“Growing up in a small town farming community? It gives you a different outlook on life, family, hell, everything.”

“Save it, Penrose. This ain’t Iowa, and it ain’t Middle America. And you, kid? You got mail to deliver, son.” James Penrose worked in a mid-level business office for one of the many Fortune 500 companies in Seattle, Washington. Penrose completed his undergraduate degree in business administration and started working to complete his Master of Business Administration from the University of Washington, Seattle, hoping to catch a break. Other CEOs and Presidents of corporations worked their way up from the mailroom. Why not James Penrose? The son of a farmer in Tri-Cities Iowa had a stronger work ethic than most of his college buddies. “Best get started on the 40th and work your way down. You know Mr. Moore likes to read the news before nine. Best get to it.” Pete Gunderson, his boss, had worked at ‘Big Pink’ a year after the U.S. Bankcorp Tower officially opened.

Pete didn’t have a degree, a fact that wasn’t lost on him. He graduated from Beaverton High School with a 3.5 GPA, one of the highest in his class, but he couldn’t stand school. Pete hated learning and books. He’d much rather get his hands dirty doing the ‘grunt work,’ as they said in the Army. All his friends from high school served in Vietnam or went to school to avoid the draft. Pete’s only saving grace was that his older brother died in Korea, preventing any of the armed forces from conscripting him. Something about the military not leaving a widow with no children.

James grabbed the cart, pushing it to the elevator doors. The mailroom used the service elevator. Executives didn’t want to see or have their prospective clients know that internal mail existed. Best to keep all the behind-the-scenes stuff behind the scenes. That’s why the mail needed to be distributed before noon when most staff would run to lunch or return from grabbing a quick bite.

The elevator doors opened. “Yo, Jimmy! How’s it goin’, bud?” Another mail delivery person stepped out of the elevator, and the cart was empty. “Dude, the show last night? It was so awesome! You should’ve come out. You’d have dug it.”

“Ernie, I told you I have homework. I can’t be out all hours of the night.” He pushed his cart past Ernie, sliding into the elevator.

“Oh, right, man. Homework.” Ernie looked dejected. The whites of his eyes were red, bloodshot red. James wasn’t sure if he wasn’t getting enough sleep or if he had come back from smoking a joint. Neither would’ve surprised him, but it wasn’t something James was into. He wanted more from life, even if he had to work twice as hard. “Oh! Hey, man! You could totally come out with us this weekend. Dude! It’ll be awesome. Better than the last show.” Ernie loved the psychedelic sounds of bands like the Grateful Dead and Phish. James would later learn that his mom and dad met at a Grateful Dead show, touring with them and hanging out in what would become known as ‘the Hippie crowd.’ “Dude. It’s right up your alley. They call themselves Pearl Jam. What an awesome name, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Ernie.” The doors slid closed, James remaining noncommital in his reply.

The muzak playing through the elevator speaker played the same each day, at the same time, Girl From Ipanema. James knew the tune well enough, but not the song. There were roughly twenty mailroom employees. Five workers would sort and separate urgent mail from the rest. The remaining staff would deliver or help the custodial staff clean vacant offices, specifically those out on vacation, deep cleaning carpets, windows, and other high surface areas collecting dust. James hated the custodial work, so he did his best to stay on Pete’s good side. Unlike other buildings in downtown Portland, the service elevator moved so fast that some staff had to take motion sickness meds to avoid being sick. James liked the quick-moving elevator. It was a rush, especially when it stopped. The bounce of it felt like being on a trampoline.

Pete ensured whoever dropped mail off on the fortieth floor had the quietest cart. No squeaky wheels. Nothing that would draw attention to the carrier with the parcels. No one was visible this morning, and most executives were out of the office dealing with clients or board members. James ran through the floor, distributing the mail quick like a bunny. Most offices on the floor were unlocked. No one was worried about being robbed this high up in the building. Guards and checkpoints, pre-September 11, 2001, would prevent most would-be thieves.

