Road Show Diary
 

Prologue <BR> <BR>In the world of investment banking, there is a right of passage that is two parts anachronism, one part endurance test. It is called a road show. Every company that goes public goes through one; every company that wants to sell debt or additional stock to raise money gets to go through it again. Rumors persist that the Internet will make the road show obsolete, but in my company’s discussions with investment bankers, no mention was made of an alternative. Perhaps bankers believe, in some mad scientist way, that surviving a road show is part and parcel of proving that a company’s management is worthy of the investing public’s faith. <BR> <BR>What a road show is, is a two- to three-week barnstorming tour of the country, with periodic forays to Europe or Asia. At this writing, four days before our road show is to begin, we have only a vague notion that we will “start in the midwest” and move on to the “west coast.” This covers a powerful amount of terrain. The three of us who are making this journey know only that, like troops told they are moving up to the front, we are to be ready for orders; we leave Sunday night. In reality, the underwriting companies’ salesmen are still making calls to the mutual funds and money managers that are their customers. If we don’t know if our first stop is Chicago or Kansas City, it is likely because our investment bankers still do not know, either. <BR> <BR>This is not my first road show, which is why I am writing these words. While I am far from an old hand, I have “been there, done that” enough times to have some clue of what lies ahead. My purpose in writing is to entertain: to offer some observations of a life on the road in which you wake up in Seattle, have lunch in Portland, and go to sleep in San Francisco. I should mention that when one participates in a road show, one is pampered. If I know and have been able to offer advice in this Forum on the Ritz Carlton or the Four Seasons in this city or that, road shows have contributed mightily to my body of knowledge. On a road show, you fly and stay first class. It is part of the regimen that keeps you looking fresh each morning as you start the next round of presentations. <BR> <BR>Finally, a word about me. I normally contribute to Fodors using my own name and e-mail address, and have been rewarded with the pleasure of sporadic correspondence from fellow Fodorites. But mine is a company in registration, and so is in what is called a “quiet period” (drop a note to Brian in Atlanta to get full details; I’m sure he’s an expert). I choose not to run afoul of the folks that oversee public offerings, and so will remain anonymous. <BR> <BR>* * * * * <BR> <BR>In the past month, I’ve logged enough miles on the Delta Shuttle that they’ve offered to name a plane after me. Well, maybe not that many miles, but I’ve come to know the vagaries of traffic patterns between Manhattan and LaGuardia Airport sufficiently that I can tell by how traffic is moving on the entrance ramp to FDR Drive whether I should direct the taxi driver to head for Marine Air Terminal or the US Air Shuttle. And, along the way, I have acquired a new, favorite hotel in New York. <BR> <BR>Folks, the next time you are headed for the Big Apple, don’t bother with the phony glitz of the Marriott Marquis or some “European boutique hotel” in Greenwich Village. Call the Palace and demand a room… a good room on the Madison Avenue side. The Palace, nee the Helmsley Palace, has surely got to combine the best service, best views, with the nicest hotel rooms ever planted on Manhattan Island. The Palace begins with its base, the magnificent old Villard Houses, a remnant of a Manhattan fast disappearing. <BR> <BR>There is one block along Madison Avenue – between 51st and 52nd Street, where the scale is human and the pedestrian encouraged to slow down a bit. On the west side of the street are the Manse houses of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. On the east side, the Villard Houses. These block-long structures, Romanesque on the west, Belle Epoque on the east, prove that God likes and protects good architecture. Instead of leveling the mansion, the Palace integrates it into the structure, with the dark brown hotel tower rising submissively behind the cool stone exterior of the Villard Houses. Inside, the mansion has become a functional part of the hotel, housing shops, part of the lobby, and meeting rooms. The restoration is first rate, the effect dazzling. <BR> <BR>My room on the 19th Floor, Madison Avenue side, provided me a spectacular view overlooking St. Pats with Rockefeller Center in the block beyond. The hotel, nearing its 15th birthday, looks as though it were opened last week. My spacious room was newly decorated and had all the trappings of a luxury hotel. And, that included a down comforter. It is the first time I’ve ever encountered one in a hotel; it was a pleasure. The rooms are extremely quiet, something rare in a high-rise hotel. <BR> <BR>The rate was $250 per night. Not cheap, but less than I’ve paid in recent weeks at the Sheraton, Essex House, and Plaza. <BR> <BR>* * * * <BR> <BR>Day 1 <BR> <BR>I have read that when Allied commanders briefed the press in advance of D-Day, great pains were taken to throw reporters off the scent of the Normandy landing site. Generals would point their walking sticks at maps with dozens of locales from Calais to Antwerp, arguing why each was the most plausible beachhead. And so our “first day” itinerary has shifted a half a dozen times, from Chicago to Minneapolis to Milwaukee. On Friday, morning, we were being booked into the Four Seasons in Chicago for Sunday night. By Friday evening, our destination was settled on as Milwaukee. <BR> <BR>Why Milwaukee? Who knows. Maybe it’s like trying out in New Haven. We can re-write the script before we do damage to ourselves in front of the “real” audiences that lay ahead. In any event, our destination this evening is the Pfister Hotel. The Pfister is Milwaukee’s “grand” hotel, a great stone pile with turn-of-the-century marble lobby. The elevators have gold leaf; clearly, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to either keep the Pfister first rate or else turn it into something of a destination. <BR> <BR>My room, in the “old section” (“much nicer than the tower rooms,” the bellman assures me), is pretty enough, but the three windows open out on to nothing but a rooftop and rooms across the air shaft. A major disappointment. <BR> <BR>I’ve often wondered what goes into the thought process of amenities to provide in a given hotel’s bathroom. For my single room, the Pfister has chosen to provide the following: 4 bath towels, 4 hair towels, 4 face cloths, 2 “skin care bars,” each 40 grams, Gilchrist and Soames soap, 1 bar of glycerine soap, and 1 each of 1 ounce Gilchrist & Soames “hydrating body lotion” and shampoo. Is all of this stuff to justify the room rate, or does someone expect me to take four baths? <BR> <BR>Well, enough for day one. My thanks to anyone who has chosen to read this; tomorrow, the work begins. <BR>

