Never Eat Alone

18. Health, Wealth, and Children

What do you really want? Side by side, those five words may be the most universally resonant in the English language.

As I discussed in the chapter "What's Your Mission?" the answer to "What do you really want?" determines all that you do and all the people who help you accomplish it. It provides the blueprint for all your efforts to reach out and connect with others. Likewise, when you understand someone else's mission, you hold the key to opening the door to what matters most to them. Knowing that will help you create deep, long-lasting bonds.

In my initial conversation with someone I'm just getting to know, whether it's a new men tee or simply a new business contact, I try to find out what motivations drive that person. It often comes down to one of three things: making money, finding love, or changing the world. You laugh—most people do when confronted with the reality of their deepest desires.

Get comfortable with that reality. Learning to become a connector means in some sense learning to become an armchair therapist. As you continue down this path, you'll become a keen observer of the human psyche. You'll have to learn what makes people tick and how best to satisfy whatever tick that may be. It means calling something BS when you see people being less than honest with themselves.

The most successful relationship builders are, indeed, a nifty amalgam of financial guru, sex therapist, and all-around dogooder.

Connecting is a philosophy of life, a worldview. Its guiding principle is that people, all people, every person you meet, is an opportunity to help and be helped. Why do I place so much importance on mutual dependence? For starters, because, as a matter of necessity, we are all social beings. Our strength comes from what we do and know cumulatively. The fact is, no one gets ahead in this world without a lot of help.

Eliminating things like intimidation and manipulation, there is only one way to get anybody to do anything. Do you know what it is?

This is far from a trivial question. Business is, after all, the ability to motivate a group of individuals to move an idea from concept to reality; to take a theory and make it a practice; to gain the buy-in of your employees and colleagues; to encourage others to execute your plans.

If you're still not sure what the answer is, take heart; many people don't. There are hundreds of new books published each year grappling with how to engender loyalty and motivation. Most arrive at the wrong answer.

They get it wrong because of the assumptions they make. It's in vogue for people to exclaim: Everything is new! Everything is different! Business has changed! The answers, people suggest, must be found in technology or new forms of leadership or funky organizational theories. But is there anything really new or different about people? Not really.

The principles of how to deal with other people are the ones Dale Carnegie espoused over sixty years ago that have proven to be universal and timeless.

The only way to get people to do anything is to recognize their importance and thereby make them feel important. Every person's deepest lifelong desire is to be significant and to be recognized.

What better way is there to show appreciation and to lavish praise on others than to take an interest in who they are and what their mission is?

There is an added nuance to discovering what matters to people. Helping someone accomplish his or her deepest desires is critical not only to forming a bond with someone but to keeping that bond strong and growing. Loyalty may be the forgotten virtue of the modern age, but it remains the hallmark of any strong relationship and a value many companies are working hard to bring into their day-to-day practices.

Loyalty, to me, means staying true to someone (or something, like a brand or a customer segment) through thick and thin. Loyalty is a marathon rather than a sprint. As any good brand manager knows, you don't win customer loyalty quickly. It has to be earned. How?

Let me tell you a story about Michael Milken: yes, the financial and deal-making guru but also a man who is a philanthropist and deeply insightful human behaviorist. Through Entertainment Media Ventures (EMV), Mike was an investor in the start-up company I joined after Starwood. And, during my recruitment as CEO, I made it clear to him and my friend Sandy Climan, who led EMV, that a big motivation of taking the job would be to learn from Mike while running the company. I had already gotten to know Mike independently a few years back while acting as an advisor to DuPont, when the company was starting a consumer soy-milk joint venture. Mike was someone I had always wanted to meet—one of my early aspirational contacts. I had discovered through some articles I had read about him that he had a great deal of interest in soy and its curative effects. He had suffered a bout with prostate cancer, which he turned into a passion for health care and the importance of preventative medicine. To Mike, diet was an integral component in that mix, and it became a personal and philanthropic passion.

From the beginning of my tenure as CEO, I sought to build the company and further my relationship with Mike. He, in turn, took me under his wing and opened his world to me.

If he was going to New York for one of his many CapCure fundraisers, which support scientific research to find cures for prostate cancer, or traveling to someplace to give out recognition and money to exceptional teachers through the Milken Family Foundation, I would try to catch a ride. My only goal was to watch how he worked and perhaps glean a few insights in the process. I made it a point to identify customers or prospects at whatever destination city he was going to, so it was time well spent for YaYa as well.

Most of the time, we would sit quietly working. He would plow through one of the ten bags of reading he lugs with him wherever he goes, and I, of course, would be pounding away on my computer, e-mailing and connecting with abandon for YaYa revenue generation and business development. There was much to be learned in simply watching what he read and how he thought or reflected.

On one trip in particular, Mike and I began to talk about people's passions, what really mattered to people. It was then that I received profound insight about people and loyalty. You see, Mike, in addition to having a brilliant quantitative mind, is also a relationship artist.

I have seen him spend hours talking to people you'd never expect him to take an interest in: secretaries, the very old and the very young, the powerful and the powerless. He loves people, their stories, and how they view the world. When I mentioned that to him, I was reminded of what Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: "Every man I meet is my superior in some way. In that, I learn of him." Everyone had something to teach him.

This focus on people was the reason so many of them showed so much loyalty to him. I feel that same loyalty. I asked how so many people became so invested in their relationship with him. What did he know that others didn't? Mike paused for a moment, as he does when he particularly likes (or dislikes) a question. Then he smiled.

"Keith," he said, "there are three things in this world that engender deep emotional bonds between people. They are health, wealth, and children."

There are a lot of things we can do for other people: give good advice, help them wash their car, or help them move. But health, wealth, and children affect us in ways other acts of kindness do not.

When you help someone through a health issue, positively impact someone's personal wealth, or take a sincere interest in their children, you engender life-bonding loyalty.

Mike's experience was, in fact, backed by research. Psychologist Abraham Maslow created a theory outlining human beings' hierarchy of needs. We all have the same needs, Maslow believed, and our more basic needs must be satisfied before our higher needs can be addressed.

The highest human need, said Maslow, is for self-actualization— the desire to become the best you can be. Dale Carnegie astutely recognized this. But Maslow argues we can't attend to our highest needs until we attend to those at the bottom of the pyramid, like the necessities of subsistence, security, and sex. It is within this lower group—where health, wealth, and children reside—that Mike was saying loyalty is created. In addressing those three fundamental issues, you accomplish two things: 1) You help someone fulfill those needs they most need met, and 2) You allow them the opportunity to move up the pyramid of needs to tackle some of their higher desires.