Some of the assistants to the higher executives were arriving, sitting at their desks, opening the parcels awaiting their respective bosses. James didn’t know any of the assistants, much less their bosses. With his last drop-off finished, James headed for the service elevator. Rounding the last corner before reaching the elevator, the cart stopped. An executive dressed in a three-piece suit and tie was sprawled out on the ground in front of the cart. James was glad to hear he was laughing.

“That’s just what I needed this morning. That makes all this worth it, doesn’t it, Gerald?” James assumed he was talking to himself because, for all the man knew, he was the only person in the hallway. “You really should watch where you are going, Gerald, you know that?” He stood up and gasped at the sight of James. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Me? I. Uh. Well, sir. I.” His face turned a bright crimson color. “I was. I mean. I just was taking.”

Gerald started chuckling to himself. “Get ahold of yourself, kid. I am okay. Trust me. Worse things than this have happened to me.” He reached out his hand to James. “My name is Gerald Moloski. And you are?” He was shaking James’ hand.

“James, sir. James Penrose.”

“Well, James. You work in the mailroom, right?”

James nodded.

“Is that all you do? Or is there more?”

“Yes. There is more, sir.”

Gerald gestured to James, trying to get him to tell him more. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t know that you wanted me to continue.”

“James, that’s what this means,” Gerald said, repeating the gesture.

“I’m working on my MBA, Mr. Moloski.” James had seen his name on one of the placards downstairs on the main floor. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Moloski did, only that he was important enough to have his name in the directory.

“And what are you planning to do with that, James?”

“Work for U.S. Bank Corp. as an executive.”

“Executive of what?”

“Whatever they want me to be.”

Gerald laughed. “Whatever they want you to be. Yep. It sounds like you’ll work out fine for corporate America. Sure you don’t want more than that? Own your own company? Run a million-dollar corporation and make more than six figures a year, not including bonuses and promotions? You are smarter than that, James Penrose. What do you really want?”

“To make a million dollars before I’m thirty-five.”

Gerald stared at James, then looked up at the ceiling. “James Penrose.” Sliding his hands in his pockets, he said, “You like working in the mailroom, kid? Think that’s how you make it in this business?” Gerald caught a break before he resorted to working a custodial or mailroom job. His mentor, Thomas Fritsch, met him after one of Gerald’s classes at Portland State University. He gave him his first career path job, working for Mr. Fritsch’s assistant, Mrs. Dalton. She was efficient, teaching Gerald more about how to be an executive than his MBA classes did. And a lot more than any mentor he had. Mr. Fritsch had a way of discovering people with talent and a hard work ethic, which is how Mrs. Dalton came to work for him. “Tell you what, kiddo. After you complete your degree, come find me.”

“No.” James knew what he wanted. Talking to the right person was all the motivation he needed. “Put me to work now.”

“That’s not how this works, James.”

“Mr. Moloski? I’ve worked in the mailroom for six months and been promoted more than three times, so I’m up here today. My options? Take over Mr. Gunderson’s position or find somewhere else to work. If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to stay here and work for you. You can teach me. Or your assistant can. Either way, I want to know what you know so I can do it.

Moloski smiled at the kid. “Okay, kiddo. I promised my mentor I would train someone the way he had taught me. Until today, I hadn’t found anyone hungry enough to work. Looks like I accidentally bumped into the right person. My assistant will find you and submit the department transfer paperwork. You will need a suit, tie, and shoes. Style doesn’t matter as much as presentability, understand?” Excitement filled James’ face. This was his shot!

“Yes, Mr. Moloski. I understand. Suit. Tie. Dress shoes. Presentable, not expensive.”

“Not expensive, yet.” Gerald winked at the kid. “Soon, you’ll need something better. But, at least for now, affordable will be good enough.”

“Yes, sir.” James couldn’t stop smiling.

“Now,” Gerald glanced at his Rolex, “you need to get back at it. You’ll be late if you don’t go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, James.” He saluted James and walked to his office, humming Girl from Ipanema.