随着我国企业日益广泛地参与国际竞争，隐藏在技术标准背后的巨大商业利益逐渐被国内企业洞悉。但我国的技术标准企业联盟刚刚起步，在通向成功的道路上，还有很长的路要走。

    万事开头难，但你的职业生涯总归要有个开头。我认为这开头越是光彩夺目、惹人注目就越好，即使你没能做成这件事，也可以在以后的许多年里靠着这段故事令人刮目相看—— “飞行家”霍华德·休斯就是我的开始。

    The Aviator is a critically acclaimed movie about the life of American filmmaker and legendary recluse Howard Hughes.1 Dazzling and disturbing, it has rekindled public curiosity about a famous billionaire whose later notoriety centred more on his dysfunctional mind (obsessive-compulsive disorder; paranoia; fear of germs) and hermetically sealed existence (staying in his room naked for long periods of time; reportedly wearing Kleenex boxes on his talon-toed feet) than on his many accomplishments.2

    I went to see The Aviator the day it opened, not just because I was curious but also because I had unfinished business with Howard Hughes.

    No, he didn’t owe me money. But for one tumultuous moment in my early career, he loomed large.3

    Howard Hughes was my first big assignment4. He was also my first big failure.

    We all undergo professional initiations5—moments early on in our careers when our elders and betters put us to the test, and we are anxious to prove we have the right stuff. Most of us never forget those first rites6—they tell us something not only about ourselves but what we’ve chosen to do in life.

    My own initiation unfolded on a mid-March day in 1972. I was at my desk in the newsroom of the Toronto Star—an ambitious 22-year-old hungry for a big story, punctuating junior staffer boredom with bouts of daydreaming.7

    I noticed a small group of senior editors gathered around the newswires, conferring solemnly and occasionally glancing my way.8 Suddenly a sweat-soaked, tubby editor charged over to my desk and addressed me with This Just In solemnity:9"The billionaire Howard Hughes is believed to have checked into the Bayshore Inn in Vancouver. Take a plane out West, get a job as a chambermaid, try to get an interview with him."10

    Huh? In one split second11, my working life got interesting. I was pretty well speechless at this sudden opportunity and I rushed home, packed and was on my way to the airport, determined to bag12 the big one.

    Was anyone ever that naive? Hadn’t I read the research that told me what a completely impossible mission I was on, that even the hotel staff had never laid eyes on him? No one had seen the man for years! Still that is why youth exists, not just to believe that anything is possible, but to have the courage to be a fool.

    On arrival at Vancouver’s beautiful Bayshore Inn, a luxury resort on the edge of Stanley Park, I swanned up to the desk, dressed to kill in a suede coat trimmed with a fox fur collar, and asked with impressive sincerity if I could apply for a job as a chambermaid.13

    After looking me over with appraising eyes, the man behind the desk said flatly14 but with a knowing smile that the resort didn’t need any maids. I said fine, I’d like to book into the suite15 beneath Howard Hughes for an indefinite period.

    And they let me—well, close enough anyway, finding me a room on the 17th floor of the packed hotel while Mr. Hughes took over the 19th and 20th. The hotel quickly became a grand carnival16 of reporters,     photographers and rumours, as well as Mr. Hughes’ big, handsome bodyguards, who would sit in the lobby when they were off duty, wearing their bright green golfing sweaters and plaid pants, looking as though they were waiting to tee off in the D