Day 2 <BR> <BR>I have been struck today by art. I never entered a museum; never walked into a gallery, yet I was exposed to public and private displays of art that were of a quantity and quality that still has me smiling. <BR> <BR>I checked into the Pfister Hotel rather late last evening; made a bee-line for the front desk and never bothered to look up. This morning I had more time to explore, and was rewarded by painting and decoration that spoke to America’s first gilded age. The Pfister dates to 1898, and some time in the past decade, the property has undergone a full-scale restoration. Paintings, primarily social scenes, cover most of the ceilings and walls; vast expanses of civic art. The art conservation hasn’t been perfect; the colors are muted and portions of the murals appear fragile, but the artist and architect’s vision comes through clearly. The Pfister was and is again Milwaukee’s grand gathering place. <BR> <BR>My second surprise came at one of our morning meetings. A road show consists of a combination of group meetings (typically over breakfast or lunch) held at restaurants or clubs, and “one-on-one” meetings with larger mutual funds and institutional investors held in the offices of those investors. Our second meeting of the morning was in a high floor or a perfectly ordinary office tower in downtown Milwaukee. The office suite beyond the entry door was anything but ordinary. There, the passion of one collector came through vividly. The office suite had been configured to match several rooms worth of paneling from a European country house. Wonderful in its texture, rich in patina, it was pleasure to look at and to touch. Beside the reception desk was an 18th Century English long case clock, the body of which was inlaid woods of different hues forming intricate and involved patterns. I got a history of the clock, capped by a view inside of it, where each craftsman who had worked on the clock from the time it was constructed had left a written record of his contribution. <BR> <BR>But no European hunting lodge ever held artwork such as this. The collector’s second passion is western art. On the table next to where our meeting was conducted stood a bronze indian warrior, resplendent in war bonnet and attired in the varied articles of clothing of those he had vanquished. The paintings were of western scenes, modern and historic. It was the kind of art that can be found at breath-taking prices in the better galleries of Sante Fe and Aspen. The juxtaposition of western art against Old World walls heightened the enjoyment of each. <BR> <BR>My third surprise was seeing the AT&T Corporate Center in Chicago’s Loop. Now a decade old and looking better with each passing year, the AT&T Center is Frank Lloyd Wright writ large. The stone and wood appear in recurring geometries, a treat for the eye, a homage to the great Chicago architect. This, too, is a public space. There is a wonderful vantage point from atop an escalator on the mezzanine of the building; looking across a massive open space where the building comes together. For anyone visiting Chicago, the AT&T Center is more than just a warm passage between blocks; it’s a terrific place to appreciate just how good modern architecture can be. <BR> <BR>My fourth surprise is also the best. A lot of wealth has been created in America in the past decade. This afternoon, I saw how one person with a cultured eye channeled that wealth into an office that is at once an art museum even as it functions as the headquarters of an investment management firm. <BR> <BR>A few blocks due west of the Water Tower, that landmark of Old Chicago, is a Romanesque mansion, built in 1886. The pink limestone building is surrounded by glass and concrete apartment buildings, an oasis of civility to all who pass by its gardens. The passerby sees a glimpse – some interesting statuary in the garden and lamp posts that look rather ornate. But it is when you step inside the mansion that your breath involuntarily leaves you. The owner of this firm has re-created an opulence that might have existed for a few decades into the 20th Century, with decorations and objects d’art from America and Europe that would have been considered “modern” in 1910. There is Tiffany glass everywhere you turn – more than a dozen Tiffany lamps and half a dozen Tiffany murals, some of them two stories high. The statuary is by Saint Gaudens and Gerome, the posters by Jules Cheret. We give our presentation in a Belle Epoque “French Room” where a zodiac clock from the 18th Century keeps perfect time. <BR> <BR>Late in the afternoon, we fly to Minneapolis, arriving in time for a superb dinner at Goodfellows. The name sounds like one that would adorn a cheap themed Italian restaurant. Instead, this turns out to be American cuisine with an emphasis on game. The wine list, virtually all American, runs to 30 pages. We repair back to the Raddisson Minneapolis, a glass and chrome hotel in the heart of the city. <BR> <BR>To be continued. <BR>

Must you? (What the hell are you talking about?)

To Bored, So, nu? just skip this report! Odysseus explained his purpose very clearly in his first post, and I find he's a very good writer who is telling us about a journey most of us will never experience ourselves, a totally hardworking but pampered tour of corporate America. It's certainly a departure from our normal postings, and if this doesn't interest you, stop reading this thread. I'd like to say that I do find it interesting, though at times my deeply held socialist feelings get ruffled by hearing where all this wealth is going, but this isn't a political forum, it's a travel forum! So, please keep up your reports, and thanks.

Hi Odysseus, <BR>please continue writing. I´ve enjoyed reading your post very much. It`s not the typical travel stuff and nicely written. Everybody who`s travelling for Business a lot will understand you. <BR> <BR>Go on <BR> <BR>Miriam

I agree with Bored. Odysseus, you've been on the road to long! (I know, if I don't like it, don't read it! But, heck, this is a forum of opinions, isn't it?)

Quit your day job and continue writing. The first two days are worthy of the gold at the literary pentathalon.

