Life Changes and Trajectories:
One Woman’s Professional Journey
Penelope Longbottom
President, Longbottom Communications, LLC
Arlington, Virginia
The morning of June 8, 1998, was chilly and damp in London. I had departed Washington, D.C.,
the night before on what would prove to be one of the more memorable changes in a
professional career spanning the banking, automotive and satellite industries. Now I was in
London to assume a new job, vice president of branding and communications, with a new
company, Lockheed Martin Intersputnik.
The decision to leave my adopted country of America for my native England and turn my life
upside down for this transatlantic relocation had not been an easy one. Quite apart from the
natural questions related to signing up with a new business venture and leaving behind the
familiar surroundings and friends who are the foundation of one’s daily life, my decision had
been all the more wrenching because it involved subjecting my beloved pets to the U.K.’s
antiquated quarantine system (since abolished). Knowing my dog and cat would have to spend
six months in “jail” very nearly deterred me from taking the job. But the lure of an international
assignment, especially one in London, was too compelling.
I boarded the plane at Dulles airport with a heavy heart at what I was leaving behind. But my
mood rose with the morning sun as my flight descended above the clouds over the coast of
England. I disembarked at Heathrow that June morning full of excitement, hope and optimism
for what appeared to be an assignment that would be a career pinnacle, one that would last
several years by all estimates.
Unpacking my bags before heading to my new office that gloomy June morning, I pondered the
ever-changing fortunes that had deposited me in the country of my birth. The girl who left for
America at age 17 was returning 30 years later as a communications executive retained to help
create a brand identity and build the corporate reputation of a new satellite joint venture
between Lockheed Martin Corp. and Intersputnik, the Moscow-based consortium of formerly
socialist countries.
It had been an interesting, circuitous and never boring journey.
America, the Land of Promise
I had landed on American shores in the mid-60s as an au pair for an English family stationed in
Washington, D.C. With parents living overseas, I was schooled at a series of elite “public”
schools but had shown little affinity for college. I jumped at the chance to seek my fortune in the
land of promises. Two years later and still in my teens, I had gained my independence along
with my green card.
My first “real” job was as a bank teller in Washington’s oldest bank, Riggs National. Starting in
1967 I quickly learned the ropes and discovered innate business talents that extended beyond
counting dollars and cents. Within a short time I was promoted to supervisor. Then I was tapped
to create and run the bank’s first formal teller training program. I stayed with Riggs for nearly a
decade. My banking career seemed certain. Yet some inner prompting urged me to set out in
search of new professional frontiers.
Behind the Wheel
That search led me to the auto industry. In 1977 I was hired by the 20,000-member National
Association of Automobile Dealers (NADA) to be a regional director for a program designed to
encourage new car dealers to employ traditional apprenticeship methods for training auto
technicians. My region encompassed the West and Midwest. Working with state and local
dealer associations the objective was to establish dealer technician training programs in big and
small communities throughout the region.
At a time when electronics were increasingly replacing mechanical parts, the “backyard
mechanic” was rapidly becoming a relic of the new car industry. Dealers could not keep up with
demand for trained and licensed automotive technicians just as consumers were becoming
increasingly vocal about service problems. The NADA program required significant coordination
with Federal, State and local consumer and apprenticeship standards officials, as well as the
local media, in order to generate qualified apprenticeship candidates. Not to mention paint the
dealers in a positive light. My skill set deepened as my professional qualifications expanded.
In 1980 I was promoted to a newly created position of director of Media & Consumer Affairs.
Soon I had a staff and was shuttling between McLean headquarters and Detroit, cajoling and
enlisting the participation of the “Big Three” in NADA’s newly-created third-party dispute
resolution program known as AutoCap. Our Consumer Affairs team similarly plied the import
manufacturers.
On the media side of my job, I worked closely with the national and trade press to showcase the
dealers’ proactive stance on customer relations and highlight other key retail automotive issues.
