The Straight Skinny

The Straight Skinny

“The Emperor is naked!”

It is left to a naïve child to blurt out the truth, when so many would not because they were flattering the emperor or afraid of appearing stupid.

In 1837, the Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen published the folk tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes. The story tells of a vain ruler obsessed with being a fashion plate. Every outfit had to be new and spectacular. Enter two con men who flatter the high king promising to create a suit of clothes so dazzling that only the incompetent and stupid will not see its magnificence.

Andersen, like the Grimm brothers, collected folk tales from around the world.  He based this one on a German translation of a Spanish version of a Persian retelling of an Indian tale. All previous versions make the clothes visible to those of legitimate birth; people praise the unseen clothes lest they outed as bastards. Andersen changed the invisibility indicator to incompetence and so insecure courtiers’ fawning exposes the king’s bum.

The con-tailors elaborately loom an invisible suit. The emperors advisors rave about the garments’ beauty. No one, including the Emperor, admits they might be too stupid to appreciate such sartorial splendor.

One small boy gives the ruler the “straight skinny” when the emperor parades past in his birthday suit.

As leaders rise, the “straight skinny” recedes.

Getting honest feedback at the top of an organization (or a country), is hard. A Mike Nichols and Elaine May song lyric from the movie Ishtar illustrates:

“Telling the truth can be dangerous business. Honest and popular don’t go hand-in hand.

If you admit that you play the accordion, no one will hire you in a rock-n-roll band.”

 There are the flatterers, who might “fib just a little” to better their career prospects.

“You are such an amazing founder. Ignore the shareholder requests for a new CEO. Who else could lead this company as well as you do!”

There are the “sugar-coaters.”

“The people who fill out surveys only complain; we have millions of happy customers.”

“When you cut sales demographically we’ve made some real gains in the those over 65.”

 There are some who are protecting your feelings.

“No, of course that dress doesn’t make you look fat.”

“Everybody forgets things.”

“You look good!”

We old people hear this one so much, comedians now talk about the three ages of man: Youth, Middle Age, and “You look good!”)

It ain’t all their fault

Leaders create the dearth of straight skinny. When you explode at bad news, you ensure others “won’t make that mistake again.”

Are you susceptible to flattery?  When you receive a compliment do you glow in a way that affects critical thinking?

Who do you include in your closest meetings? Flatterers and sugar-coaters? People who believe in you and your ideas? Or “”Difficult people,” “Debbie Downers,” “Nattering nabobs of negativity?”

Are you prepared to believe any cockamamie explanation instead of the truth. ”You know DeNile is not just a river in Egypt.” (Denial is self-preservation for vanity.)

There are consequences beyond your feelings.

Beneath the radar in every disaster there was probably a “straight skinny teller:”

“General Custer, sir, I think there might be more of them than you think.”

“Captain Smith., I’d like to see Titanic set the crossing record too, but they did say icebergs have been spotted.”

At one point in my career I studied large process safety incidents, BP’s Texas City Refinery, Deep Water Horizon, Challenger, Columbia, and many more. In every one I studied there was always someone with the “straight skinny” who was disregarded or even ridiculed. Lives and livelihood are too much at stake not to listen.

Not listening is a tragic flaw

Playwrights and authors have always seen those who ignore the “straight skinny” as creators of their own destruction.

Sophocles, gave Oedipus many who warned about the “kill Dad, bed Mom” thing. Did Fast-Oedi listen? Not-so-much.

King Lear listened to daughters Goneril’s and Regan’s flattery and rejected his truth-tellingdaughter Cordelia. ‘How like a serpents tooth it is to have a thankless child.” When the Earl of Kent tries to inform him of his mistake, Lear kicks him out of the cabinet.

Anakin Skywalker, feared losing Padme, became Darth Vader. Othello feared losing Desdemona and he and pretty much everyone became dead. Neither listens to people trying to give them the straight skinny.

Finding your straight skinny teller

You can look for straight skinny devotes by assiduously avoiding the opposites. What is the opposite of the straight skinny teller? The crooked skinny teller who promises you inside information, but gives you lies that only benefit them? The straight corpulent who is always positive, not just a half-full person, but a cup-runneth-over person.

