Monday, July 23, 2012

"You must live the world you want to see."


Now that I'm retired, I get to read a lot. I love to read. I learn so much about people, places and things. I can now use the word “ubiquitous” in my everyday speech and watch the look on people's faces, something I can't do as a blogger, as they try to figure out what the hell I'm talking about. 

I try to get information from a number of different sources. I read The Washington Post, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, as well as various news, computer and sports blogs. And when I'm down and really want a huge laugh to pick up my spirits, I read The Boston Globe's version of the news. Great sports page....really bad newspaper. 

Someone should do a case study as to why the printed news media is heading for extinction. They can record the continuing and eventual demise of the Globe for starters.

But one source of information I truly value are the writings of Robert F. Bruner. Dean Bruner is the Dean of the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia. He's a smart guy who “gets it.” And the best part is that he's teaching other people how to “get it” too. The following is a prime example of that.

I hope you enjoy reading this article as much as I did.

Robert F. Bruner, Dean


Posted: 08 Jun 2012 01:55 PM PDT
I was on my way to a meeting in another building at Darden. Several colleagues and I were carrying stuff in our arms. Going down stairs outside, I saw a cigar of truly Churchillian proportions stubbed and flattened on one of the steps. The rain overnight had softened it into near mush. In our haste to get to our meeting, all of us hustled around the flattened stogie. Later, we returned from the meeting, arms empty, when we saw the gross item once more. Again, my colleagues gingerly stepped around it. I bent over and picked it up. My pals objected (“leave it for the cleaning crew!”) or joked (“That’s what a Dean does—clean up after others!”) or offered to take it off my hands. But I walked onward several steps and threw it into the trash can. Why?
Through little actions we set a tone for an organization. Think of the ways in which we signal social norms. Conventional thinking is that norms are signaled by some authority or a policies manual: do this, don’t do that.
But norms can be signaled in less obvious ways. Consider the “broken windows” theory of James Q. Wilson and George L. Keiling. They argued that norms of neglect tend to compound:
“Consider a building with a few broken windows. If the windows are not repaired, the tendency is for vandals to break a few more windows. Eventually, they may even break into the building, and if it’s unoccupied, perhaps become squatters or light fires inside. Or consider a sidewalk. Some litter accumulates. Soon, more litter accumulates. Eventually, people even start leaving bags of trash from take-out restaurants there or breaking into cars.”
The authors argued that breaking the cycle of neglect prevents problems from escalating. An orderly environment signals that someone is paying attention—and it encourages others to do so as well. Based on this research, Rudolph Giuliani, the Mayor of New York City in the 1990s, prodded landlords to repair their properties and put more cops on the street in blighted areas. Scholars debate whether the subsequent drop in crime was due to the improvement in appearances, or more police, the combined effect was a greater show of presence. The community knew that the Mayor wouldn’t tolerate disorder. A norm gives a rule of thumb about how others should behave.
The world of business offers numerous examples about the power of norms and culture as drivers of performance. For instance, companies like Johnson & Johnson and Southwest Airlines show that values and norms help to create extraordinary value for customers, suppliers, employees, and stockholders.
Business also offers examples of the other kind. For instance, last year, Oswald Grubel resigned as CEO of UBS, one of the world’s largest financial institutions. His resignation was associated with an apparent breakdown in risk management that allowed a 31-year old trader to amass $2.6 billion in losses on unauthorized trades. Journalist James Stewart argued that the problem wasn’t inadequate risk management systems, but rather, a “rogue culture.” He quoted one UBS employee as saying, “The problem is that there wasn’t any culture. There are silos. Everyone is separate. People cut their own deals, and it’s every man for himself. A lot of people made a lot of money that way, and it fueled jealousies and efforts to get ever better deals. People thought of themselves first, and then maybe the bank, if they thought about it at all.” This reminds one of similar episodes at Societe Generale (2008), Barings Bank (1995), and a host of others. And observers attributed the mother of all corporate collapses, Enron Corporation (2001), to a rogue culture.
How do traders and cultures go “rogue”? Given legal liability and obvious embarrassment, the public may never learn the truth in these cases. Sure, crooks and con artists can rise to the top of corporations. But it seems more reasonable to assume that the directors and CEOs of these organizations did not start out intending to spawn rogue traders or a rogue culture. After the fact, many of the rogues express deep remorse. Kweku Adoboli, the UBS trader, said through his lawyer that he was “sorry beyond words for what has happened here. He went to UBS and told them what he had done and stands appalled at the scale of the consequences of his disastrous miscalculations.” My reading of the various rogue cases is that at first things started to go bad slowly, and then very fast. What interests me is the “slowly” part, when leaders and co-workers might have intervened to prevent the eventual disaster. Why didn’t they?
An excellent book co-edited by my colleague, Ed Hess, and Kim Cameron, Leading with Values: Positivity, Virtue, and High Performance contains a range of essays that illuminate the challenge of creating great cultures. The best organizations are not “anything goes” kinds of places. They promote and police clear standards. My colleague, Jim Clawson, says that what we tolerate tends to be what we teach.
This past spring, Darden adopted a set of professional norms that commit us all as follows:
Darden aspires to provide everyone in our community a world-class experience built on principles of “collaborative excellence.” To that end, we announce and endorse the following principles of behavior within our community:
  • We the members of the Darden Community, across our many roles, treat everyone with courtesy and respect.
  • We act with integrity: we do what we say.
  • We communicate with positive intent and appreciation for what others have contributed to our results.
  • We treat everyone with fairness.
  • We have a joint responsibility to bring suspected incidents of misconduct forward.
Every day, we all face a variety of “flattened stogies:” behavior or conditions in the environment that do not reflect our aspirations for the community in which we live. The strength of our community depends on how we respond. Neglect is not the answer. Gandhi said, “you must live the world you want to see.”
A leader sets a tone for the community. Through small acts such as picking up trash one signals what is important. Do I pick up trash because I’m the Dean? Or am I the Dean because I pick up trash? Think about it.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Airplane Seating for the XXL Impaired


