The MWL had a reputation which traveled further in the world than he did. It moved in circles he did not know existed. Of course, even if he had known about these circles he would not have been allowed to approach them, much less participate in them: they were the circles of the rich and powerful, and the talented who serviced the rich and powerful.
He had visited places like the Kremlin and Peking, but unfortunately for him, only by reputation. And he spoke Russian and Chinese also, but only when he was a character in one of the stories people told about him. He would say to his wife, "my reputation leads a richer life than I do," and complain to her that people never made a connection between him and the "Man-With-A-Ladder" in the stories they told with such relish, even though he thought that the resemblance was obvious.
But after he unburdened himself of these complaints, he had to admit, if only to himself, that most of the things that happened to the MWL in the stories he had heard never had happened to him, although often he could remember something had happened that vaguely resembled an occurrence that took place in the story. What was more damaging, was that the "Man With A Ladder" in these stories, said things that not only had he never thought of saying, but that he did not really understand. So he finally came to believe that he had a double, that there was another "Man-With-A-Ladder" out there in the world, only more resourceful, more intelligent and cleverer than he was, and probably handsomer too.
The "Man-With-A-Ladder's" most recent excursion was to Washington where his reputation met the President and a distinguished collection of businessmen, soldiers, and diplomats. The occasion was a conference on the challenge of the 90's. People were invited to the conference only if they had already succeeded in meeting the challenge of the 80's, meaning they were rich and powerful.
It was out of the mouth of one of the embodiments of success that the "Man-With-A-Ladder" was introduced to the Washington elite.
Of all the people attending the conference this particular successful man was perhaps the most modest, honest and generous. He was invited because he was the owner of a chain of stores that sold computer hardware and software. What is more, not only did he own each and every one of these stores, but he had started the chain before the personal computer age had really begun, so that people believed he was extraordinarily foresightful as well as sensible enough to be rich. And not satisfied with reputation, wealth, and success, he had recently designed a radically different computing instrument and had begun manufacturing, as well as selling, computers.
Because he was honest, he knew that it was not foresight that had led him to the front rank of the revolution. And because he was generous, when it was his time to speak, he gave credit where credit was due.
"I am certain," he began his talk, "that successfully meeting challenge of the future will require many virtues. Not the least among these virtues are discipline, intelligence and willingness to work hard. I have these," he said, not dwelling on his virtues. "I am not sure, however that the most important virtue of them all can be cultivated. I am not sure I can even put the most important virtue of all into words.
"The most important aspect of the future is the unexpected part. The problem is preparing for that part. If, in the 70's, I had met the challenge of the 80's," he said, "I would be the owner of a shirt store and not the owner of a chain of computer stores. But, in fact, in 1975 I met the challenge of the 90's. The only thing was that I didn't know it. The trick of meeting the challenge of the 90's is to leap ahead and meet the challenge of the next century before that century comes. If we can do that our success is guaranteed.
"My story may be both an inspiration and a lesson about meeting challenges.
"For the first 12 years of my working life I was a clerk in a government office. All the time I worked in that office I yearned to have my own business. I saved and saved towards the day when I could buy a store of my own. There was no particular thing I wanted to sell, only something. It was the romance of being my own boss that enthralled me.
"The chance to live my dream came when the owner of a store in a tiny mall near a subway stop in Queens, N.Y.C., died. I heard about it from someone who worked in the office with me. They told me it was a steal and that they personally knew that the person who died had amassed a fortune from this one store. I bought the place from the widow. The price I paid was cheap for a gold mine but expensive for what the reality turned out to be. With what I paid, the person who told me about it and the widow went off to Florida to start a motel. He wrote me a note saying 'I never did like you much, but good luck'".
"It turned out that the owner had shot himself because he did not want to outlive his business. I spent what money I had saved and borrowed to fix the place up. I had a sign constructed, one of those large clever signs that changes over time into a cute antique. It said, 'Shirts and Things.'
