During my sophomore year in college, my friend Walter taught me about networking.
He had already built a network of wealthy alums that he looked up to as mentors and advisors to help guide his academic and entrepreneurial ambitions.
I wanted in. One day, he invited me to go with him to visit one of his mentors in downtown LA.
I put on the only suit I owned and an old pair of scuffed up black dress shoes and we hit the road.
We show up to an elaborate skyscraper where Walter's mentor's office was located and pull into the parking garage.
As we excitedly head to the garage elevators to enter into the lobby, we walk past an older Black man stationed near the elevators who stops me and asks "Would you like me to shine your shoes?"
I politely decline and we head all the way up to the office marveling at its panoramic views of Los Angeles.
Walter's mentor welcomed us into a boardroom where he sat us down at a table with two other executives. He spent the next hour teaching us about his asset management business and the lessons he had learned as an investor and entrepreneur.
Walter and I asked questions while furiously scribbling notes down. We left the meeting buzzing with excitement about our future careers and I remember feeling a new sense of confidence that I belonged in a corporate boardroom.
Later that night I called my dad, excited to tell him about the meeting. But when I went to recall the adventure, tears came to my eyes as the only thing I could think of was the old Black man that offered to shine my shoes.
When I entered the building, I felt a closer connection and sense of belonging with him than I did with the corporate CEO that I was about to meet.
I couldn't stop thinking about how he was somebody's grandfather. How he never had the opportunity to make it past the lobby. How he could have been my grandfather.
I never had the opportunity to meet my grandfather. But I knew that when he was my age, he shined shoes.
I realized I wasn't any smarter or harder working than he was, probably less so. I was just given access to an elevator that he didn't have.
Shoe-Shine Boy
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Shoe-Shine Boy
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During my sophomore year in college, my friend Walter taught me about networking.
He had already built a network of wealthy alums that he looked up to as mentors and advisors to help guide his academic and entrepreneurial ambitions.
I wanted in. One day, he invited me to go with him to visit one of his mentors in downtown LA.
I put on the only suit I owned and an old pair of scuffed up black dress shoes and we hit the road.
We show up to an elaborate skyscraper where Walter's mentor's office was located and pull into the parking garage.
As we excitedly head to the garage elevators to enter into the lobby, we walk past an older Black man stationed near the elevators who stops me and asks "Would you like me to shine your shoes?"
I politely decline and we head all the way up to the office marveling at its panoramic views of Los Angeles.
Walter's mentor welcomed us into a boardroom where he sat us down at a table with two other executives. He spent the next hour teaching us about his asset management business and the lessons he had learned as an investor and entrepreneur.
Walter and I asked questions while furiously scribbling notes down. We left the meeting buzzing with excitement about our future careers and I remember feeling a new sense of confidence that I belonged in a corporate boardroom.
Later that night I called my dad, excited to tell him about the meeting. But when I went to recall the adventure, tears came to my eyes as the only thing I could think of was the old Black man that offered to shine my shoes.
When I entered the building, I felt a closer connection and sense of belonging with him than I did with the corporate CEO that I was about to meet.
I couldn't stop thinking about how he was somebody's grandfather. How he never had the opportunity to make it past the lobby. How he could have been my grandfather.
I never had the opportunity to meet my grandfather. But I knew that when he was my age, he shined shoes.
I realized I wasn't any smarter or harder working than he was, probably less so. I was just given access to an elevator that he didn't have.