My combined media and consumer affairs role afforded high visibility among NADA
management and its elected leadership, as well as with domestic and international
manufacturers and federal, state and local consumer protection officials. The combination of
unbridled energy, a quick study and an “up from the bootstraps” approach to whatever
challenge came my way was paying off. I had established myself as a successful and respected
career woman.
California Dreaming – Not!
The call was as unexpected as it was unsettling. In 1984 I was contacted by an executive with
Toyota Motor Sales, USA. He had been observing my work with NADA and wanted to recruit
me to head up his newly created Consumer Affairs department. On the face of it, this was an
extraordinary opportunity. Like most of the import car manufacturers, Toyota was more inclined
to embrace, than resist, the burgeoning consumer activist movement. It would be a logical
career step: transport my retail automotive industry consumer affairs credentials from the
association to the corporate level. Perhaps most seductive, I would be the highest level female
manager at Toyota. That said, I held back initially for two reasons.
Toyota’s U.S. headquarters is located in Torrance, California. Having spent nearly two decades
in the Metropolitan Washington, D.C. area, I was loath to consider moving -- especially to the
other side of the country, where I knew few people. Secondly, as I secretly confessed only to
myself, I questioned my ability and whether I would make a fool of myself in a new work
environment. Maybe my NADA success was a fluke! Maybe I wouldn’t know how to navigate the
corporate world. I felt a reluctance to leave the familiar for the unknown, but my faith overcame
my fear of failure. The same inner urging that pushed me out of the Riggs nest was now
nudging me away from NADA, my professional home for over seven years. I accepted the
challenge and packed my bags for California.
My cross-country move and transition from association to corporate manager went more
smoothly than I could have hoped. I quickly adapted to the Southern California climate, finding a
home a few miles from the beach and easily embracing the balmy ocean breezes. There was
indeed a steep learning curve at Toyota, not least owing to its parallel American and Japanese
management structure. But there also was no shortage of support. A Company orientation and
training program for new managers helped me navigate the unfamiliar corporate structure.
Working at NADA for nearly a decade, I had become so used to being the only professional
woman in the room that I never really paid it much attention. But at Toyota my appointment as
the highest woman manager was news – certainly among the female staff. In the early 80’s
women were just starting to gain traction in the board room and claim their equal place
alongside men in the management ranks. Every time a woman at Toyota went out of her way to
congratulate me, I felt a growing sense of responsibility to excel and to do my best to pave the
way for other “sisters” in the management ranks.
Changing Gears, Again
At this point in the narrative, a reader might be forgiven for wondering where the “space”
connection came in. Certainly, space was as far from my mind as the sun from the Earth. A year
had passed. I had found my managerial feet at Toyota and was in cruise mode managing
customer satisfaction standards and programs and traveling frequently around the country
selling them to the Toyota dealer population. While I missed the PR part of my old NADA job, I
was starting to feel I could even take one hand off the wheel occasionally.
That said, in my heart of hearts, I did not have “gas running in my veins”. During my last years
at NADA I had flirted with changing gears and switching to the budding telecommunications
industry. MCI, flush off its David v/s Goliath success at deregulating the monopolistic AT&T, was
turning the business on its ear. I wanted in, but the right opportunity never presented itself
before the Toyota opportunity materialized.
And then out of the blue, the call came. I was contacted by Hughes Communications, Inc. (HCI),
then a small satellite operating subsidiary of the old Hughes Aircraft Company. The caller had
been given my name by an MCI executive I had befriended in Washington, who also happened
to be a friend of the HCI president. The MCI executive thought I would be a good candidate for
the position of Communications Director that HCI was seeking to fill. Never mind that I knew
zero about the world of satellites and space. My MCI contact convinced HCI they should contact
me.
My first response was a firm and emphatic “thanks, but no thanks.” It was also my response to
their second call. But the third time I hesitated. It was as if the Universe was trying to tell me
something. “What could it hurt?” I asked myself. I’d just be kicking the tires. I had no real
intention of leaving Toyota. Furthermore, Toyota had invested in my relocation and
management training. I couldn’t conceive of resigning.
