By Elaine McArdle

All he wanted was a meal at a fast-food restaurant. But, in Brooklyn fifteen years ago, Herby Duverné, CJ'98, MJ'02, had to give up.

He can still picture the scene: the lunch-hour crush at a Roy Rogers in Flatbush, a crowd of hungry customers waiting their turn, the impatient girl behind the counter. Duverné wanted to order a chicken thigh, but couldn't pronounce "thigh," thwarted by his Haitian accent.

Twenty years old, he had been in the United States just a few months, arriving the day after Christmas 1989 with no money in his pockets and not a single word of English in his arsenal. Everything was different and difficult: the weather, the cultural isolation, the cost of living. Even the simple act of ordering food.

"You can't understand the anxiety," Duverné says today. "I have this line of people behind me. I feel embarrassed." He enunciated the word again, tried as hard as he could. The counter girl stared at him blankly. So he shook his head and asked for a wing instead.

A funny story, maybe. A not-atypical vignette of a stranger in a strange land, struggling to fit in. But this little incident knocked Duverné hard. "At that point, I realized one thing," he recalls. "I realized if I don't work hard, if I don't get an education, I would always have to settle for something I don't want."

Right there in the Roy Rogers, Duverné gave himself a talking-to. The amiable young man with no specific plans, a so-so student back home in Port-au-Prince, who in high school chose to study Spanish because it was easier than English, had a revelation. He remembers, "I said, Wow, Herby, this is a story about opportunity—and doing what you must to put yourself in a position to get those opportunities."

He was going to have to make things happen. That meant leaving the twenty-four-hour fun of New York for a calmer life in Boston. It meant enrolling at a community college to study English while working as a grocery-store bag boy and a janitor at Harvard.

It meant matriculating at Northeastern just three years after arriving in the United States, taking a full course load toward a criminal justice degree while working two, sometimes three, jobs. It meant joining the student government at the same time he was launching his own private investigation firm.

It meant going on to get his master's degree. All fueled by that painful moment in Brooklyn.

"I start working hard and doing what I had to do," he recalls, "so a lack of education would not prevent me from getting what I want." So he'd never again settle for less than he wanted.

He hasn't. Today, Duverné is a senior security manager at State Street Corporation, one of the world's largest financial institutions, where he oversees the corporate security control center.

At the same time, he's helping other immigrants negotiate their new lives. In Somerville, Massachusetts, where he lives with his wife, Duverné serves on the city's Anti-Gang Board and the Somerville Human Rights Commission, through which he helped organize a public-dialogue project to fight racism. As president of the board of directors at the Haitian Coalition, a Boston-area organization, he improved that group's financial accountability and created an after-school program to give children academic support.

And now Duverné is running for a seat on the school committee, the first Haitian-American to run for elective office in Somerville. His focus: making schools safer, and improving education for the 40 percent of Somerville schoolchildren who don't speak English at home.

In October, in recognition of his professional accomplishments and service to the community, Northeastern will present Duverné its Medallion Award, created for outstanding alumni who've graduated within the past ten years. Earlier this year, he received the YMCA Black Achievers Award. Last year, he was recognized with the William S. Edgerly Community Service Award at State Street.

"This is a person who clearly is an emerging leader in the security world, and is very well respected both here at the college and within the network of security providers in the region and beyond," says Jack Greene, dean of the College of Criminal Justice. "And he has a very strong sense of social responsibility. He represents the very best of the college."

Duverné's resumé and life story make him sound so serious. All work and no joy? Hardly. His greatest asset, next to his drive, is his relentless and contagious optimism. People love to be around him—he's always smiling, always laughing, always saying, Yes, you can! You can do it!

Ask him about growing up in Haiti, where his mother worked for thirty years in a metal factory twelve hours a day, six days a week, for $5 a day, and he beams. "It was great!" he says, recalling his close-knit neighborhood and childhood friends. Ask about his college days—his bone-crunching work schedule as he kept up his studies and served in student government—and he grins widely. "I loved it!"

Yes, life is very hard sometimes. But Duverné will tell you there's a whole lot to be happy about.

"May I see some ID, please?"The security guard at the front desk of the State Street offices in Quincy checks a visitor's driver's license against a computer screen. "Step right in front of this camera," she says with an efficient friendliness, as she clicks a photograph and creates an instant photo ID to be pinned to the visitor's shirt. "Herby will be down in a minute."

Behind her, the mechanized revolving door at the front of the building howls as it spits employees into the lobby one by one. Along with their business-casual polo shirts and khaki pants or skirts, they wear employee ID cards around their necks like medallions. Without them, they can't get in.

At State Street, everybody—even the most fleeting visitor—displays a photo ID. Cameras and security guards monitor the three-building campus, keeping watch on 2,900 employees and every guest.