(It's really hot today in Vanillaville. To hot to read a lengthy rant, so I'm going to take it easy on you, dear readers, with a short blog for today. This blog completes the Birmingham Blog trifecta.)


Those of you who know me would probably say that I'm a pretty nice guy (and good looking too.) But there is one time in my life that the dark side of “the Force” comes out...a side not shown to many...a side that makes Donald Trump look like Mother Theresa. You can almost hear the hoof beats of the Headless Horseman's steed, the wailing midnight bells of a church in Transylvania during a thunderstorm. I mean this is serious stuff, when that onerous, nasty and pernicious aspect of yours truly rears its ugly head. And, dear reader, when does this transformation occur? No, it's not when I have to decide whether to concede Dr. Demento a 2 foot putt, it's when I'm one of the last people to board an airplane.

It's the one part of flying I really love. The part when I have to board the flight late and most of the seats are taken. As I start to walk down the airplane's aisle, I start scanning the crowd for a row with an empty seat in the middle. Once I find one, I start looking directly in the eyes of the people in the aisle and window seats. Remember, I'm 6 feet 3 inches tall and weigh 260 pounds of bent twisted steel. I'm a 16 ounce person in a 12 ounce world with 8 ounce airplane seats. I can see instantly that they are silently pleading with whatever entity they know as God that they will never again (fill in the blank here) if He/She/or It will not let me, also know as The Human Coke Machine, amble up next to them and point at the empty seat in the middle. (It's even better if I'm sweating profusely.) I know that they will offer ANYTHING, ANYTHING to their deity if Godzilla will simply keep walking. I can read their thoughts: “PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don't let “HIM” sit beside me. It's bad enough I have to fly to Sheboygan, let alone do it like a sardine in a can.”

It's almost palpable, the feeling of emotional release, I feel from those I pass as I move past them and keep heading toward the imaginary empty aisle seat further down the plane. Occasionally, I ruin their entire day by bypassing them initially then circling back and get them on the rebound once it's determined there is no room at the inn at the back of the plane. That tap on the shoulder from the rear to let them know that Mephistopheles has returned and he's looking to sit next TO YOU, usually produces the same type of audible gasp you hear when you step on a frog.

Some days folks, you just have to take one for the team....and today would be one of those days.

And later on when I have to get up and go the bathroom...............

Hell, I feel like I'm eminently qualified to perform in Cirque du Soleil after the contortions I have to go through to fit, pee, wash, maneuver and extricate myself from an airplane bathroom. It's the Southwest Airlines version of the one man circus clown car. And if there's anybody waiting in line to use the bathroom after I exit, the look on their face as they try to picture how 8.7 cubic feet of me fit in the 6.4 cubic foot of bathroom is absolutely priceless.

But now that I have my neck thingy, Lola, I can sit in either the A, B or the C seat and be perfectly comfortable while the poor, unwashed masses next to me suffer.

It's me and Lola “to infinity and beyond.”



Until next time...........