"Rent was cheap and for good reason. The store was one of six making up a mini-mall in a little courtyard. The entrance was on a busily traveled street, and the subway was about fifty feet down the road. It seemed an ideal location. The trouble was that it was the easiest thing in the world to pass that entrance; for some reason I could never figure out, it took some effort to turn into the mini-mall. Looking at it as you walked by, you could entertain the illusion that you were in the country, an illusion that somehow vanished as soon as you entered the compound with a purchase on your mind.
"There were six stores in the courtyard. It was actually quite lovely. There were benches, trees, cobblestones. And each of the six stores was dying.
"We put a juggler by the entrance. We put a clown by the entrance. We put a nearly naked girl by the entrance. Nothing helped. Collectively we were dying and, as the newest store, I was dying fastest. More and more, as I stood by the counter looking at this courtyard which appeared to me like the center of a little village somewhere in the midlands of Pennsylvania, the office I had worked at for 12 years haunted me.
"I remember exactly the day when fame and fortune knocked. I have, in my mind, a little picture postcard of that day, painted from memory after the fact, that I send to myself whenever I get puffed up and think I'm a extraordinary fellow.
"It was a hot day in May. Summer was firing a warning shot. I had reluctantly let go the two clerks that came with the store when I bought it, so I was in the store alone when this man came in dragging a ladder behind him. 'Excuse me', he said, 'do you sell soda?'"
"Now you have to understand. I had been caught between the hard rock of fashion and the soft cliffs of ecology, and I was being ground down slowly. I was starved for customers. I had just spent two days changing the stock to prepare for the summer season. Bored with failure, I had no patience for someone whose appearance made it clear that he was probably wearing his collection of shirts on his back."
"'No,' I said, 'we do not sell soda. Try the next block and I turned away.'"
"'I saw the sign outside the entrance,' he said, 'Shirts and Things.' I thought the "'Things" might have included soda.'"
"'We sell shirts,' I said. 'Now if you want a shirt, something light for a hot days like this... He seemed not to have heard me.'"
"'I was thirsty,' he continued, 'a Coke would do just fine. Even a root beer.'"
"I exploded. 'We sell shirts and ties and cuff links and even socks. We sell suspenders and handkerchiefs. We do not sell soda.'"
"'I'm sorry,' he said. He looked so sheepish, I backed away into the miserable heat and lost myself in the sense of failure. I did not even hear him leave the store.
"He came in a second time a few weeks later. The summer had begun a little early. The day was a mixture of heat and failure for me. I had just used up my cash reserves to pay last months bills."
"'A cream soda,' he said, putting 50 cents on the counter."
"'We sell shirts and things. We do not, I repeat, we do not sell soda. You were in here a few weeks ago, I remember. We didn't sell soda then and we don't sell it now.'"
"He was apologetic again. 'I forgot,'he said matter-of-factly. 'I've been working down the block. It was hot and I thought "Shirts and Things...'" He accented the 'Things.' I did not reply and he picked the change off of the counter and left."
"The third and fourth time he came in were about the same. He would come in and ask for soda, and each time I would remind him we did not sell soda and he would apologize saying he had forgotten, or it had slipped his mind.
"Each episode stoked my anger and frustration. I was not selling shirts and this strange man's coming in and repeating his outlandish request, outlined my failure in bold perspective.
"My sense of failure concentrated on him. He represented in my mind both the source of my failure and a punishment for that failure.
"I began to think about teaching him a lesson, about extracting some pleasure from punishing this foolish man who appeared to forget the simplest of things from week to week and lacked the elementary logic that would tell him a store that sold 'Shirts and Things' did not sell soda. I was certain that he was just playing with me, taking some perverse pleasure from coming into the store and making the same idiotic request over and over. I became obsessed with the idea of revenging myself on this man with a ladder.
"I expect I was not thinking clearly because the only punishment I could think of was to satisfy his request. I convinced myself that he knew very well that I did not sell soda and that if the next time he came in and asked for soda I would produce some for him, he would see instantaneously that I had seen through his game and he would be thoroughly humiliated and embarrassed. I don't know why. I thought this would be an unforgiving, harsh act and a profound victory.
