The Serving Leader
Ali suggested I try my hand at writing a job description for the Serving Leader. Though it's been nearly two months since I finished this journal, rereading it now confirms in my mind that it captures reasonably well the key elements of what I learned from my father and his friends—well, my friends now, too. There is much to flesh out, of course, but I've not really had time lately to do it. I think I'm ready to give it a try.
Hey, Dad! Take a look!
SERVING LEADERS
· Run to great purpose by holding out in front of their team, business, or community a "reason why" that is so big that it requires and motivates everybody's very best effort.
· Upend the pyramid of conventional management thinking. They put themselves at the bottom of the pyramid and unleash the energy, excitement, and talents of the team, the business, and the community.
· Raise the bar of expectation by being highly selective in the choice of team leaders and by establishing high standards of performance. These actions build a culture of performance throughout the team, business, or community.
· Blaze the trail by teaching Serving Leader principles and practices and by removing obstacles to performance. These actions multiply the Serving Leader's impact by educating and activating tier after tier of leadership.
· Build on strength by arranging each person in the team, the business, and the community to contribute what he or she is best at. This improves everyone's performance and solidifies teams by aligning the strengths of many people.
The whole time I was working on this—from my first day at the Pyramid Club to my last day with Rock in the Crow's Nest—I was scratching down notes about the paradoxes of Serving Leadership. Dad had urged me to watch for them, and the more I watched, the more I saw. What do you have to say about these paradoxes, Dad? Not too bad a list, huh?
THE SERVING LEADER—A PARADOX IN AND OF ITSELF!
Run to Great Purpose
To do the most possible good, strive for the impossible. Sustain the self's greatest interest in pursuits beyond self-interest.
Upend the Pyramid
You qualify to be first by putting other people first.
You're in charge principally to charge up others.
Raise the Bar
To serve the many, you first serve the few.
The best reach-down is a challenging reach-up.
Blaze the Trail
To protect your value, you must give it all away.
Your biggest obstacle is the one that hinders someone else.
Build on Strength
To address your weaknesses, focus on your strengths.
You can't become the best unless others do, too.
I don't feel there's a lot more to write down. Except to say that I wish my dad could read these lines.
Dad died a month ago. Since then, I've been pretty busy rearranging my life. I've also spent quite a bit of time just hanging out—with Charlie and my crew in Boston some, with my friends in Philadelphia more, with Mom a lot, and mostly with myself. I have so much to reflect on right now, and I don't want to jet right through this period of my life. I'm taking the train.
I miss my dad.
I write that sentence, and it looks like a sentence I've been writing in one way or another my whole lifetime. Except it's very different now. I used to miss Dad, wondering what he thought of me, wondering if he was proud of me, wondering how much he loved me. I had literally missed him. Our lives didn't hit, we hadn't connected.
Now I miss being with the man whose life I had the good fortune of not missing. I miss the man who knew and loved me greatly. Indeed, I don't feel I've missed anything, if that makes sense. Dad and I finished what was important to finish, and now I have a lifetime ahead to try to honor his life, and my own. I miss him, but he feels very, very close.
Dad failed very quickly after our day with Rock. It was his time, and I honestly think he felt like he had finished the race—his lifelong, flat-out, chest-first sprint to the tape. I spent every waking hour with him those last three and a half weeks, and more than a few sleeping hours at the hospital, too. Mom and I celebrated his seventieth birthday at his bedside. A quiet celebration. Dad was in and out of consciousness that day, but Mom and I weren't going to miss the moment. If Dad was going to finish strong, then so were we!
Robert Taylor Wilson. July 27, 1933 to August 3, 2003. Survived by his wife of forty-seven years, Margaret Shoemaker Wilson of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and by one son, Robert Michael Wilson of Boston, Massachusetts. It's remarkable how little gets recorded in the end.
As per Dad's instructions, his headstone added the spare notation: "A Serving Leader, Matthew 20:25–28." I looked it up.
But Jesus called them to him and said, "You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. It shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave; even as the Son of man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."
