Michelle: Forget finding your dream job. What if the most life-changing opportunity you ever get looks like an impossible, underpaid, dead-end task assigned by a grumpy boss? Mark: Okay, that sounds less like a dream job and more like a nightmare I'd want to wake up from. Why would anyone sign up for that? Michelle: That’s the wild premise we’re exploring today, and it might just change how you see your entire career. It's the central question in a century-old business parable that’s sold over half a million copies: The Go-Getter by Peter B. Kyne. Mark: A hundred years old? What makes a story from 1921 still relevant? I mean, the business world today is all about quiet quitting and work-life balance, not running errands for grumpy bosses. Michelle: Because Kyne wrote it right after World War I, capturing the spirit of a generation of veterans who were returning, often with disabilities, and struggling to find their place in a world that had moved on. Our protagonist is one of them. This is a story born from real, gritty adversity, not a modern self-help guru’s blog post. Mark: Huh. So it has some real history behind it. It's not just a theoretical "here's how to succeed" manual. Michelle: Exactly. It’s a parable, a short, sharp story designed to lodge an idea in your brain. And that idea starts with a man who is absolutely fed up.

Michelle: The story opens with Alden P. Ricks, better known as Cappy Ricks. He’s a seasoned lumber magnate, and he is having a very bad day. He storms into his office and declares he’s surrounded by, and this is a direct quote, "the choicest aggregation of mental duds since Ajax defied the lightning." Mark: Wow. That’s quite the performance review. So Cappy is basically the poster child for a toxic boss. What set him off? Did someone use the wrong font on a memo? Michelle: Worse. His manager in the Shanghai office, a man named Henderson, just embezzled 130,000 taels and vanished. And Cappy is furious, not just about the money—he had an insurance policy for that—but because his top executives, Skinner and Peasley, should have seen it coming. He feels they don't know how to judge character or find people with real initiative. Mark: Okay, I can see his frustration there. But his solution is just to yell at everyone? How does that help find better people? Michelle: His solution is to take over. He decides he will personally find the replacement for the Shanghai office. He tells his managers he’s not looking for experience or a fancy resume. He’s looking for a "go-getter." And he has this very specific philosophy: "The go-getters of this world are under thirty years of age." He believes young people have the fire and courage that older, more cautious employees have lost. Mark: That’s a pretty bold claim. And probably not one that would go over well in an HR department today. So who walks in the door? Michelle: A man named William E. Peck. And he is the perfect embodiment of the adversity we talked about. He’s a World War I veteran. He lost his left forearm in the war, walks with a permanent limp from illness, and has been out of the workforce for four years recovering. He’s been turned down for jobs everywhere. Mark: That sounds rough. He’s facing some serious, visible challenges. How does he even get past the front desk? Michelle: He doesn’t just get past it; he commands the situation. He walks right up to Cappy Ricks and, when asked what he wants, he says, "I've called for my job." Not for a job. For my job. He then gives Cappy this incredible pitch, saying, "I am a salesman... before proceeding to sell goods I had to sell the manufacturer of those goods something, to-wit—myself! I am about to sell myself to you." Mark: I love that confidence. He’s turning his disadvantage into a sales pitch for his own resilience. He’s not asking for pity; he’s demonstrating his value from the first sentence. Michelle: Precisely. And Cappy, who values initiative above all else, is intrigued. But he’s also a hard-nosed businessman. He gives Peck a stern warning: "The first time you tip a foul, you'll be warned. The second time... you'll get a month's lay-off... and the third time you'll be out—for keeps." Mark: So he gets the job, but on probation. What’s the first test? Is he put in charge of a major account? Michelle: Not even close. Cappy’s general manager, Skinner, is the pragmatic, by-the-book type. He’s skeptical of Cappy’s decision, especially since Cappy has been hiring lots of veterans to counter the influence of labor unions, which Skinner sees as bad for business. Mark: Wait, hold on. So part of Cappy's motivation for hiring veterans is