On Mentorship
I’ve been thinking a lot about mentors lately. Those professional “north stars” whose conscience, kindness and creativity help us steer through sometimes-stormy work lives. I worry that a certain kind of informal mentorship is being lost by our working remotely—when there’s little chance to see the empathetic smile or comforting hand-on-a-shoulder that signals to us, “He/she is someone to emulate.”
I had no formal mentor/mentee relationship with the three people I thank here. And I imagine two of them would be surprised to learn just how much our relatively brief encounters shaped me. Yet affect me they did. And they continue to.
Helen Gurley Brown, Editor-in-Chief, Cosmopolitan (1965-1996)
Seeming suddenly archaic in a world one helped create is a common fate of innovators. Helen among them. To the Carrie Bradshaw wannabees toiling away at Hearst, the eighty-five-year-old Helen—her spindle-thin legs still sporting fish-nets— was as much stork as Stork Club. I imagine some knew enough to look past the Pucci dresses and habit of addressing others as, “Pussycat,” to see the pioneer who changed women’s magazines—and women’s lives—forever. Thankfully, I did.
My first lengthy encounter with Helen was when we put her on video for Hearst’s annual United Way fundraising campaign. A sampling of employees from across the Corporation were chosen to share the “reason they give”—myself, my boss, and Helen among them. Despite a few flubs, my boss and I managed to eke out usable takes. Then came Helen. Seated on an apple crate and smiling at our videographer (who possessed more than his fair share of black-haired-blue-eyed-East-Village swagger), Helen undid the top button of her jade-green silk blouse and launched into a word- and pitch-perfect retelling of her impoverished youth. Nearly two decades later, I remember the performance like it was yesterday. I say “performance,” because the story, I later learned, had become a veritable calling card. But what of it. Helen’s way with a story (and a videographer fifty years her junior) put us all to shame.
She was delightfully unassuming, yet completely confident in who she was. She was tireless—stepping down as Cosmo’s Editor-in-chief at age 74 but continuing to report for work as its new International Editor. She was old-school gracious—regularly typing “Thank You” notes or words of encouragement on her signature pink paper. She was too much fun to be labeled “formidable.” Being first on the dance floor and the last to leave was part of Helen’s legend. So, it was a badge of honor to find myself swirling her around in a mini skirt of yellow feathers at one of Hearst’s “Tavern on the Green” Christmas parties.
I’ll remember Helen’s memorial service at Avery Fisher Hall for three things. The yards of Pucci fabric we brought in to soften the stage. The shocking-pink bound book of remembrances from Bill Clinton, Barbara Walters, and others. And Hearst’s then CEO, Frank Bennack, whose words that day made for the most lasting lesson of my career.
Frank Bennack, Executive Vice Chairman & Former CEO, Hearst
With Hearst Tower glimmering just 7 blocks to the south, Bennack asked all in attendance at Helen’s memorial to consider something. “None of us would be here… Hearst Tower wouldn’t be here… if it weren’t for Helen Gurley Brown.” I’ll never forget the generosity in those words. And while such deference is typical of Bennack, this was no mere hyperbole. Having “never even edited a grocery list," Helen fashioned herself a magazine editor—becoming not just the savior of Hearst’s then failing Cosmopolitan, but Hearst itself. Reversing its fortunes with what would become the world’s biggest women’s media brand (with 64 global editions).
“Hearst has a long history of firsts,” Bennack has said. “But being the first to commit to a new building following the [9/11] attacks surely means the most.” Crediting the former editor with the crown jewel in his legacy says as much—if not more—about Bennack than Helen. Cliches are unavoidable when describing the 87-year-old elder statesman. Cherubic. Grandfatherly. A constant twinkle in his eye. But as with Helen, to dismiss Bennack (out of ignorance or ageism) is to do yourself a great disservice.
I’ve suffered many so-called leaders in my career who bullied those they managed; masked their ineffectiveness by taking credit for the work of others; or stalled the careers of anyone they viewed a threat. It’s impossible to imagine Bennack doing any of these things. Or even raising his voice, for that matter.
For all the Machiavellian moves of others in media, his down-home demeanor remains a constant. He seems completely devoid of ego—despite being universally recognized as an industry giant. There is nothing about his person that necessarily screams, “shrewd” or “savant,” and yet his pioneering moves into cable, satellite, digital media, and information services saw Hearst’s earnings jump nearly 30 times during his tenure as CEO.
There was never a time in Mr. Bennack’s presence that I wasn’t struck by that contradiction. He is everything life (and the movies) tells us bosses are not. Generous. Humble. Calming and kind. You’ll find no greater embodiment of “leading by example.” And in him, I found the standard by which I measure all others in business.
Imagine my delight, then, when I was recruited to name Mr. Bennack’s 2019 memoir. Remembering former Hearst Magazines’ president Cathie Black’s book, Basic Black, led me to names like Perfectly Frank, and Citizen Frank—but I knew the more resonant title lay elsewhere. Flunk Retirement (a nod to his 2nd stint as CEO) and Know Good (as in his ability to “Know good when you see it”) followed, with 50+ names presented in all. In the end, Leave Something on the Table won out. Bennack believes it’s the key to successful negotiations (including his game-changing ESPN partnership). But it also speaks to the importance he places on relationships. “It isn’t what you know, how hard you work, or how clever you are,” Mr. Bennack says. “It’s not even who you know. It’s how other people know you.” And I’m damn lucky to have known him.
Chris McKee, Founder & CEO, Flint & Steel
While I had relatively little face time with Frank Bennack, the time spent with my brother, Chris, and the lessons learned, are constant. One thing both men share (among many) is the level at which they’re personally invested in their teams—from Bennack’s refusing to cut benefits (bucking the industry trend) to the dollars, hours and sweat Chris put into making his office’s outdoor space a place to both create AND unwind.
While it would be understandable for a CEO’s energies to waver when working remotely, Chris’ entrepreneurial and intellectual vigor seem to increase daily. He’s aware of his talents, yet no stranger to self-examination. His confidence balanced by a critical eye that is always asking, “How can I be better.” To say that Chris has made me better is to understate his effect on how I view the work. And the workplace. He has schooled me on everything from insights to tactics. Taught me to value brevity. Shared the tools to survive toxic office environments. Shown me that leadership and likability can co-exist. And helped me articulate my value in an ever-shifting marketplace.
If there is a lesson in these three tales, it’s that mentors can be found anywhere—if we’re open to the lessons they can teach us. While I’ve won accolades, awards, and more pieces of business than I can count, nothing’s as satisfying as giving back to those who’ve given me so much. Having the chance to name Mr. Bennack’s book or assist my brother in a recent pitch reminds me that work can be a gift. And no three people have proven it more than Helen, Mr. Bennack, and Chris.