Three weeks ago in Morning Meeting, Mr. Poprik told a story about his days as a young intern on Wall Street. He recalled when a notoriously demanding boss ordered him to go to a local eatery and bring back French onion soup, complete with melted cheese. Mr. Poprik scrambled (and used some old-fashioned ingenuity) to comply. I love the story because it reminds students that, at most entry-level positions, you must hustle to get ahead; you also must do some quick thinking and problem solving along the way. Pingry students work hard, but Mr. Poprik described the workplace, not a school, and our kids should hear about the realities that await them when they finish college and begin their careers. To reinforce that message, I want to add my own story here and end it with a slightly different twist. 

In 1982, I was hired as a paralegal at a Wall Street law firm. Big office; big clients; big responsibility. Early on, I was assigned to a senior litigation associate named Susan. She called me into her office, introduced herself, and told me unceremoniously that she was starting a new case, and if I couldn’t keep the pace, she would find someone who could. She didn’t use a threatening tone; she just told me the way it was. No one from my past—not my summer lifeguard supervisor in high school or my thesis advisor in graduate school—had ever spoken to me like that. I was a bit unnerved, but I really wanted to succeed. Mostly, though, I wanted Susan’s approval. 

So I poured myself into the job, and in the months that followed, I worked harder than at any other time in my life. I stayed long hours at the office, sometimes past midnight. Somehow I held up under enormous deadline pressure, maintaining voluminous files and overseeing six other paralegals on the case. Once, I had to forego a Billy Joel concert at Shea Stadium because a client was flying in from the Philippines. Another time, I had to jet to Seattle on short notice to get a signature from a CEO (remember: no internet). After six months, I was completely exhausted. But I was still on Susan’s team, and that made it worth the effort. She was tough, but she was fair. She also worked much harder than I did, and I could only imagine what kind of pressure she was under to win that case. I took great pride in knowing she could rely on me, and I wouldn’t let her down, no matter what. 

One day, I got a very disturbing letter in the mail: an eviction notice from my landlord. For having skipped a month’s rent, I faced the prospect of getting tossed from my apartment. It must have showed on my face, because when I arrived at work, Susan asked what was wrong. I said I was being evicted and didn’t know what to do. She asked me the date of my courtroom appearance, and I told her. Then she said she would represent me at my hearing. I said I couldn’t impose on her; plus, I had no way to pay her fee (she charged more per hour than I made per week). She said she would clear her calendar and I owed her nothing. You’re there for me, she said, and I’m here for you. 

The court date arrived, and Susan and I went together. The courtroom was small, crowded, and noisy. My case was called and my landlord stepped forward; he wore tennis shoes, jeans, and a tee shirt. He also held a bunch of papers loosely “filed” in a tattered manilla folder. Susan stepped forward looking every inch the Wall Street lawyer she was, and announced she was representing the defendant—me. The look on the judge’s face was priceless. It was like Aaron Judge had shown up to play for the local little league team. The proceeding ensued, and while the arcane reasoning behind Susan’s arguments escaped me, I emerged without penalty, safely secured in my tiny downtown studio apartment. I thanked Susan profusely, but she shrugged it off with a joke, saying she couldn’t have me sidelined by a landlord-tenant dispute. She went on to win her case and make partner; I dropped out of the legal profession and became an English teacher. 

At the outset, I suggested that Mr. Poprik’s story offers a valuable lesson for students; perhaps they should consider it the next time they skip a Membean quiz or ask for a paper extension. However, I also think it’s a good story for grownups. I’m guessing that most of us reading this piece have worked for a tough boss at one time or another and faced some version of Mr. Poprik’s soup showdown. For me, that brings back some scary memories. But it also reminds me of the pride I took in rising to the challenge, and the good will, trust, and appreciation it engendered in return. So let me close with an entreaty to our students. Years from now, when the boss tells you to fetch the soup, get a move on. And if that boss ever pulls your you-know-what from the fire, make sure you say thanks.

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Author photo by Anthony "Truncs" Truncale '26

To contact the author: Mr. Keating