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Lola


(This is the second of 3 blogs I wrote on our flight back from Birmingham last week. After reading this one, you should be virtually panting for the third blog.)

She's been my lovely bride for over 40 years now and I'm mildly fond of her but the former Miss Massachusetts hit one out of the park at the beginning of our flight home from Birmingham. I mean the ball was still on it's way up when it left the yard on this one.

I'm sitting at the gate minding my own business, trying to look like I'm not checking everybody out within an inch of their life.


I'm especially waiting for some woman in those ridiculously high platform shoes, who seemingly came by in alarming frequency, to misstep, thereby making an orthopedic surgeon's day, when my bride presents me with a gift for the flight. (No, not a men's pair of those shoes.)

Now you have to understand that she's been buying me clothes for north of four decades and not once, not once ever (I exaggerate, maybe once) has she ever gotten me anything in my size, (XXL), my preferred color (Augusta green) or something that I actually needed. (I can hear her say, "I know it's a small and it's pink and you'll never use it but it was on sale and I thought you'd like it.") We could probably own ocean front property based upon the money for gas we would have saved from her not having to return virtually ALL the the articles of clothing she has ever purchased for me out of the kindness of her dear, misguided, little heart. But this time it was different. This time she bought me one of those soft, spongy horseshoe shaped thingys that fit around your neck when you fly.

                                                                     Lola

Now you have to understand that I grew up watching TV sitting on the edge of the couch hunched over so much so that my dear, departed mother used to say to me, "Sit up straight or your going to grow up in the shape of a question mark." As usual, she was right. I'm only missing the little period on my bottom. So, based upon my size (I'm affectionately called The Human Coke Machine by some) and my shape/posture, sitting on a airplane for any more than 5 minutes is an uncomfortable experience for me, not to mention the people sitting next to me. And since many flights last more than 5 minutes, I'm usually mildly cranky and irritable when we finally arrive at our appointed destination. The good news is that my normal slouch combined with the bend in my neck from sitting in a malformed seat for hours on end, usually means that I'm so slouched over upon exiting the plane, I stand minimal chance of banging my head on the ceiling of the fuselage as I depart. (Many times I save that thrilling experience for the top of the door as I exit the aircraft......Welcome to Sheboygan.....thud.)

I wore my neck thingy, now christened “Lola,” all the way back from Birmingham and I feel great. Almost makes me want to book another flight immediately.

I think I'll go out and buy my bride a XXL, forest green golf shirt to show her my appreciation.


Until next time..........

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

....."in case of a water landing"......


(While returning to Boston on a flight, I penned 3 blogs. Here is the first. I hope you enjoy it.)

My lovely bride, the former Miss Massachusetts, and I were recently returning from a trip to Birmingham, Alabama aboard a Southwest Airlines flight. When the flight attendants do their spiel at the beginning of the flight, about how to fasten your seat belt, for the one possible moron out there who can't figure that one out, or the thing about the emergency exits and how we would all proceed like lemmings to the exits if we had to, all I heard was the phrase, "in case of a water landing." Many things went through my mind, several of which I'll share with you now.

My first thought was related to how much water we'd be flying over between Birmingham, Alabama and our connection to Boston in Baltimore. I mean the Okefenokee swamp was quite a bit off to our right, the Mississippi River was at least a driver and a five iron (three iron for you, McGregor) to our left and the ripplin' Susquehana was nowhere in sight. Sheboygan has water but I knew we weren't, at least we shouldn't be, anywhere near Wisconsin. I couldn't turn on my mental Google Maps, because we were below 10,000 feet, to review whether there were any other significant bodies of water in Tennessee or West Virginia or any other states that we might be flying over that contained any 5th grade geography remembrances of water. (The Grand Coulee Dam? Nah, we wouldn't be walking away from hitting that.) Maybe a large swimming pool in lush but not overly ostentatious Arlington, Virginia might suffice.

My next thought related to the actual words "water landing," and how else might that be phrased.

Possibly, "...in the UNLIKELY event of an water landing...."

or....

....in the unlikely event we have one of those (wink, wink) landings in water like you see in the movies where the plane doesn’t disintegrate into a million indistinguishable itsy bitsy pieces and everything just looks an afternoon walk in the park with your dog barking and birds chirping and grass growing and the economy actually growing after spending a trillion dollars to stimulate it....."

or....

"..in the unlikely event of a water mishap, you should be aware that Capt. Sully Sullenberger isn't actually flying this plane, so have a nice day."

You can “mis-speak” to me about water landings but please don't mess with my stomach.