Thank you, Miriam and Cherie, for the kind words. I didn't set out to attract responses, just to try to offer a different vantage point. <BR> <BR>Day 3. Limousines. <BR> <BR>On a road show, transportation is by limousine, usually a stretch limousine, and invariably black. The stretch limo is necessitated by the presence of a traveling entourage consisting of one to three company representatives, one or possibly two investment bankers, a salesman and, in large cities, a securities analyst. Getting these people, their luggage, coats, laptops, briefcases, and projectors from one place to another is an act of choreography worthy of Agnes DeMille. Meetings may be blocks apart or a hundred miles away. The limo is the glue that holds together the road show. <BR> <BR>Thus far, our road show has taken us to Milwaukee, Chicago, Minneapolis, and St. Louis (these words are written en route to Denver). I am not a connoisseur of limousines, but I have come to note that there are distinctly different species of the beast; sometimes but not always a function of length. The simplest limos have two facing bench seats, separated from the driver by a privacy window. Our limo in Milwaukee and Chicago was of this variety; a utilitarian limo (unless that is an oxymoron). It seated six in comfort, was well lighted, and got us to our appointments. <BR> <BR>In Minneapolis we graduated to a longer limo. Inside, a side bench seat has been added, and we had acquired a television, VCR, and CD player. Because no one had thought to bring along music or videos, these features went unused. Still, we had good lighting and ample room for our paraphernalia. <BR> <BR>In St. Louis, we graduated (or perhaps devolved) to what we called the “ooh ooh baby–mobile.” Side bench, TV and for lights, a string of twinklers on one side, a blue neon tube on the other. The privacy partition was now a mirror, and we had acquired a full bar, curiously without mixers. We cruised from one side of St. Louis to another, businessmen attired in somber suits, trying to dial cell phone calls by the light of a blue neon tube. <BR> <BR>When I see a limo pass by, I cannot help but wonder who is inside. Most likely it will be a group of business people trapped on the road show circuit, but it might also be someone famous. And so I look, hoping to catch the darkened glass of the passenger compartment at just that refractive point where the occupants can be seen. Apparently, it is an interest that I share with no one else. When I was not making my own phone calls, I looked out the window to see who was trying to look in. In four cities, no one has yet to be looking my way. We are as invisible as the UPS truck or the suburban minivan. <BR> <BR>Notes: I like Minneapolis. It has more interesting buildings in its downtown than does almost any other city in America, and the skyway system is a feat of civic engineering that amazes me. Nearly every building has an attractive enclosed public space, some filled with trees and flowers. The citizens of Minneapolis can take justifiable pride in their city. The staff of Goodfellows restaurant also has my admiration. I absent-mindedly left behind my reading glasses when I departed that restaurant. I had not been in my room five minutes when the phone rang. It was the maitre’d inquiring if I had inadvertently lost my glasses. Working from my name and strange area code which were on the glass case, they had deduced that I was likely a guest at one of the nearby hotels. They found me with their second call, and apologized that they couldn’t spare someone to deliver the glasses. Minneapolis has earned a permanent gold star. <BR>

Limos are a whole different world to the uninitiated. They are one of the few ways I am still able to WOW the kids. Some towns are known for their multitude of stretched limos. Chicago comes to mind. They are actually cost-efficient when transporting executives with any equipment to a large-scale show or meeting. Now that I have read your RR (Roadshow Report) I will have available (in briefcase) mixers and my favorite CD (Santana at the moment). Question, Odysseus: If you rent one with a hottub....should you warn your CEO you might arrive wet?

Day 4. First Class. <BR> <BR>On a road show, your air travel is first class. This is more than just a perk. It ensures you will make tight connections because you are first off of the plane; it means carry-on baggage allowances are waived. On a road show, every minute counts, and first class is a necessary part of gaining precious minutes. <BR> <BR>There is a school of thought that says first class isn’t what it used to be. That school is absolutely right. Until this evening, no flight that I have been on during this road show has provided any amenity worthy of the “first class” designation. The “meals” have been juice prior to departure, pretzels in the air. Of course, these were short hops; one to two hours of flying time. What was being purchased was priority boarding and de-planing. <BR> <BR>Tonight, I am on a flight from Denver to Portland, Oregon, and a meal is scheduled to be served. For us first class passengers, there is a printed menu: “Garden fresh salad accompanied by balsamic vinaigrette or green goddess dressing, choice of roast turkey breast au jus with apple stuffing, honey glazed carrots and parsnips or Maryland crab cakes with Cajun remoulade sauce served with steamed asparagus; and today’s special dessert selection.” <BR> <BR>There is a cloth cover for the tray table and “real” salt and pepper shakers, but any resemblance to a pleasurable meal ends there. The “garden fresh salad” is a few leaves of iceberg lettuce; the balsamic vinaigrette comes in a plastic container. The crab cakes… well, the less said the better. And the Cajun remoulade is Thousand Island dressing by any other name. Do you care for wine? There’s a Chilean cabernet sauvignon and a “California” chardonnay. <BR> <BR>What you do get in first class is attention. There are 32 first class seats (all occupied) on this aircraft and two stewardesses and a “purser” to attend to our needs. I don’t think it is my imagination: beyond the simple 16-to-1 (or 10-to-1) passenger to steward ratio (versus probably 30-to-1 in the economy section), the attendants seem to enjoy what they’re doing. There is constant joshing; an air of conviviality. My mostly uneaten meal does not go unnoticed; I’m offered the turkey breast (I decline). My explanation that I ate at the airport is seen as a polite white lie – the attendant and purser agree tonight’s meal was “not memorable.” <BR> <BR>Yes, the seats are larger and they recline a bit more than in coach, but there is noticeably less room between rows than in the past. As domestic air travel has become an indispensable part of life --cheap and frequent – much if not all of the romance has disappeared. Enough said. <BR> <BR>* * * * * <BR> <BR>Notes: If business or pleasure takes you to Denver in the future, be sure to put the Hyatt Regency Downtown at or near the bottom of your list of places to stay. For $185, I spent a night in a perfectly ordinary hotel room, unrelieved by any hint of where this hotel was located. The room was done in banal brown and beige; even the bathroom marble was brown. I could have been anywhere; this was a cookie-cutter “luxury” hotel. Having stayed in equally dull Hyatt Regency hotels in Miami and New Orleans, I have avoided the chain for the past several years. Once, the Hyatt Regency name was appended to hotels with spectacular architecture, spacious rooms, and wonderful city feelings. Today, it just another hotel with – maybe – a larger than average lobby. Certainly not something to seek out or to pay a premium. <BR> <BR>A few blocks away from the Hyatt Regency is a truly luxurious hotel, and the model for those first Hyatt Regency hotels that lived up to their promise (Atlanta and San Francisco). I suspect architect John Portman had the Brown Palace Hotel in mind when he began designing those first avant garde hotels. Built in 1908, the Brown Palace is everything a hotel should be. Steeped in history, it is a microcosm of Denver. I had the pleasure to stay there a few years ago and would have returned on this visit had rooms been available. The stained glass atrium roof alone is reason enough for a visit. <BR>

Gee, I didn't even know they still made green goddess dressing. Now all I need to know is why. <BR>Have a nice trip, Nea--I mean Odysseus.

Martha! Is this really Neal??? God, I've been wondering where he's been...now, if I could just locate Al and Ruth... <BR>

I thought it was just me when I decided that the Heightened Reality Hotel Chain just meant blockhouse-with-an-atrium, now. I assume the linen you referred to in first class was what I refer to as a napkin? I am often amused when the wait-I mean stewardess carefully arranges one on the tray in 1st Class. I agree that 1st Class means first to board & depart the aircraft. There's an old joke about "Coach may depart the airplane.....First Class, prepare to land...." Nice RR.