I reflected on my own experience and found he was absolutely right.

Recently, a friend of mine was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Because of my relationship with the CapCure foundation, I knew the lead doctor there. I gave him a call to see if he could spend some time with my friend. Another friend, Mehmet Oz, the wunderkind who directs the Cardiovascular Institute at Columbia University and is a founder and director of the Complementary Medicine Program at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, is always taking the calls of people I send his way.

I know intimately how in a time of anxiety a reassuring expert is worth all the wealth in the world. Throughout my father's heart-related illness, a family friend named Arlene Treskovich, who worked for one of the best heart doctors in Pittsburgh, gave us access to medical advice few blue-collar Pittsburgh families can afford. She was just doing what she was taught; her mother, Marge, had worked at the Latrobe Hospital and used to make sure that any member of our family or friends of our family who were hospitalized were treated like royalty, even if it was just an extra Jell-O from the kitchen when it was closed. To this day, I would do anything Arlene asked of me.

Sometimes, all it requires is taking an interest and providing emotional support. Let me give you an example. Robin Richards was the founding president of music portal MP3.com and built one of the highest-profile Internet companies in the world. He skillfully navigated MP3.com through a very difficult period before selling it to Vivendi Universal, which subsequently hired him as a key executive. I met Robin around this time because he was leading a negotiation to buy our company.

The deal ultimately fell through, but during the process, I learned Robin had a young child who had suffered from a terrible form of cancer. When he shared this deeply painful and private piece of information over dinner with me, the dynamics that so often attend a negotiation flew out the window. We discussed our shared experiences and I introduced him to Mike, who was equally passionate about finding a cure for this form of cancer. Robin and I are still good friends to this day, and I know we would both bend over backward for the other.

Have you helped someone lose weight by passing on a good diet? Have you found a particular vitamin or supplement that has helped you and passed it on to others? These may seem like little things. But with these three issues, health and diet included, the little things mean everything.

When it came to wealth, I thought of the many men and women whom I've helped find jobs. While it's not the same as making someone millions through innovative financing instruments, as Mike had done for many people, a job significantly altered these friends' economic situation. If someone I know is looking for a job, I reach out through my network for leads. If they've already found a job they're interested in, I call the decision maker. Sometimes I'll simply help someone revise his or her resume, or act as a reference. Whatever I can do. And I do the same for businesses. For the restaurants I frequent, for example, I make it my mission to send as much business their way as possible. I work hard to funnel customers to all my contacts who are consultants, vendors, and suppliers of all stripes. I know they are good, I trust them, and I want others to benefit from their expertise as well.

People's children mean everything to them. I take it upon myself to mentor kids. It's fun, it's helpful, and teaching is the finest method I know for learning. The loyalty I've gained from placing a person's child in an internship, whether at my company or a friend's company, is immeasurable.

Take my experience with Jack Valenti, the former Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of the Motion Picture Association. Texas born, Harvard educated, Valenti has led several lives: a wartime bomber pilot, advertising agency founder, political consultant, White House Special Assistant, and movie industry leader. He knows everyone; more important, every one who knows him has loads of respect for the man (in an industry not keen on doling out respect to anyone).

Valenti had been an aspirational contact of mine for some time. I never sought him out, but he was somebody I knew would be very interesting, a hardworking Italian guy who worked his way up from nothing. I figured we had plenty in common.

Our first encounter was pure serendipity. I attended a luncheon for cabinet members at the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles during President Clinton's last year of office. I spotted Jack among the attendees. When we all sat down for lunch, I made sure he and I were sitting next to each other.

Our conversation that afternoon was good, entertaining, and polite. I had no mission or purpose. I hoped it might, someday, form the basis for something more substantive.

Not long after, a friend called me, knowing I was passionate about mentoring. "You know, Jack Valenti's son is looking for work in your industry. You might want to meet with him and give him some advice."

Jack's son is a very bright chip off the old block, both charming and smart. I gave him some advice, introduced him to some people within the industry that he should know, and that was it.

Several months later, at the Yale CEO conference, I saw Jack again.

"Jack," I said, "I'm sure you don't remember me. There's no reason you should. We sat together for lunch once at a Democratic convention. But I met with your son a few months ago to give him some career advice. I was wondering how he is doing?"

Jack dropped everything he was doing and couldn't have been more interested. He peppered me with questions about his son and what the best tack was to enter my industry.

I followed up our encounter a day later with a dinner invitation, along with an array of political and entertainment honchos he could meet.

"Sure, I'd love to come to dinner if my schedule allows," he told me. "But more important, I'd like to get together for lunch with you, me, and my son."

Jack probably wasn't that interested in my dinner invitation. Who knows? But he was interested in the welfare of his son. Jack regards my dinner invitations with a lot more excitement than he would have if I had not had the chance to give his son some simple and sound advice.

Too many people think an invitation alone is enough to engender loyalty. Back in my days at Deloitte, and I see it today in my consulting practice, a lot of people felt that taking clients and prospects out to a fancy dinner, a ballgame, or a show was the way to build loyalty. I've fallen into that trap myself. In the beginning of a relationship, those kinds of outings are merely forums that allow you to connect strongly enough with the other person to help them address the issues that matter to them most. However, we've encouraged some of our biggest Fortune 100 clients to begin to invite their clients and prospects into their executives' homes to have dinner, meet the family, and understand how they can really help their clients as individuals.

But remember, if you're going to deal with people's most important issues, give those issues the commitment that they deserve. If not, your best intentions will backfire. Hell hath no fury like a person for whom you've promised the most intimate of help and delivered none.

Can you walk the talk? It's easy for someone to say, "I care about people. I believe in helping and being helped. I believe that helping people become healthy or make money or raise successful children is paramount in life." Many people say those things—but then you see their actions, you hear about them from their own networks, and you discover they really don't believe any of it. You can be sure your network will broadcast your true colors very quickly and with lasting effects to all its members.

Where do you start? You start with the philosophy, the worldview, that every human is an opportunity to help and be helped. The rest—whether it means helping with someone's health, wealth, children, or any other unsatisfied desires—follows from that.

19. Social Arbitrage

Some people become power brokers through sheer intimidation and force of will; others, generally with far better results, learn to become indispensable to the people around them.

I still remember the advice that made me aware of these two routes to power. Greg Seal pulled me into his office one day not long after I had been hired at Deloitte, sat me down, and said, "Stop driving yourself—and everyone else—crazy thinking about how to make yourself successful. Start thinking about how you're going to make everyone around you successful."

