When I got the call, I was in my basement office. The call wasn’t just any call, it was the boss. I picked up the phone.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Come to my office.” The voice on the other end was short and to the point. The boss was always short and to the point.

“I’ll be right up,” I gulped. Sprinting up the stairs, I paused at the top and peered down the long corridor. It seemed longer somehow. At the far end, a shaft of sunlight streamed through an open door; Jim’s door. Slowly I began to walk.

“Why did one of the state’s finest engineers need to see little old me?” I wondered. At twenty-two with the ink still wet on my diploma, I had little to offer. After all, Jim, who was my father’s age, had a stellar reputation.

I knocked on the open door. Jim was standing behind his desk, leaning over the Wall Street Journal. He was the first person I ever knew who actually read it. He looked up as I entered.

“Good. I want you to sit in on this meeting,” he said, closing the paper.

Jim grabbed a yellow pad and darted down the hall. He walked as if going to a fire. He always did – a man in a hurry. I raced to keep pace. At the conference room, he paused for me to catch up.

“You’ll find this interesting,” he whispered, opening the door. “Now don’t be afraid to ask questions.”

Stale smoke billowed into the hall. It was the seventies, and people smoked everywhere. Older and wiser engineers waited around the table.  Each sported the short buzz cut that used to be popular in the sixties. Jim took the seat at the head of the table. His partner Art sat to his right fussing with his pipe. He was always fiddling with his pipe. An electrical engineer, Art once worked for McDonald Douglas Aircraft. Finally satisfied with his pipe, he borrowed a lighter from the man across the table. That was our client, Ed,  an experienced politician. He was an imposing man known for his quick wit and even quicker temper. He once lobbied for a statewide rural electric association. However, today he represented a water district.

Next to Ed was Dwight. I had met Dwight a few weeks earlier when he made a sales call. He worked for General Filter, a national process equipment company. A Professional Engineer with years of experience as a design engineer, Dwight also had a Master’s degree, a rarity outside of academia.  His education and experience made Dwight the most knowledgeable man in the room. He was there to discuss the use of his process equipment on a new plant. I found a seat and nervously tapped my pen.

“What am I doing here,” I thought. “I’m out of my league.”

“Damn, I forgot Larry,” Jim exclaimed. He dialed the phone, and in moments Larry appeared. Now I felt less out of place. You see Larry was not an Engineer. He had no degree, and he had no office. Larry worked at a drafting table, in a room full of drafting tables. I knew that he was a wiz on the drafting board. Before the meeting ended, Larry would teach me a valuable lesson.

Naturally curious, Larry had a knack for asking the question that everyone wanted to ask. That query you are reluctant to utter, for fear of looking stupid; when you desperately need to know something, yet are too proud to let on that you don’t. Admit it. You have all been there. Sure, in school you ask questions. That is what you’re expected to do. However, in the real world, I fear most are reluctant to do so.

This meeting was no different. As it progressed, I realized that I did not understand how Dwight’s equipment worked. When I looked around the table, other heads were nodding as if they understood completely. Was I the only one that did not?

I needed to ask, I wanted to ask, but I hesitated, reluctant to show my ignorance. Then, while I held back, Larry asked the same question. In response, Dwight backed up to explain the process. As he did, others in the room admitted that they didn’t understand either.

That is when I had an epiphany –“ there really are no stupid questions.” Emboldened, I engaged in the discussion, and the meeting was a success.

From that moment on, I never feared to ask. After all, if you don’t ask, you will never know.

To ask, or not to ask: that is the question.

– David L Dahl.

Photos Copyrighted by Midwestern Engineers, Inc.

Used with permission

Read more about Olivia’s Story here or about my other books here.

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