| Fifteen years ago, I entered the Boston
Globe, which was a temple to me then. It wasn't easy getting hired. But once you
were there, I found, you were in. Globe jobs were for life-guaranteed until retirement. For 15 years I had prospered there—moving from an ordinary reporter to foreign correspondent and finally to senior editor. I would have a life- time of security if I stuck with it. Instead, I had made a decision to leave. I entered my boss' s office. Would he rage? I wondered. He had a famous temper. "Matt, we have. to have a talk," I began awkwardly. "I came to the Globe when I was twenty-four. Now I' m forty. There's a lot I want to do in life. I'm resigning." "To another paper?" he asked. I reached into my coat pocket, but didn't say anything. I handed him a letter that explained everything. It said that I was leaving to start a new media company. We were at a rare turning point in history. I wanted to be directly engaged in the change. "I'm glad for you," he said, quite out of my expectation. "I just came from a board of directors meeting and it was seventy-five percent discouraging news. Some of that we can deal with. But much of it we can't," he went on. "I wish you all the luck in the world," he concluded. "And if it doesn't work out, remember, your star is always high here." Then I went out of his office, walking through the newsroom for more good-byes. Everybody was saying congratulations. Everybody—even though I'd be risking all on an unfamiliar venture: all the financial security I had carefully built up. Later, I had a final talk with Bill Taylor, chairman and publisher of the Boston Globe. He had turned the Globe into a billion-dollar property. "I'm resigning, Bill," I said. He listened while I gave him the story. He wasn't looking angry or dismayed either. After a pause, he said, "Golly, I wish I were in your shoes." |