Mentoring is a very deliberate activity that requires people to check their ego at the door, hold back from resenting other people's success, and consciously strive to build beneficial relationships whenever the opportunity arises. Other interns at that party looked at Pat and the other senior partners with intimidation and boredom (What do I have in common with them?) and therefore kept their distance. They looked at their job titles versus the bigwigs' and felt excluded, and because of it, they were.

When I finally graduated from school, in typical MBA fashion, I interviewed with several companies. My choice was coming down to Deloitte Consulting and one of their competitors, McKinsey. McKinsey was then considered the gold standard of consulting companies. For most of my peers, the choice would have been obvious.

Then, one afternoon, I got a call the day before my final McKinsey interview. When I picked up the phone, I was met with a familiar gruff voice. "Accept our offer now and you can come down to New York for dinner this evening with me and some of my partners." Before I had a chance to respond, he said, "It's Pat Loconto. I want to know if you're coming to Deloitte or not?"

I told Pat, uncomfortably, that I hadn't decided on where I'd end up. But I had an idea that might help me through the process. "Listen, I'm still up in the air," I told him. "But it would help if I had dinner with you and a few partners to get a better feel for what I'd be doing and where the organization is headed."

"I'll have dinner with you only if you accept my offer," he said. Pat was joking again, and I liked him even more for his unorthodox recruiting practices. Then he let me off the hook with, "OK, get your butt down to New York, and don't worry, we'll get you out to Chicago in the morning for your interview." Now, how did he know about my interview?

So I found myself with Pat and a few partners around a table at Grifone, their favorite Italian restaurant in Manhattan. The banter was hard and heavy, as was the drinking. We had gone through bottles and bottles of great wine and a few cognacs on top of that. Near the end of dinner, Pat threw out his pitch and actually launched into a fairly shocking tirade.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You think McKinsey gives a damn about Keith Ferrazzi?" Before I could answer, he continued. "You think the CEO of McKinsey knows who you are? You think any of the senior partners would take a Sunday night to have dinner with you? You'll be just another number-crunching MBA grad lost in the shuffle. We care about you. We want you to be successful here. More importantly, we think you can make a difference in our firm."

Was I in? Pat demanded to know.

Wow, his pitch was compelling, and right then my instinct told me he was right. I knew he was right. But I wasn't about to leave that dinner without making a small pitch of my own.

"Look, I'll make you a deal," I said. "If I accept your offer, all I ask is that you give me three dinners a year at this very restaurant for as long as I'm at Deloitte. I'm in if you're in."

He looked me in the eyes and then with the biggest smile said, "Great. Welcome to Deloitte."

By the way, I then asked him for more money. He just shook his head and laughed. Well, it never hurts to ask; the worst he could have said was no. So, after three hours in a restaurant, this man convinced me to make a life-changing career decision without one word about title, salary, or even one detail of how he expected I might make a difference.

Honestly, I still had my doubts at the beginning that I had made the right move. In consulting, Deloitte's was smaller potatoes those days; its prestige didn't compare with McKinsey's.

But what a right move I had made—in fact, it was the best of my life. First, because I went to Deloitte Consulting, I was given more responsibilities and I learned more about consulting in the eight years that followed than most people learn in twenty. Second, I found I could make a difference given my access to the senior partners. Third, and most important, I realized that finding a talented, experienced mentor who is willing to invest the time and effort to develop you as a person and a professional is far more important than making career decisions based purely on salary or prestige.

Besides, back then the money wasn't important. You learn in your twenties, as the saying goes, and earn in your thirties. And boy, did I ever learn. Each year, Pat and I had at least three dinners at Grifone, that same Italian restaurant. For my entire tenure at Deloitte, I had the ear of the CEO, and he kept asking about me among his partners. He was looking out for me the entire time.

Ultimately, of course, I got to work closely with Pat and other amazing men and women at Deloitte, and it taught me the importance of attaching yourself to great people, great teachers. Not that working with Pat and his right-hand man Bob Kirk was easy. They taught me some hard lessons about staying focused; that bold ideas weren't enough if they couldn't be executed; that the details are as significant as the theories; that you had to put people first, all people, not just those above you. Pat probably should have fired me a few times. Instead, he invested time and energy into making me the kind of executive—and more important, the kind of leader—he wanted me to be for the sake of the firm and for the sake of his role as mentor.

There were two crucial components that made my mentorship with Pat—and makes any mentorship, for that matter—successful. He offered his guidance because, for one, I promised something in return. I worked nonstop in an effort to use the knowledge he was imparting to make him, and his firm, more successful. And two, we created a situation that went beyond utility. Pat liked me and became emotionally invested in my advancement. He cared about me. That's the key to a successful mentorship. A successful mentoring relationship needs equal parts utility and emotion. You can't simply ask somebody to be personally invested in you. There has to be some reciprocity involved—whether its hard work or loyalty that you give in return—that gets someone to invest in you in the first place. Then, when the process kicks in, you have to mold your mentor into a coach; someone for whom your success is in some small or big way his success. I owe so much to Pat. If it were not for him, I would not be the man I am today. And that goes for so many others, starting with my Mom and Dad and Jack Pidgeon from the Kiski School, and my "Uncle" Bob Wilson, to so so so many others I've mentioned in this book, as well as those left unmentioned but to whom I feel so close.

The best way to approach utility is to give help first, and not ask for it. If there is someone whose knowledge you need, find a way to be of use to that person. Consider their needs and how you can assist them. If you can't help them specifically, perhaps you can contribute to their charity, company, or community. You have to be prepared to give back to your mentors and have them know that from the outset. Before Pat would consider having dinner with me three times a year, he had to know that I would be committed to his firm. That's how I found myself so early on in a trusted position that later turned into a friendship.

If, however, there are no immediate opportunities to help, you must be prudent and conscious of the imposition you're placing on that person. Almost every day, some ambitious young man or woman sends me an e-mail that states all too directly, "I want a job." Or, "I think you can help me. Take me on as your mentee." I shudder at how deeply these young folks misunderstand the process. If they're going to get my help, and they haven't even offered their help in return, then at minimum they should attempt to endear themselves to me. Tell me why you're special. Tell me what we have in common. Express gratitude, excitement, and passion.