From the moment I had arrived at Deloitte, I was a man on a mission. I wanted to work more hours, meet more partners, be on the biggest projects solving the biggest problems—and I wanted to do it all now, because I was desperate to make a name for myself. In the wake of my ambition, a whole lot of people didn't like me. And at Deloitte, as in all organizations, it isn't easy getting things done when your peers dislike you.

That you'd anger and abuse some people on your way to the top used to be accepted practice. Michael Korda's 1975 book on the secrets to becoming a corporate chieftain, Power! How to Get It, How to Use It, advised that "master players... attempt to channel as much information as they can into their own hands, then withhold it from as many people as possible." But if thirty years ago power was attained through a monopoly of information (and a whole lot of angry people), today the system is more akin to social arbitrage: a constant and open exchange of favors and intelligence, as Greg had so wisely advised.

How does this work? Think of it as a game. When someone mentions a problem, try to think of solutions. The solutions come from my experience and knowledge, and my tool kit of friends and associates. For example, if I'm in a conversation and the other person mentions they're looking to buy a house in Los Angeles, the first thing I think is "How can my network help?" And there's no time to linger. Mid-conversation, I'll pull out my cell phone and locate someone who can help my companion buy a home. As I'm dialing, I might say something like, "You need to meet this Realtor I know named Betty. No one knows the Los Angeles area better. Here's her phone number, but hold on—" Now Betty is on the line. "Hi, Betty, it's so nice to hear your voice. It has been too long. Listen, I'm standing here with a friend who is in need of your wisdom. I just gave him your number and wanted to tell you personally he'd be calling." The connection is made, the work is done, and whatever happens next, both parties are pleased by my efforts on their behalf.

This is social arbitrage at work. And the first key is, don't wait to be asked. Just do it.

Let me give you another example, an interaction I had with Hank Bernbaum, the CEO of High Sierra, a small bag manufacturer out of Chicago. Hank had seen a short profile on me and my marketing expertise in the magazine Fast Company. He called me out of the blue and said, "The article on you was excellent."

Already, he had my attention.

"We're a tiny company," he said, "and we're terrible at marketing. We've got the best duffels and bags in America, but no one knows it. Our revenue and market size is a quarter of what it should be. Can you help?"

He added, "By the way, we don't have a lot of money to burn." I usually love taking these calls when time allows, because I'm able to play confidante, counselor, or even concierge, for so many different people. I'm constantly introducing two people from different parts of my life who might benefit from knowing each other. It's a sort of ongoing puzzle, matching up the right people and the right opportunities. Once you, too, start to see the world this way, it opens up exciting opportunities. It's both rewarding and fun. Hank needed some consulting help and his bags needed exposure. I called Peter, a consultant who had worked with me at Starwood Hotels, a terrific marketing guy and someone who loved the outdoors. A perfect fit. Then I called another friend who is head of marketing at Reebok. Their bags never sold as well as their other products, and I thought the two might benefit from sharing insights and experiences. I even "cloned" a meeting I had with a marketing executive at Reebok, and brought Hank along to make face-to-face introductions.

Then I asked Hank if he'd ever had any publicity. He hadn't. I sent a couple of Hank's totes to Alan Webber, the editor of Fast Company. A few months later, the magazine did a piece on High Sierra products after Alan had his writers evaluate a particularly innovative travel bag we had sent.

Hank was ecstatic. But then I added one more thing: "Hank, the calls I'm making on your behalf, you need to be doing this for yourself. Do you belong to the Executive Club in Chicago?"

"I've been thinking about it," he said. "Why?"

"You've got to stop thinking of yourself and your company as an island. You need to meet people. There are a lot of CEOs and smart people in the Executive Club who could've done what I'm doing for you, only a few years ago. You need to be making these connections."

Soon after, Hank started networking locally with other executives. Hank's products are superb; what he needed was the network. However, it's not just he and I who have prospered. My former colleague, Peter, the outdoorsy marketer from Starwood, used the experience to build the confidence he needed to ultimately go out on his own. He now has a thriving consulting firm in New York. The CMO at Reebok? He was grateful for an introduction that might help him boost his bag business. What started with one man and a problem, ended with several people and many solutions.

My point? Real power comes from being indispensable. Indispensability comes from being a switchboard, parceling out as much information, contacts, and goodwill to as many people—in as many different worlds—as possible

It's a sort of career karma. How much you give to the people you come into contact with determines how much you'll receive in return. In other words, if you want to make friends and get things done, you have to put yourself out to do things for other people—things that require time, energy, and consideration.

Successfully connecting with others is never about simply getting what you want. It's about getting what you want and making sure that people who are important to you get what they want first. Often, that means fixing up people who would otherwise never have an opportunity to meet.

The best sort of connecting occurs when you can bring together two people from entirely different worlds. The strength of your network derives as much from the diversity of your relationships as it does from their quality or quantity.

Most of us know the people within our own professional and social group, and little more. Through other connectors, and on your own, I would urge you to make a point of knowing as many people from as many different professions and social groups as possible. The ability to bridge different worlds, and even different people within the same profession, is a key attribute in managers who are paid better and promoted faster, according to an influential study conducted by Ron Burt, a professor at the University of Chicago Graduate School of Business.

"People who have contacts in separate groups have a competitive advantage because we live in a system of bureaucracies, and bureaucracies create walls," says Burt. "Individual managers with entrepreneurial networks move information faster, are highly mobile relative to bureaucracy, and create solutions better adapted to the needs of the organization."

His research goes a long way toward answering that persistently nagging question: Is it what you know or who you know that leads to success? For Burt, it's both. Who you know determines how effectively you can apply what you know. Getting things done, and climbing the walls of your company, require having the right relationships.

I've always been well aware of this idea. At Deloitte, I got to know the CMOs of our largest competition. At Starwood, I quickly became familiar with the industry influencers. When I became CEO of YaYa, I set out to meet the leadership in the media and computer games industry. What I didn't realize was that all along I was setting the groundwork for the success of FerrazziGreenlight at the same time. No matter what the job, if I was going to push my company's product into an important brand position among those who mattered, I needed to be able to converse with the players inside and outside the industry who could help me make that happen. One of the ways I achieved this was by helping them get to know one another—which they, too, knew was beneficial for their business. I was surprised, for instance, that the heads of marketing for the big consulting firms didn't know one another.

Maybe you're thinking to yourself, "But I don't know any executives or key people in my industry! And why would they want to get to know me anyway?" Not a problem. Performing social arbitrage when your financial and relational resources are thin is actually not too big a hurdle. The solution is knowledge, one of the most valuable currencies in social arbitrage. Knowledge is free—it can be found in books, in articles, on the Internet, pretty much everywhere, and it's precious to everyone.

