FROM SILLICON VALLEY TO SALT WATER: Joe Wendel's Uncharted Course

When Joe Wendel ’99 last appeared in our alumni magazine, he was riding high at Google, leading their hardware recruiting division before taking the reins of the company’s largest onboarding program as lead “Noogler.”

Every Monday, he greeted up to 700 new hires, stepping onstage with a mic and a smile to introduce the Googlers to their first days. “It was wild and exciting,” he recalls. But despite the high-profile role and glowing career on paper, something was amiss. Burnout loomed. “I was doing super well...promotions, raises, parents were proud...but internally, I was very anxious and growing depressed.” The emails and spreadsheets, the growing dissonance between the magnitude of his stress and the impact of his labor—“was it all just about turning a button on Gmail from red to blue?”—led Joe to make a bold move. In November 2019, with no backup plan, he quit. Just months before the pandemic would spark a global wave of career re-evaluations, Joe quietly started his own. His first stop? A closet-turned-recording studio, a few voiceover gigs, and a bartending job at a legendary San Francisco dive bar. But when COVID shut down the city’s nightlife, he and his wife decided to leave the city and move to a remote house in Mendocino County amid the redwoods. There, he rediscovered his passion for basketball by coaching a local high school team and set about rediscovering himself. It was during this back-to-nature sabbatical that a college friend called with an unexpected proposition to join him as a 50/50 partner on an oyster farm in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Despite having never eaten an oyster—let alone farmed one—Joe said yes. He and his wife sold their home and relocated across the country, joining what he describes as a five-man operation managing three acres of Cape Cod Bay.

Today, Joe is the co-owner and self-titled “Chief Oyster Monger” of the Duxbury Oyster Company, overseeing the sales, distribution, and branding of their prized Prince Caspian oysters, which now ship across the U.S., from Boston to Puerto Rico and beyond.

Of Oysters, Opportunity, and Owning the Journey

Joe’s story isn’t just a career pivot—it’s a radical realignment of values. Gone are the spreadsheets and tech-world prestige. In their place: briny shellfish, early-morning tides, and real, tangible results. “I’m no longer alienated from my labor,” he says. “I know exactly what my part is, and I feel good about it.” He speaks passionately about the ecological benefits of oysters—each one filters up to 50 gallons of water daily—and the sustainable practices at their small but mighty farm. He loves watching the tide patterns, raking and handpicking the right-sized oysters, and knowing his work contributes directly to a cleaner bay and someone’s dining table. His wife, too, took a creative turn, embracing her role as the “Shady Lady,” crafting velvet boudoir lampshades and whimsical Sasquatch resin figures while also lending a hand in the new family business.

Yet Joe is the first to admit that entrepreneurship comes with sacrifices—he hasn’t taken a real vacation in two years, his phone is constantly pinging with oyster orders, and he makes a fraction of what he did at Google. But for Joe, the rewards are richer than a tech paycheck. “I say yes to life,” he reflects. “People on their deathbeds don’t regret the things they did—they regret the things they didn’t do.” That spirit of curiosity and openness—first sparked at a basketball camp that led him to Millbrook—has carried him through every leap since.

Today, he also coaches basketball in Duxbury and mentors young players who are trying to chart their own paths. To students chasing conventional success, he offers this advice: “Keep an open mind. Nothing is forever. The job you have today might not be the job you have tomorrow—and sometimes, that’s a good thing.”

With threefold business growth in two years, new ventures into clams and scallops, and dreams of Prince Caspians landing on menus from Chicago to San Juan becoming reality, Joe Wendel is proving that fulfillment doesn’t have to follow a straight line and end at a global corporate conglomerate. For him, fulfillment is a bit jagged, wet, and messy and grows in salt water, and that’s just how he prefers it.