But once the Genie is out of the bottle it’s next to impossible to stuff him back. HCI was in El
Segundo, just up the road from my new house. The position would return me to my primary love
of PR and media relations, I rationalized. In my first meeting, I was given an overview of the
amazing and still emerging new world of commercial satellite communications.
Although still resistant to the idea, I returned for a second interview, this time with the small staff
that would report to the new director. Three young women, all anxious about their new boss,
took me out to lunch and grilled me. The president had made it clear that these ladies had veto
rights over his candidates. I liked that – and also liked them. The feeling seemed mutual and
soon I was crossing the final hurdle, lunch with the president.
Up until that point I still felt as if I were “just looking” at HCI, flirting with the whole idea but never
really contemplating myself taking such a huge leap into the unknown . But two things were
clear by the end of the lunch: the president was convinced I was the right person for the job, and
I felt in my bones that the position had my name on it. In a matter of weeks I had negotiated my
package, signed the acceptance letter, and crossed the most painful bridge of all: serving my
notice at Toyota. Fortunately they were very understanding and I left on good terms.
Nonetheless, that meeting with my Toyota boss was one of the hardest things I had done in my
career.
Space-Bound
In 1985, HCI was one of only a small handful of commercial satellite operators, and the only one
that was a subsidiary of a satellite builder (Hughes Space & Communications, now Boeing
Satellite Systems). HCI was at the forefront of this emerging market sector. Its marketing
slogan, “We Make Ideas Happen” was no idle claim.
At the time I made the leap for the stars from the terra firma comfort of the auto world, HCI had
already notched up some significant “firsts.” It had built and now operated a fleet of UHF
satellites for the U.S. Navy. The LEASAT program was the first of its kind whereby America’s
military leased, rather than purchased, satellite capacity. Two years earlier, HCI had launched
Galaxy 1, a satellite that helped transform the delivery of cable television by devoting the entire
satellite to that specific market. The resulting “cable neighborhood” drew programmers the way
a shopping mall did retail outlets: the big names (HBO and Turner Broadcast Networks) as
anchors attracting a host of niche programmers. The aggregation of so many programmers on
one “bird” meant that cable operators could receive more programs through fewer dishes which
in turn helped spawn the rapid growth of that still nascent industry.
My first week on the job I was appointed to a Hughes Aircraft Company-wide PR team
managing the announcement that General Motors was going to purchase Hughes. (Within just
one week I had left one auto company, joined a satellite company, and ended up working –
ultimately – for another auto company. The irony was not lost on me.)
Within six weeks, I was in Tokyo, coordinating a joint press conference between Hughes and
the two largest Japanese trading companies, C. Itoh and Mitsui. HCI was instrumental in the
formation of Japan’s first commercial satellite operating company, JCSAT, and was also a 30%
partner.
My feet had hardly touched ground upon my return from Tokyo when our PR department found
itself managing the PR related to a planned NASA mission to rescue a LEASAT satellite that
had failed to reach orbit after its Shuttle launch the previous month. A couple of months later
found me and my small department at Kennedy Space Center, shepherding several dozen high
level Navy officials for the launch of a third LEASAT satellite on a NASA Shuttle. Anyone who
has ever witnessed a Shuttle launch can attest to the ground-shaking, bone-rattling, heart-
stopping nature of the event. That first Shuttle launch ratified my wrenching decision to leave
the familiar for the totally unknown barely four months previously.
Within my first year at HCI there would be many more heady and some sobering, PR
challenges, that nonetheless continued to validate my move. But it was the loss of the
Challenger Shuttle in January 1986 that put my PR expertise to the ultimate test.
Among the crew that perished on that crisp, sunny winter day in the skies above Florida was
Greg Jarvis. An HCI employee, Greg was one of the first private Payload Specialists approved
by NASA to fly on the Shuttle. We all had worked closely with him in the months and weeks
leading up to that fated mission and we felt his loss the more keenly, even as the world
mourned the entire Challenger crew.
