Life has a remarkable way of reminding us how quickly circumstances can change. Sometimes the highest highs and the deepest disappointments arrive almost back-to-back, separated by nothing more than a sunrise.
It started like a dream—one of those rare, perfect days where everything seems to align. As I stood in my kitchen that morning of Thursday, November 5, 2015, sipping coffee in the quiet before dawn, I could hardly believe what was about to happen. Through a United Way fundraiser, I had submitted the winning bid for one of ten seats aboard a 3M corporate jet bound for the New York Stock Exchange. Not only would I witness history, but I’d be standing on the iconic podium at the end of trading for the day with nine other 3Mers.
For someone like me—just an ordinary employee in a vast, global company—it was the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to represent our company, to see the heart of Wall Street, and to rub shoulders with executives who, on a normal day, might not even know my name.
The day began at Holman Field, 3M’s private hangar in St. Paul. Just arriving at that secluded location made the experience feel surreal. Parking was inside, out of the elements. This wasn’t your typical airport check-in. No long security lines, no frantic rush to your gate—just a smooth, quiet entrance where the company’s private jets waited in pristine condition. I counted four Gulfstream V’s fueled and ready to go. My thoughts immediately went to a line from the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, “If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.”
The plane itself was immaculate. Plush leather seats, polished wood tables, and a sense of exclusivity that I had never experienced before. This wasn’t just any flight; it was 3M’s version of first-class luxury.
Shortly after boarding, breakfast was served—an extravagant spread that rivaled the finest restaurants. Omelets cooked to perfection, fresh fruit, artisanal pastries, and coffee that tasted like it had been brewed by a master barista. Quality was evident at every turn. The flight attendant treated us like VIPs, and I felt like one. I’m sure we all did.
As we soared through the sky, I found myself in conversation with one of 3M’s vice presidents who was also on the trip. It was fascinating to hear his perspectives—not just about the company, but about life, business, and the significance of the day ahead. “It’s not every day you get to be at the center of something this big,” he said, swirling his coffee thoughtfully. I nodded, taking in every word, feeling like I was being let in on some hidden layer of corporate life that most employees never saw. I learned about his family, his career, and his hobbies. He could be one of my good friends if we had lived in the same neighborhood.
A short two hours later, we landed in New Jersey and were quickly ushered into a vehicle waiting just outside the private terminal. No crowds, no hassle—just a sleek black van, waiting to transport us to the heart of Manhattan.
As we wove through the city streets, I looked out the window, taking in the towering skyscrapers, the yellow taxis, the endless motion of New York City. It was my first time here, and I couldn’t get enough. I saw the Statue of Liberty in the distance. It gave me goosebumps. The limo ride felt like something out of a movie—one of those moments where you know you should be taking pictures, but you’re too caught up in the experience to reach for your phone.
Before heading to the Stock Exchange, we stopped for lunch at a stunning restaurant that had once been a grand bank: Trinity Place Bar and Restaurant. The transformation was breathtaking—massive columns, ornate ceilings, and an atmosphere that blended old-world charm with modern elegance. The original vault door was kept intact and led to the dining area. Old safe deposit boxes lined one of the walls. It was simply amazing.
The meal was unforgettable. Fine cuts of steak, delicate seafood dishes, and desserts that belonged in a museum rather than on a plate. I soaked in every moment, knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Looking around the restaurant, I saw executives who had likely dined in places like this countless times. But for me, this was something extraordinary.
From there, we made our way to the New York Stock Exchange in the van. Here’s where things took an unexpected turn. We had been told that the vice presidents would ring the bell and pound the gavel on the podium, and we would stand in the background in support. However, the organizers decided to randomly draw from a hat holding the names of the ten employees that bid on the seats—the two chosen would stand up and perform those ceremonial honors.
Everyone was given a piece of paper with the same number written twice. We tore them in half and held on to one and put the other in a hat. The first number called was to pound the gavel three times after the bell ended. It was another employee. Then number “6” was drawn. After some initial confusion between “9” and “6,” I felt a rush of excitement, followed by disbelief. Out of all the people here, I was going to be front and center, one of the faces the world would see when 3M’s name flashed across every financial news network.
