Dell's date with destiny

Michael Dell's upcoming book, Direct from Dell: Strategies thatRevolutionized an Industry, about the meteoric rise of Dell in the PC landscape, is a must-read foranyone in the high-tech industry.

Because inside its 231 pages--in between the boldface subheads that remindone to "Align Complementary Strengths for Success," the three-pronged bulletpoints, and the quaint anecdotes about the how the company upstaged itsrivals--the reader will come across the answer to the question that sitsfirst and foremost on the mind of everyone working in the computer field.

Yes, it is too late for you to become an industry titan. In fact, it wastoo late 30 years ago.

Although ostensibly a homey tome of business advice, Direct From Dell serves as an eye-opener to the ugly reality that a CEO of a majorcorporation comes from an entirely different species than you or I. This isnot to say that members of this species can hold their breath for an hour underwater or catch fishwith their mouths. (Who knows, but bigger issues exist.) But they are stronger,possess more foresight, and unfailingly skirt the common mistakes that arehallmarks of humanity.

And at a very early age. Key events in Dell's life, for instance, includethe following:

When he was 8, he applied to take the high school equivalencytest. "It's not like I had anything against school. I liked thirdgrade?[but] trading nine years of school for one simple test seemedlike a pretty good idea to me."

Dell started his first business, Dell's Stamps, at 12. It netted the boy stamp collector/dealer $2,000. "I learned anearly, powerful lesson about the reward of eliminating the middleman," hewrites.

At 16, he sold newspaper subscriptions to the Houston Post bycanvassing mortgage and marriage license lists, thus showing an eerieinterest in phone solicitation that somehow escaped the eye of guidancecounselors. He made $18,000 his first year, more than some of his highschool teachers. By graduation, he was driving a BMW.

On a leave of absence from the University of Texas during the secondsemester of his freshman year, he moved into a condo and sold $80,000 worthof computers. He never looked back. "I'm sure if I had taken the time toask, plenty of people would have told me my idea wouldn't work."

His book (actually half book--he co-authored it with Catherine Fredman,the same woman who helped Andy Grove write Only the Paranoid Survive)reads like the humble triumph of common sense over the forces of chaos anddisorder. By contrast, my own business self-help book/biography wouldinclude the following:

"When I was 10, I asked my brother and his friend, Joe Reinkemeyer, tohelp me fix my bike. In exchange, I promised to cut the lawn for two weeks.They captured me, stuffed me into a garbage can and rolled me down a hill.I learned a valuable lesson: Never enter the garage unarmed?"

"Cleaning the salad bar was a waste of time. Busing tables--that's werethe money was."

"The day I graduated college, I possessed an amusing, if ultimatelybaseless, thesis on the meter scheme of The Iliad, some funny spring breakstories, and a limitless capacity for beer. Luckily, America is blessedwith a plethora of graduate programs."

Where did I go wrong? Was I not "staying allergic to hierarchy" by chafingat my father's advice? Did I fail to "Be the Hunter, Not the Hunted" as thebook implores? When did the clock of destiny start to run? Clearly, thecurse came down a long time ago.

Interestingly enough, the book also foretells the demise of the high techindustry as well. Again, the foreshadowing emanates from the folksy tone ofthe book.

Prior to Dell, high tech leaders came in one of two bigger-than-lifecategories. On one hand, you had the Shakespearean figures, such as Grove orLarry Ellison, powerful geniuses afflicted with conflicting ambitions andemotions. On the other end of the spectrum, you had the visionaries: people like Steve Jobs and Lotus' Mitch Kapor, who tripped on organic images of thefuture while listening to the Tarkus album from Emerson, Lake and Palmer.

What has been Dell's blinding, animating dream? To cut out the middleman.Even a Junior Achievement counselor might have a tough time getting excitedabout that.

Michael Kanellos is a senior writer at CNET.