For weeks we were in crisis communication mode, coordinating Greg’s Hughes memorial
service, handling inquires from media around the globe and fielding hundreds of expressions of
condolences and requests for his photo and mementos of his payload mission. I still have one of
Greg’s payload patches in my own office collectibles. It serves as a constant reminder of the
fragility of life and the courage and character of an individual I was honored to know.
The Sky Is Not the Limit
HCI’s Galaxy and LEASAT fleets continued to expand. In 1987 HCI purchased a little known
VSAT builder and renamed it Hughes Network Systems. Shortly after, HCI filed an application
for one of the first mobile satellite systems, American Mobile Satellite Company (now SkyTerra).
During this period, JCSAT was looking to HCI to support its marketing efforts. Although still a
few years from the 1989 launch of its first satellite, our department became a virtual travel
bureau and tour guide for busloads of Japanese businessmen wanting to see American
commercial satellite businesses for themselves. We about outwore our welcome at HCI
customers such as Walmart, Turner, CBS and HBO, all of whom served as inspiration for the
many new commercial satellite businesses that would soon emerge in Japan.
HCI’s Communications department grew and expanded to keep up with these and other new
business developments. From the initial three-person PR staff I inherited in 1985, the
department tripled in four years to encompass graphics design, advertising, trade show
marketing, and employee communications functions.
In 1990 HCI garnered considerable media attention when it announced plans to launch the first
digital direct to home television service. Still unnamed at the time, our department played a
pivotal role in defining the attributes and honing in on the selected brand name: DirecTV. The
rest, as they say, is history.
The DirecTV business unit of HCI was spun off a year before the 1994 service rollout, taking
with it many employees from every department to seed the new company. My department was
no exception. One consequence of the resulting reorganization of HCI was my promotion to vice
president. For years I had been one of only two director-level senior staff reporting to the HCI
president, an inequality that had started to chafe. Admittedly I lacked an undergraduate degree.
But in the previous eight years I had attended many management courses and received global
marketing certificates from UCLA’s John E. Anderson School of Business Management. And my
work and team leadership by this time spoke for itself.
I was reporting to the third president since my 1985 hire. Fortunately for me, he recognized my
talent and capabilities and saw a way to justify my promotion: I was given additional
responsibility for three other departments: Human Resources, Information Services and
Facilities Management. Combined with our Communications department, I now had four
directors reporting to me with a total combined staff of nearly 50. It was a heady moment for a
self-taught career woman.
But just a few years later, HCI merged with another private satellite company, PanAmSat, to
form the largest private operator in the world. Most of the HCI management functions moved
back East to PanAmSat’s Greenwich, CT, headquarters. There was considerable redundancy
with many management positions, including my own. In these cases, generous separation
packages were offered. In 1997, after twelve of the most productive, challenging and
memorable years of my professional life, I reluctantly and sadly bid adieu to the few remaining
HCI colleagues and friends remaining in El Segundo and set sail for new and uncharted
professional waters.
Another Stepping Stone
Thirteen years after moving to California, I returned to my hometown of Washington, D.C. I had
accepted a position as vice president of communications for Spacehab, Inc., a small company
that built habitable space modules for the Shuttle and provided other support services to NASA.
It appeared to be a natural career transition and I was excited at learning more about the space
program.
The total number of employees at Spacehab’s Washington headquarters was less than I had
under my management the last four years at HCI. I had one employee reporting directly to me.
Within a few months of my joining, the president, with whom I had a cordial relationship,
unexpectedly retired. His replacement was a senior staff colleague who had resisted my
appointment (he felt one of his employees should have been promoted to the job). Relations
were already strained and did not improve after he took the CEO chair. Still, I soldiered on,
telling myself things would improve in time.
A short time later I received an email from a former Hughes International executive who recently
learned of my departure from El Segundo. He reported that he had just been hired by Lockheed
Martin Corp. to be the CEO of a new joint venture business with Russian partners that was
located in London, UK. “I wish I’d known you were available,” he wrote. “I really need someone
with your PR and brand experience to help us over here.” “Timing is everything,” I wrote back
somewhat wistfully, telling him I was already “spoken for.”