With offices in twenty-five countries and more than 20,000 employees worldwide, State Street is a world leader in investment servicing and management, ranking first in the United States in servicing mutual funds and pension plans as well as in providing foreign-exchange services. Its network covers more than a hundred financial markets around the globe. It has $9.6 trillion in assets under custody and $1.4 trillion in assets under management.

That's a lot of dough to safe-keep. Herby Duverné is charged with making sure the company stays secure in an increasingly challenging world.

"Hello there!" A tall, dark man with an enormous smile glides into the lobby and holds out his hand. He's a striking figure with a shaved head, large eyes, a dimple in his right cheek, and a smile that spans his face. The accent that once gave him so much trouble is just a lilting backdrop to his impeccable English.

Duverné joined State Street four years ago after working in the security departments of other corporations, including Kmart and the TJX Companies. Hired to manage State Street's security control center, which monitors security operations worldwide, he was soon handed more responsibilities. Now he oversees the global operation of the ID system, which keeps track of all employees and visitors, and he's in charge of on-site security at six corporate buildings in Massachusetts.

Remember when private security meant putting an aging guard in a goofy uniform at the front of a building? No longer. For decades, major corporations like State Street have viewed security as an integral part of corporate success, a means of minimizing risks both internal and external. Since 9/11, protecting private financial institutions has only gained importance.

These days, top companies rely on those who use sophisticated measures and cutting-edge technology to reduce harm to assets. At State Street, Duverné's boss holds the title vice president and manager of corporate security—he's another NU grad, Stephen Baker, CJ'81.

For security experts in corporations around the world, there's no such thing as a typical day. Problems can run from the pedestrian—an employee loses his ID badge—to the potentially cataclysmic: fraud, theft by computer hackers, workplace violence, even terrorism.

"There's a lot at stake," explains Duverné. "At State Street, we have trillions of dollars under our custody and management. So security is obviously a top concern of ours."

The State Street security control center is a glassed-in room that holds a number of TV screens, which, at this moment, display various angles of the Quincy campus. But with an extensive camera network at company sites around the globe, Duverné says, "we can display a camera from any site worldwide."

Alongside the security monitors, a flat-screen TV broadcasts Fox News, which is reporting on a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. Should any serious event occur, State Street wants to be able to alert its employees and lessen the risk of injury to them and to corporate operations.

Last summer, the State Street security-management team had an action plan in case something went wrong during the Democratic National Convention in Boston. "We're a global company," Duverné says. "We can't stop operating during the DNC, or after any incident. We make sure our employees stay safe, and, at the same time, reduce the corporation's risk."

Duverné oversees eleven employees in the control center, including three NU graduates. Working there demands excellent skills in critical thinking. "If someone is having an emergency, most of the time that isn't in the book," he says. "You have to think quickly."

According to his boss, Duverné fits that bill. "One of his best qualities is he's not afraid of tackling anything," says Baker. "No matter what it is, he'll figure it out, become an expert, and drive forward to make it happen."

Baker points to the ID system as an example: "It was not his expertise when he first took over, but once he understood what they did, he said, 'This is what we need to improve on,' and he asked me for support from both the management and budget perspectives."

Customers, shareholders, insurance companies—all have to have confidence that assets are safe, says Baker, especially after 9/11. But, when looking for the right attitude to project, a security operation toes a thin line. "We need to make our employees feel secure," he says, "but also make sure the security people are not intimidating." Duverné's outgoing personality and sense of humor set the tone that State Street wants.

In a huge field in Somerville on a hot Saturday, crowds of parents and children wait in line for face-painting, ice cream, and the chance to pose for $1 photos atop a Harley-Davidson motorcycle (the money goes to help abused children). The city's young mayor, Joseph Curtatone, is taking his turn in the dunking booth, plopping loudly into the tank whenever a softball hits its mark, while a deejay entertains the city's remarkably diverse population by playing songs from Greece, Algeria, Jamaica, and Italy.

It's Somerville's Fourth of July celebration. Amid the swarm of people wilting in the afternoon sun, it's easy to spot Duverné. He's the tall man with the bald pate looking cool and relaxed in khakis and a pressed shirt, stopping to talk to passersby, telling them about his plans to improve the schools.

Duverné was up early today. He ran two and a half miles, then spent the next two hours knocking on some two hundred doors, pitching his candidacy for school committee. About five thousand voters live in his ward. So far, he's reached more than a third of them by campaigning six days a week—after work each day, plus Saturdays—and he's raised more than half of the $10,000 he budgeted for the November election.

"I don't even think about not winning," he says, even though his opponent is a longtime incumbent. "I don't. I truly believe I'm a better candidate, who can improve things."

His easygoing personality makes him a natural, especially among Somerville's many young people and immigrants. Duverné is reaching out to immigrant parents, encouraging them to get more involved in their children's education. "I saw a great opportunity to make a difference," he says. "I also have a great agenda in terms of what I want to accomplish."

