TODAY'S RAMBLINGS

That's false modesty because I was as critical to the success of this ginormous program as anyone.  The experience sadly did nothing to temper my arrogance, because the fact is my obsession with control worked out mostly perfectly for an endeavor like this.  It remains, more than 25 years on, a singular highlight of my professional career and personal life.  It's why I wrote this whole crazy thing, FFS.

Well, apart from being the brash and pushy American.  You see, this never was going to get done if we had moved at Seaco's typical pace, which was glacial.  So I found the perfect method for pushing the pedal down whilst simultaneously paying respect to the British predilection for niceties and formality:

The Interoffice Memorandum

The way it worked was like this:

• I'd do whatever it took to get Seaco CIO Steve Whittam to formally approve <fill in the blank>, along with buy-in from Randy, Martin, and Malcolm.

• A week or two before <fill in the blank>, I'd introduce whatever we were trying to do to perfect strangers in each of the 32 offices, via, yep, The Interoffice Memorandum.  There were cc:'s to Whittam, and perhaps even his boss and/or the recipients' bosses if what we were doing was major enough.

• I'd wait a couple of days to see if I got into any trouble.  Usually, the recipients were so stunned by my directness they stayed quiet or didn't even know what to think.

• 4 days before whatever was going to happen, I'd send another memo, reminding the recipient of what I'd already said we were doing.

• We would then do whatever it was we needed to do.

I did that over and over, for 27 of the 32 locations, over 3 months in the summer of 1998.  I built a database that managed the program's data and metadata, and this is probably my favorite report, because it shows everything.
 

In the end, and on the day of my departure from London, only 5 sites were left to complete.  Apart from Copenhagen, which I don't recall why it was so problematic, we knew from the start that the remaining 4 were going to be challenging propositions.  We were, after all, talking about Shanghai, Dubai, Bombay, and Bangkok, which at the time were not particularly easy places to do business.  Or at least get broadband circuits up and running.

I do remember thinking explicitly that getting the final offices in service wasn't my problem any longer.  By any measure, our program had been completed on time and on budget, and now Randy could see to the rest of the sites.  My work was done.

You can likely guess what's next.  Having somehow pulled it off, it was time to party.  So while we missed San Francisco and were ready to go home, there were still the goodbyes to say.

And the toasts.  Oh, the toasts.

The Lunch I Still Talk About
The last week in London was foggy, and that's being kind to the excess.  

There was the night the Equant account exec Guy Foster took us all to a no-holds-barred dinner at Palais du Jardin.  A day when just Randy and I hung out in pubs all afternoon; this also included his only appearance at Coleherne Court that summer.  And then a truly tectonic night, which I hosted, with just me and the Seaco guys.  It rendered me worthless the next day at the final final final fancy lunch, with CIO Steve Whittam and VP of Telecom, Martin Denny, at OXO Tower. 

I was green and almost hurled on Whittam's French cuffs.  He and Martin were very understanding.

By now, I had grown accustomed to the views from up here - the Executive Dining Room was on the same floor as Whittam's office, and faced the same direction.  But upon arrival, I still found myself glancing at the shimmering River Thames 12 floors below.  

I had only been there a moment when a waiter - formally dressed, mind you - approached and said, "Mr. Darwin, may I bring you a glass of dry sherry as an aperitif?  Or is there something else you'd prefer, before the luncheon?"

Yeah, no fucking problem.  First, although I had arrived with my A-List Seaco colleagues (Martin Denny, Randy Smee, Malcolm Graveling, Jim Lawrence, and I bet Reg Elwood, too), the guy approached me first.  Even more disorienting was Steve Whittam, who had been transformed into a congenial and gracious host:  He greeted all of us with a demeanor that bordered on warmth.

As it was up on these floors, the whole place was paneled with solid fucking oak, with those big, crazy windows looking out on the city.  I think there were 4 waitstaff for the 7 or 8 of us having lunch, FFS.  In an executive dining room, in London, overlooking the Thames and St. Paul's, and holy shit I thought I was going to lose it.

It was at least a 3-course meal, but my memory is not perfect.  Apart from remembering that my tears of gratitude and relief that day flowed like that damned Thames.

What occurs to me in reflection is that none of this - nothing at all - was preordained.  Every step was a matter of chance and circumstances going a certain way.  Sure, there was some skill and ability involved, but in the end, I had dreamt of something and then could only hope the opportunity and my preparation for it were a match.

I wanted London and I felt it had called me.  It had and I think always will.  I am lucky.

Epilogue
I returned to San Francisco and two letters, one from CIO Steve Whittam, and the other from the VP of Telecom Martin Denny, thanking me.  I framed them and hung them on a prominent wall in our home, where they stayed for about 20 years; I was (and remain) that proud.  I kind of float around the house when I read them, even now.  However, who is this Dean Clough they mention?

Sadly, my success in London translated neither into my being able to sell the services of WestConnect to prospective clients, nor get along any better with my partners, Pleather and Peet Krakow. 

The former is on me, and trust me, I tried to sell to everybody.  In researching London Calling, I came across this.  So while keeping with tradition I changed our names, otherwise, this is true, and wow.   

I had completely forgotten I had pitched a guy that would fire me just 20 short years later.

But it's also true that Peet, Pleather, and I weren't compatible as business partners.  We'd part ways soon, in October of 1999. 

Julie, my wife?  None of this would have meant much without her there, and us experiencing it together.  Thank you, sweetheart.

But it must end with the limeys.  Those reading this that did not notice my overwhelming gratitude to my British colleagues were not paying attention.

And that brings us to the last and arguably best story in London Calling. 

We couldn't wait to get back to Europe.  So in February of 2000, I arranged a special waiver from my new employer, Charles Schwab, and we did just that.  Despite what happened, one place we wanted more of was Antwerp.

After 4 nights, we took Thalys to Brussels and then Eurostar from there to London, where Luigi Ferrari collected us, oddly in Malcolm Graveling's Saab 9000 company car.  We planned to spend the night at Luigi's, and then head off to the Cotswolds for a few nights on our own.  Which we did, but something happened in between.

We arrived at Luigi's in the late afternoon of 4 March 2000.  He is by this point living in a nice flat in a suburb somewhere outside of London.  Getting over a nasty cold, Julie decides to nap while our host and I head to his local for a couple of pints.  The plan was to have a nice, quiet, home-cooked Italian dinner at Luigi's after.

We return around 6 PM and I am eagerly anticipating just that.  Luigi may be Welsh but the Italian heritage implied by his name is real:  this bloke can cook the red sauce.  

But then, standing in his dining room, I hear rapping on the door and then a whole bunch of voices in the front of the house.  My first reaction was "Why the hell would Luigi invite strangers over?"

But they weren't strangers.  

No, it was a full-tilt fucking boogie of a surprise party, in our honor.

Nearly every one of the main actors from Seaco came marching in.  Randy.  Malcolm.  Jim.  Willy Aluminium.  Two that are sadly now gone, Peter Carolan and Marc Bass.  Yes, even my friend Reg Elwood, and better still, Malcolm's wife Linda, Jim's wife Julie, and Peter's wife Eve.  Add me, my own Julie, and Luigi himself, and it was good and truly on.  It was a life's highlight that lasted until 3 AM.  

And Randy, Willy, and Marc all crashed on Luigi's living room furniture afterward.

I am not sure I could have written it any better.

FROM THE UNWASHED MASSES

Love the review and very well written.  Let’s go to print!

Oooooooooooooooo Portico, the eclipse photos totally eclipse others that I have seen!

KLUF