“Everybody loves the little guy.”
I cannot tell you how many times I had said that to David, or to other people about David. I met him in the beginning of 2006 through Ethan, a co-worker and friend. I was running the recruiting efforts for a digital media company, and we were in need of some good sellers. First time I met him was when he came in to interview. I imagined him taller simply from the fact of how gregarious he was over the phone. It took about five mins before David had his feet up on the conference table, and we were both relaxed with one another. He carried this confidence that he already knew he could have the job… that yes, he was really that good, and he was. Needless to say a week later, we offered him a job. Unfortunately, David did what he usually did with me when I offered him a job: He sat on his hands. The first time was with Undertone Networks. We actually had to retract the job offer because he was taking too long to make a decision. The second time was with SAY Media, a month before he did what he did.
When I had made the transition to selling digital media (a short stint), David was there to help me all the way. Although he had turned down the job at Undertone, we had instantly formed a friendship. It may surprise some; to others it may not. He gave me pretty much everyone in his Rolodex on who to call and what they worked on. He went even a step further by dragging me in tow to industry events and introducing me to people. I am still greatly appreciative of that—a true testament of David’s caring character.
For 5.5 years, I knew David—by no means a long time. For the first few years, we spent a good deal of time hanging out, getting in and out of situations that no one should ever speak of, and generally just having a good time. The last two years were harder to see each other and meet up. It wasn’t until March of 2010 that I would actually get to spend time with him again over a lunch. I never asked about the tragedy he suffered in the prior months; it was not my place to ask, just my time to listen. I really tried to be there for him, but at that time in my life, I was suffering from my own demons. So I did my best and let him know that I would do anything for him. We would talk on the phone now and then, but there was never enough time to get together.
In April of 2011, I had begun a new consulting assignment with SAY Media and was spearheading their sales recruitment efforts. David, once again, immediately had come to mind. I called him and got him interested; however, it took months before he would even walk in the door for an interview. When he finally did, he was all business. I skipped the usual procedure with him and put him right in front of the SVP. The weeks prior, I had coached him on the personalities that he would be meeting with, on how to answer, and what they were exactly looking for so that when the time came, he would nail it. And he did.
Now, closing David Vincent Price is not the easiest thing to do. He had once hemmed and hawed with me about the first job offer I ever extended him, and I could see an ensuing battle coming up the pike with this one. Something was different this time around though, and something was just generally different about him over the phone and in person. I would continually ask if he was okay, and simply he would reply, “Yes, but Vahle, are you okay?”
The last two months of David’s life, I was fortunate enough to see him and speak to him more than I had in the 2 years prior. Tim was still living a few blocks up the street from me. Just by chance, those last two months I had run into him two times while walking my dog, and I think that we logged about ten phone calls. The second-to-last conversation I had with David was about the pending job offer; I took a different approach. I told him what I thought of him: of how I looked up to him, of who I thought he was as a person, and what he meant to me both professionally and personally—yet alas, he never took the job. We would talk, but he never wanted to talk to me about what was swimming around in his head. I had no idea what was going on; on where he had been a week prior or what had transpired. The last conversation was on the corner of 75th and 1st right outside of my old building—I can still see him walking away.
I am thankful for those last-chance meetings and conversations. It is not every day that you get to tell someone the importance that they have in your life, whether it is small or significant. Thoughts of David always come up in my head. I don’t push them aside, but like the rest of us, when we think of the little guy, we know we can’t call him to laugh about old times. And for those old times, I am thankful that more than a handful of them were just me and him doing something.
