The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can - By Gladwell, Malcolm Page 0,15

Marcus, a lady wrote a cookbook. Her name was Mildred Knopf. Her husband was Edwin Knopf, the movie producer. He did Audrey Hepburn’s stuff. His brother was the publisher. We introduced her cookbook in Dallas, and Mildred became a good friend. We just loved her, and when I was in L.A. I would call on her. I always keep up with people. Well, it turns out Edwin Knopf was George Gershwin’s closest friend. They had Gershwin’s pictures all over their house. He was with Gershwin when he wrote “Rhapsody in Blue” in Asheville, North Carolina. Mr. Knopf died. But Mildred’s still living. She’s ninety eight now. So when I went to see Lee Gershwin, we mentioned that we had just been to see Mildred Knopf. She said—You know her? Oh, why haven’t we met before? She gave us the rights immediately.

In the course of our conversation, Horchow did this over and again, delighting in tying together the loose ends of a lifetime. For his seventieth birthday, he attempted to track down a friend from elementary school named Bobby Hunsicker, whom he hadn’t seen in sixty years. He sent letters to every Bobby Hunsicker he could find, asking them if they were the Hunsicker who lived at 4501 Perth Lane in Cincinnati.

This is not normal social behavior. It’s a little unusual. Horchow collects people the same way others collect stamps. He remembers the boys he played with sixty years ago, the address of his best friend growing up, the name of the man his college girlfriend had a crush on when she spent her junior year overseas. These details are critical to Horchow. He keeps on his computer a roster of 1,600 names and addresses, and on each entry is a note describing the circumstances under which he met the person. When we were talking, he took out a little red pocket diary. “If I met you and like you and you happen to mention your birthday, I write it in and you’ll get a birthday card from Roger Horchow. See here—Monday was Ginger Vroom’s birthday, and the Whittenburgs’ first anniversary. And Alan Schwartz’s birthday is Friday and our yard man’s is Saturday.”

Most of us, I think, shy away from this kind of cultivation of acquaintances. We have our circle of friends, to whom we are devoted. Acquaintances we keep at arm’s length. The reason we don’t send birthday cards to people we don’t really care a great deal about is that we don’t want to feel obliged to have dinner with them or see a movie with them or visit them when they’re sick. The purpose of making an acquaintance, for most of us, is to evaluate whether we want to turn that person into a friend; we don’t feel we have the time or the energy to maintain meaningful contact with everyone. Horchow is quite different. The people he puts in his diary or on his computer are acquaintances—people he might run into only once a year or once every few years—and he doesn’t shy away from the obligation that that connection requires. He has mastered what sociologists call the “weak tie,” a friendly yet casual social connection. More than that, he’s happy with the weak tie. After I met Horchow, I felt slightly frustrated. I wanted to know him better, but I wondered whether I would ever have the chance. I don’t think he shared the same frustration with me. I think he’s someone who sees value and pleasure in a casual meeting.

Why is Horchow so different from the rest of us? He doesn’t know. He thinks it has something to do with being an only child whose father was often away. But that doesn’t really explain it. Perhaps it is best to call the Connector impulse simply that—an impulse, just one of the many personality traits that distinguish one human being from another.

3.

Connectors are important for more than simply the number of people they know. Their importance is also a function of the kinds of people they know. Perhaps the best way to understand this point is through the popular parlor game “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.” The idea behind the game is to try to link any actor or actress, through the movies they’ve been in, to the actor Kevin Bacon in less than six steps. So, for example, O.J. Simpson was in Naked Gun with Priscilla Presley, who was in Ford Fairlane with Gilbert Gottfried, who was in Beverly Hills Cop II with Paul Reiser,