Looking back on my career, I can identify the handful of people who changed my life. Bill, the president of the firm Walter founded, was one of them. He saw something in me before I could see it in myself.
When I first arrived at Walter’s firm, I knew almost nothing about executive search. I was a temporary employee trying to connect to a full-time job.
Once I was there, I didn’t simply want a job. I wanted to work at this firm.
I instantly liked the people. I was fascinated by the business. Every day I found myself listening to conversations with impressive leaders. The work felt important.
But there was something else—we laughed.
For all the seriousness of the work, there was joy in the office. We were dedicated and there was an unmistakable camaraderie.
Earlier this year, at Walter’s memorial service, his son said something in his remembrance that perfectly reflected the culture his father had created at the firm.
“My father always made it a point to do important work and have fun while doing it.”
As I listened, I smiled. I knew exactly what he meant.
I had been at the firm for only a few months. I was well-liked by the partners. They were very encouraging, and I felt like I had earned their confidence.
One day Walter called me into his office. I don’t remember if it was the first time I’d stepped inside, but I remember thinking it was a menagerie—of papers, tchotchkes (I seem to remember he collected pigs), and family photographs including one of Sugar, the family dog. He loved Sugar!
“So, what do you think we do here?” Walter asked.
Without hesitation I answered, “Well… you find people jobs.”
It was a test. I failed it.
Walter smiled and explained that organizations—not candidates—were the firm’s clients. He was trying to teach me about executive search. I nodded as though I understood the distinction.
I knew there was whispering about bringing me on full-time, but I also knew there was not a role for me. If I were going to stay, Walter would have to create one. What I didn’t know at the time was that Bill thought I was worth the investment, but Walter was not convinced. And they were going back and forth about it pretty intensely.
As the weeks passed, the whispering quieted. Before I left for a long weekend on Nantucket, another partner, Michael, pulled me aside. I suspected he wanted to prepare me for the news that there wasn’t going to be a place for me at the firm.
“I want you to know, Monica,” he paused and continued, “at our partners’ dinner last night, Bill and I pounded on the table for you. We did everything we could. Walter just won’t budge.”
I left for the long weekend believing the opportunity had slipped away.
When I came back to New York, Walter called.
He offered me a job.
“We are going to pay you $35,000 a year. You will start in research. We’d like for you to join us.”
I was thrilled.
Ironically, I was making more as a temp, but I didn’t care. It was where I wanted to be and a business I wanted to learn. Accepting that offer was one of the best decisions I ever made.
At the time, I sort of knew that Bill was behind all the whispering. I just didn’t know how hard he had fought.
Even then, I recognized what an extraordinary gift he had given me.
Bill hadn’t simply helped me get a job. He had changed the trajectory of my life.
Most importantly, he believed in me. That faith gave me the confidence to bet on myself.
— Monica Burton
This essay is adapted from The Heart of Leadership, a memoir in progress.
© 2026 Monica Burton. All rights reserved.