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The Ampersand Chronicles Vol. 1 – Stories of a Small but Mighty Business in a Rough and Tumble Town
Foreward
My Grade 11 English report card included the following note from my very English English teacher, Mrs. Pennells: “Adam’s most unfortunate [ski] accident certainly contributed to the depression of his mark this term, but so also did his continuing lack of mastery of the basic skills of spelling, punctuation, and sentence structure. Adam is an informed, perceptive student who has some interesting ideas to express. He simply must spend more time learning the details of the written language.”
Ouch.
I’m pleased to report that some 40 years later, I appear to have gotten the hang of it. I was never a big reader as a kid, nor evidently was I much of a writer. This all changed when I started my own firm in 2009. In truth, it started before that, whilst I was still an employee, first at Robert Half International from 2001 to 2005, then back at the law firm where I initially started my career in 1996, for a return three-year stint from 2005 to 2008, and finally at Korn/Ferry International, the penultimate stop on my career journey.
At each of those junctures, I frequently crafted clever or nuanced notes, typically directed to an internal audience, excitedly announcing new hires, diplomatically delivering tricky terminations, or other pertinent bulletins. Mastering the subtle art of telegraphing what really happened with the addition or deletion of a single word, slightly weighted emphasis on a certain phrase, conducting a literary symphony with a keystroke rather than a baton, where every word was a note, and every sentence a movement, orchestrating a narrative that danced between hard truth and preferred perception, revealing just enough to satisfy curiosity while veiling the full story to protect the innocent. What was it Mark Twain said? “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”
The delicate nuance buried within It is with regret and It is with great regret or I write to inform versus Effective immediately. The well-placed Oxford comma (“With gratitude, I would like to thank my parents, Oprah Winfrey, and God.”) the difference between announcing a promotion and inadvertently suggesting an unexpected vacancy. One word, one comma, could make a world of difference between everyone getting back to work and hours of lost productivity amidst rampant speculation. I was often told my emails were funny. More graphically, it was suggested by a Partner of the law firm at which I worked twice, thus honing my skills before a very cynical, though discerning audience, that I “give good email.”
But it wasn’t until my name was on the door of my own firm in 2009 that I started writing for an external audience. Okay, that, too, isn’t exactly true. For, I have always written for an audience of one: me. Like keeping a diary, but one I expect to be found and read by others. Just that under my own banner, and not that of a venerable and rather conservative law firm or search firm, I felt more liberated, the permission to write what I wanted, when I wanted, the licence for which was issued by me, and me alone. More practically, when I started my firm, I needed a way to communicate with my soon-to-be clients in a manner that differentiated me from the usual mass email top-10-wisdom-nugget drivel pumped out by many of my competitors. I knew that in an industry with absolutely no barriers to entry, where all you need in order to call yourself an Executive Search Professional, is a phone and the Internet, the single biggest, though by no means easiest, way to differentiate was in the quality of thought, the predictability of cadence, and the credibility with which ideas were posited. Amidst the din of so many eager contenders, distinction emerged like a quiet melody in a crowded room—subtle, yet unmistakable, requiring not grand gestures, but the delicate harmony of insightful thought, rhythmic cadence, and the gentle confidence of a whispered revelation.
The pressure to produce consistently high-quality content follows me around to this day like a faithful shadow, a silent companion urging me to strive for excellence in every post. Every so often, the sun gets obscured, the shadow disappears, and I am reminded of the burden. Recently, in April 2024, as I was focusing most of my non-day-job-hours on completing the manuscript for this very book, I took a month off from writing the monthly newsletter, ending a streak of 11 consecutive posts and 19 of the past 20. Gratefully, my new colleagues as a result of our firm’s merger stepped in to cover for me and though they did their very best, the long-time Pekarsky & Co. readers are a discerning lot and have grown accustomed to the impossibly high standard we have set for ourselves. One long-time reader (whom I’ve never met) noted: “Every month I look forward to reading your thought-provoking piece. Typically, I forward it far and wide because you are commenting on our realities, complexities, idiosyncrasies and everyday shenanigans – with an Adam message neatly tucked in. You have a unique writing skill, and I will buy and read the book of 100 articles. I get corporate speak from most sources. I loathe to read them. But I muscle through looking for a nugget of value. Please help your peers/partners to be authentic and unique human writers. Teach them your secret sauce. Your friend and steady eddy fan club member.”
Putting yourself out there ain’t for the faint of heart. The bar is high, and the critics are tough. Especially the rather touchy MAGA class. As you read through the book, particularly the comments I received after each post, you will swiftly grasp the depths of this reality. I thank Mrs. Pennells for hardening me to the criticism at a young age. While the quantity of replies often provided a bellwether as to how the post landed, the quality of those replies provided an even more telling glimpse as to whether ‘everyone else’ was thinking the same way I was on a given issue.
In certain cases, like Calgary’s decision not to host the Olympics (see An Olympic Sized Opportunity), it felt like I was giving voice to what so many around me (or at least, like me) were feeling. In others, I clearly misread the room. Two examples that pop to mind. I recall learning many weeks after publishing Once More, With Feeling, an article about our second (of three) attempt(s) to launch a Toronto office under the Pekarsky & Co. banner that some found it ‘caustic,’ a perceived drive-by at a previous employee (nothing could have been further from the truth). Also, any time I wrote about Trump, which I did on multiple occasions, I was reminded with all the subtlety of a chainsaw, that on that particular subject not everyone shared my views.