The ability to distribute knowledge in a network is a fairly easy skill to learn. So easy, in fact, you should get started today. Identify some of the leading thinkers and writers in your industry. Do these figures have any new books on the market? Look at what's hot on the nonfiction New York Times bestseller list. Or for business bestsellers, check out the Wall Street Journal's list in the Personal Journal section on Friday. Buy the book, read it, and take some notes summarizing the Big Idea, a few of its interesting studies or anecdotes, and why it's relevant to the people you're thinking about passing your knowledge on to. You've just created your own Big Idea of the Month Cliffs Notes (or whatever snazzy title you choose). Now pick a few people, some whom you know well and some you don't, and e-mail them your work. All you have to say is "Here are some cool ideas I think you'd like to be on top of."

Presto! You're now a knowledge broker. After you get the swing of it, you might want to send out a monthly Big Idea Cliffs Notes e-mail. Turn it into a newsletter. If one month you don't have the time, you could forward some particularly helpful article you read. Or, if the book is particularly interesting and you really want to make an impression, send the book itself.

It's easy enough to make knowledge brokering a habit. Let's say, for instance, someone mentions over lunch or in the minutes before the start of a meeting that they are having a hard time dealing with their teenage son or daughter. You should hear "problem." As a practitioner of social arbitrage, you think "need to find a solution." If you don't have any personal advice, the solution will come from asking yourself, "How can my network of friends and contacts help? Which one of my friends has teenagers?" It probably won't take long before you come up with someone you know, maybe your own parents, who handled their own teenage kids in a constructive manner. Get on the phone and ask them if they have any advice, or if they used any books or articles to help them through the process. Now pass it on.

Or let's say you're a real estate agent but you aspire to be a clothing designer. I don't know too much about clothes, but as with just about any subject, I'm sure others do (one of those people has almost certainly written a book about it). Do a search on Amazon.com, and find something that seems helpful to someone looking to become a clothing designer. Then send the aspiring clothing designer a link or even the book itself, or broker a direct conversation—that would be real value.

Yes, this kind of reaching out takes time and a certain thoughtfulness. But that is exactly why it's so appreciated. Facilitating all those connections, all that knowledge, and ultimately all that happiness is what being a truly modern-day "power broker" is all about.

To paraphrase Dale Carnegie: You can be more successful in two months by becoming really interested in other people's success than you can in two years trying to get other people interested in your own success.

Vernon Jordan, dealmaker extraordinaire, former Clinton advisor, and Washington super-lawyer, currently sits on ten corporate boards, including American Express, Dow Jones, Revlon, and Xerox. He's the Senior M a n a g i n g Director for Lazard, an international investment bank, and also a high-ranked senior counsel at the Washington, D.C., law firm of Akin Gump. Fortune ranked him ninth on its list of the most powerful black executives.

According to Time magazine, Jordan earns a seven-figure income from a " l a w practice that requires him to file no brief and visit no courtroom, because his billable hours tend to be logged in posh restaurants, on cellular phones . . . making a deft introduction here, nudging a legislative position there, ironing out an indelicate situation before it makes the papers." He doesn't just talk a good game. He makes things happen.

It's hard enough, in this life, to hold down just one job in a highpowered organization. But Jordan has made himself so valuable—so coveted—to so many employers that he actually works for several at once—and none of them seem to mind his vocational polygamy.

Along the way, Jordan has become one of Washington's most networked individuals, a man w h o seems to have friends and influence in every quarter and province. He's connected Lou Gerstner with IBM. He approached Colin Powell about replacing Warren Christopher as Secretary of State. He helped James Wolfensohn become President of the World Bank.

How has he done it?

Jordan has used social arbitrage to make himself indispensable—he is, in every sense of the w o r d , a modern-day power broker. But he wasn't always at the vortex of everything that happens in Washington. He didn't even live full-time in Washington until Akin Gump hired him in 1 9 8 2 . By the time he arrived there, he'd done enough in his career—having built up several decades of contacts made and favors done—to know that, before long, he'd become a man of influence in his new town. Akin Gump knew it too, which is one reason they hired him: "I knew he would fit into the Washington legal community and come to be a dominant figure in it," said Robert Strauss, a senior partner. "This is a town built on the use of power and on relationships, and Vernon is about as good a people person as I know."

Jordan became a household name to all Americans in the 1 990s because of his relationship with Bill Clinton. But long before then, Jordan was well known to the black community.

In the ' 6 0 s , Jordan was an active civil rights lawyer in Atlanta. Later, he became a field secretary for the NAACP, fighting for school integration and registering black Georgians to vote. In

1 9 6 4 , Jordan left the NAACP to head the Southern Regional Council's Voter Education Project (VEP). His role was to find volunteers w h o could organize voter drives, and to raise money for the project. Raising money compelled Jordan to travel throughout the South, pitching wealthy foundations on w h y they should grant money to the VEP. It was this position that allowed Jordan to gain respect as a man w h o could fight for the cause from within the establishment. His Rolodex began to expand as he forged connections with both the heads of foundations and the VEP supervisors in Washington, D.C.

Jordan first ingratiated himself to the Fortune 5 0 0 community w h e n , in 1 9 6 6 , he was invited to President Johnson's White House conference on civil rights, which was attended by hundreds of CEOs. For the remainder of the '60s and ' 7 0 s , he traveled as a plugged-in member of both corporate and civil rights circles. His involvement in one circle made him all the more valuable to the other. Favors done and friends made in one circle could be leveraged to do favors and make friends in the other.

Jordan's full-time jobs allowed him to keep one foot in each w o r l d . In 1 9 7 0 , he became executive director of the United Negro College Fund. In 1 9 7 2 , he became president of the National Urban League, a pro-business civil rights organization—a job he held for ten years. Both posts allowed Jordan to gracefully expand his personal network, to the point where, in 1 9 8 2 , Akin Gump paid him quite a hefty price for his services. "Vernon did not come c h e a p , " said Strauss. "But I told him: 'We'll carry you for a few years until you figure out what it's all about here, then you will carry us for a long time after that.'"

Jordan's career is a wonderful example of the opportunity that comes from bringing different people together from different worlds and different organizations to do good things. When Jordan became a public figure during the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal, he was challenged on his claim that it was normal for him to help a virtual stranger like Monica Lewinsky find a job. His network once again came to his aid. Washington attorney Leslie Thornton detailed in the Wall Street Journal how Jordan had gone out of his way to help her and others. She revealed what many young black and white professionals had long known privately: Jordan had been opening doors for people of all colors and creeds for decades.