They gave out bags of peanuts so small that I was actually hungrier after I ate them than before. I mean Mother Theresa would have handed them back to the attendant and said, “Can you re-plant this bag and bring it back to me with more than 4 peanuts in it?"

I have to cut the Birminghamians some slack regarding their heat. It was 108 degrees when we arrived and that, no question, gets your immediate attention as soon as you exit the terminal. But I couldn't help but think, what if they, the Birminghamians, came to Boston in say, late January? They would no doubt think we New Englanders were crazy for enduring such cold weather. The Birmingham heat was unforgettable, unforgiving and unreal. (I would have added more words that began with "un-something" but I ran out. ) 108 degrees is without question pretty nasty hot but once or twice I stepped out of the shade into the direct sunlight and that's when the sweat party really began in my brain. I mean it's in your face, heavy, searing, slow your life cycle down to 15 frames per second hot. It's like you instantaneously start asking yourself, "Is whatever I just stepped out of the hot, sticky, sweaty shade into the mother lode of heat to do really and truly worth it? If it doesn't have to do with saving my soul, winning the lottery or getting a date with Kim Basinger, why am I doing this?" One day when we were there it was cloudy and only about 80 degrees. That sounds good until I find out that the humidity was about 140%. I was dealing with those circumstances in the cool, calm manner for which I am noted when the clouds parted and the temperature, in about 15 minutes, rose to about 140 degrees with 80% humidity.
And, oh, by the way, it's only 10 o'clock in the morning, the noon day sun is still in the bullpen. Hopefully, the Birminghamians will visit Sowhegan in January, lose a finger or toe or two to frostbite, and then we'll be even.

On a more serious note, the reason the bride and I went to Birmingham was to attend a 5 day religious retreat put on by an organization that she has belonged to for 30 years, Caritas of Birmingham. The rules for the retreat were simple and straight forward: no cell phones or electronic equipment on the premises for the 5 days. No immodest dress or gum chewing. No cameras or video cameras. No smoking. And the coup de grace, NO CHAIRS OR LAWN CHAIRS. The entire 5 day proceedings were held outside. (see previous remarks about 100+ degree heat and NO LAWN CHAIRS.)

You know what, dealing with the heat without plopping my ample posterior on anything but God's green earth really wasn't all that bad. It's amazing what you can do and endure when you put your mind to it. It was peaceful and as serene a setting and experience as you could imagine. People from all over the world participated, maybe 2,000 in all. What impressed me the most was that when you looked at the people, also enduring the blast furnace heat, they were smiling and cheerful. (Your humble blog author would not have been categorized as either smiling or serene. There was no congeniality award presented, but I doubt I would have been nominated anyway, if you get my drift.) There were a large number of elderly people there and many, many young ones too. And in 5 days, I never heard one person complain about anything. I've used the expression many, many times, "You've got play the hand that's dealt you" and let me tell you these people did that without complaint.

I learned a number of lessons too. A few days without iPhones, iPads, TV and newspapers isn't the end of the world. (Before you think we donned sackcloth and ashes all day, every day, we did go back to the air conditioned hotel room late each evening.) But the many hours spent in their field, sitting on the bare ground praying and meditating (in the shade) was inspiring. The days were spent in thought and prayer about ourselves, our country and our world. (Two of the three of those are in big trouble. I'll let you decide, dear reader, which two.)

The hardest part of the retreat comes now. (I'm writing a good portion of this blog on the return flight.) And that part is applying our thoughts and conclusions individually arrived at from the retreat into everyday life. It's easy to live the "good and just" life at a retreat but putting that into practice.........let's see how that works out. We'll find out when the first soccer mom in her Chevy Suburban, talking on her cell phone cradled in her ear while holding a Dunkin Donuts ice coffee with a car load of kids in the back cuts me off on Route 1. I'm sure I'll just offer up a silent prayer for her...........after I lean on the horn for all it's worth.

What was also amazing was that there were 2,000 people gathered together over 5 days and there was not a speck of trash on the grounds. (I notice these things.) Bottled water was made available and I'd say 10,000 bottles were consumed and you could look around for hundreds of yards in each direction and there were no discarded water bottles and no trash and I mean NO TRASH, not a single piece of paper. It made me wonder what the Boston Esplanade must have looked like after the 4th of July fireworks concert. I doubt it looked anything like where I was.

And so, bottom line here: "Do unto other as you would have done unto you."
I assure you, if you apply that phrase into your life you will make many new friends and your enemies will probably die of a heart attack. That sounds like a Win-Win to me.

End of sermon.

Now how do you unfasten that pesky seat belt again?