A Celebration of Research Pride Month
Yes, I am of the age where I want to sit around telling “In MY day…” stories. But today is still my day because I get to share this amazing profession with you. And this blog post is a rampage of appreciation over how far along we’ve come.
In 1988, I would have to leave my building to go crawl around the basement of the Harvard Business School to look at dusty old copies of the Standard and Poor’s Business Directory to find out how long my prospect had been executive vice president of his company. It was there that I realized that the president of the company had the same last name of my prospect’s wife’s maiden name, and so I had to go to the Personal Name Index to the New York Times, upstairs, to find their wedding announcement and find out if he married the boss’s daughter. And he had.
In 1959, my father sat in the cold metal hut buried halfway into the ground of Shemya Island, a remote piece of land that sits near the very end of the tongue full of islands that make up the western edge of Alaska. It’s no surprise that some of his photos from that island have Russian fishermen in them.
My father was an electronic spy some 20 years or so before electronics was a thing.