There are some other ways:

  • Start with the person in the mirror. Express gratitude for bad news. Take compliments graciously and move on, steeling yourself against flattery. Ask for all the data, not just the good stuff.
  • Notice who agrees and disagrees with you. You want independent thinkers. The person who always agrees with you is gravitating to the power source. The person who always disagrees may be counter-dependent.
  • Don’t play favorites. Bring different people into meetings. Ask for opposing viewpoints in decision-making discussions.
  • Value you those who help keep your ego in check. When the Roman Senate authorized a Triumph, the parade and celebration ceremony for victorious generals, they placed a Senate slave in the general’s chariot to repeat “Momento mori sic transit gloria” (“Remember you are mortal; glory fades”). My wife sometimes fills this role, with humor that helps me laugh at myself.
  • Say “thank you” when someone gives you the straight skinny. Reward those who break you out of denial, short circuit your magical thinking, and identify and challenge assumptions. Perhaps you’ll avoid that embarrassing moment when someone blurts out:

 The Emperor is naked!

Learning from Genealogy

Learning from Genealogy

“I seek dead people”

My wife is an amateur genealogist. She spends her retirement researching her extended, extended family. She is a detail person, a puzzler, a rigorous researcher, and a writer. She uses all her skills pursuing records of her long dead relatives.

Giving gifts to support her passion is a challenge. I’ve considered books, but it’s like buying Sculpture for Dummies for Michaelangelo. I’ve settled on tee shirts and coffee mugs with dumb genealogy jokes, which, like telling consultant jokes to consultants, must get old.

Genealogy is history taken personally

Billie’s favorite TV show is Dr. Henry Gates’ Finding Your Roots on PBS. I sometimes join her watching celebrities reactions to unknown family stories. Children of immigrants learn their ancestors sacrifices; descendants of slaves, understand their horrific past in a visceral way.  Family stories touch us deeply.

At dinner, Billie sometimes overflows with a story:

“I can’t believe what this woman went through. In a twelve year period, she lost six children and had four who lived. Then her husband died. She married his brother and then two of their children died. Then they moved from Pennsylvania to Iowa. It was the early 1800s. Did they pack a wagon or walk?”

Or she’ll be frustrated with a puzzle she can’t work out:

“There’s no record of a Robert being born. He doesn’t show up in the 1850 census. He is nowhere in marriage records, but here’s his grave, death date 1864.”

Later, when she solves the mystery, she is like a six-year-old girl in a princess dress. “You won’t believe this. . . “

Side benefits for me

Billie did some research for my family reunion. I was amazed. For example, I’d thought both sides of my family immigrated in the late nineteen century. My mother’s and my father’s family actually arrived in the mid-1700s. I was hooked, not Billie-level, but intrigued.

She bought me an Ancestry.com membership and two DNA tests; I learned more. My mother’s grandfather was in the Confederate Army. My father’s grandfather and his brother, mustered into the Union Army of Indiana on the same day. These Blues and Grays were in different battles, but if either hadn’t survived I wouldn’t be here.

My DNA tests show 1% Cherokee DNA and a little snooping on Ancestry found that my great, great grandmother was the daughter of Chief Thomas and a white woman. Chief Thomas survived the “Trail of Tears” and died in Oklahoma.

My father’s family always steadfastly maintained they were English, but they were from west of the Rhine river, at various times German, French or Swiss land. I also have 3% Ashkenazi Jewish DNA, probably from that line, but I am unsure where. . . yet.

My paternal great, great, great, grandfather moved his family twelve miles from Hagerstown, Maryland to Franklin County Pennsylvania. Before then my last name was spelled variously Koller, Köller, Kohler. After the move it was spelled Culler.

Family stories

There is family lore that my father’s family were Huguenots, French Protestants, persecuted in their local area. Perhaps they were followers of John Calvin unwelcome in Catholic Alsace, Northwest Switzerland, or the Rhineland. Or was the persecution in Hagerstown, a German Catholic area, before they moved to the English dominated Pennsylvania? Or both?