We were dropped off out front and immediately went to the area with The Charging Bull. I’ve seen this bull countless times, and now I was standing next to it. Just walking through the doors was enough to send a thrill through me. This was the beating heart of American capitalism, where fortunes were made and lost in seconds.
After a brief tour, it was time for the highlight of the day: ringing the closing bell. The countdown began. I watched the clock tick toward the top of the hour:
3… 2… 1…
Standing on the podium, with the cameras rolling and the bright lights reflecting off the iconic brass bell, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Pride in my career, in the company I had devoted my life to, and in this unbelievable opportunity that had somehow landed in my lap.
And then I rang the bell for 15 glorious seconds. My fellow employee banged the gavel three times, and we shouted and pumped our fists in unison.
A thunderous applause erupted, cameras flashed, and for a brief moment, I was a part of something much bigger than myself. While still on the podium, my phone rang. It was my son. He had just been offered a job with 3M at Hutchinson. Could this day be any better?
That night, we boarded the private jet back to St. Paul. The energy was high. Everyone was buzzing from the experience, recounting their favorite moments. The conversation flowed, but underneath it all, I felt something else—a quiet, lingering exhaustion. As much as I had loved every minute of the day, I knew I was returning to reality. And reality was never quite this glamorous.
The next morning, Friday, November 6, I walked into work still riding the high from the trip. I had stories to tell, pictures and a video to share, and memories I expected to carry for a lifetime. Coworkers stopped me in the hall to say they had seen us on television.
At 8:50 on Friday morning, my phone rang.
On my screensaver, a photograph showed me standing on the podium of the New York Stock Exchange, smiling beneath the 3M logo. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I had rung the closing bell while cameras flashed and my coworkers cheered.
Now the Site Director was asking whether I would be at my desk for the next hour.
“I’m coming down with the HR manager,” he said.
I looked again at the photograph. I had no idea that I was about to lose the only career I had ever known. I had participated in discussions about which positions might be eliminated. I hated that part of my job, but it never occurred to me that my own name might be under consideration. When the Site Director said he was bringing HR, I assumed they needed me to help speak with someone else.
I was preparing myself to deliver bad news.
I never imagined I was about to receive it.
“Tim,” the Site Director began, “this isn’t an easy conversation.”
The HR manager placed a folder on my desk.
“Your position is being eliminated.”
For a moment, I said nothing. I looked from one of them to the other, waiting for someone to tell me that I had misunderstood. They continued speaking—expenses, options, next steps—but their words seemed to come from somewhere outside the room. I had spent my entire thirty-five-year career at 3M. My face grew hot and then cold, and I placed both hands on the desk because they suddenly needed something solid beneath them. Behind me, my screensaver still showed me smiling on the podium beneath the 3M logo. The face of 3M for a day. Yesterday.
"Nothing personal," they said. "3M needs to reduce expenses for Q1 2016." They left my office, and I was in shock. I could not breathe. Our administrative assistant was the first to see me when I finally walked out of my office. I began to cry immediately.
I returned on Saturday to pack my office, choosing a time when the building would be nearly empty. I had been given access to my office through December 31, but I could not bear the thought of facing my coworkers—or explaining what had happened. One by one, I removed thirty-five years of memories from the walls: photographs, awards, and reminders of projects that had once seemed so important. With each item I placed into a box, the office looked less like mine and my career felt more like something that had already slipped into the past. Looking back, it’s hard to describe the emotions of those two days. One moment, I was standing at the top of the world, and the next, I was facing one of the biggest uncertainties of my life.
Before turning off the light, I stood in the doorway and looked back at the bare walls, wondering who I would be without the place that had defined so much of my life.
For years, I thought of November 5 as the day I rang the closing bell. Eventually, I came to understand that November 6 rang a different kind of bell—the end of the only professional life I had ever known.
Those two days changed the way I understood success. Titles disappear. Careers end. Companies move on. What remains are the experiences we have gathered, the people we have loved, and the character we carry into whatever comes next.
I can see that now. At the time, I could see only the loss—and I had no idea that another, even more difficult season was waiting just ahead.