Day 5. Seatmates. <BR> <BR>On a road show, you are cooped up with a small group of people in cars, hotels, meeting rooms, and restaurants. It is therefore natural that, when the opportunity presents itself, you want to get away from those people. One such place to do so is on an airplane. As we travel from city to city, I notice that we tend to occupy different rows on airplanes, each to do his or her own thing. <BR> <BR>However, the desire to communicate is human, and so we strike up conversations with our seatmates. This morning, I sat next to a Very Important Advertising Man (hereinafter called the VIAM). I knew he was a VIAM because he told me he worked for an Important San Francisco Advertising Agency, and he was returning from Portland where he was counseling a young “dot com” company on strategy. With little prompting, he told me the company’s strategy, probably violating half a dozen non-disclosure agreements. As he never asked me a single question about myself, this VIAM will likely eventually sit next to a venture capitalist somewhere and divulge this same information. The venture capitalist will assemble a talent pool overnight, write a business plan on the fly, and VIAM’s dot-com client will find itself outspent and outgunned, never knowing why. <BR> <BR>But the idea, as least as explained to me by the VIAM, is a particularly noxious one, having to do with a scheme to surreptitiously send “cookies” that will cause your PC to display a 30 second commercial while it either boots up or loads a web page. Because the VIAM’s grasp of computer technology is extremely weak, I cannot be certain that this is the heart of the dot-com’s strategy or merely one tangent, but it is all this VIAM can grasp. I listen politely for nearly an hour. <BR> <BR>On last night’s flight from Denver to Portland, my seatmate was a twenty-something woman who unexpectedly found herself upgraded to first class because of a lack of seats in coach. She is recently returned from her honeymoon, and this homeward leg is her first business trip away from her spouse. She is clearly intelligent, hard-charging and highly motivated, and is starting to grapple with the pulls of career, mobility, marriage, and the prospects of children. I’m surprised when she says that her new husband is a minister. It gives me food for thought as to how this young couple, with careers headed on such different trajectories, will manage their lives together. After nearly two hours of conversation, I’m left with an awareness that I have much to learn about my fellow man. <BR> <BR>Today, we have hosted a breakfast meeting in Portland, a luncheon in San Francisco, and seen four “power” institutional investors around the Bay area. Because our meetings ran later than expected, we are on a later flight to San Diego, where we will spend the night. Instead of a first class seat on a major carrier, I am on Southwest Airlines, occupying the aisle seat on a crowded plane. My seatmate is a teenager with a Sony CD player planted firmly in her lap. One CD is playing, another is under the player in readiness. She is in her own world; she has only once glanced over to see me scribbling this down on a lined pad, and she is apparently not the least bit curious as to what I am writing. For her, this flight from San Francisco to San Diego will pass without having met anyone or anything new. All she will hear is music she has probably heard many times before. <BR> <BR>I still view travel, even the grueling kind of travel that constitutes this road show, as an adventure. Every flight and every waiting room is an opportunity to meet or observe people. Travel is what puts people of different backgrounds and perspectives together, and by finding ourselves in an enforced intimacy for a few hours, we have the chance to talk, to listen, and to share. The VIAM this morning and the minister’s wife last evening were people I would never have encountered had random chance not placed them in the seat next to mine. One had brought a book to read, the other a file of papers, but both set aside those singular pursuits in favor of conversation. My teenaged seatmate – perhaps 16 or 17 – seems to young to be shutting out the world. But that is her choice. <BR> <BR>Notes: The Heathman Hotel on Broadway in downtown Portland is one of the new crop of “European” or “boutique” style hotels. Apparently built in the 1920s as either a hotel or apartment building, it has been remodeled and remade into a service-oriented hotel. I was offered my choice of four newspapers and breakfast at any hour. Unfortunately, my room was tiny, and its small size was made more obvious by the presence of a king size bed and a huge TV-in-an-armoire. The path between the two was scarcely a foot wide. The bathroom shelf was no more than six inches wide and so short as to hold only a few toiletries (the pedestal sink was no help). There was only one, small casement window in the room, further adding to the sense of claustrophobia. The Heathman is in an attractive part of downtown Portland, very lively in the evening. But it is not a hotel I would choose again. Returning to a room that small is just too depressing. <BR> <BR>Addenda: Cherie, thanks for your concurring comments on Hyatt. The next time you're in Atlanta or San Francisco, though, be sure to look in the two best of the breed. It shows how far the concept has fallen. Martha, I prefer to be "Odysseus" until this is over, thank you. To anyone who has read this far, my next installment will likely be posted on Monday. Even investment bankers let the Road Show people go home for the weekend. <BR>

This has been fascinating reading; thank you for taking the time to do it! <BR>

Odysseus - Know that your efforts are appreciated by many of who value the opportunity to view travel from a persepctive that we may rarely or never be able to experience. It's admirable that you have obviously not become estranged from the sense of humanity and simple aesthetic appreciation that consitutes a well balanced person. Those few who may find your writing pedantic (some have posted here and I don't share their views) need to look beyond the difference of one'sn circumstances to the more significant aspects of shared experience. Keep 'em comin' and let us know when you're ready to post a reality based novella on the 'net - I for one would love to read it. P.S. - as a lousy typist (my frequent typos in this forum serve as ample evidence) but a stickler for proper spelling and word usage, I commend your writing style. Only notable flaw is that phrase "right of passage" which is properly "rite of passage". Those darn spellcheckers just can't do it all but they sure help!

I too am enjoying this thread. It makes a nice contrast to, and relief from, the p*ssing contest going about Hawaii. <BR> <BR>Re the Heathman, I always thought that "European-style" hotel was a euphemism for an hotel with a tiny or nonexistent lobby, tiny rooms, unreliable elevators that make scary sounds and eccentric plumbing that also makes scary sounds.

Fascinating look at your travels and day to day activities. Thanks for sharing.