20. Pinging—All the Time

If 80 percent of success is, as Woody Allen once said, just showing up, then 80 percent of building and maintaining relationships is just staying in touch.

I call it "pinging." It's a quick, casual greeting, and it can be done in any number of creative ways. Once you develop your own style, you'll find it easier to stay in touch with more people than you ever dreamed of in less time than you ever imagined.

Yes, there's grunt work involved. Pinging takes effort. That's the tough part. You have to keep pinging and pinging and pinging and never stop. You have to feed the fire of your network or it will wither or die.

How many times have you asked yourself, "What's his face . . . Ya know, that guy . . . " Or "I know her, I just can't remember her name . . ." We all face that situation all too often, to my mind. Every time I hear those statements uttered, I sense a network or community of contacts withering.

These days we're overwhelmed with so much information that our minds can prioritize only the most recent data. What does it take to break through the white noise of information overload? Becoming front and center in someone's mental Rolodex is contingent on one invaluable little concept: repetition.

• People you're contacting to create a new relationship need to see or hear your name in at least three modes of communication—by, say, an e-mail, a phone call, and a face-to-face encounter—before there is substantive recognition.

• Once you have gained some early recognition, you need to nurture a developing relationship with a phone call or e-mail at least once a month.

• If you want to transform a contact into a friend, you need a minimum of two face-to-face meetings out of the office.

• Maintaining a secondary relationship requires two to three pings a year.

Using the above rules of thumb should give you an idea of what it'll take to keep your own network humming. I make hundreds of phone calls a day. Most of them are simply quick hellos that I leave on a friend's voice mail. I also send e-mail constantly. Using a BlackBerry, I've found I can do the majority of my pinging while in trains, planes, and automobiles. I remember—or at least my PDA remembers—personal events like birthdays and anniversaries, and I make a special point of reaching out to people during these times.

When it comes to relationship maintenance, you have to be on your game 24/7, 365 days a year.

There's no doubt you have to bring a certain vigor to this part of the system. But hey, this is just my way of doing things. You'll figure out your own way. The governing principle here is repetition; find a way to ensure that you'll contact people regularly without putting too much strain on your schedule.

One way I've found to make maintaining my network of contacts, colleagues, and friends easier is to create a rating system for the network that corresponds to how often I reach out. First, I divide my network into five general categories: Under "Personal," I include my good friends and social acquaintances. Because I'm generally in contact with these people organically, I don't include them on a contact list. The relationship is established, and when we talk, it's as if we'd been in touch every day. "Customers" and "Prospects" are self-explanatory. "Important Business Associates" is reserved for people I'm actively involved with professionally. I'm either doing business with them currently or hoping to do business with them. This is the mission-critical category. Under "Aspirational Contacts," I list people I'd like to get to know, or I've met briefly (which is anyone from your boss's boss to a worthy celebrity) and would like to establish a better relationship with.

After reading the chapter on taking names, you've probably already begun to segment and categorize your network in a way that works for you—there is no standard method here. Create a segmentation that works for you and your objectives. This is a good habit and one that deserves repeating. All successful people are planners. They think on paper. Failing to plan, as they say, is planning to fail. And a plan is a list of activities and names.

The next step is to print out your master list of contacts that contains all the people in your network under the categories you've placed them in. The question now is How often do you contact each person on the list? I use a pretty simple system, but there's no reason you can't improve upon it. I'll go down my master list and add the numbers 1, 2, or 3 next to each name.

A " 1 " gets contacted at least each month. This means I'm actively involved with the person, whether it's a friend or a new business associate. With new relationships, a " 1 " generally means I have yet to solidify the relationship with at least three different forms of communication. Each time I reach out to a person, I like to include a very short note next to their name telling me the last time I contacted them and how. If last month I sent an e-mail saying hello to a potential customer rated " 1 , " this month I'll give a call. Also, contacts designated " 1 " I add to my cell phone's speed dial. (How I love thee, speed dial, let me count the ways! It allows me quick reference and an easy way to get in touch fast.) If I have a free moment in a cab, I'll just go down the speed dial and make several calls to keep in touch with people I've not spoken to recently.

A "2" rating indicates my "touch base" people. These are either casual acquaintances or people whom I already know well. They get a quarterly call or e-mail. I try to include these people in mass e-mails about my business. And like the rest of my network, they get either an annual holiday card or birthday call.

Those people rated " 3 " are people I don't know well, who, because of time and circumstance, I'm unable to devote any significant energy to pinging. These people are strictly acquaintances, people I've met in passing, but who have found their way into my address book. I hope to reach this group, in some way, at least once a year. The surprising thing about this category is that, because you don't know the person all that well when you do reach out with a card or e-mail, the reaction is wonderful. Most people are delighted, and their curiosity piqued, when someone they don't know all that well sends them a note, however short.

The third step, as I mentioned in the chapter on taking names, is segmenting your network into call lists. In time, your master list will become too unwieldy to work from directly. Your call lists will save you time and keep your efforts focused. They can be organized by your number ratings, by geography, by industry, and so on. It's totally flexible. If I'm flying to New York, for example, I'll print out a "New York list" and make a few calls to my "Is" when I got off the plane. "Hi, Jan. Just landed in New York and it made me think of you. No time to meet this trip, but I just wanted to touch base." This New York list also proves very helpful a week in advance of the trip in trying to fill in those extra slots of time I may have in my schedule.

Where do I find the time? Again, you find time everywhere. I ping in the cab, or in my car. I ping in the bathroom (BlackBerry only). When I'm bored at a conference, I ping via e-mail. I've developed the habit of saving every e-mail I send and receive. I put each e-mail, when I receive it, in one of my categories, and Outlook records whether I've returned the e-mail or not. Then I just open up those files and respond, pinging away. I make a habit of reviewing my master list at the end of the week and crosschecking it with the activities and travel plans I have for the following week. In this way, I stay up-to-date and have my trusty lists at my side all week long.

Another time-saver is to pay close attention when you place your phone calls. There are times, amusingly enough, when I call in order NOT to get through. Sometimes you don't have time for an in-depth conversation; you just want to drop a line and say hello. I try and take mental notes of people's phone habits if I want to simply leave a message, I'll call when I know they're not around. Calling their office really early or late usually does the trick.

The important thing is that you build the concept of pinging into your workflow. Some organizations go so far as to make pinging integral to their organizational processes. I'm told that the consulting firm McKinsey and Company actually has a rule of thumb that one hundred days after a new CEO takes charge of a company, McKinsey assigns one of their consultants to call and see how McKinsey might help. One hundred days is, McKinsey figures, just enough time for the new CEO to feel that he or she knows what the issues and problems are, but not enough time to have gotten his or her arms around the solutions.