to use them as a "back-fire" against "Wobblies," or union organizers? That adds a complicated layer. It’s not pure altruism. Michelle: It’s not. The book is very much a product of its 1921 context, and some modern readers definitely criticize its glorification of company loyalty and its anti-union sentiment. It’s a complex portrait. But for Cappy, it’s all part of the same philosophy: he wants people loyal to the mission. So, to test Peck, he gives him the most unsellable product they have. Mark: Which is what? Michelle: Skunk spruce. Mark: Skunk... spruce? You’re kidding. What on earth is that? Michelle: It’s a low-grade lumber from Humboldt County that Cappy describes as coarse, stringy, wet, heavy, and, yes, it has an unpleasant smell. It’s the stuff nobody wants. It's a joke of an assignment. Mark: So they’re setting him up to fail. They give the one-armed veteran the stinky wood to sell. That’s cold. Michelle: It is. But Peck’s response is legendary. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t even flinch. He just says, "I can sell anything—at a price." And then he goes out and does it. He travels the Southwest, develops new accounts, and actually manages to sell not just one, but multiple carloads of skunk spruce. He turns an impossible, almost insulting task into a triumph. Mark: That’s incredible. He didn't just do the job; he mastered it. He proved that the product's quality wasn't the issue; the previous salesmen's lack of imagination was. Michelle: Exactly. He proved he was a go-getter. He didn't see an obstacle; he saw a puzzle to be solved. And that success gets Cappy Ricks thinking. Peck isn't just a good salesman. He might be the one. The one he’s been looking for to run the entire Shanghai operation. But selling stinky wood was just the warm-up. Mark: Oh boy. I have a feeling the next test is going to be even more absurd. Michelle: You have no idea. Cappy decides to subject Peck to the ultimate, final test. A trial he calls the "Degree of the Blue Vase."

Mark: The 'Degree of the Blue Vase'? That sounds like something out of a secret society. What does it even mean? Michelle: It’s a test of pure, unadulterated initiative and loyalty. It’s designed to be a seemingly simple errand that rapidly spirals into an impossible nightmare, just to see if a person will quit. Cappy sets the stage perfectly. He has his manager, Skinner, fake an illness on a Sunday and call Peck to his house. Mark: Okay, the corporate intrigue is already starting. Why a Sunday? Michelle: Because on a Sunday, everything is harder. While Peck is at Skinner’s house, Cappy calls. He puts on a frantic act and says, "Peck, I need you to do a little errand for me. I’m at the club and I just remembered I need a particular blue vase. It’s for a gift. It’s at a shop on Sutter Street. I need you to buy it and get it to me at the train station before my train leaves for Santa Barbara at eight o'clock tonight." Mark: That sounds simple enough. Annoying for a Sunday, but doable. What’s the catch? Michelle: The catches. Plural. First, Peck gets to the address on Sutter Street. The shop isn't there. Cappy "misremembered." After a frantic search, Peck finds the art store. It’s, of course, closed. He gets the owner's home address. He goes there. The owner isn't home. He tracks down the owner's brother, who tells him the owner, a Mr. B. Cohn, is out for the day and won't be back until late. Mark: This is already a disaster. Most people would have called Cappy by now and said, "Sorry, the shop's closed, I can't do it." Michelle: And that’s exactly what Cappy is testing for. He wants someone who doesn't make that call. Peck doesn't. He has a motto he learned from his brigadier in the army: "It shall be done." So he keeps digging. He spends hours hunting down B. Cohn, calling every possible person who might know him. Finally, around 9 PM, an hour after the train was supposed to leave, he gets the shopkeeper to the store. Mark: Success! He got the vase. A little late, but he got it. Michelle: Ah, but the test isn't over. The vase costs two thousand dollars. Mark: Two thousand dollars? In 1921 money? That’s a fortune! And it’s Sunday night. The banks are closed. How is he supposed to get that kind of cash? Michelle: He starts calling his colleagues for a loan. He calls Skinner, the manager who faked being sick. Skinner says he only has a few dollars on him. He calls Matt Peasley, Cappy’s son-in-law. Peasley laughs at him and hangs up. Everyone either can't or won't help him. They are all in on the test. Mark: This is brutal. They’re actively sabotaging him. This feels less like a test