"I went out and bought a dozen or so bottles of soda one of each flavor I could think of and I bought a little plastic case to keep them cold in and some ice. And I waited. He did not come in again for two weeks and by that time I had changed the ice three times but when he did come in I was ready. He came in as he always did, gingerly setting his ladder by the door.
"'That shirt in the widow is lovely, really lovely. Does it come in Apricot?'"
"It was a work shirt. 'No,' I said, my interest perking up and collapsing in the same motion. For an instant I almost totally forgot what I knew was coming. 'It's a durable cotton blend work shirt. They come in blue. They are for working not for dancing, I said curtly.'"
" 'Very nice,'he added 'but it would be nicer in Apricot. By the way,' he asked as an afterthought, 'do you sell soda?'"
"'Do you sell soda?' he asked. It's hard to describe the joy I felt inside as I felt the trap slam shut catching his pride and holding it firmly. I had to suppress the urge to shout. 'What kind would you like?,' I replied nonchalantly, affecting commercial indifference to a minor sale."
"'A coke would be fine,' he said, also affecting indifference as if this were the most regular transaction in the world."
"'Could you open it for me?' he asked putting 50 cents down on the counter.'"
"'I...,' I stuttered. I realized I had bought bottles and had forgotten the opener. He reached in his pocket and took out the largest swiss knife I had ever seen. He seemed to rummage around in it before he found the opener.
"His eyes met mine for only an instant. 'Thank you. You don't sell bottled water?' he asked. And he answered himself quickly as if he recognized he had gone to far. And then he said something very strange. He said, 'I thought you looked Hungarian.' Before I could ask him what in the hell he meant, he lifted up the ladder and was out the door.
"I was brimming with a feeling of triumph, and yet his response, as if finding the soda was the most natural thing, dismayed me and I felt a little foolish forgetting the opener. I could not fathom what he meant by that statement about me looking Hungarian. But it made no difference in my mind. I had won, and I basked in the feeling of victory I had not felt in a long time. That feeling did not last long though. I realized now I was stuck with 11 bottles of assorted soda.
"I hated soda. If I had not been staring bankruptcy in the face I would have taken the picnic basket around and given the bottles away to the my fellow failures in the mall as a way of celebrating. But in my condition of penury I felt the soda had to be brought into the arena of commerce. I penciled a sign "COLD SODA" and put it in the window: as I went out to buy an opener from the store that sold gadgets, I penciled "COLD SODA" on the little sign that announced 'Shirts and Things' by the entrance of the mall"
"The bottles of soda I had purchased to show this man with a ladder that he could not trample over reason and rationality went in the first hour the sign was up. I even sold a few shirts. I closed up the store went to a supermarket a few blocks away and got two dozen more assorted sodas and they were sold almost as quickly.
"I spent the rest of the afternoon making a soda connection. The next day a large refrigerator came and cartons of soda. Now my contribution to all of this was the phone calls. I did think it would be nice to have something other than soda so I had the wholesaler send me some bottled water.
"The weather got behind me. It was a miserably hot summer and this was the first week of a record breaking heat wave. Business for all of the stores improved but mine grew unreasonably better. It looked as if I would survive. In the fall I shifted to selling coffee and hot chocolate as well as soda and bottled water and I developed a little section that sold pastries and gourmet foods.
"My shirt business had improved also. I winnowed my stock of shirts to only a few brands and added a special line shirts I had made especially for me. They were derivatives of work shirts but in a variety of pastels. I remade the sign on the store and had a new slab made for the slot by the entrance. It said, Shirts and Stuff & Soda and Things.
"I did not need an accountant to tell me I was thriving. In the first flush of success I had made a pact with myself that when the man with the ladder came in again I would thank him because I felt in some vague and odd way he had contributed to my success. But he did not come in during the next two months and my resolution to repay this imprecise debt got crushed under the real work that had to be done to maintain the habit of success. But once success had become habitual it erased the memory of the times when I balanced perilously on the brink of failure and it wiped out my sense of obligation and debt.
