23 May 2007
Putting on the Ritz
I had been on a fool's errand, me being the fool.
I was working on a project that will mature in 2008, after the current unpleasantness overseas, and forgot I was living in the present. I tried to get from Big Pink to one of the shining towers in Bethesda to make a late meeting, neglecting to consider that if you place the George Washington Parkway and the afternoon disgorgement of the George HW Bush Center for Intelligence between yourself and the Beltway and the Legion Bridge on the Beltway….well, you know.
It was pleasant to look at the vegetation on either side of the parkway. It was better than looking at the other creeping automobiles. I wish I could say that the unbelievable waste of resources was what struck me, but part of the time I live where that problem has been solved. I considered the profligate stupidity of the present only as the time of the appointment came and went.
I narrowly avoided collision as I pecked at the tiny keys on my PDA, trying to find the numbers to advise the shining tower of my prospective absence. Then I gave up, and submitted to the grinding imperative of all that wasted fuel.
I was so late that the meeting was wrapping up when I finally arrived. It had taken an hour-and-a-half to make that leg of the commute, and was almost late for the next meeting already.
It was back near the Pentagon. I disengaged as politely as possible and trudged back to the car for the reverse transit. Thankfully, the next meeting was an industry affair, and nearly everyone who was in attendance had to come over the same roads that converge on the Five Sided Building, or more precisely, the Ritz Carton Hotel that thrusts up out of the sprawling mall development across South Parking from the reptilian cortex of the American military establishment.
I waded through throngs of teen-agers as I came from the parking garage. School is out, and every high school junior in the country was there, clutching a voucher for the Food Court. Apparently the buses just disgorge them outside, and leave them to their own devices inside.
The back door to the Ritz that opens to the Mall is locked now, apparently to keep them out, and walked around to the formal entrance. A crowd of Japanese businessmen were in the lobby, looking tired. Lettered signs in Kanji had been posted to help direct them I the course of their visit, but I knew where I was going, and walked up the stairs to the public rooms, past the dark-paneled lounge where the guests were enjoying the last of the famous Ritz High Tea.
This is not the real Ritz, of course, which has become a generic term over the last century. There is a common corporate bloodline, but it is functional elegance, in keeping with what Charles Ritz said in the 1970s about his family's Parisian hotel: “The Ritz is not Ritzy.”
This franchise is elegant enough for Presidents to visit, and functional enough to be used as a command post when the Pentagon was attacked. The Ritz is especially well known for its wonderful High Tea, but taking tea at the Ritz-Carlton is not an everyday event. The expense makes be reserved for company business, or a special occasion like a birthday or anniversary.
Albert Keller is the man who is responsible for all this, having purchased the Ritz in Paris and The Carlton in London in 1927, combining them into a hyphenated name in Boston, which became a standard in American lodging, and eventually, the franchise for luxury lodging. This one specializes in servicing the Government, and high-end tourists who may be unaware of the kids and the food court next door.
The reception was in full swing when I arrived. The Honoree is a dynamic fellow whose energy positively crackles. He was working the crowd with his usual restless energy. I had worked for him when he was in command of one of the three-letter agencies in town, and followed his subsequent career with great interest, since I admire him enormously. He cannot stay away from public service, though he has promised his long-suffering wife that this will be the last high-profile public job.
Really.
He thinks he has a chance to fundamentally alter the way the community operates to meet the challenges of the post-war era, and he has purchased count-down clocks for his key staff that marks the days left in the Administration. It is not to mark time, but to measure urgency. He is living in the world to come, and expects his staff to be there, too.
The crowd was about two thirds industry and a third active government, but that does not characterize it properly. The Industry folks, for the most part, are retired from the business, almost evenly divided into alumni groups from the agencies we all are trying to do business with.
As a group, we serve as translators between what the Government is up to, and what it would like to do, and can no longer do for itself. Everyone knows everyone else, quite cozy, really.
I was getting a glass of pedestrian Chardonnay when an old comrade tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, and he introduced me to two gentlemen I did not recognize. Apparently my friend was baby-sitting the corporate venture capitalists who ran the consortium of companies that provide unique applications to those agencies that need them. They were sleek and jolly, and fish completely out of water. One of them seemed thrilled, upon examining my nametag, that we shared the same initials.
We chatted for a while, probing for some common ground, eventually finding it in the future. The Corporate guys were wondering about the Next Big Thing, prepared to allocate funds to purchase an idea, or a company with one. I cleared my throat, and said “The next big thing is going to be life after the war. It is going to be a real dislocation.”
They did not follow my line of thought, so I tried again. “Remember the Carter years?” I said. “Remember the television ads that started out saying how you could profit from the coming catastrophe? That is where we are. The Supplemental appropriations we have all been getting fat on are going away. That means that the close-out from the war is going to have to come out of existing funds for operations and maintenance in Defense and the Intelligence Community.”
“So there will be shortfalls?”
My friend and I nodded vigorously. “Big time. Plus, the Army and Marines are going to have to replace all the equipment that went to the war, all at once and all out of sequence.”
The two venture capitalists looked appalled. “Then that means business is going to be horrible.”
“There will definitely be a rough spot,” I said. “But times like that provide opportunities.”
My pal affirmed my position. “Every big program-of-record is going to get hit for taxes to pay for getting out of Iraq and recapitalizing equipment. They will not be able to execute as planned, and everything is going to slow down slide to the right in the budget.”
“But then how are we going to do business if there is no money?” asked the Chairman.
“Remember the coming catastrophe and how you can profit from it. When the big programs get broken up, there are going to be pieces laying everywhere that can't be executed. The key is to be lean and agile enough to exploit what is left on the table. Provide low-cost commercial alternatives to the big government programs. Replace satellites with aircraft. Use commercial best practice. Operate inside the government decision-making loop.”
The venture capitalists looked dubious, but being fish out of water, I did not expect them to understand. Everyone else in the room was already living after the war. It is tough to translate the future for people that live in the present.
Copyright 2007 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com