of competence and more like a test of someone's willingness to be completely exploited. Where is the line between being a 'go-getter' and being a doormat who will bankrupt himself for a boss's whim? Michelle: That is the razor's edge the book walks, and it’s a valid criticism some readers have. Is this inspiring, or is it a manual for creating workaholics with no boundaries? For Kyne, the author, the answer is clear. It’s not about the vase. The vase is a symbol for any 'impossible' order from a leader. Peck isn't thinking about boundaries; he's thinking about the mission. His mindset is: "The order was given. It shall be done." Mark: So what does he do? How does he get the money? Michelle: He finally gets a loan from the night manager of his own hotel, who trusts him. He buys the vase. But now it’s nearly midnight. The train is long gone. It’s hundreds of miles down the coast. The mission is a failure. Mark: I guess that’s it, then. He tried his best. Michelle: A go-getter doesn't believe in "best effort." Peck goes to a military flying field, finds a pilot, and charters a plane. In the middle of the night, he and his blue vase take off into the moonlight, chasing the train down the California coast. At two in the morning, they land in a field, he gets to the tracks just as the train is pulling out of a station, and he jumps aboard. Mark: He chartered a plane for a vase? This is completely, beautifully insane. I can’t believe it. Michelle: He walks through the train, finds Cappy Ricks sleeping, and wakes him up. He holds out the vase and says, "Here is your blue vase, sir." Cappy is so stunned he can only stammer his famous line: "By the Twelve Ragged Apostles! By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet! ... while you missed the train at eight o'clock, you overtake it at two o'clock in the morning and deliver the blue vase." Mark: I’m speechless. That’s one of the most extreme things I’ve ever heard of someone doing for their job. So he gets the Shanghai position? Michelle: Instantly. Cappy explains the whole thing was a setup. The vase was a cheap piece of junk. The obstacles were all deliberate. Peck passed the "Degree of the Blue Vase." He proved he was the man for the job because he refused to believe it was impossible.

Mark: Wow. That story is just… a whirlwind. So the 'go-getter' isn't just someone who works hard or is persistent. It's someone who, when faced with a dead end, doesn't just look for another door. They start looking for a sledgehammer, a ladder, or the blueprints to the entire building. Michelle: Exactly. And the Blue Vase teaches us that true potential isn't proven on a resume or in a structured interview. It's proven in the chaos of a crisis. The book argues that great leaders don't want employees who come back and ask 'how?'. They want people who say 'It shall be done' and then invent the 'how' on their own, no matter how absurd the obstacles. Mark: It’s a powerful message, but it also feels dangerous in the wrong hands. You need a Cappy Ricks who is testing you for a purpose, for a bigger responsibility. If your boss is just a jerk who likes sending people on wild goose chases, then this philosophy could lead to serious burnout. Michelle: That’s the critical piece. Peck explains it perfectly at the end. He says, "In the army, sir, the esprit de corps doesn't bubble up from the bottom. It filters down from the top. An organization is what its commanding officer is—neither better nor worse." Peck wasn't just proving he could follow an order; he was proving he had the mindset to be that kind of leader himself—one whose orders are worth following. Mark: That reframes it completely. He wasn't just auditioning for a job; he was auditioning for leadership. The test was a mirror. By completing the mission, he showed he understood the responsibility that comes from the top. Michelle: He showed he was ready. The story is over a hundred years old, and while the specifics are dated—I don't think chartering a plane is in most company budgets—the core idea is timeless. It’s about accountability, resourcefulness, and the profound difference between saying "I'll try" and committing to "It shall be done." Mark: It really leaves you wondering, if your boss gave you an impossible 'blue vase' test today, what would it be? And more importantly, how would you react? Michelle: That's the question, isn't it? We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Is the 'Blue Vase' test a brilliant leadership tool or a relic of a bygone, and perhaps toxic, era? Let us know what you think. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.