"I was spending more time in the little office I had fashioned out of what was previously a stock room. I had rehired the two clerks I had let go and added two more so I did not spend much time selling any more"
"It was odd then, that I was alone in the store when he came in again. And although I can not quite explain why, when he did come in, I did not recognize him."
"'Can I help you?' I asked.
"'Do you sell software?'" he asked?
"I thought he was referring to a brand of shirts. 'I don't carry that brand but we have other shirts of good quality and if you really want that brand I could order you some.'I was impatient to get back to my little office to plan the continuation of my success."
"'No,' he explained, 'I mean software. For a computer.'"
"I recited the inventory of things we sold. 'We do not sell software.'"
"'I'm sorry,' he said,'I thought the "Stuff" might include software.' He apologized for bothering me and left."
"Now I know it will be hard for you to believe but I did not remember having gone through this before. I assure you this is true. There was a turmoil in my head and a vague buzzing, but I did not associate it with him, and although I took it as some sort of a warning, I could not tell what it was a warning about.
"Now I knew vaguely what a computer was. At least I knew there were such things. I had no idea about how they worked or why. I had no idea what connection there was between a computer and software, and what is more, I had no interest in finding out. I wanted to get on with my success in the most direct fashion. I wanted to stew over the decision I had already made in the privacy of the little storeroom to put the whole business on the line in one swooping expansion. I thought the time was ripe to box in the retail shirt and gourmet food market, and I thought I had figured out how.
"I spent less and less time selling and more time in my office doing what I called tactical planning. I had worked out a strategy for expansion. I was refining and developing it. Nevertheless I was on the floor selling shirts and things when he came in about two weeks later and it was me he managed to find free."
"'Excuse me,' he said, 'I wonder whether you carry software for computers here?'"
"I am sure you are wondering about what I wondered about afterward. How can a person unremember what at one moment, memory held closest and dearest? I didn't know then and I don't know now.
"I had convinced myself that my success was due to my grasp of the fundamental principles of business and commerce. I had become intolerant of anything that implicitly challenged that premise."
"'You have to understand,' I began lecturing to him, 'we sell shirts and...'"
"He interrupted me. 'I thought the "Stuff" might include software for computers.'"
"You'd think the bells would have gone off then and there, but my anger pushed whatever messages my sense was sending my sensibility. I was rather rude.
"As I have said, I knew nothing about computers other than such devices existed. That they required software programs was unknown to me. But If I had recognized my ignorance, it would have made no difference. I was insulated by success which protected me from my ignorance and made it unnecessary to have to know those things. I believed I had done it my way and success had indicated that my way was more than adequate. And my way did not include anything about computers.
"'We don't sell software. Anyone can tell we have nothing to do with mechanical devices,' I insisted. 'A blind man could tell that.'"
"He apologized profusely. 'I really am sorry, I just thought perhaps...'"
"I thought he looked pitiful as he lurched out of the store but, I had developed an intolerance and contempt for customers who were unsophisticated, inept shoppers. I began to feel that the simplest elements of commerce were beyond some people and that one had a right to treat them curtly.
"Over the next few months he came in repeatedly somehow always managing to catch me on the floor without a customer. Each time some variation on the same routine ensued. Each time my anger was turned up a notch. I decided I would teach him a lesson.
"Looking back I find it impossible to understand how, somewhere in the course of this repeat performance of something that happened less than a year before, I did not recall the first episode. Perhaps it was a benign forgetfulness. Perhaps, as I have come to believe, some people have to power to make themselves, and events connected to them, invisible in some way, to make you forget, to so draw you out that you lose the ability to remember and connect simple sequences of events, so that each time the sequence appears new and different. My encounters with him took on an exaggerated importance. I had become obsessed with the growth of my business. Surviving and prospering was no longer enough. I had to dominate. It turns out that the problems of domination are as difficult as the problems of survival. While before, this strange man had claimed the frustrations of failure, this time he showed up just in time to become the focus of the anxieties and grievances associated with success.
