The first time I was let go from the prestigious investment bank Houlihan Lokey Howard & Zukin, I was given several months warning. I searched aggressively for a new job, reaching out to business valuation firms, investment banks, hedge funds and private equity firms, but nothing moved forward. Awkwardly and to my great relief, two weeks before my mid-November termination date, I was politely asked—well, begged—to stay. I politely agreed.
A year later, the second time I was let go from Houlihan Lokey Howard & Zukin, my entire world fell apart. It was a kind of seismic, once in a lifetime crash—the kind that takes more effort than I ever thought possible of family, friends, mentors, journalists and an empathic public to put back together.
Before I tell you about the job search that ensued, let me explain where I was coming from. Houlihan Lokey Howard & Zukin was a prominent investment bank, head-quartered in Los Angeles, with an equally large and lucrative office on Park Avenue in the Big Apple. The firm was among the best at what it did: mergers and acquisitions, financial restructuring of distressed companies and financial advisory. The firm was not as well-known outside the industry as Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers and Bear Stearns, but it was well-respected by its peers and clients. It was also known to have a hardball attitude.
The Analysts at the firm were treated for several years as initiates in a fraternity, raised until they were chewed up and spit out—or selected to survive. Superiors treated them as servants, abusing their time and efforts.
Associates were considered as members of the firm but were treated only slightly better. Vice Presidents were Officers of the firm and began to earn respect but were still treated as sub-human. Senior Vice Presidents had arrived at a position of reward and responsibility, but the demands could still be overwhelming.
Managing Directors approached divinity. They ruled. Anyone above that was either pleasant because they could afford to be or made themselves unapproachable.
I was a full-time consultant in a newly established Hedge Fund Portfolio Valuations group. I calculated the fair market value of investments, companies, assets, loans and anything our hedge fund clients would pay us to value—so they would have an independent estimation of what their holdings were worth.
I was paid well, more than most, but as a consultant, I received no benefits, no health insurance and no retirement plan. Moreover, I was not in the bonus pool where most of the big money was made.
During the two years I was at Houlihan Lokey, I was not aware of any other full-time consultants in the office. One other consultant arrived for a specific project and left after a few weeks. I was unique and an outcast.
Since I was not an official member of the firm, I was excluded from all internal organizational meetings and from marketing the firm’s services to potential clients. I was treated as a sub-Analyst, the lowest of the low—even though I was twice the age of most of the Analysts and Associates, had an MIT/Sloan School of Management education and had considerable international business experience.
Working in a cubicle, I produced valuations, read finance statements and legal documents, crunched numbers and wrote reports, day after day.
I had been hired as a full-time consultant for a three-to-six month trial period. It had been a tough initiation and a fast learning curve, but I was subsequently bankrolled for two tumultuous yet prosperous years and given the opportunity to develop a new career—and learn a new culture.
While at Houlihan Lokey, I got to experience and closely observe the habits of the Analysts and Associates who surrounded me. Most of the Analysts were in their early twenties—recent college graduates gaining valuable work experience before returning to school for their MBAs. Most of the Associates were in their late twenties or early thirties. They already had MBAs and several years of work experience.
Some of the Analysts and Associates were highly motivated and dedicated workers, while others talked with each other about sports or chatted all day on the telephone with their friends and never seemed to get anything done.
At around seven o’clock every evening, those who remained in the office would order dinner via the Internet. The company paid for dinner for employees who worked long hours.
Soon after ordering their meals, the Analysts and Associates would emerge from their cubicles and start throwing a small football down the isles and over the rows of cubicles. Sometimes, a football would come crashing into my cubicle, and I would pass it back to the gang.
When dinner arrived, most of the Analysts and Associates would stake out empty cubicles and eat together as if they were at a tailgating party, while others—perhaps the ones who were really trying to get some work done—ate alone their desks.
It seemed as though the goal was to stay at work until at least nine o’clock, after which an employee could order a town car at the firm’s expense to take them home. It did not matter whether they lived in the city or one of the outer boroughs or even in New Jersey. If they worked for a certain amount of hours and stayed past a certain time, they could call the car service and the firm would pick up the tab.
Many of the Analysts and Associates made this a nightly habit. It was their culture. It was their bonding. It was their perk for working long hours—or at least putting in the face time. It was free dinner and a ride home. I was not interested in that lifestyle. I preferred to spend my time with my wife and kids.
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