The company he referred to was Lockheed Martin Intersputnik, a joint venture between
Lockheed and Intersputnik that planned to launch and operate a fleet of satellites serving
Europe, Russia and the former Soviet states, the Middle East and Asia Pacific regions. I
followed news of LMI with great interest. A few months later, the LMI CEO was in the States for
a conference. He approached me at the end of a session and quite emphatically pleaded with
me to reconsider. It was a heady prospect, but my objections overcame my curiosity.
They were threefold: I had only been at Spacehab nine months (shades of Toyota!). I had just
endured a cross-country relocation (no easy endeavor for a single executive expected to hit the
ground running). Yet these objections paled next to my third concern: the mandatory six month
quarantine for all pets entering the United Kingdom. I told the LMI president that I couldn’t get
around these objections. But he was nothing if not persistent.
Meanwhile, tensions continued to increase with my new Spacehab boss. It was also becoming
clear to me that perhaps I was too big a fish in too small a pond. At Hughes I was used to
working within a large, matrixed management structure, with multiple levels through operating
company, division and corporate. Many people chafe working in such structure. I seemed to be
a natural. By contrast, my new company was like a big quarreling family – there were few
management layers and everyone seemed overly turf conscious. It seemed I could hardly turn
around without inadvertently stepping on toes – and hearing about it.
The LMI president called one day with a novel proposal. There was a satellite conference
coming up in Moscow where LMI was going to have a press announcement. He wondered if I
could take vacation and attend, at their expense, naturally. And oh by the way, I would have to
fly through London so I could spend a day there meeting with the LMI staff on my return trip. As
it happened I did have some vacation time accrued – and I was having a particularly tough week
at Spacehab so I thought, “why not”? Within a week I was enroute to Moscow for what I already
knew deep down would be another life transforming experience.
I was spell-bound by Moscow, intrigued by the LMI business plan, and felt an immediate affinity
for the small but growing cadre of employees at its temporary London headquarters located on
Piccadilly Circus. The management of majority owner Lockheed Martin was similar in style to
that of Hughes; I knew many of the executives already. One by one my objections paled in light
of the LMI professional challenge and prospect of living and working as an American expatriate
in the land of my birth. This time the farewell to my current employer was painless. We both
knew it was the right thing. And so, in early June 1998, as a newly minted Lockheed Martin vice
president assigned to LMI, I embarked on my next professional adventure.
London – Full Circle
From Day One I never doubted I had made the right decision to leave Spacehab. Even though
LMI was small, with a handful of managers and perhaps two dozen “locals” (not just from the UK
but with the EU hiring practices, from many European countries) there was a strong sense of
shared vision and mission. I felt I was in my right place, applying all the PR, brand management
and HR/facilities experience from my HCI days to a burgeoning commercial satellite business
working alongside our Russian partners.
I had been in London less than three months. Plans were already afoot to move into newly
renovated permanent offices on Oxford Street when Lockheed Martin made two
announcements within weeks of each other that would ultimately change the entire trajectory of
the London business.
In the summer of 1998 Lockheed announced it was buying Comsat Corp., and a few weeks
later, that it had created a new business unit, Lockheed Martin Global Telecommunications
(LMGT). LMI was to be rolled into the new LMGT, among with Comsat and other Lockheed
telecommunications assets. At first our wary London staff was assured there would be no
change. But within another few months it became clear that the business case for maintaining
the London office was under assault at LMGT HQ in Bethesda, MD. By Christmas, we knew the
worst: the office would be closing sometime in the New Year and its primary functions relocated
to Bethesda.
The ensuing six months were demoralizing for our little band of expatriates. We focused our
efforts on finding jobs for the local hires, even as our own futures were uncertain. LMGT had
grown quickly, acquiring many executives from Comsat and other Lockheed business units.
There was duplication of effort, positions were eliminated. Mine was one of them. I was being
repatriated to Bethesda to assume a “desk job” in another division that held little interest for me.