With pinging gaining credibility as an important business practice, it shouldn't surprise you that some ingenious new software has been developed to make it easier. Plaxo is a neat new program, which I mentioned briefly in the chapter on technology, that I've found really helpful. The software this company has developed keeps people connected by solving the common but frustrating problem of out-of-date contact information. The software goes into your database of contacts, pulls out everybody with an e-mail address, sends the record that you have of them, and asks them to update it. When they do so, it sends you back an e-mail stating their new information. Automated pinging!

I do it every six months or so and have become a true devotee. Not long ago, I did a Plaxo update. A few days later, I got an e-mail from a former prospect I'd lost contact with who wrote, "We talked a year ago. Nothing came of it. Now might be a better time to talk." The e-mail turned into a two-million-dollar account.

The medium and message of a ping runs the gamut. There is the "I just called to say I care" ping that I use for closer contacts. Essentially, I want to convey the message, "Hey, it has been too long since we've spoken and I wanted you to know that I miss you, that you are important to me." And then there are the more professional versions of the above. But always try to make any message as personal as possible.

For people important to my career or business, I tend to favor the value-add ping. Here I'm trying to provide something of value in my communication, recognizing when someone I know gets a promotion, or the company he or she runs has a good financial quarter, or he or she has a child. I also like to send relevant articles, short notes of advice, or other small tokens that convey that I am thinking of them and am eager to help.

Get creative. I have one friend who carries a digital camera wherever he goes. When he returns from a conference or workrelated travels, he pings the people he met with a quick hello and a picture attached. It's a great idea that has worked very well for him. I've got another friend who uses music in a similar manner. When he meets someone new, he asks the person what kind of music he or she enjoys. This guy has a growing digital music library that's off the charts, and he's always on top of the latest grooves. When he pings, he might write, "It was a pleasure meeting you the other day. You mentioned your love of jazz. It just so happens that I have a rare recording of Miles Davis. I thought you'd get a kick out of it. Let me know what you think."

Once you've cultivated a contact with a new associate or friend, nurture it by pinging. It's the Miracle-Gro for your blooming garden of friends and associates.

The Pinging Staple: Birthdays

Standard advice on acknowledging the events in people's lives suggests sending Christmas or Chanukah cards. The holidays, in my opinion, are not the best time to focus your pinging energies. W h y ? Because it's hard to differentiate yourself from the other 1 5 0 people doing the same thing.

My personal favorite pinging occasion remains birthdays, the neglected stepchild of life's celebrated moments. As you get older, the people around you start forgetting your big day (mostly because they think they want to forget their own). M o m might not call a day late, but your brother or sister w i l l . Your friends will figure, " W h y remind the poor guy he's getting up there in age?" Before long, that residual disappointment turns into resentment, and the resentment turns into apathy. Or at least the appearance of apathy.

" N a h , birthdays aren't my thing," I hear people say all the time. You persuasively tell your family, "Don't do anything b i g , but if you do something, make it small."

W e l l , I don't believe it. I'm onto your game, friend. You care, and so does everybody else.

We've been conditioned since childhood, despite our best efforts to be "Birthday Scrooges" in adult life, that that day is all about y o u . It is your day, and it has been since you were a kid. And even when you're seventy years o l d , deep down inside, despite all your protestations, a little recognition of that seventy-year-old life feels good even if you don't get a big red w a g o n anymore.

Don't kid yourself—EVERYONE CARES ABOUT HIS OR HER BIRTHDAY!

I was in N e w York some years back and up popped a reminder on my Palm: "Birthday—Kent Blossil." Kent was the man w h o successfully got past my gatekeeper. W h e n I met Kent that day, and I received his contact information, I asked for his birth date, as I try to do with everyone. It's not intrusive, and most people forget the moment after they tell me.

Kent was a M o r m o n . Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, he had upward of ten brothers and sisters. W i t h such a large family, y o u ' d think the man's phone would be ringing off the hook on his birthday.

I hadn't spoken to him for over a year. It was a busy day for me, and I didn't see the reminder until close to 3 : 0 0 P.M. that afternoon. Generally, I like to make birthday calls in the early morning. This w a y I get someone's voice mail, and when they come in to work that morning, they're greeted with my rendition of " H a p p y Birthday." I can't tell you how many N e w York City cabdrivers must think I'm an utter lunatic.

So when Kent actually picked up his phone that afternoon, my personal Pavarotti of " H a p p y Birthday" greeted him. No greetings. No niceties. I just let it rip.

Normally, I get laughter and a grateful "Thanks." This time, after I had finished, the phone went silent. "Kent, you there? It's your birthday, right?" Nothing. Not a w o r d . I thought I'd made a jerk out of myself and missed the day or something.

"Kent?"

Finally he stammers out, "Yeah." He was choked up, audibly holding back tears.

"You all right?"

"You remembered my birthday?" he said. People are always shocked by this.

"You know, Keith, this year none of my brothers or sisters or family .. . well, nobody remembered my birthday. N o b o d y remembered," he said. "Thank you so much."

He never forgot. People never d o .

21. Find Anchor Tenants and Feed Them

When I was an insolvent student working his way through business school, my apartment wasn't what you'd call a spotless designer residence. Minimal, yes. A bit grungy, definitely. Still, it never stopped me from throwing outrageously fun dinner parties where I enjoyed the company of good friends—and a few strangers.

It was in those days that I learned how powerful the art of throwing dinner parties could be in creating wonderful memories and strengthening relationships in the process. Today I can safely say my strongest links have been forged at the table. The companionable effects of breaking bread—not to mention drinking a few glasses of wine—bring people together.

In those early years, my 400-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment opposite the football field, with a kitchen table that could barely seat two adults, held wild get-togethers for four, six, even fifteen guests. The mix was always a diverse medley of professors, students, Boston locals, and, sometimes, a person I met in line while checking out groceries. I never thought twice about some of the minor inconveniences those impoverished days bestowed on my events, like forcing my guests to eat with plates in their laps.

For all the sheer delight and good times a dinner party can impart, it seems our fast-food culture has diminished our centuries-old belief in the power of a shared meal in your own home to comfort, nurture, and connect people. Some people seem to think it's too hard, too time-consuming. The only image they have of a dinner party is of those grandly ornate occasions once glamorized by Martha Stewart, a friend by the way. Maybe those female-hosted TV shows are, perhaps, another reason why men, in particular, have forgotten the virtues of hosting a simple dinner gathering. They think it's feminine. But trust me, guys, you can serve a fine meal in your home and still be masculine—and, if you're single, it will do a world of good for your dating lives.