In those early days, with no clients, a borrowed office from my pals at Deloitte, barely a domain to my name, The Pekarsky Group (as it then was) distribution list started small, the posts brief. In fact, they weren’t posts so much as press clippings. Forwarding along articles I’d read or been sent and thought to share with a few dozen, then a few hundred, then several thousand clients, friends, candidates, colleagues, and others. It wasn’t until April 2013 when a trusted mentor and client pulled me aside, having observed that my introductory preambles announcing the month’s articles were getting bolder and better in their tone and style, and advised me that I should cease being a clipping service and start being a Thought Leader. And so it was, my first ‘edgy’ post, entitled A Thought on Thought Leadership (in hindsight as tame as a kitten wearing mittens) led me to this: A Book. Comprising over 100 posts and spanning nearly 400 pages, this compendium isn’t arranged purely chronologically, but rather by themes that revealed themselves only after encountering the remarkable Rosalind Toews, who bravely accepted the challenge of bringing this audacious project to life.
Rosalind painstakingly read through each and every of the 178 posts dating back to 2009 and grouped the best of them under the following headings: Resilience & Optimism; COVID Lessons; Anatomy of Search & Company Culture; Career Growth & Leadership Lessons; Teachable Moments; Culture & Society; and Evolution & Growth. While this sounds more like the categories on a Jeopardy! game board, they accurately capture the recurring themes I’ve been transmitting for the better part of the last 15 years.
So, why write the book? Other than sticking it to Mrs. Pennells, whose tea sipping pinky finger would be aquiver at the very thought, it just felt like a nice way to capture the arc of one guy’s journey in building a small business in a city as well known for its boom and bust turbulence as for its entrepreneurial spirit, thus the title: The Ampersand Chronicles Vol. 1 – Stories of a Small but Mighty Business in a Rough and Tumble Town.
I recall soon after starting the firm asking a mentor whether I should pursue an Executive MBA concurrent with launching the business. He said, “Why would you do that? You’re already getting one.” And so, as self-aggrandizing as this looks and self-conscious as this makes me feel, consider it your MBA without having to get one. You won’t agree with everything in the pages that follow. At least I certainly hope not. Yet, I trust you will come to appreciate the true grit required to launch a business in a fiercely competitive arena, where global and national giants loom large, and crisis lurks around every corner. Picture it as navigating the tumultuous terrain of a rugged country and western city – the Stampede City – with the ups and downs of a bull rider’s quest for eight seconds of glory stretched over a decade and a half.
The Readers’ Digest version of what follows goes like this: ‘guy starts a recruitment firm in his basement in the throes of a global financial crisis and 15 years, one flood, two oil downturns and a three-year global pandemic later wins the Small Business of the Year Award, merges his firm, and sells for an outrageous multiple.’ Okay, that last part hasn’t happened. Still, it has been such a wild ride with so many great memories and lessons learned that thankfully, like that diary with countless little entries slicing and dicing the journey, I have this wonderful archive and it seemed a waste not to memorialize it in the form of this book.
With each month and each passing year, the posts piled up. And it wasn’t until I answered the call (many of the monthly newsletter readers had been suggesting it for a time), that I realized the book had pretty much written itself. What I didn’t realize, until Rosalind helped show me, was how I kept going to the well so often on those seven recurring themes. While each theme has several posts within, they were often written many years apart, which not only illustrates the timelessness of the ideas but the undeniable truth that Mrs. Pennells needed to be more patient – I got better. Though the economy or the firm’s evolution or the people on the team or the prevailing mood of the day may have ebbed and flowed, the through-lines persisted, and those ‘details of the written language’ steadily improved.
In conclusion to this introduction, let me just acknowledge that while I penned most of the posts, it takes a village to keep publishing month after month after month (I am still writing monthly newsletters while trying to also publish this book). One of my most ruthless, and therefore best, editors is – ironically enough – Kate Spencer, a veteran member of our firm. Ironic because as a young lawyer I worked for her dad, David, also a long-time friend and supporter of the firm, who, like his daughter, possessed a very sharp wit and even sharper red pen. Another long-time member of the firm, Kiara Marika, is responsible for taking the monthly black and white letters on a page and turning them into something beautiful before they hit the readers’ inbox. Many others along the way provided great advice and counsel, proofreading the occasional post to either tone it down or spice it up.
Foremost among the consigliere is my brother, Josh. Not only did I write about him in one of my articles – Taking the Long View– ironically enough about ignoring his advice, but I often ran ideas past him to take his temperature or have him cast his discerning English Major’s eye over a particularly problematic post or ambiguous grammatical interpretation.
My team at the firm deserves thanks, too. Partners Ranju Shergill and Cameron McDonald, who helped underwrite some of the cost of this production, but also willingly allowed me to publish so many pieces under the firm’s banner and binding their brand and reputation to my own, for better or worse. Thanks guys.
Finally, my wife, Sonia, and my kids, Chloe, Samuel, and Jacob. They don’t need a calendar to tell when the first of the month is approaching. The furrow of my brow, the slump of my shoulders, and the hour of the morning they would find me at the foot of the kitchen table pecking away told them all they needed to know. Enduring me, whether fighting a case of writer’s block like a weary wrestler escaping its hold or in a blissful groove where their lips are moving but words are muffled as though I’m submerged in a swimming pool of thought. They are a sounding board, an advisory council, and the unsung “Company” of Pekarsky & Co.
A final, final thought. You’ll note the book is entitled “Volume 1.” I very much hope that in 15 years’ time, as I approach the ripe age of 70, there may indeed be a Volume 2. If the next 15 years are anything like the last 15, there will be no shortage of things to write about.