Less than a year after setting out for London with such unbridled enthusiasm, I found myself
back in my home in Washington, showing up at a job that was just that, and contemplating my
next, and final professional transformation.
Taking Inventory
I resigned from Lockheed and gave myself some time to take a personal inventory. I knew I was
a good manager, of people and projects. I knew a lot about corporate reputation and brand
management. I was especially skilled in the principles and practices of a broad range of
communications tactics that included media and public relations, marketing, advertising, exhibits
and project management.
Perhaps most important, I gave myself credit for being adventurous and willing to take risks.
As part of my personal inventory I also examined what I had most liked and disliked about my
previous jobs.
I knew I enjoyed the creative process, and applying those skills to helping companies manage
or improve their public identity with a broad range of constituent audiences. I thrived on leading
and coaching and bringing out the best in people. And I really loved the satellite business, the
people it attracted, and how satellite communications were helping transform the globe.
On the other side of the coin, I was not enamored of bureaucratic managers, of the strictures of
a “day job”, or the uncertainties that by the late ‘90s seemed to have pervaded the job market.
My way seemed clear: it was time to start my own company and put all my skills and experience
to work for not just one employer, but spread the risks among many clients. I incorporated and
launched Longbottom Communications in October 2000, dedicated to the satellite
communications and high technology markets.
Within a year, we had half a dozen clients, one employee, and two independent contractors.
Our annualized billings were close to $500,000. I had found my true calling.
Longbottom Communications now has been in business for nine years, longer than all but my
HCI job. Like the industries we serve, we have experienced peaks and valleys over the years,
but we have always been profitable and the future looks very promising. We have terrific clients
that we enjoy working with. Most important, I derive great satisfaction from having created my
own “job security,” as well as for the two employees and the contractors who work with us.
Leap of Faith and Stepping Stone Theories
Looking back over my remarkable career trajectory, one that was potentially limited by the
absence of a college degree, I am struck by two fundamental principals that I believe
contributed to my success. I call them the Leap of Faith and Stepping Stone theories.
For anyone just starting out on their professional career I would encourage them to take note:
 Leap of Faith: A constant source of inspiration for me over the years has been the essays of
Ralph Waldo Emerson. One in particular, “Circles”, described the rigid circumference of daily
lives lived in accordance with routine and risk avoidance: “The life of man is a self-evolving
circle, which, from a ring imperceptibly small, rushes on all sides outwards to new and larger
circles. It is the inert effort of each thought, having formed itself into a circular wave of
circumstance, to heap itself on that ridge and to solidify and hem in the life.” The essay
continues, “But if the soul Is quick and strong it burst over that boundary on all sides and
expands another orbit on the great deep, which also runs up into a high wave, with attempt
again to stop and to bind.”
It takes a huge effort of will to overcome the safety and security of the known and create
“another orbit on the great deep” of one’s life. Risk taking goes hand in hand with success. The
willingness to step outside of my comfort zone, to persevere and tackle challenging
assignments, to learn new industries and assume new assignments, were the essential
ingredients in my career success.
 Stepping Stones: Often we hold ourselves back when an opportunity does not immediately
seem to fit with our long term plan or other professional criteria. However, if there is anything
compelling about an opportunity, don’t dismiss it out of hand – it could prove to be a stepping
stone to another opportunity not immediately visible. My Toyota and LMI experiences are
perfect examples. As the philosopher Joseph Campbell said, “You have to be willing to give up
the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.”
Like life itself, careers do not always follow a straight path. My zigzag career trajectory covering
three industries and a range of responsibilities did not conform to any career counselor’s advice.
But through my willingness to take risks, explore unknown territory and learn from my
experiences, I can look back on a rich tapestry of experience and accomplishment and say, “I
did it.”
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For More Information:
Penelope Longbottom
President
Longbottom Communications, LLC
2343 N. Vernon Street
Arlington, VA 22207
1-703-528-5490
Penelope@longbottomcommunications.com
www.longbottomcommunications.com