While waiting for your next edition of RR, I reviewed our recent travel receipts. It seems that I was at the HR Chain at the Embarcadero. Was this the SF one you referred to? I remember staying at Club Level and the kids enjoying an early eve snack but the same Blockhouse style room. Without wanting to sound aristocratic, I respectfully disagree with those that find this hotel to be exceptional. For the rate they charged, we have booked finer establishments. I must be tired, because this was difficult to state. I wish I could write with your eloquence. (Come to think of it, I wish I could spell eloquence!) :&g

Thank you Odysseus for some insight into business travel. I enjoyed your observations, and agree that a part of travel is to open your eyes to our universal state--wanting to connect. I'm looking forward to your next "addition".

Day 7 – Laundry list. <BR> <BR>At night in a big city, you do very strange things. Tonight, I am in New York City, having spent yesterday in Boston seeing the “big dogs” (Fidelity, Putnam, etc.). Cleaning out my briefcase upon arrival here I found, for reasons unknown to me, laundry tickets from the Hyatt Regency Denver and the Radisson Plaza Minneapolis. I have lined them up alongside the one from the Omni Berkshire from which this is written. In the process, I think I have discovered a business opportunity. <BR> <BR>The price of laundering a shirt in Denver is $3.20. In Minneapolis, it is $3.50. The Omni Berkshire informs you that their price for standard service in the laundering and pressing of a shirt is $10 (there is a higher price for “Shirts – Fancy” of $12.00). In Denver, the dry cleaning of a two-piece suit is $10.85. The price rises to $12.50 in Minneapolis, but in New York, the bill will be $24.00, plus an additional 15% for overnight service. In all, the price of laundering or dry cleaning one shirt, one two-piece suit, one pair of socks, and one raincoat, plus having a second suit pressed but not dry cleaned, is $34.05 in Denver, $39.50 in Minneapolis, and a staggering $93.50 in New York. <BR> <BR>Last week, United Air Lines offered an special internet fare of $139 from New York to Denver. By my calculation, an enterprising individual can collect just six raincoats from occupants of the Omni Berkshire, offer a dollar off of the hotel rate, fly to Denver, drop off the raincoats with the Hyatt, pick them up the next day and return to New York with the trip entirely paid for and $14 to spare. With a few suitcases, an entrepreneur could, well, clean up. <BR> <BR>But I also note that there are regional variations. The Hyatt Regency Denver, alone among the three hotels, has a category for “jumpsuits/coveralls” ($10.50). There is apparently enough of a demand that the Radisson will launder your “leggings” for $5.00. And the Omni Berkshire will attend to your “jogging suit” for just $20.00. I think this is what is called “being taken to the cleaners.” <BR> <BR>And, what did we do before cell phones? I am a late convert, having long been annoyed by their ringing in restaurants, elevators, and theaters. I have grudgingly carried one for the past year, used it sparingly, and generally turned it on only when I wanted to make a call. On this road show, however, I have come to see my cell phone as an extension of myself (did you know “Nokia” is Finnish for “little hand”?) On a road show, you are utterly cut off from the world for the hour when you are presenting the company’s story. You are on stage and any interruption, especially the ringing of a cell phone, will break the rhythm. <BR> <BR>Once we leave a meeting, however, we are all on our phones. No sooner are we out of sight of our hosts than we are checking messages, calling ahead, returning calls. We are simultaneously out of the office and in it; the fifteen minutes between meetings a frenzy of punching numbers and making notes. When my battery indicator on my phone this afternoon got down to one bar, I became irrationally fearful that I would miss a critical call. Twenty years ago, I went to Australia on business for three weeks. During that time I called my office exactly twice. Upon my return, I patiently returned all calls, but found that those over a week old had resolved themselves in my absence. What has changed? My importance (unlikely) or the ease of returning those calls? I will be interested in seeing if my cell phone habit endures once this road show is over. <BR> <BR>Notes: If business takes you to San Diego, I can highly recommend the Marriott Suites at the corner of 7th and A Streets. These are intelligently designed rooms that provide ample space to spread out in, a separate bedroom, and a bath with shower stall. The hotel occupies the 22nd through the 27th floor of an office building, so the views are excellent. But, I say “business” because of the location. This is the heart of downtown San Diego, the tariff a pricey (by San Diego standards) $199. There’s nothing within walking distance except office buildings and, at 9:30 p.m. when I got in, the streets were deserted, nary a restaurant open. If pleasure takes you to San Diego, stay in La Jolla or out on Harbor Island. <BR> <BR>The Omni Berkshire is a pleasant hotel that attempts to cultivate an air of graciousness with a high level of service (there are huge bouquets of flowers in the lobby). The room is large by New York standards, with three kinds of marble in the bathroom. But there is also a plainness – no art of any kind (just two mirrors), and the wallpaper is a neutral cream-yellow that will offend no one. The chair at which I am sitting has a hard yellow plastic seat. Still, I’ve been given a copy of the “Robb Report” to peruse, and an opportunity to buy a can (yes, a can) of vacuum packed “hand-made” chocolate chip cookies for just $4.50. For $279 a night, you ought to get better (alas, the Palace was sold out). <BR> <BR>Ron, I too have come to flinch when I hear the term “European-style hotel.” The Heathman had that kind of creakiness to it, and the lobby was actually smaller than miniscule. Your description was wonderful; Fodors should pay you for the right to use it in some future publication. Cherie, the Hyatt Embarcadero is indeed the one to which I referred. Perhaps I’m drawn as much to the hotel’s urban ambience and the way it is connected to the rest of Embarcadero Center, a development that looks as good today as it did 25 years ago when it was built (to see it when it was new, rent the movie “Time After Time”). My last stay in San Francisco, I was booked into the new Marriott by the convention center, a building so aggressively ugly that I checked out on principle. Owen, your own epistles on New York state are better than anything I could come up with, but thank you for the compliment all the same. <BR>

Odysseus - Your love/hate relationship with cell phones and their more noxious characteristics (nearly all of which are attributable to the users) is one I can well relate to. I happen to enjoy my occasional trips to Denver and will appreciate the opportunity to get there more frequently - expect to see me in NYC collecting raincoats for one of my already planned cleaning and cash collection expeditions! It's amazing that the Hyatt Regency in Denver offers such a price for cleaning shirts. I was dinged nearly $7 to clean a single shirt when in Omaha Nebraska last summer - and this at a humble Hampton Inn! Looking forward to your next installment...

