The Power of Customization

On my very first day as an undergraduate at New York University, I attended the orientation session for incoming freshmen in a state of suspended animation. I had left behind the camaraderie and the cinder-block walls of a New York City public high school, and now, alone and apart from my close friends of four years , I entered the marble halls of NYU's Gould Memorial Chapel. I was a solitary speck in a sea of strangers, all of us intimidated by our imposing surroundings and further humbled by our requisite freshmen headdress: bright violet beanies.

My awe was heightened when I saw an array of austere deans and professors in their black gowns, seated on the stage, looking down at us lowly frosh. As each of these august sages stood in turn to address us, their stentorian tones and crisp articulation echoing off the domed ceiling of the chapel, I recalled how differently my high school teachers had spoken, with the strident twang and staccato pace of a hardcore New York accent . I was still in the same city, but I might as well have been at Oxford or Cambridge.

Finally, the most impressive and most articulate dean of the group rose to speak. "Gentlemen," he began (for there were no women at NYU at that time), "by now you realize that your life here at the university is going to be vastly different from high school. However, there is one high school practice that we have carried forward. We take attendance."

At that, he reached under his gown, into his coat pocket, and pulled out a set of what looked like business cards.

"These are your attendance records," he said. Then, as if holding up a bridge hand, he fanned out the cards in one hand and, with his other, reached forward and plucked one of the cards. Reading from it, he said, "Suppose you're Jerry Weissman "

Imagine my reaction. I couldn't have been more stunned if I'd heard the voice of God reverberating my name from the dome.

I wasn't the only one to react . Several other freshmen sitting nearby, whom I'd just met, turned to look at me, and their stirring rippled through the audience like a wave.

I later learned that the dean's selection of my card was completely accidental and arbitrary, but that he always picked an actual card from among the members of each new audience. I also learned that he happened to be the chairman of the Speech Department.

In time, Professor Ormond J. Drake proceeded to become my mentor. Later still, he became my supervisor when I served as an instructor in his department; my sponsor when he gave me a consulting assignment at a Wall Street brokerage house; and my colleague when I produced and directed an episode of his talk-show series for CBS Television. But to this day, what I remember most about Professor Drake is the startling Aha! he gave me when he spoke my name in the middle of the welcoming speech he'd given to generations of entering freshmen.

That's the power of Customization.