Being an entrepreneur, or trailblazer of any kind, requires—above all else—a relentless kind of persistence. New ventures almost always take a lot longer than anyone imagines they will, and the road to any kind of change—changing a career, changing the world, creating a new business, or exploring uncharted territory of any kind-will always include some really rough patches.
Different people have different thresholds for hanging in there against the odds, of course. Certainly, the greater your passion for a pursuit, the longer you’re likely to persevere. But a few days ago, I spent eight hours talking to a man who possesses more tenacity than almost any inventor or entrepreneur I’ve ever met. Some people, looking at his situation from the outside, might deem him crazy, or obsessed. But I came out of my conversation with him with the impression that his task was far more noble than crazy. And that the rest of us could learn something—I’m not even sure exactly what, but something of value—from his example.
William Miller was finishing up a Masters’ degree at Princeton University Seminary when he met a guy who was trying to raise money to build an airship capable of carrying cargo into remote areas for missionary work. Miller invested some funds in the company, ended up on the Board of Directors, and then, when the company ran into trouble, ended up as its President. That was in the mid-1960s. Over the next few years, Miller got the company out of trouble, and actually oversaw the development and manned test flight of a prototype hybrid airship—a story popularized by the writer John McPhee in three New Yorker articles and a book called The Deltoid Pumpkinseed. (The title of the book came from the shape of the hybrid—a deltoid (triangle) lifting body shape that was designed to be filled with helium for extra lift.)
That was 1971. Unfortunately, no contracts or funds could be found to develop the vehicle from the experimental stage. So, one would think, the company must have folded soon afterwards. But not so. In fact, the Aereon corporation is still in existence today. For the past 39 years, Miller has worked diligently, living frugally in Princeton housing and taking company stock instead of salary for a number of those years, to develop and further the evolution of the company’s concepts and get enough traction (in terms of contracts or development funding) for at least one of them to make the company a healthy, viable, sustainable entity.
He has come close to his goal at least half a dozen times, only to have budgets cut, personnel and political changes cancel contracts, and other problems derail or frustrate the effort. And yet he persists. At the age of 83, his mind is still as sharp as any CEO I’ve talked to, and he is neither bitter nor cynical. Discouraged, yes. But in the next breath, he’s passionately detailing his Plan B (or, by this point, something more like Plan Z) to find a way across the finish line. And, one gets the distinct impression, by sheer force of will, if necessary.
That’s persistence on an epic scale. Even a questionable scale. For sure and for certain, there are few people who would stick with an effort that long, despite all those sacrifices and hardships. But when I asked him how and why he’d never given up, he gave me two answers.
First, he said, he loved aviation, and really believed in the potential of the company’s ideas. “Not getting traction does not negate the inherent value of an idea,” he said.
Okay, so he has a passionate belief in the company’s mission. But against decades of frustrating almost-victories and discouraging outcomes?
He was quiet for a long moment before answering. Then, quietly, he said, “I am responsible not just for myself. There are the stockholders who invested their money in this venture (back in the 1960s). I believe I owe it to those people to try to make good on their investment and trust in us. To make their stock worth something.”
Miller was also a Naval officer and fighter pilot in World War II and the years that followed (Corsairs, AD-4 Skyraiders, and even an early Phantom jet). And, he continued, “I was also trained as a Naval officer, and a Navy pilot. And when you sign on to be a Navy pilot, you agree to risk your life for the good of your country. You don’t run away from or give up a mission when it gets hard. A Captain doesn’t abandon the ship while there are others still counting on him. You don’t quit. You fight it all the way down.”
I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath, finally understanding. I still don’t know that I’d have that degree of dedication to a cause, but it made me see Miller and his company in a very different light.
Sticking with a struggling company for 40 years might seem Quixotic. But Miller’s choices weren’t crazy. The company did win a number of contracts, and there were many times, over the years, that longer-term success seemed within reach, or even in his grasp. There was a reason to keep fighting, even if sometimes, as he said, he found himself “holding the lines and the helm and everything else all by myself, and fighting almost all alone.” And he kept fighting.
In truth, I think many entrepreneurs who eventually succeeded would feel some resonance with Miller’s experience; whose endurance also came less from some amazing ability to look 20 years into the future and say, “Yes, I’m up for a struggle that long,” but rather from thinking, 20 times over those 20 years, that the goal was just within reach.
But I also couldn’t help but wonder, listening to Miller’s quiet explanation of why he’s hung on that long … “I am responsible not just for myself. I owe it to those people to try to make good on their investment and trust in us” … what if more CEOS, and Wall Street Titans, had William Miller’s sense of solemn dedication, responsibility, and steadfast devotion to the long-term health of the ships they’re steering? What if they gave up their golden parachutes and committed to either steering the whole ship safely home or going down with it, fighting all the way? How different the world might be!
Lane Wallace is the Editor and Founder of No Map. No Guide. No Limits.