Odysseus, your stories and perceptions are terrific. My wife and I are almost sad to know that all road shows lead to home, but I doubt if you’re upset at the prospect… <BR>But to keep faith with your namesake, we wish you’d describe (with concessions to maintain anonymity of course) some of the cyclopean or other native folk you encounter during the presentations, amidst the dogs and ponies. Have you had to lash yourself to any masts, or do the seat belts suffice? Any of your travel mates now in the truffle hunting business? <BR>We also hope you’ll do a follow-up eventually so we’ll know how it turned out. Sail on… <BR>

Cell phones are the umbilicus of the business world. We only take one and plug it into one of the cars when we are on the road. We no longer even turn on our beepers. When the hospital needed my (then Resident) husband, they used to set off his beeper. Once they did this during a romantic interlude in Malibu. We had to drive to a Ranger Station to find a pay phone only to find out that the Chief Resident only was testing to see if the beeper was indeed turned on. Since then, beepers are only for the idle; cell phones are only for travel. For Emergencies....there is the Emergency Room. Most of our Cell Phone Calls are Wrong Numbers.

Day 8 – Chicken for lunch <BR> <BR>I know what I’m going to have for lunch tomorrow. It’s the same thing I had for lunch in Chicago, in Minneapolis, in San Francisco, in Los Angeles, in Boston, and in New York this afternoon: chicken. Specifically, I will have a chicken breast plus the meaty part of the wing. It will be served on a bed of rice, probably with asparagus on the side. I have dined on this concoction seven times on this trip; it is called, “the Road Show Special.” Only the details vary: a scattering of won-tons as a garnish and a sweet glaze in San Francisco; rice pilaf in Chicago, wild rice in New York. You come to appreciate these subtleties on a road show. <BR> <BR>A representative of a firm with money to invest can take his or her choice of two or three dozen road show lunches any day of the week in any major city. But who would want to dine on chicken, rice, and asparagus day after day? In the room next to ours at the Palace (yes, that Palace), there was another road show going on; that meeting broke up before ours did, and so as I walked by I noted the trays of dishes being cleared: chicken, rice, and asparagus. Do the coordinators of these road shows even get a choice? Or is it, “Road Show Special for 25,” with an automatic understanding of what will appear. Perhaps tomorrow I will be surprised. But I’m not counting on it. <BR> <BR>* * * * * <BR> <BR>There are dozens of guides to understanding mutual funds but, to the best of my knowledge, not a single guide to accurately predicting mutual fund managers and how they tend to run their offices. In Denver, some $200 billion of funds (including such well-known names as Invesco, Janus, and Berger) are managed out of a series of mostly nondescript, low-rise office buildings within a few blocks of the Cherry Creek mall. At one firm in San Diego, we gave our presentation in a conference room with one side nothing but a wall of glass with a majestic view of the Pacific Ocean a few hundred feet away. Fidelity has sprawled out all over downtown Boston. Presentations are down to such a science that an electronic sign that would be at home in any modern airport keeps tallies of the arrivals, departures, and assigned rooms for companies. <BR> <BR>But nothing I have seen on this or any other road show prepared me for the home of one Connecticut money management firm. I have spoken a dozen times with the management of this firm and met one of their analysts at a financial conference. They manage a sizable chunk of money – half a billion dollars – and have an excellent track record. The town in which their office is located is along Connecticut’s Fairfield County “gold coast.” My assumption was that that it was in one of the anonymous office buildings that line I-95. So much for assumptions. <BR> <BR>Our driver turned off of I-95 and started heading south. And kept going south along country roads until he reached a tidal cove where we found a clutch of semi-abandoned fishing boats, a run-down bait shop, and an equally run-down house with the kind of multiple additions that a turn-of-the-century house might acquire with the passage of time and generations of owners. Our driver pointed us toward the house, the sign on the front door identified this as a boat brokerage office. We knocked, identified ourselves, and a man in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt (remember, this is Connecticut in February) answered, “do we look like we manage money?” He pointed to the back of the building and said, “upstairs.” <BR> <BR>We found the right door (there were several other tenants in this most unlikely of office buildings), went upstairs, and found ourselves in a pack rat’s paradise. Prospectuses were in one teetering pile, research reports in another. A stack of Wall Street Journals, the bottom ones yellowed with age, were in yet a third pile. The Salvation Army would have sternly rejected the furniture. The firm’s owner, attired like Paul Bunyan and bearing some physical resemblance, ushered us up to a third floor “conference room” (actually, the attic with a table and chairs, and the overflow detritus from below). <BR> <BR>He and an associate listened intently to the presentation, then peppered us with the most intelligent and thoughtful questions we had heard from any audience. The session lasted an hour and a half versus the hour allotted, yet we were glad to stay. I have subsequently heard they want 10% of the offering, a major commitment for a firm of that size. That time in Connecticut reinforced in me a great deal about not judging firms by their offices, or people by their clothing. <BR> <BR>John, you asked about Cyclopean encounters. I have encountered few ogres on this trip; they do not last long in this business. There are several firms that cultivate a “bad boy” image that John McEnroe would envy. In San Francisco, there is a fund manager who has done staggeringly well in his choice of investments. Seeing him, however, is an exercise in frustration for anyone who expects glib generalities to substitute for information. He wants facts, names, and numbers. “A large Japanese customer” will either be named or else the forward momentum of the conversation will come to an abrupt halt while this manager explores why a company is so anal retentive that it cannot name its customer. In New York, we met with a manager of a very well-known fund whose shtick is that everything the company says is incredulous. “You think you can grow how much?? No way!” And so everything must be explained in detail. An unprepared company is shown to be just that. Acting in that manner weeds out the weak stories. So, sorry, no Cyclops. <BR> <BR>* * * * <BR> <BR>Notes: I would be grateful to anyone who can explain what the difference is between a “clarifying bar” and soap. The Omni Berkshire has festooned my bathroom with multiple three-ounce bars of this stuff which, incidentally, comes from the “Institute Swiss.” <BR>

Ody <BR> <BR>Thank you for your very interesting and intelligent posts. Please continue to contribute here. <BR> <BR>A clarifying bar is haute soap, which befits your accomodation. I believe it is supposed to "clarify" your skin by gently exfoliating the dead cells. Use it with abandon and without fear.