Nearly once a month an array of different people from different worlds gathers at my home in Los Angeles or hotel suite in New York or a friend's home in San Francisco to have fun, talk business, and meet new people. But I learned the art of throwing these events back in my dingy Cambridge apartment.

Before my dinner parties had any cachet, I had to develop a deliberate strategy for attracting a good mix of people that would expand my social horizons and get a reputation that would keep people coming back.

You, me, every one of us—we have an established peer set. But if you only have dinner parties with the same people, your circle of relationships will never grow. At the same time, we're confronted with a small obstacle. Randomly inviting strangers, especially strangers who hold a level of prestige and experience above your own peer set, is rarely effective. These people want to hang around people of their own background, experience, or social status.

Parents tend to stay away from their children's gatherings unless they expect other parents to be in attendance as well. In college, juniors and seniors avoid the parties populated solely by freshmen and sophomores. In the adult world, it's no different. Go to any cafeteria at any major corporation in the country. You'll generally find each strata of the organization—from the administrative staff on up to the executive suite—congregating in their own cliques to eat their lunches.

To overcome this herd mentality and pull people into my dinner parties that would otherwise not come, I developed a helpful little concept I call the "anchor tenant."

Every individual within a particular peer set has a bridge to someone outside his or her own group of friends. We all have, to some degree or another, developed relationships with older, wiser, more experienced people; they may be our mentors, our parents' friends, our teachers, our rabbis and reverends, our bosses.

I call them anchor tenants; their value comes from the simple fact that they are, in relation to one's core group of friends, different. They know different people, have experienced different things, and thus, have much to teach.

Identifying and inviting an anchor tenant to your dinner party isn't hard. Someone you know probably has access and is close enough to such an individual that an invitation will be well received. You'll discover who these people are by paying attention to your friends' stories and taking notice of the one or two names that continually pop up. They tend to be the names of people who have had a positive influence on your friends' lives. And it stands to reason that they can have the same effect on you.

Once you've identified a person outside your social circle and successfully invited him or her to a dinner, here's an added little nuance that pays terrific dividends. Landing an anchor tenant isn't about entertaining your dinner-party regulars. They'll come no matter what. But an anchor allows you to reach out beyond your circle in subsequent invitations and pull in people who wouldn't otherwise attend. To put it in terms of the company cafeteria, now that you have the CEO eating lunch at the manager's table, other executives will jump at the opportunity to eat at the table, too.

Frankly, anyone who can add a little electricity to your dinner party is an anchor tenant. Journalists, I've found, are terrific anchor guests. They aren't particularly well paid (which makes them a sucker for a free meal), their profession has a good deal of intrigue, they are always on the lookout for good material and see such dinners as a potential venue for new ideas, they're generally good conversationalists, and many folks enjoy an opportunity to get their ideas heard by someone who might publicize them to a larger audience. Artists and actors, famous or not, fall into the same category. On those occasions when you can't land as big a fish as you might have liked, you can try to pull in a person with proximity to power: a political consultant to an interesting politician, the COO of an interesting company under an interesting CEO, and so on. In these cases, it's about brand association.

Once you've landed an anchor tenant, finding the right mix of people is critical. For me, the invitation list needs to be a mix of professional folks I want to do business with today, contacts I aspire to do business with down the road, and those I call "light attractors"—guests who are energetic, interesting, and willing to speak their mind. Of course, a local celebrity or two never hurts. And it goes without saying that you should have your friends and family present, as well.

Political columnist Arianna Huffington is one of my favorite dinner guests. She's gracious, fun, and always outspoken. How did I land her? Through an intro from my friend Elana Weiss, who knew someone in Arianna's office, I sent her an e-mail. I told her I was a big admirer and that I threw these very fun dinner parties in Los Angeles and she'd undoubtedly make them better. She showed up only for cocktails at first, had a great time, and has become a regular and a dear friend.

While these kinds of dinners can often cinch an important business deal, be careful not to include too many business associates on the invite list or business agendas in the discussion. Talking about budgets and other management mumbo jumbo all the time will ensure a dull evening. These events are about building relationships.

Six to ten guests, I've found, is the optimal number to invite to a dinner. I usually invite fourteen now, but that's after a lot of practice. I also invite an extra six or so people to pop in before or come after for drinks and dessert. This group should be closer friends who won't get offended for not being at the main event but will appreciate being part of the group nonetheless. Generally, when you invite someone to dinner, you get a 20 to 30 percent acceptance rate because of scheduling difficulties. When someone says they cannot come because of another dinner or engagement, I often suggest they come before the dinner for drinks and appetizers, or even after, for dessert and drinks.

These "bonus guests" will arrive a little before dinner has concluded. I'll have folding chairs at the ready so they can pull up next to the dinner table, have dessert, and chat with the guests. Just when most dinner parties tend to slip and people begin to look at their watches thinking about what time they have to get up in the morning, the energy level spikes with a whole new group. Suddenly, the dinner turns raucous again.

At about this time, the music that's been playing on the stereo gives way to a live piano player. I don't announce this. From the dining room or deck where I serve dinner, guests slowly pick up on the fact that the music coming from the living room has changed. Sometimes it's not only the piano. I may hire a singer, invite a bunch of young vocalists to come show off, or do a bit more research and find out if there are some local alumni who used to be part of Yale's renowned singing group, the Whiffenpoofs. For a reasonable fee, the kids are happy to belt out a few old tunes for an old alumnus.

As dessert is being served, the Poofs start singing. The afterparty guests arrive, and now the night is swinging. Some people stay at the table, while others adjourn to the living room to sing along and hang out. The next thing I know, it's one or two in the morning and I'm closing down another successful event.

If you like to eat and you enjoy the company of others, you can pull off your own version of a dinner party that will work beautifully whatever the setting.

My friend Jim Brehm is one of the most elegant designers in New York. He had a beautiful studio apartment downtown where he used to host a party every other Thursday. By the way, Thursdays are wonderful days for dinner parties. It doesn't cut into people's weekend plans and yet folks are willing to go a little late knowing that they have only one day left in the work week.

I marveled at Jim's ability to make simplicity so elegant. I found the same quality in Jim's architecture and designs. His studio had a long bench covered in velvet along one wall and a few black leather cubes to sit on. We'd be served champagne. Light jazz music would play in the background. The dinner guests tended to be a fascinating mix of artists and writers and musicians.

To eat, we'd walk five steps to a small simple wooden table with no tablecloth, adorned with two silver candles. The chairs were fold-out. Each plate had a big bowl of homemade chili on it and a torn-off piece of fresh bread. For dessert, he would serve ice cream and more champagne. It was simply perfect, and perfectly simple.