"I rediscovered anew the ideal solution to the problem of this annoying man. I resolved to put him in his place, to teach him a lesson by the simple expedient of providing him with a selection of software. I would teach him a lesson, humiliate him and get rid of him in the same motion.
"It took me three calls before I managed to get the number of a wholesaler of software. It turned out to be someone who sold software from their home. You have to remember that this was before the microcomputer revolution had arrived. Microcomputers had just come onto the scene but they were esoteric and rare. The people who sold them and sold supplies for them were still in the cottage phase of the business.
"'Send me over some assorted software,' I insisted against the man's explanation that such a purchase did not make a lot of sense. 'I don't want to know the details just send me over some software.'"
"'Any particular programs?' he asked."
"'I don't care,' I remember saying, 'I don't care at all. Just some software. An assortment.' It was an accepted way of buying shirts and stuff I did not see why it wouldn't work for software.'Two dozen should be enough. I'll pay on an invoice with the merchandise.' I could hear the man sigh. If they come in apricot, include two apricot. I heard the man on the other end of the line choke and curse. He hung up quickly. Two days later UPS delivered the software. I didn't open the box just removed the invoice and gave it to the bookkeeper to pay.
"I spent more time selling than I was used to. After a while I realized I was waiting for him. But after two weeks the man with the ladder slipped my mind and the software also. They were buried under the slow advance of my plans for expansion which required bank credit and considerable dickering with a management firm and examining locations for outlets.
"The box of software became another box of merchandise and took a place under the counter next to a box of novelty items we were giving away.
"And just as he and his annoying request had been buried under the details of expansion and routine, he came in again.
"It was lunchtime and except for a part time college student who was helping out, I was alone in the store."
"'Excuse me.' I recognized the voice even though I had been turned away from him. 'You wouldn't by any chance carry software?'"
"I treated the request as the most normal, customary inquiry about a Pepsi or a Tigre shirt."
"'Of course,' I replied reaching down gracefully for the box of assorted software and bringing it to the counter. 'I'm sure you'll find what you want here.'"
"He rifled through the box."
"'It's an interesting assortment,' he commented. "'I think this might be what I am looking for. Could I see it run?'"
"I hadn't the least idea what he was talking about."
"'Could you run it for me. I just read about it in a magazine. I'd like to see it working.'"
"'This is a shirt store,' I said in exasperation. I had been astute, on the ball, in possession of myself, dominated the situation, communicated successfully. But I had run the string out. I hadn't the least idea what he was talking about or what he wanted."
"'Well', he said, 'if you sell software you have a machine to demonstrate it on.'"
"'Of course,' I said. 'What good is software without a machine to run it on.' It was starting to make sense to me. In order to do something with software you needed a machine.
"'It's in the shop being repaired,'I said, improvising nonchalantly. 'You know those machines.' He nodded."
"He said no more than, 'next week,' then 'and thank you,' and left."
"I called the man I had bought the software from. 'Send over a machine.'"
"There was silence for a moment before he asked tentatively, 'which machine?'"
"'Look,' I said, 'you sent me over software, send me over the machine to run it on.'"
"'I sent you over assorted software,' he said, trying to hold back his sense of violation. 'What machine...?'"
"I cut him off. 'Send me over a... few that will let me run the software you sent me. Is that right?' I added, just in case I had said something entirely wrong."
"'It's right, I guess,' he said, 'but it's a hell of a way to...'"
"'Never mind,' I shouted, 'just send them over...'"
"'But the price...'"
"I screamed at him. 'I don't care what it costs. Did I ask you. Just send two over. Two assorted to run some of the software.'"
"I had not looked at the invoice for the software so I did not know in what ball park we were playing. I thought at worst I was dealing with an item like a television set or tuner-amplifier. But it did not make a difference. Getting this man with his ladder off my back, teaching him a lesson once and for all, was the only thing on my mind."
"'I'll have the machines over tomorrow. By the way,' he added, 'I'm sending a Cromemco and an Apple,' he said."
"'I'm sure that will be fine,' I replied. 'I'll pay on invoice again. You got the check for the software.'"
"'Yes,' he replied. I heard him sigh again."