You jave just identified what physicians call INDUSTRIAL CHICKEN. It is the staple of any medical conference held in the medical center. Given the choice, with outside caterers or a fine establishment, absolutely any other meat or seafood would be substituted. It is a step UP, however, from MYSTERY MEAT, which is what is served up in the physician's staff lounges around the country. This substance is identified by the glossy sauce in any variety of colors. We refer to this as EATING AT THE TROUGH. <BR> <BR>A clarifying bar is non-soap that is intended to clean without stripping your face the way soap is likely to. It is also a way for the hotel to charge she-she prices in a politically-correct fashion. Sleepy Bear gives you SOAP; Chateau d'Chissay gives you a clarifying bar and a packet of Van Cleef & Arpels bath gelee. -Great Report as usual. -Cher

Day 9 -- Room service <BR> <BR>On a road show, your day begins with a wake-up call that may be as early as 5:30 a.m. and is never later than 6 o’clock. The day ends only when the last appointment has asked the final question, which is seldom earlier than 6 p.m. For example, our first appointment this morning was at 7:30; our last ended just after 7:15 p.m. In between, we sandwiched in eight one-on-one sessions with key institutional investors, each one timed to the minute as to travel, security (allow 10 minutes if you’re going up into the World Trade Center), and even rest room breaks. Then, we sped (a relative term in New York City) to catch the Metroliner to Philadelphia. Such a schedule, kept up day after day, leaves little desire to go out for a “big dinner,” though the offer is always there from the investment bankers. And so instead, if we eat dinner at all, we invariably end up ordering from room service. <BR> <BR>If you have ever perused the room service menu in a first class hotel, you have doubtless been enchanted by the promise of haute cuisine served in your room by a tuxedoed waiter, perhaps even imagining strolling violins and fine wine. Friends, it isn’t that way. Tonight, I am at the Four Seasons in Philadelphia, a beautiful hotel if ever there was one (and at $305 a night, it ought to be very nice). In theory, I could dine on a meal including Hudson Valley Foie Gras and Rabbit Rilettes, Stone Fruit Compote and Frisee Lettuce, and that’s just one appetizer. But I’ve learned that what is served in a five-diamond restaurant on the first floor and what comes up the elevator to the fifth floor is likely to be very different. <BR> <BR>Last night, I did succumb to dinner in my room at the Omni Berkshire. The fish (I could not face chicken for both lunch and dinner) tasted like twice-microwaved cardboard, or at least what I imagine twice-microwaved cardboard would taste like it I ever took it into my head to voluntarily prepare such a thing. I ordered a room-service pizza my first night at the Omni. I am a big fan of pizza, yet I left half of a “personal size” pizza go uneaten. (I have apparently forgotten about that ‘once burned twice shy’ dictum.) I do not know why room service food is so poor. It is certainly delivered elegantly; my personal pizza came on a linen-covered tray with sturdy silver knives and forks, and a rose. There was even a finger bowl. The waiter did not sneer; he pulled the cover off of the pizza as though I had ordered the Bouillabaisse de Poissons, and he gave my $6 bottle of Heienken the same deference he would have shown the $128 bottle of Babcock “Grand Cuvee” Santa Barbara chardonnay. <BR> <BR>It pains me to think that all over America, there are men and women tonight who are dining in their hotel rooms on glorified goat food. But we either went without dinner or else ate poorly. We didn’t get in a cab and try that fabulous restaurant because a) we’re too tired to expend the energy, b) we lost the clipping about the restaurant or its chef (it’s in a file folder marked “restaurants” on our desk back in the office), c) we have convinced ourselves that a restaurant that good would never take us on two hours’ notice, and d) we have no intention of walking into a restaurant alone, drawing what we imagine are pitying stares from the couples in the room. <BR> <BR>* * * * * <BR>Notes: The Four Seasons in Philadelphia is truly a worthy travel destination. My room is tastefully furnished with considerable thought as to décor. It is a delight to be in, even for the few hours I will be able to enjoy it. <BR> <BR>Traveler and Cherie, thank you for telling me what a "clarifying bar" is. I think at least part of my concern was its company of origin. I could readily have used such a product from "The Swiss Institute," "Institute Suisse," or "Institute Helvetia," but "Institute Swiss" had a unnerving quality to it. I feel better now. <BR> <BR>Our handlers tell us the road show is going well. We have two days remaining; Friday in Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore, and next Tuesday in London. My final entry will be from London -- if I can cause this cantankerous modem to connect. Otherwise, it will be from my office upon my return. My thanks to all who have read this, and especially to those who have responded with their own observations. <BR>

I can tell from your writing style and travel sense that you were perhaps an Eagle Scout and therefore will survive the wild until London. I cannot, however, vouch for the food once there, and coupled with room service.....yikes!(My English ancestors will forgive me.)

Thanks for the thread Odysseus. I am enjoying reading your perspective on a form of travelling I hope to never experience. In a week of high speed movement from place to place the only roses you have had time to smell are on your room service carts. The only people you have been able to interact with are just like yourself(that is not meant to be offensive). I hope you get time to unwind when you arrive home. The idea of room service in London brings to mind a plate of beans, sausage and chips with a side of cold mushy peas served on a silver platter.

To the top for Mark

Waiting to hear from Odysseus... <BR>

OK, Odysseus, I'm worried about you. Where are you? <BR>

If this is Tuesday, it must be London.

Odysseus: <BR>Your Roadshow-Diary Junkies are waiting for a report! Did you remember your Burberrys Brolly? :-)

I came late to the postings and so got to print/read straight through to the 18th, but ... but then what??? I hope you do Baltimore, my home town. What fun it has been to read such an erudite journal. Thanks for all the time and effort.