Perhaps the most famous story I know of tracking ancestry from family lore is Alex Haley’s Pulitzer Prize winning book Roots: The Saga of an American Family (1976)Haley, a writer  (The Biography of Malcolm X) and screenwriter (Superfly),  heard stories about his ancestor, young Kunta Kinte captured next to a kuambe belongo (river), brought to Maryland and sold as a slave. Haley used family stories, language and cultural traditions to track his family history long before Ancestry.com and Family Tree DNA. The Roots television miniseries opened Americans eyes to the horrors of slavery and the importance of oral tradition.

“I finally found you, you old African!” he exclaims in the final scene. Haley travelled to Gambia and found a shaman who had memorized members of the tribe. Before written language this is how genealogy, and all history, was recorded. Now we depend on family bibles, government records, family lore and maybe one genealogy “nut.”

Family records

Billie is her family’s generation recorder. She writes histories and distributes them to relatives who express gratitude, but rarely read them. It is an endless, thankless task.

I gave her a tee shirt:

“My work is done. I found everyone in my family tree and all my records are documented,    (said no genealogist ever).”

Occasionally, she vents about the sloppiness of some of her fellow researchers.

“How is it possible to record a person as the mother of another person, when the birth certificate shows she was born after her supposed child?.”

You can guess who manages our home records.

Learning from our history

How has genealogy enlightened me?

I was surprised that my father’s stories collapsed generations. The “four Culler brothers who immigrated to America and moved to Indianna” were four generations from the immigrants.

I asked Billie what she had learned. She replied, “that I am a grand amalgam of many people, who all lived lives while the history we read about – the founding of the country, the Civil War, the Depression – was happening around them. I am, we all are, a combination of all those people.”

“And yet,” I said, “we are each unique. We all get a slice of available DNA so my sister’s reflects my father’s side and I favor my mother’s Scots-Irish.

My family history, includes people who stayed in one place and those who moved families hundreds of miles in buckboards. There are families who prospered, and some who lost everything. There are stories of heartache and resilience. And, as Billie said, I’m connected to all of them.

Billie and I each discovered an ancestor family living in William Penn’s Philadelphia who may have been friends, a previously unknown connection between us. Perhaps if everyone studied genealogy we’d know we are all connected more than we imagine – each a unique leaf in the family tree of humankind.

Consultant-osis and Change-itis

Consultant-osis and Change-itis

“Consultant, eh? Good money for old rope!”

It was my first day on-site, at my first consulting project. I was still in business school. Angus, this sixty-year-old Cheshire truck manufacturing manager was communicating his experience with consultants.

I wasn’t completely oblivious. I did know it wasn’t positive experience. I may have asked him to explain or maybe he just did. In his view consultants came up with solutions that had been thought of and tried before and that if management was serious about solving the problem they should ask the workforce. Now I agree with him. Then I probably said something like, “Well, let’s see.”

In the end our little team of London Business School students and two Harbridge House consultants recommended that ERF, a builder of heavy-duty tractor-trailer cabs, expand into eight-wheel 32 ton trucks (fire engines and big dump trucks), but not build 16 ton box vans, because box vans were used in distribution where the extra weight was a disadvantage. They successfully implemented our recommendations.

Going back to Angus’s experience, someone inside ERF shared our point of view. We just gave the CEO data to be sure of the decision. Could they have done that on their own?. Probably. We just had no ax to grind.

Did we change Angus’s point of view? I doubt it, but we carefully listened and accurately represented his expertise about manufacturing capacity, new assembly lines, lead times, and volumes. He signed onto our plan when asked.

So in this instance, Consultant-osis, disease of the consultant, was mitigated, if not cured.

One disease of the consultant is arrogance. Some consultants have lived their whole life being told how smart they are and lord over mid-level managers. Are they insecure and feel the need to act confident? Maybe, but whatever the reason, consultant-osis, can be fatal. Humility and pleasant behavior are the only known cure.

“Here comes the flavor of the month.”

This pathology may be consultant-osis or executive-osis. When you hear this, people are telling you the company over-uses consultants. Perhaps there is executive turnover and each new manager wants to leave his or her mark with a big initiative. Maybe the hiring client is susceptible to pitches for the latest management fad. Or maybe the company has failed at implementing a change framework (Lean or Agile) and rather than fix what they were working on, they hire another consultant and start over with a new methodology.