"He was as good as his word. Next afternoon six boxes came marked computer with my name on the label.
"As I unpacked the pieces of the systems I realized I had jumped in over my depth. But the face of the man with a ladder stared at me. I understood his request as a challenge, a challenge that I could ignore only at the price of loosing my self esteem and sense of well being, although I could not tell why I felt this way. I put one of the computers back in the box and focused my attention on the other, the Cromemco.
"It took me two weeks to set the system up. I was never much for mechanical, let alone electronic, gadgets. I had to pour over the manuals that came with machines for hours before I felt comfortable putting a plug in a socket.
"And after I had finally assembled the machine, the mystery of what to do with it just grew greater. It took me fully another two weeks before I could hook up the apparatus properly to try to run a program.
"During this period the man with the ladder never showed up but I found that, while the anticipation of his appearance had been the motivating force behind what I was doing at first, as I got more and more into the computer, I became fascinated by it. I spent less and less time in the store selling and more and more reading manuals. About six weeks after I saw him last, the man with the ladder came into the store.
"He came into the store in the afternoon while I was trying to get the machine to do some simple processing. The college student who was minding the store knocked on the office door and announced a strange man insisted on seeing me about software.
"I resented being interrupted. My interest in teaching this little man a lesson had been buried under my sense of accomplishment in getting the machine together and actually running programs. I reluctantly told the clerk to bring him to the office."
"'Do you think I could see that program run?' he asked."
"'Of course,' I replied."
"'This is a very nice installation,' he said quietly. 'I haven't seen many set ups so well arranged.' I accepted the complement with pride."
"'Thank you,' I replied, genuinely pleased that he seemed to think it was well put together.'It's ready to run,' I said and moved out of the chair to let him work the machine."
"After he played with it for a little while he turned to me. 'It's slow, isn't it.'"
"'You could always alter the way it's configured. Probably would involve considerable debugging,' I said, not quite sure if what I was saying made sense, let alone if it could be done."
"'I've read,' he said to me, rather quickly I thought, 'that they're coming out with an update in a few weeks. I'll wait for that I think. Thank you for showing it to me. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you. I...'"
"'No,' I said, caught between wanting to talk a little about the machine and at the same time wanting to get back to playing with it. 'No, no inconvenience at all. Come back when the update comes out. I'm sure I can get it for you and I'll run it.'"
"He seemed not at all inclined or interested in hanging around. As he turned to leave our eyes met briefly and he said something I recalled hearing before, something whose meaning is still a mystery to me. He said, 'I knew you looked Hungarian,' and he left."
"The rest of the story doesn`t bear much telling. When I got the bill for the machines I realized that unless I could figure out something to do with them, teaching the man with a ladder a lesson was going to be the most expensive exercise in civic virtue and public education that I would ever undertake. Since I knew how to sell things I decided I would try to sell software and computers. I did what I did with the soda. I put a sign in the window and a sign by the entrance to the mall. Although it took a little more time, the consequence was the same. By the fall I had winnowed the shirt section of the store, triaged the soft drinks and gourmet foods and transformed 'Shirts and Things' into 'Computers and Things.' The second store and the third came soon after the first.
"The microcomputer revolution had begun and I had caught the first long rolling wave and I was riding it to fame and fortune. After a while I went back to school. I dropped out when it became clear that graduate work in computers was not going to teach me anything I needed to know that I could not learn on my own. I worked for a while in the back of one of the stores and designed the machine that bears my name.
"I am sure you want to know if I ever saw the man with the ladder again. I am not sure exactly. One day I was in the store demonstrating a program I had written for the machine I had designed. The demonstration was over, and the small group of businessmen were impressed. These were major managers of large businesses in the metropolitan area and I was sure that their acceptance of the machine would shift me into a manufacturing operation of major proportions. I was filled with pride and certain that the future was secure. As I turned from the machine a man came up to me, unceremoniously and asked in what I thought was a impish voice, 'do you sell shirts,' and before I could give him an answer he replied lightly to his own question, 'I guess not,' and he smiled and left."