Anyone can throw a dinner party. Let me give you an example—my former business manager, Mark Ramsay. I first met Mark when he was an accountant for another business manager who specialized in entertainment clients. He was an unhappy camper back then, and he wanted to break out on his own. After mustering enough courage, at the age of twenty-five, he opened his own operation. I became his first client.

Mark became a regular at my dinner parties in New York. As a client and a friend, Mark would return the favor by inviting me out to dinner or to see a show. After a few years, however, I asked Mark, "So what's up with not having me over to your home for dinner?" A meal at someone's home, after all, is what I enjoy most.

His answer was all too common, especially among the younger people I mentor. He told me, "I could never do a dinner party like yours. I don't have that kind of money and I live in a run-down studio. I don't even have a dining table."

"Dining table! Who needs a dining table?" I said.

With that, I convinced Mark to give it a try. I told him I'd be his anchor guest and suggested that he invite four others for dinner. I told him to get some simple wine, but plenty of it. For appetizers, set out chips and salsa, or dip with vegetables. Buy a foldable round tabletop that one can easily find and place it on the coffee table. Voila!—you've got yourself a grand dining table.

For food, I told him, forget about cooking. Get some salads and a roasted chicken from the deli. For dessert, buy some cookies and ice cream, and keep the wine flowing.

The party was a huge success. Mark invited a potential client, me, and a friend I brought along. All four of us are now his clients.

You see, there's only one real rule to these get-togethers: Have fun. All right, there are a few other rules that might help you along the way. Among them:

1. Create a theme.

There is no reason that a small dinner party should not have a theme. One simple idea can help you pull the food and atmosphere together. You can build a party around anything, really. It could be your mother's meatloaf recipe, a holiday, black tie (used rarely, as we want people to be totally comfortable), vegan food, specific music—whatever you like. People will get jazzed when they know you're being creative.

I remember one example of a theme being put to good use that comes from an article I read years ago in the Washington Post, about a woman named Perdita Huston. When President Carter appointed Huston regional director of the Peace Corps for North Africa, the Near East, Asia, and the Pacific in 1978, she started her weekly For Women Only dinner parties.

The dinner parties filled a void for Huston, who explained how she came up with the idea. "Because of the size of the region I administered for the Peace Corps, I was obliged to do much traveling.

"When I wasn't out of town on Peace Corps business, I thought it important to be at home with my son, Pierre, who was then seven years old. Also, because of my travels, I began losing touch with many of my friends, but instead of trying to see people one-on-one in restaurant situations, I devised this scheme of giving weekly dinner parties.

"Right about that same time, I also came to realize there were a lot of women in my situation: single women in high-level jobs whose professional lives were presenting certain problems and often overwhelming their private lives. In many ways, the women in the Carter administration were pioneers who needed supportive networking, so I decided to limit my guests to women only.

"What I did was simply expand my Sunday cooking to include preparations for a Monday-night meal for twelve. I would often make couscous or a lamb-based soup, which is used during Ramadan in Algeria to break the fast at sundown. It's called chorba, which means soup; in fact, it's called The Soup. It's very spicy and good enough to be an entire meal. Often I would just prepare a huge tureen of it along with hot bread and a big salad. Desserts were simply fruit and cheese.

"The response to my Monday-night For Women Only dinner was really overwhelming," she continued. "I always used my finest china and crystal and silver candlesticks. In other words, I treated these occasions the way most hostesses treat conventional male/

female dinner parties.

"Our dinner-table conversations are unusually candid. We talk—or argue—about U.S. foreign policy or discuss problems common to women in management positions, such as how to combat stereotypes or sexism in the workplace.

"We get a lot of feedback from each other and, because of our experience, can suggest various people to see, organizations to contact, or strategies to develop. Because they are so supportive, these dinners have become very important to many of us."

Huston's weekly parties became an institution in the Washington, D.C., area where she lived. It brought like-minded women together who bonded and supported one another through the similar trials and tribulations each was going through. There's no reason you can't do the same thing. Creating a theme around a point of commonality—be it race, religion, gender, occupation, or anything else—can infuse your get-togethers with added purpose, and help you attract others.

2. Use invitations.

While I'm all for slapdash impromptu parties, the dinner parties that will be most successful will be those you've devoted some time and energy to. Whether by phone, e-mail, or handwritten note, be sure to get your invites out early—at least a month in advance—so people can have a chance to plan accordingly—and so you'll know who is and who is not coming.

3. Don't be a kitchen slave.

There's no sense in a party being all work. If you can't hire a caterer, either cook all the food ahead of time or just use takeout. If the food is good and the presentation snazzy, your guests will be impressed.

These days, I usually opt for a caterer. But you can have a simlarly elegant party for much less if you're willing to get creative and spend some time preparing. The key to low-budget dinner parties is to keep it simple. Make one large dish, like a stew or chili that can be prepared a day or two ahead of time. Serve it with great bread and salad. That's all you need.

Well, maybe not ALL you need. My other expense is alcohol. I love—love!—great wine. I always go a little overboard with the vino. And really, could God have blessed us with a better social lubricant? It amounts to the finest party favor ever created. But again, everyone has their own predilections, and I'm sure you can pull off a perfectly fabulous dinner party with just soda.

4. Create atmosphere.

Make sure to spend an hour or two gussying up your place. Nothing expensive or out of the ordinary, mind you. Candles, flowers, dim lighting, and music set a good mood. Add a nice centerpiece to the dinner table. Get a young family member to walk around serving drinks if you don't have a bartender or waiter. The point is to give your guests all the signals they need to understand that it's time to enjoy.

5. Forget being formal.

Most dinner parties don't call for anything fancy. Follow the KISS principle (Keep It Simple, Silly). Good food. Good people. Lots of wine. Good conversation. That's a successful dinner party. I always underdress just so no one else feels they did. Jeans and a jacket are my standard fare, but you judge for yourself.

6. Don't seat couples together.

The essence of a good dinner party lies in seating everyone properly. If you seat couples together, things can get boring. Mix and match, putting people together who don't know each other but perhaps share an interest of some kind. I like to set placeholders where I want people to sit. Each placeholder is a simple card with the guest's name on it. If I have the time, I love to put an interesting question or joke on the back of the card that guests can use to break the ice with one another. Or you can go out and buy funny greeting cards just to make things interesting.

7. Relax.

Guests take their cues from the host—if you're having fun, odds are that they will, too. The night of the party, your job is to enjoy all the fruits of your labor. That's an order.