o spectrum that they were useless for cellular phone networks. Singh was a technical wizard who had figured out how to use the spectrum for point-to-point broadband communications in an end run around the local telephone companies' fiber-optic networks. All they needed was someone with the kind of business reputation that would make their new service seem real and the kind of operating experience to make it SO. Mandl was their man, and they spared no effort to attract him. They offered to put the new company's headquarters in Washington, D.C., eliminating Mandl's weekly commute to his AT&T job in New Jersey. Berkman promised to stay in his Pittsburgh office, leaving Mandl to run his own show as CEO of Associated's wireless subsid- iary. They offered to pay him $1 million a year, a $313,000 cut from his AT&T salary, but cushioned by a $20 million signing bonus and 18 percent of the company when it went public. On hearing the details of his compensation package, a headhunter who was not involved in the deal said, "Alex Mandl will be the highest-paid American under seven feet tall." For his part, Mandl kicked their tires by asking the chief technolo- gist of AT&T's wireless business to give him a tutorial on the frequen- cies that Associated planned to use, without, of course, telling him why he was suddenly interested in the arcana of radio communica- tions. McCaw had its own fixed wireless system, which it had kept under wraps from all but the most senior AT&T executives, and Mandl quizzed him on that, too. In late June 1997, when Mandl was con- vinced that the technology could work and was satisfied with the com- pensation package, he called me. "A friend of mine has a kid who wants to work in PR," he said. "What agencies do we use?" "Well, I'd be happy to put him in touch with the right people," I offered. "Why don't you have him send me his résumé?" "Nah. I don't want to encourage him too much. Does Bob Dillen- schneider, at Hill & Knowlton, work for us?" I was mildly surprised that Mandl knew who Dillenschneid