When Innovation Backfires: A Lesson in Modern Communication
The 1980s was an era of technological transition when the world was slowly awakening to new possibilities in communication. Cell phones were still the stuff of science fiction movies, and the height of mobile technology was a small device called a pager. This simple tool would teach me an unforgettable lesson about the double-edged sword of innovation.
I was twenty-one, full of confidence and ambition, my mind always racing with ideas about how to improve our security operations. Working protection for Prince meant staying connected, and our current system had obvious flaws. We were missing calls when Prince wanted to head to First Avenue, the legendary Minneapolis club where he often performed impromptu shows. Each missed connection felt like a personal failure, and in my youthful enthusiasm, I thought I had the perfect solution.
During a meeting with Prince and my mentor, Big Chick Huntsberry, I saw my opportunity. Prince was discussing the communication challenges, and I jumped in with what I believed was a brilliant suggestion: "What if we all carried pagers?" The words left my mouth with the confident assurance of someone who hadn't yet learned that sometimes the old ways exist for good reasons.
I can still picture that moment perfectly. Prince sitting there, thoughtfully stroking his chin, intrigued by the idea of instant communication. But what I failed to notice—and would later wish I had—was Chick's expression. My mentor's face had transformed into a mask of barely contained exasperation. If looks could have turned someone to stone, I would have become a permanent statue in Paisley Park right then and there.
To my initial delight (and later regret), Prince embraced the idea enthusiastically. Within days, we were all equipped with the latest in pager technology. That's when the real education began. The tiny devices started buzzing and beeping incessantly. Every thought, every whim, every passing idea became an urgent message demanding immediate attention. What had seemed like a solution to missed connections turned into a constant stream of interruptions.
After that fateful meeting, as we walked away from Prince's presence, Chick pulled me aside. He leaned in close, his massive frame towering over me, and whispered a string of colorful expletives that would have made a sailor blush, followed by a simple truth: "You just turned us all into prisoners of that little box."
He was right, of course. In trying to solve one problem, I created several others. The pagers meant we were now eternally on call, our moments of peace shattered by the relentless chirping of these small plastic dictators. Every buzz demanded an immediate response, transforming our job from protection work into a constant game of technological tag.
The experience taught me a valuable lesson about innovation and tradition in protection work. Sometimes the newest solution isn't the best solution. Sometimes what looks like inefficiency on the surface—like having designated check-in times or specific communication protocols—actually serves a deeper purpose. In our case, those "inefficient" methods had provided structure, helping us maintain the delicate balance between accessibility and necessary distance.
Looking back now, I can laugh about it. That young, eager security professional, thinking he could revolutionize our operation with pocket-sized technology, learned a fundamental truth about our profession: in protection work, every solution comes with its own set of problems. The trick isn't finding the newest way to do things—it's understanding why things are done the way they are before trying to change them.
The pager incident became a running joke in our team, a reminder that enthusiasm needs to be tempered with wisdom. It was just one of many lessons I learned working with Prince, though few others came with such a persistent beeping soundtrack. The next time I had an idea for improving our operations, I ran it by Chick first—and made sure to read his expression very, very carefully.
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Hucky