Management Leverage Blog

File this one under learning from my mistakes.

A skip* of mine confided in me that she was unhappy with her job and ready to move on to greener pastures. But she was considerate enough to add that she thinks I am an amazing manager. And that the decision to leave had nothing to do with my management style.

But I’m not so sure I agree with her on that.

First of all, it’s my job to know if one of my employees is dissatisfied on the job, and management leverage is only successfully built through mutually beneficial relationships and open, 2-way communication.

If she was so discontented that she had already decided to leave before I became aware of it, then that probably means  I’m not doing my job as a manager.

Attrition is costly, even in an economy characterized by high unemployment. And to find and train someone to replace her will not be easy. But even if she is replaced that won’t remedy the problem unless I get to the bottom of why I didn’t see this situation coming in time to intervene and give her the support and encouragement she needed and deserved.

Right now I meet with my direct reports weekly, but I only meet with my skips during our weekly team meeting. That needs to change.

From here on out I will make sure that I meet with each of my skips, face-to-face and one-on-one, at least once a month.

* A skip is someone who is the direct report of one of my direct reports.

True to the original Jaws novel by author Peter Benchley, Steven Spielberg’s screenplay included a startling scene where the giant shark feasted on the film’s main character – a grizzled diver named Hooper.

Spielberg created the visual effect by hiring a scuba diving stunt midget. By filming the diminutive diver next to a 16-foot Great White, the shark appeared to be a 25-foot monster.

Or at least that was the filmmaker’s original plan.

After shooting the scene off the coast of Australia, the film crew phoned Spielberg. They were ecstatic about the footage they had captured when the shark became enraged after catching its gill in the cable that connected the miniature cage to the boat.

But there was just one problem. The midget was not in the cage when all that happened.

Spielberg purportedly said—at least initially—that they couldn’t use it. Without the mini-Hooper in the scene, they couldn’t kill him off. And in an era before the technology of computer generated imagery – the footage was useless.

Unless, of course, they scrapped their original script and let the main character live – which is ultimately what they decided to do. They killed a subplot in order to ensure the survival of a blockbuster movie.

This is not an example of making lemonade when life gives you lemons

There weren’t any lemons. They could have simply shot the scene again–this time with a small person in a tiny cage. Making movies requires usually requires multiple takes. They do it all the time.

But the scene would have been mediocre compared to the film they shot with the pissed-off great white. So they scrapped their specific goal of feeding Hooper to the sharks.

Science teaches us that specific goals are better than vague goals. But keep in mind that specific goals are usually not the main goal. And main goals are often vague.

If we focus too much on killing off our hero, we may lose sight of the more important goal of making a great movie. The minor goals need to consistently serve the super goal – otherwise they can undermine our ultimate success by throwing our primary objective to the sharks.

My favorite manager of all time had a simple philosophy I now call Lydia’s Rule. As much as I would like to write a book about it, I don’t think I could find a publisher interested in a book consisting of a single sentence.

Lydia’s rule is as follows:

You make me look good, and I’ll make you look good.

That was it. Her rule was as brilliant as it was simple.

She repeated it often, and I bent over backwards to make Lydia look good. And she kept her end of the bargain as well—even inviting me to attend regular meetings with the top brass at the time, Michael Dell and Tom Meredith.

I have lost touch with Lydia over the years (please put her in touch with me if you know her), but her simple, but powerful philosophy lives on in my classroom and benefits those I currently manage.

You will never find Lydia’s Rule on Amazon or the pages of the Harvard Business Review. But if you want others to enthusiastically leverage your time and effort, I recommend it highly. It works.

Photo credit–despair.com

While in Beijing with the University of Texas EMBA class of 2010, I found a great example of why Santa should sit on your personal board of directors.

There is quite a bit of traffic noise in this one, so turn down your volume.

I once spent the evening with a Greek family outside Olympus. Actually, my traveling companion and I thought we had wandered into a restaurant. But after a few sips (or was that glasses?) of some really bad wine, the whole scene slipped pretty quickly into what seemed like My Big Fat Greek Family Reunion.

Like many of the patrons, the band was related to the proprietor. They sat at a table, leaving the stage empty. And when they began to play, people spontaneously danced. There was no warm up first. These people were obviously serious about their dancing.

It wasn’t long before we were swept into the event (I don’t think they gave us much choice) and after several hours of Greek square dancing without the plaid outfits, I received my bill, abruptly reminding me that I was at a restaurant, not a party.

This evening stands out from (too) many other restaurant visits, because the proprietor invited us behind the restaurant façade and into his boisterous family. It was loud, chaotic, and fun. Above all else, it was also authentic.

We often forget authenticity in our daily lives as managers. In our quest to align incentives, provide feedback and effectively delegate, we often forget that people respond best to other people, not professional techniques.

Behaving professionally, does not mean ‘vanilla’. And it also doesn’t mean you need to find your Anthony Robbins-esque touchy feely center, somehow releasing the real you in the process. Just be as you as you can stand.

Not everyone will respond favorably, of course. But those who do will become fans, and those that don’t will eventually leave. It won’t be long before you are mostly left with directs who will spontaneously dance your praises.

Photo by georgeanddana