Find out what people mean by ‘flavor of the month” so you can help. Find out the reasons for previous failures from the people involved, but advocate for organizational learning, and focus on actually achieving results. Identify “quick wins,” but extra careful of the unintended consequences of intervening in a system before you truly understand it. Clearly delineate implementation obstacles, and how to overcome them. Be careful about rewarding milestones or declaring victory too soon. Confront initiative-itis or change-itis in projects with long timelines by breaking the project into a series pilots, to achieve quicker results and keep energy up. If the “best way” is unclear run pilots in pairs to try different approaches.

“Not again! How many times? I know . . . until we get it right.”

I’ve heard people describe continuous improvement initiatives as “continuous change.” I’ve started innovation projects and been greeted with, “So we’ll brainstorm a bunch of ideas we won’t do because they cost money?”

Change fatigue is real. Change is hard –  create the “why change” case, and a vision, and plan the how, measure progress, measure results and control backsliding. Jeesh! That’s a lot of work and management may change their minds about if the quarterly numbers tank.

When fatigue leads to inflammation, infection, and failure to thrive

Initiative-itis or change-itis is worse and more of it. The medical suffix “itis” means “inflammation” – change or initiative failure so severe that people are inflamed. Did a continuous improvement project increase efficiency, but people lost their jobs? Did innovation produce a new product, that failed and the people involved were labelled “unpromotable losers?”

Such chronic inflammation is tough to overcome. Who would sign up for a consultant project team? It causes good people to look for another job. Hostility to consultants is not uncommon, but it can get scary.

I wasn’t on the project of the most extreme case I heard about.  At a reengineering project someone fired a rifle through a window into the team room. Fortunately no one was hurt. The project was cancelled. I talked with the team manager later and she said, “There were warnings. People were assigned to our client team, but didn’t show up. We’d come into work and find notes that accused us of “genocide.” I just thought it was resistance, but It was worse than usual. Later we learned that the company had used what they called ‘rightsizing’ in an ugly, violent campaign to bust a union. We never should have taken the project.”

The plant was later sold to a competitor and closed down.

I did see other change-itis. My approach was to explain the severity to my client and work with as many “friendlies” as I could. I ensured that my work didn’t harm people and focused on achieving results. For the most part I succeeded.

I worked to avoid consultant-osis. I coached clients with client-osis to do one thing at a time, focus on results, and create processes to sustain those results. When I encountered change fatigue, or initiative-itis, I took it slow and empowered those who overcame inertia and cynicism. Cynics and sceptics make the best project teammates; they are often discouraged idealists, who achieve great things when reenergized and supported.

Someone once flattered me with the nickname “country doctor.” I don’t have a medical model of consulting, but I do believe consultants should adopt the first part of the Hippocratic oath:

“First, do no harm.”

Traveling the Consulting Road is now available

 “Taking Yourself in Hand”

 “Taking Yourself in Hand”

My inner thirteen-year-old boy spit Mountain Dew everywhere when I came up with this title, but he thinks it is “way better than ‘Self-Leadership’ – boring!”  Every act of leadership is first an act of self-leadership. Leading change starts with “taking yourself in hand,” (snicker, snicker).

Change requires leaders

I spent a significant part of my long consulting career “training” leaders. I facilitated leadership workshops at British Airways, General Motors, Short Brothers, BP among other companies. I ran countless leadership team offsites to formulate new strategies, or design new organizations.

Eventually, I differentiated between management skill, which focuses on getting work done in a relatively steady state, and leadership skill, which clarifies direction in abnormal states like change, war or emergency, and attracts followers so that “people move as one” in the new direction – transformation, victory or safety. I emphasized the importance of both skills to the organizations with whom I worked. Some companies were more successful at change than others, but I know I reached many individuals in ways they appreciated.

I will always remember the epiphany of one senior manager, who said, “I didn’t want to attend this session, but I now see that change in this huge corporation comes down to me doing different things or doing things differently. I can’t do it myself, but we can’t do it without me either.”

