The commercial never tells us what would happen if El Exigente said no, but one can surmise that misery far surpassing that which gripped Mudville after Mighty Casey struck out would ensue. Imagine, then, if El Exigente didn’t just dislike the coffee. Imagine if it was so bad it actually killed him. Imagine him lying there as the mayor and town dignitaries, in shock, contemplate actual suicide. Imagine the ineffable joy that would follow if El Exigente then rose from the apparent dead and said, “Wow, that’s the strongest cup of coffee I ever had; it nearly killed me! I’ll pay you triple for your beans so we can use it in our new super-strong espresso.” The town would go absolutely wild.

Polite investment bankers and the top executives of prospective companies do not ring bells, dance jigs, or discharge firearms to celebrate great milestones, especially not in the Fogg. But from the mutual handshakes, adulatory comments, and almost uncontrollable laughter that began to follow even the lamest jokes, it was clear that a celebration was going on here that would rival any coffee taster’s resurrection in even the rowdiest of South American villages.

My side, of course, was stunned. They never knew I was an art expert. They were in awe. When I told them the whole story, they were even more in awe. Before the story I was just an art expert. Now I was sort of a mythical character in an Aesop’s fable who, at the moment he is to be eaten by the lion, is saved when the lion recognizes him as the grown-up little boy who’d removed a thorn from his paw so many years before.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. We were introduced to first this and then that important personage. And as each introduction grew more lavish, the enormity and inevitability of what had occurred and what was to follow became apparent.

As we walked back to our car, for the first time I felt like a “son of Harvard.” For the first time Harvard Yard seemed romantic and beautiful to me. For the first time it felt like it was truly mine. Only twice before in my life, when my wife agreed to go out with me for the first time and when our first child was born, did I actually go someplace and have the feeling that I was walking on air. I find it sort of embarrassing that the prospect of great wealth and power would put me in that same frame of mind. But there is no denying the truth. That night I was walking on air.

By the time, several weeks later, that my wife and I actually did visit the Cohen house, everything was more or less settled. Cowen would be our lead underwriter.

It turned out that my wife had attended the same school as one of the Cohen boys. Our pedigrees established, I acted as deferential as possible, stayed on my best behavior, and avoided any more jokes. Joe Cohen gave me his personal commitment that evening that Cowen would lead our IPO. I accepted the offer gladly. Now all I had to do was select the number two firm.