Never Too Small to Manage

Behind the Scenes

Michael Bryant practices open-book management, does rigorous customer analysis, and recently set up a monthly incentive plan. Not bad for a guy with no employees

A talkative man with a brown mustache, Michael Bryant is CEO of Career Transition Services, in Baltimore. He is also that company's sole employee. Its corporate headquarters is a room on the second floor of Bryant's house on Berkshire Road. Outside on the front porch, next to the door, hangs a small painted sign: "The Bryants, est. 1980." It acknowledges the dwelling's other tenants: Michael's wife, Nancy, a financial planner who works in town (1980 is when they married), and the couple's three young children, Rachel, Zachary, and Jane.

Bryant is a consultant. He helps people decide what to do with their lives. Some of his clients are individuals who come to him on their own. Others are organizations that send him their castoffs for outplacement services. Many of those same organizations also hire Bryant to help with strategic planning or to run in-house seminars on time management and communication skills. Now and then he is called upon to deliver a speech or write an article. He has also written a book, as yet unpublished, called Lessons on Life. In a good year Career Transition Services, or CTS, brings in about $100,000. For Bryant, who has no expenses to speak of (outside of those he can use as tax write-offs), works a four-day week, is usually around when the kids come home from school, and watches dusk descend on his own property almost every evening, that's plenty. "I love the life I've created," he says.

Understandably. Yet we tend to peg soloists like Bryant in unflattering terms. They must have been laid off by somebody, right? Their revenues are capped. They don't create jobs. They'll never really be rich. And there's no way they run a real business. But Bryant wasn't downsized, outplaced, or reengineered. He chose this life. Like anybody else, he settled on a profession; he trained for it and works diligently every day to keep it up. Moreover, there's no doubt that what he's doing is running a real business. (He even practices open-book management, but more about that later.) And, oh yes, he's having, uh..."a blast!" he says. "I'm a pig in slop!" Of course.

Maybe we should put Bryant up on a pedestal, where everybody can see him and call him a trend: a new-model soloist, say--a professional whose satisfaction comes in equal parts from practicing his craft and from running his business. The clincher--what makes it such a kick for him--is that he gets to do it all by himself.

But scrap that. Let's just call him the happiest small-business owner in the world.

It's obvious from the moment you enter Bryant's office that he has no kinship with those mythical soloists who set up shop in some fantasy locale in front of a picture window, who work with their feet up on their desks and their laptops actually on their laps. This is Baltimore. When Bryant looks out his window (which is hard--the computer monitor is in the way), he sees the neighbors' house. The decor is standard office drab: blue rug, brown paneling, beige couch, brass floor lamp, and magazine rack. If the IRS ever saw this place, it would make Bryant its home-office poster boy.

Bryant's idea of a great day is to come in here in the morning and never leave. He also loves his house, his street, and the city of Baltimore. He loves most of all the fact that he has lived here all his married life, and that his kids have never had to move. Growing up, Bryant never lived anywhere long enough to have a local bank account. (His father worked for Du Pont.) The money he made shoveling snow and delivering papers, he mailed to a bank in North Carolina, where he had relatives. Bryant always knew that when he had a family of his own, things would be different. So together he and Nancy chose a place (a good place, as good as any) and have stayed put. "There are four and a half million people in the Baltimore-Washington corridor," says Bryant. "I am one guy. I ought to be able to find enough work."

Bryant's success story begins, classically, with confusion and failure. His first solo venture, Bryant Educational Services, started in 1977, was "one of the great flops of all time," he says. "It lasted two or three months. I found myself saddled with debt and scared half to death." In retrospect, Bryant wasn't ready yet. He was still so busy learning his craft that he let his business drift. By the time Bryant came back to form CTS, four years later, he had a much better grip. For one, he was certain now that he had discovered his life's calling, the one job he was meant to do. Not a big job, necessarily; not one likely to bring him fame or riches. But a meaningful job nonetheless: he would help people find their own place in the world of work.

Great. But having failed once, Bryant also knew that helping people was only one part of what he was after; the critical part was earning a living for himself. That meant paying close attention to the health and well-being of his business.

He knew what he had to do. He just never dreamed it would be so much fun.

What do you hate most about running your business?

Meetings? "My meetings are great," says Bryant. "They can be held anywhere I want. Only the people I want to show up, show. No one's ever late. Any idea I have, I love. And they're over when I say."

Dealing with employees? "My personnel problems are under control. Everyone's really happy. There are no employee disturbances. And the employees are really mature about what the boss needs to get done. They've all really 'bought in.' "

Administrative chores? It's amazing how simple life can be when the only consideration is what works for you. Bryant is not a Luddite; he just chooses not to worship computers. He keeps track of names and addresses the way mothers used to keep track of recipes: on three-by-five cards, stowed in little plastic boxes. Whenever he has a business expense, he puts the receipt in an envelope marked, say, "CTS Parking" or "CTS Supplies." At the end of the year, he adds up all the receipts. As for billing, most clients who come to Bryant's office write a check before they leave. But if he has to send out an invoice, he puts a copy in a folder with the client's name on it. When the check arrives, he marks the invoice paid and puts it in another folder with all the other paid invoices. "That thing works like a charm," he says proudly, pointing at the shoe box full of envelopes. "I'm not spending all those hours entering things into a computer, either, just so it can spit something out one time."