Leadership development

Each of these learning interventions was different. Sometimes clients expected a “secret sauce,” a formula for leadership that had worked many places and would work for them. In my early years, I often used the same themes: vision and visionary communication, empathy, empowerment, trust, tough-mindedness, and exemplary actions. Many of these ideas worked as themes, but the “course materials” were always different. After all, leadership is steeped in the context of the change. We lead toward something or away from something, but the something is specific.

Many organizations, even civilizations have trained leaders. The Periclean Age Athenians educated high potentials in philosophical dialogue and oration and sent them to Eleusis to experience the “mysteries” of the cult of Demeter – the cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth – change and hope apparently aided by ergot fungus.

Militaries have always trained their elite corps from the Spartan Hippeis (not “hippies”), to Rome’s Praetorian Guard, to West Point, Annapolis, and the US Airforce Academy. Many business schools, universities, and even high schools offer courses in leadership. Many of these probably teach a combination of management and leadership skill, along with concepts like initiative, proactivity, and prioritization. All good content, but many will still say that “leaders are born not made.”

Self-leadership

Great leaders are often portrayed as born with certain virtues. Six-year-old George Washington told his father “Father, I cannot tell a lie. It was I who cut down your prize cherry tree with my little hatchet.” His father was so impressed with Georgie’s honesty that he didn’t punish him; perhaps this is where Washington’s famed magnanimous ideals came from. (My father would have slowly removed his belt.)

The cherry tree story showed up in the fifth edition of Mason Locke Weems’ book The Life of Washington,  originally published in 1800, the year of Washington’s death, under the title The History of the Life, Death, Virtues, and Exploits of General George Washington. Parson Weems was a traveling Episcopal minister, who sold his books on the side. He apparently subscribed to the “great leaders are born” theory, describing the President’s natural honesty, athleticism, temperance, and “veneration for the Deity.” He missed that Washington overcame dyslexia to teach himself to read. Washington’s wisdom came from accepting responsibility for and learning from some colossal mistakes. He single-handedly started the French and Indian War by attacking a French scouting party he could have easily gone around and was strategically cautious in battle thereafter. His motto was “99% of failures come from people who make excuses.”

Twelve-year-old Abraham Lincoln borrowed Parson Weems’ book from a farmer seven miles walk from his home. When the tome got damaged by rain, Lincoln worked for the farmer for three days to repay his debt.

Honest Abe is often described as a self-made man. He had no formal education, but taught himself to read. His voice was often as “shrill,” or “reedy” or “sharp and piercing like a boatswain’s whistle.” Yet he was known as a tremendous orator. “His words rang through” and his enunciation and slow, considered delivery ensured that he was understood.

Washington and Lincoln came from vastly different backgrounds, but they each developed themselves. In that sense perhaps all leaders are self-developed, people experienced in “taking themselves in hand” or first leading themselves before leading others.

Taking yourself in hand

Even when I get past my teenage boy snickering, it’s an unusual phrase for self-leadership. Holding your own hand and leading yourself. We have many such phrases:

  • “Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” has been used as an unrealistic expectations cudgel for the disadvantaged, but expresses personal responsibility and self-reliance.
  • “Steel yourself” implies determination and self-imposed tough-mindedness that will not accept failure or give up.
  • “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” advocates a “there is no failure, but giving up” ethos.
  • “No. Try not! Do or Do Not. There is no Try!” in the words of Yoda from George Lucas’s Star Wars.

Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Successful People, is instruction for self-leadership.

    1. Be proactive
    2. Begin with the end in mind
    3. Put first things first
    4. Think win/win
    5. Seek first to understand, then to make yourself understood
    6. Learn to synergize
    7. Sharpen the saw

Whether you buy Covey’s recipe for success or leadership or whether you have your own five or seven principles, you only become successful, fulfilled, a leader, by acting, practicing, learning (perceiving and processing), and acting again – in other words,  by “taking yourself in hand.”

(Snicker, snicker)

Thomas and Mountain Memories

Thomas and Mountain Memories

The trail began in a yellow green wood.

