a long time (there was lots of ice) and then we waited some more.  I said to myself, “Nice marks for effort, but now it’s hotel time…and my absence from the meeting tomorrow.”

The pilot announced we would try to take off, and had gotten clearance to the runway, and the plane plodded sluggishly through the snow.  We taxied to position #1 for departure, and the pilot came on again: the ground crew would drive out in a truck to inspect the wings from the underside, and he himself would inspect them from the windows topside.  As 10 minutes passed I thought “This is nuts — the planes waiting behind us have to be screaming at the tower about the delay, especially since the weather-window for departure is likely to close.”

Then finally all was ready and we turned onto the runway, and I understood why people fly this airline.

We were alone.

I mean, nothing was moving at JFK aside from us. 

As we roared down the runway of that huge, still, airport, I felt an exhilaration as never before in thirty years of flying.

Looking at the other passengers to register their astonishment I found instead, “Yeah, this is Eos, what did you expect?”

To the best of my knowledge, only one flight got out of JFK that evening: Eos Flight #2.

The flight arrived about an hour and a half late and I arrived at the meeting just about on time.  The 48 passengers on that plane were taken where they needed to be.   They were valued and respected as individuals, and for what they need to accomplish by traveling.

So why do people fly Eos?  Because you never know when it will be March 16.  And when it is March 16, you can either give up and go home, or you can do whatever it takes to sit, all by yourself, at the end of a runway.  And take off.

What’s the worst thing about Eos?  It’s hard to show people credibly what will happen on the March 16ths.  The lie-flat beds and the great food and wine and the handholding at check-in are easy to show on a website but are only a pale reflection of, and signal for, what we really care about: the commitment and competence of the airline’s staff and leadership. I, however, had the good fortune to see these qualities firsthand in the ways they matter most.  Because most of us don’t fly for the food.  What we value most is getting there, on time and safely, and being treated as humans.  If only some airline could deliver that.  In my experience one does.

I have thought about Eos a lot during my first two weeks as Dean of MIT Sloan.  My friend, Brian Kelly, rightly reminded me that there’s no second chance to make a first impression.  So I have tried to do my very best, in initial speeches, and meetings, and messages.  And people have been wonderfully responsive — thank you.

But first impressions go in both directions.  And my first impressions of MIT Sloan are many — too numerous for one little note like this.  But the recurring image from those MIT Sloan first impressions is that runway at JFK, and exhilaration.  Because what I have found at MIT Sloan are alumni, and faculty, and staff, and students, that are beyond competent.  Beyond caring.  And beyond committed.  The kind of organization that we have come no longer to expect.  But sometimes, with luck, we find, and cherish, and nourish as best we can.

Worthy music

Faithless, “To All New Arrivals” was in-flight music on Eos #2.  I’m not a big fan of electronic/dance but this is very good.  The title refers to children, and the music appeals especially to those who have them; but “Bombs,” “Spiders, Crocodiles and Kryptonite,” and most of all the title track are worthy listening for anyone. Check it out on YouTube >>