He says he loves Somerville, especially its diversity and youth; 40 percent of voters are under thirty-five years old, 70 percent under fifty-five. "Even so, a lot don't have kids in the school system," he says. "But I truly think people realize the connection between the school system and the quality of a community."

Duverné, thirty-six, knows what it's like not to speak English, what it's like to grow up in a single-parent household. His mother raised him and his sister in a one-room house—"a shack, really," he says—in Port-au-Prince. His mother slept on the floor to give her kids the beds. There was only one neighbor with a TV, so Duverné and his friends would gather outside her house in the evenings to watch American TV shows through the window. Though he loves Haiti, it is a very poor country. He says almost all his friends there are unemployed. He knew he had to leave in order to work, so he moved to be with his father in Brooklyn.

After the fried-chicken incident, Duverné devoted himself to learning English. While his father was out driving a cab, Duverné sat by himself in the apartment watching children's TV. "I spent a lot of time watching Mr. Rogers. It helped me a lot. But I also knew I had to get to ESL." He started English as a Second Language classes at Queens College in 1990.

A year later, he moved to Massachusetts to focus on his education, and enrolled at Bunker Hill Community College. "I wanted to be in New York," he says. "But those are the hard choices you make in life. It may not be what's hip, but it's the place for you. I decided I would stay, go to school, make friends here."

His first job was at Johnny's FoodMaster in Somerville as a grocery bagger. He then took a second job as a janitor at Harvard University, so he could send money to his mother in Haiti. (She moved to the United States five years ago and now lives in the same apartment complex Duverné lives in, as does his sister.)

"If you are a janitor," he says, "a lot of times people underestimate your value in society or your capacity in terms of intelligence. A lot of times you find people treat you as just a janitor and nothing else." But, he adds, "I kind of didn't let that distract me." He says he would tell himself, I've got to work, got to take care of my mom in Haiti.

Just three years after landing in the United States, Duverné was at Northeastern, which he chose over Boston University because of the co-op program. "I was really attracted to going to school six months, then stopping to make money, then going back," he says.

Even during his co-ops, he worked extra jobs. A security guard for Harvard Medical School. A store detective for CVS pharmacy. Head of security for the Harvard Coop, where he met his wife, Claire Boice, whom he married last year (he also has an eleven-year-old daughter, Ashley).

"At different moments, I had different jobs, usually based on my class schedule," he recalls. When a new semester began, he'd have to search for new employment. "It was 'Oh, I have to get another job!' It's hard to find a job that lets you take Monday, Wednesday, and Friday off."

Though Duverné had initially planned to become a pharmacist, he couldn't fit chemistry classes around his work schedule. So he opted for criminal justice, earning a bachelor's, then a master's. He took every course Harvey Burstein, the David B. Schulman Professor of Security, offered at both the undergrad and graduate levels. They still stay in touch.

"He's very outgoing, very friendly," Burstein says. "I still tease Herby because he used to have a habit of showing up for class late, and he was even late when it came to turning in written assignments. So I refer to him as 'the late Mr. Duverné.' He takes it good-naturedly. But he's a hard worker, and very conscientious."

In his second year of college, Duverné decided to join the student government. Why? he's asked. Not busy enough? He laughs, shoots a huge grin. "It was fun!" he exclaims. "It gave me an up-close and personal lesson about democracy at work." He became a student rep for his college, then was elected by the Student Senate to the post of vice president of student affairs, which he held for two years.

"I had a voice," he says. "I used it, too." Working with associate sociology professor Will Holton, Duverné created a student survey on the co-op program, which found that half the student body was dissatisfied with the services of the co-op office. They presented the study to President Curry, and the Northeastern News featured its findings.

As a middler in 1995, he started his own private investigation firm, Duverne Security Evaluation and Services. It's still in operation, although Duverné now spends only a few hours a month doing PI work. "People in school were thinking I was crazy," he says. "'You have a business?'"

Not wanting to reveal client information, he won't discuss his cases. And he refuses to carry a gun. "Never," he says firmly. "I have never seen the need for it. Even when I was a store detective in Cambridge, I never really wanted to have a gun. Because most people—if you know how to talk to them, you will accomplish the task. Sometimes, if you have a gun, people become defensive and won't talk to you."

Eventually, he hopes to be an independent security consultant, advising major companies. For now, however, his sights are trained on the school committee and his work at State Street.

"That's what I really value about this country," he says. "If you work hard, most of the time you will succeed. That's something I did not have in Haiti. I came here—it was 'Wow! Look at the opportunity.' That's the drive I always had, to push myself to do better and be successful."

Elaine McArdle is a freelance writer who lives in Watertown, Massachusetts. She profiled Boston news anchor Rhondella Richardson in the November 2004 issue.