“Don’t get your feet wet!” My mother admonished as I leaped across a trickle-stream not bothering with the log bridge.

Was I six? Seven? I’m pretty sure it was before Cub Scouts and that was eight. The leaves had just started to turn, so before my October birthday- September? Carolyn wasn’t there, but Connie was. My sisters are eleven and six years older than me. Caorlyn, later called Lynne was too grown up to be much of a part of my boyhood, except for the dog she bought me when I turned nine, without asking my parents. Connie regressed to be my first playmate, but that didn’t last when she became a teenager, so definitely not eight yet. Maybe five going on six? Probably six going on seven.

Mount Monadnock was less than an hour’s drive from our home. It is in Jaffrey in southern New Hampshire. We went on a family adventure driving in the old gray Willys. Connie and I counted pastured cows as we looked out half-rolled-down windows on our own side of the backseat. “Oh there’s a cemetery; you lost all your cows.” Connie gloated. “That’s NOT fair!” I pouted sticking out my lower lip, which made her laugh and improved my mood.

All the cemeteries were on my side of the car going, but her side coming home. “Why can’t we go a different way? She half-whined and Mama and Daddy laughed. “Fair’s fair”

I ran into the woods despite being warned to stay with the family. Connie caught me up. “Don’t make Daddy mad, kiddo. Besides, it’s a long walk- you need to take your time.”

“Alan, come over here and look at this. That’s a lady slipper. No, don’t pick it. You need to let it be so it’ll come up again next year. We have some of these in the woods behind the house.” I looked at the hanging gossamer pink lantern next to a dark green broad leaf and was six-year-old unimpressed, but humored the old man. “That’s neat, Daddy.”

I first noticed the warmth of the day as the trail started to rise. Those in our party, who hadn’t been running back and forth and up and down the trail, seemed less bothered by the heat and the incline than me, but I remember Mama saying, “Alan, that’s all the water we have,” as I gulped at the thermos she’d brought in a big straw bag.

“Let him drink, Nan. They’ll be a stream up a ways.”

The trail got steeper. I struggled. I may have started to whine, and whining was definitely not approved behavior in our household. That didn’t stop me, but Connie, ever-the-seismograph for my father’s volcanic impatience jumped in. “Alan Cay, remember Thomas?” Thomas, the Little Engine Who Could, was a favorite story in our house and a lesson used to get me to do many things from finishing my dinner to, now, climbing a mountain.

“I think I can. I think I can,” Connie softly chanted. Soon I picked up the chant. “I think I can. I think I can,” my little legs chugging up the mountain.”

“Thank you, Connie,” said Mama softly.

“I think I can. I think I can, whoo, whoo.”

“I know I can. I know I can,” I sang out as we broke out of the hardwood onto a first outcropping of rock. “Breaking out of the trees” is a hiking exhilaration that has never gotten old and this, my first experience of it, still thrills in my memory.

I was quickly disappointed as we could now see the top of the mountain. “It’s way over there?!”

“Come on, Thomas. I think I can. . . .”

So we started down into the conifers between our position and the peak. Soon there were fir needles cushioning our sneakers and smelling like Christmas. The cool dark green of the forest was broken here and there by vertical golden shafts of sunlight that kept me looking for fairies among the trees.

The downhill-into-the-elfin-glades euphoria didn’t last. Soon the trail wound uphill again. “I think I can. I think I can. . . . How much further?”

“Alan Cay, look here’s a toad, by the water. Look he’s wet and you can see colors on his back.” A cup dipped into the stream. Water never tasted so good before or since.

“I think I can. I think I can. . . . I know I can. I know I can.”

We broke out of the trees a second time, this time from dense fir and spruce onto the granite dome that is the summit of Monadnock, “the mountain that stands alone.”

Gray Granite dome at Mount Monadnock summit with view of the green hills surrounding it.

Mount Monadnock is only 3100 feet tall. As summit views go, it is far from the most spectacular I have seen in my life, but in my brain pictures it remains more vivid than most.

 

I love the bumper sticker. “Get High on Mountains.”

 

Hiking is now a family legacy and Thomas has stayed with me all my life.   “I know I can. I know I can.”