Day 11 – Chess <BR> <BR>At some level, a Road Show is a chess game, with the company management playing the role of the pawns. We are moved by a hand we cannot see according to a schedule that comes faxed to us each evening. We occasionally balk but, in the end, we go where we are told. <BR> <BR>And now, we are in London. According to the rules, each side pays its own way while on the road show. But it is the investment bankers who make the reservations, provide the tickets, and arrange for the transportation from site to site. It is part and parcel of the chess game. <BR> <BR>For this, the last stop, we are ensconced at The Berkeley, one of the most luxurious hotels in London (The “luxury four” are all part of the Savoy Group and include The Berkley, The Connaught, Claridge’s, and The Savoy). Friends, going forward, it will necessary to divide the world’s hotels into two categories: those that provide monogrammed slippers for their guests, and those that do not. The Berkeley falls into the first category; it is a touch I have encountered nowhere else in a lifetime of traveling. This is a “junior suite” with all of the trimmings, a canopied bed, a wide terrace set with tables and chairs. The walls are of lemony silk, the heavy drapes a dark green crushed velvet. The prints on the walls are originals. It is a wonderful room, a treat for the pawns, arranged by the chess masters. <BR> <BR>For this, the final leg, Penelope was encouraged to join her Odysseus, and so we have been here since Saturday morning, having flown out in a blinding East Coast snow storm. Our room was ready upon our arrival, having been reserved since the previous evening. We have breakfasted on fresh raspberries and cream before setting out for a day of touring via tube and foot (we have declined the offer of a car and driver). It has been three days of immersion in one of the world’s most pleasant cities, and possibly my favorite world capital. <BR> <BR>This morning (Tuesday) the road show began again in earnest. A breakfast presentation, four one-on-ones, and a luncheon presentation to a large group, held in the plush City office of our investment banker (poached salmon replaced the chicken for this, the final lunch on the final day). Throughout the day, we have talked about “the book.” In investment banking, “the book” is everything. This is the record of who has ordered stock for the offering. After each presentation, a salesman from one of the underwriters circles back for feedback, looking for “an expression of interest.” Since last Thursday, these salesmen have been going to their accounts looking for orders, called “writing a ticket.” The goal is not to fill the book, it is to fill the book several times over. Our book is full, we in fact have more than ten fund managers that have each asked for 10% of the offering. Our investment bankers are fretting that, because of last week’s East Coast storm coupled with the President’s Day holiday, we have lost momentum. The five hour time difference adds to the tension. <BR> <BR>But then, at about 4 p.m. in London, we are done. The last presentation is completed. My laptop has been powered down for the last time, our props put away. We have nothing to do but wait for The Pricing Call. A car drives me back to The Berkeley. I collapse in bed to write these notes. <BR> <BR>Epilogue <BR> <BR>We have had a fine dinner at Vong, The Berkeley’s very upscale Thai-French fusion restaurant. The final move of the chess game is underway. It is called The Pricing Call. <BR> <BR>The call is held in a cramped room; little more that a closet in the hotel. But this small room has a speakerphone, which will be necessary for all of us to participate. In addition, we have a cell phone with which we can hold conversations for just “our side” (pawns, if prepared, get privacy to talk things over). <BR> <BR>We are told we have done a wonderful job. We have seen more than 120 institutional accounts including 58 one-on-one meetings. A large percentage of those accounts, and especially those with whom we met in one-on-ones, want stock. But there is “pricing sensitivity.” At the beginning of the road show, it was assumed the offering would be at one price. But now, we have done such a good job that the assumed price is higher, and this has caused some accounts to say that they are interested, but not above a certain price. We are given the names of the institutional investors that want stock, and it is indeed a blue chip list. These investors are the kind that will hold our stock for a long time; they will in fact add to their position in the open market. <BR> <BR>The pricing call goes on for over an hour. There are several side conversations via the cell phone. Finally, at 10:33 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time, we have an agreement. There are congratulations all the way around. The phones go silent. <BR> <BR>We repair back to The Berkeley’s bar, where the investment banker who has traveled with us on this leg of the trip treats us to a round of very rare, very good single malt scotches. We savor them, secure in the knowledge that ultimately we will get the bill. <BR> <BR>Notes: I have encountered the creepiest exhibition in London and it has nothing to do with Madame Tussaurd’s or the Tower of London. In Harrod’s, one set of escalators have been fitted out, top to bottom, in the style of Dynastic Egypt. As you descend through the floors, there is a sense of going into a tomb somewhere in the Valley of the Kings. But at the bottom of this tomb lies not a sarcophagus, but a memorial to “Dodi and Diane.” There are photos, flowers, and a message that links them together for all eternity. Upon encountering this, I fled Harrod’s and made a mental note to return only when the Fayed family sells the chain. <BR> <BR>I am grateful to all who have elected to comment on this diary. Owen, I cannot call up this file without seeing that initial misspelling, which indeed was a case of Microsoft Word deciding that I, a mere human, must surely have meant “right” instead of “rite.” I can get that last word to say only by enclosing it in quotes. <BR> <BR>Rand, your comment that the only roses I had time to smell were on my room service cart was both literally and metaphorically true. What is worse, on the pricing call we were given specific feedback about accounts where we made an especially good impresssion. For at least two of those accounts, I could not conjure up a single image of having visited them. <BR> <BR>Beth, we did get to Baltimore on that final Friday. The snow/sleet line kept shifting throughout the day. But we made it, for all of an hour and a half. <BR> <BR>Again, thank you all for your support. In the original, at the end of his journey, Odysseus placed an anchor over his shoulder and began walking inland. He stopped walking only when no one could identify the object he carried. This Odysseus now has a souvenir prospectus, but instead of carrying it from place to place, it will go into his briefcase and then to a file. <BR> <BR>Odysseus has gone back to work.

I am in awe. I'll keep all this info for my travel files, and sometime I'll re-read it to try to understand investment banking et al. This was/is a wonderful posting, thank you. I hope you are sleeping now. <BR>

BRAVO!! Let us know when you are showcased on Amazon.com!!

It has truly been a pleasure, Odysseus. I'm sure you realize that I wasn't nitpicking on the word usage, just expressing my bemusement at the plight that our modern tools have created. I turned off the so-called grammar checker immediately when it was introduced but continue to rely (for better or worse) on spell check. How odd that I still find myself unable to accurately proof read from a CRT or laptop, yet immediately spot my own errors with the trusty printed page in hand. I just finished reading a new book that those with an interest in the nature of our current Internet/IPO/E-business/VC boom will find intriguing. Written by Michael Lewis, entitled "The New New Thing", it's the tale of Jim Clark, who founded Silicon Graphics, left it to start Netscape, founded Healtheon (now Healtheon/Web MD) and has since gone on to begin mycfo.com. His story is one of passion, personal commitment, wackiness, vision and stubbornness. It bears relevance here due to the detailed description of a road show mounted in the first (and initially unsuccessful) attempt to take Healtheon public. The author doesn't hold a candle to Odysseus' sense of style but it's a good read, none the less.