After his sophomore year at Indiana's DePauw University, Vernon Jordan Jr. had planned to spend the summer of 1955 back home in Atlanta, interning at the Continental Insurance Company. He believed the recruiter's promise of a position was as solid as one of the firm's insurance policies. But when he arrived for work, the program director called him into his office.
"They did not tell us," the man said.
"They did not tell you what?" Jordan asked.
"They did not tell us you were colored."
Jordan's job offer was withdrawn.
Such a snub might have crushed a less-confident man, but it only inspired Jordan, who has repeatedly shrugged off prejudice-and worse-to become a lawyer, a civil rights leader, an adviser to President Clinton, a deal maker at an investment bank, and, most recently, author of Vernon Can Read! (PublicAffairs).
Jordan first made a name for himself when, at 35, he took over the National Urban League, which he ran for a decade. His gradual entrée into corporate America irked some civil rights leaders, who complained that an advocate like Jordan shouldn't be working for big business. But Jordan ignored the critics and joined the boards of several major corporations, including Xerox and Bankers Trust.
In 1980, in Fort Wayne, Indiana, he was hit with more than just criticism. As Jordan was exiting a car driven by a white woman, an Urban League colleague, a sniper fired a bullet into his back, nearly severing his spine. The accused gunman was later identified as a white supremacist.
Jordan's influence only grew after the shooting. In 1982, he became a partner at the law firm of Akin, Gump, Strauss, Hauer & Feld in Washington, D.C., where he continued to build his network. Bill Clinton would tap Jordan to become chairman of his transition team in 1992. Of course, every political career has at least a few dings, and Jordan got his for helping Monica Lewinsky get a job offer after she left the White House. In 2000, Jordan joined Lazard, the international investment bank, as a senior managing director, adding another impressive line to his platinum-plated resumé. We recently sat down with Jordan, 66, to talk about diversity in the workplace, past, present, and future.
Did you always think you'd "make it"?
I never had a doubt. My parents taught me to believe in myself and insisted that hard work and perseverance were essential to achievement. I was always doing something-winning essay contests, playing in the band, making speeches, competing. My mother was the president of the PTA at every school I attended. I had a sense of what leadership meant and what it could do for you. So am I surprised that I am sitting up here on the 62nd floor of Rockefeller Plaza? No.
Do you think minorities today see more or less opportunity than you saw when you were growing up?
Oh, there's no question they see more. I spoke the other day to the black alumni of the Harvard Business School. When I first came to New York in 1970, we could have had that meeting in a phone booth. And I'm looking there at a whole room full of young, talented, black MBAs who are all on Wall Street-and Main Street.
What limitations do minorities entering business still face?
The numbers still aren't what they ought to be. Specific percentages I don't have, but I know that they are not high enough.
Why do you think that is?
It's the failure of investment banks to commit to the effort. Where institutions in corporate America have, in fact, committed, you see the results. And where there is no commitment, the results are bad. I do not attribute it to racism as much as I attribute it to lack of effort. There's a lot of lip service. And in difficult times, as we're going through now, people tend not to focus so much on diversity, because they're focused on survival. That's a mistake.
How can companies increase the numbers?
Every company, every boardroom in which I sit, has a plan, and they have objectives, goals, and a process. And to make it work, the pressure and incentive have to come from the top. A lot of companies make diversity a part of the performance goals against which an executive gets paid. Just as you have to make a certain sales number, you have to make a diversity number to get your bonus. That is more difficult to do in a law firm, but there are ways to do it; and it's difficult to do in an investment bank. But in a company, it is much easier. I am for as much pressure as can be put. The fight is still worth fighting.
Not long after joining Akin Gump, you boycotted the firm's summer-associate dinners. Is the boycott still an effective protest?
You have to be careful how you're using the word boycott. I said to my colleagues, "Until I'm assured that some black summer associates are going to be in the firm, forget about me." The net result was they chose not to forget about me, and they got some black associates. So boycott is not the word. That was just pressure that a senior partner could exert in a particular context.
Do minorities have a special obligation to help other minorities get ahead?
Yes. I'm here because I stand on many, many shoulders, and that's true of every black person I know who has achieved. We understand that we did not get where we are by ourselves, and we understand that we have to pass that on to young people-that's why I went to talk to the Harvard Business School black alumni. At the same time, there's a reality. You're a banker or lawyer, you're just starting out, and you really do want to give back. But you're working 70 and 80 hours a week, so it's difficult. But there will come a time and a place to give back, and each individual will recognize that time and place.
Do you expect that September 11, which has led to patriotism that in some ways transcends color lines, might aid the cause of diversity?
September 11 stands on its own as a terrible tragedy. But tragedy tends to blur what's historically clear. Terrorism is not new to black people. We've always known terrorism: the lynchings in the South; the four little girls at Birmingham; Medgar, Martin, and Malcolm. As I watched the national prayer service at the National Cathedral, it dawned on me that there was no National Day of Prayer for the girls at Birmingham. Today, given time and progress, there probably would be. When the Oklahoma City bombing took place, because it was an integrated building, you had to mourn everybody, and because the World Trade Center towers were, in fact, integrated, you could not do what they did to black veterans when they came back from Vietnam-and tried to bury them in separate cemeteries. So we've made a lot of progress.
What's the secret to success?
Just plain hard work. Come in early, stay late, work twice as hard as your counterparts. And do your best at every job. The last job I applied for was to be a bus driver for the Chicago Transit Authority in 1957. Every position subsequent to that I did a fairly good job at-good enough that someone asked me to come to the next job. There's a story I tell about Dr. Benjamin Mays, former president of Morehouse College. He asked me once to substitute for him and give a speech in Buffalo, New York. I said "Why me? You've never heard me speak." He said, "I did. You spoke in the chapel at Morehouse College." I said, "You weren't there." He said "I was late. You'll do fine in Buffalo." And then he said, "Son, whenever you get up to make a presentation, always do your best, because you never know who's listening." I think that also applies to work: look your best, do your best. You never know who's looking and listening.
What do you want for minorities today?
To have the same opportunities as white people. What I know about this world is that white people will take care of themselves. And what I have learned is that if you are where they are on an equal basis, they cannot take care of themselves without taking care of you.