One correction is needed; it isn't Robert Michael Wilson of Boston, Massachusetts, anymore. It's Robert Michael Wilson of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania—of Greenwood, to be more specific. Dorothy Hyde and I negotiated a modest office suite inside Aslan's new branch in Greenwood for me and a couple of coworkers from my firm. I'm practicing my new skills of careful selection, à la the Serving Leader model. With Charlie's blessing, we're locating our new leadership development practice in this office, and I was allowed to interview throughout the firm to select team leaders who grasp how promising this Serving Leader model is.
We're committed to introduce our clients to the principles practiced by the Dorothy Hydes and Admiral Butlers of the world. My new crew has joined me in this purpose. We have continued to work on our upside-down model of leadership—our Serving Leader Pyramid. Here's the picture we use, reorganized with "Purpose" at the foundation.
In response to Rock's challenge, I have chosen to serve those leaders who are committed to becoming Serving Leaders in their businesses and communities. It all crystallized for me—Dad's example, Rock's challenge, all the inspiration I received from Dorothy Hyde. It has become the passion of my heart.
Greenwood serves us in remarkable ways. It keeps the crew and me immersed in the best living laboratory we could find. The very principles we will teach and coach are found in the heart of this community. Dad called Greenwood our best hope, and I understand now what he meant.
Innovation takes place rapidly in places like Greenwood. With the freedom afforded by "nothing left to lose," Serving Leaders like Dorothy Hyde are fearless in improving their practices. Failure is allowed. Experimentation, innovation, and perseverance are their lifeblood. These qualities are their stock-in-trade. What better place is there to stay ahead of the curve?
There are other reasons to be here, too. Mom needs me. I'm going to stake my reputation as a Serving Leader on whether I am one as her son. It seems only fair.
And, okay, there's Anna. Yes, she keeps calling and stopping by. And, yes, I've also been calling and stopping by. And, well, we'll see. That's really all I want to say about that. If Dad were reading this, I'm sure he'd be issuing his customary snort right about now.
Well, then, finally, this was my place of birth, and in a real sense, the place of my birth again. In Boston, I had an apartment, an office, and air connections to many disconnected places. And that was important and good. I'm not changing everything. I sense that I'm not supposed to waste all that training and preparation. I'm a consultant—and I'm pretty good at it. I want to build on that rather than to throw it away.
But in Philadelphia, I'm rooted in community. I'm rooted in important relationships, and I want it this way!
Hey, Dad, I'm thinking right now that you probably are reading this, just to see how it finishes up. I hope that you are. Charlie said I should write this journal so we could turn it into something useful for our clients. Maybe we'll still do that, but, frankly, Dad, I can't imagine any greater satisfaction than I felt the day I watched your face as you read through some of these pages. I saw it in your eyes—your love for me and the value you placed on my life.
So, Dad, thank you. You ran a great race. I will finish what you started!
Kamis, 12 Februari 2009
Build on Strength
Another week has passed since I made my last notes. Dad has enjoyed a real bounce in both energy and appetite, and he's bent on putting both himself and me back into play in our Serving Leader project. Mom, Dad, and I all know that this bounce is only temporary, that, in fact, it might be very short-lived. We want to make the most of it.
Yesterday I reviewed with him the work I've done so far, showed him my journal, and talked at length about what I've been learning. I watched him intently while he read— saw his smiles, his nods, and at times his outright laughter. And I was riveted to his face for a couple of incredible moments when he stopped his reading, tears in his eyes, to look up at me.
"This is really good," he said simply when he had finished. His face told me everything a son wants to know.
We talked about how personal my journal has become, and Dad told me this was, in his estimate, the best part of it.
"If it wasn't personal, Mike," he declared, "it wouldn't be worth a thing!"
His strong statement startled me. He made his point.
"You wrote what Martin had to say about helping people," Dad explained. "I've found that his point applies to everybody, children of prisoners and CEOs alike. If all we're doing is offering services or insights to people, we're just playing that tired old dependency game. All of us must make our contribution. It has to be personal. All of us must bear the fruit of this work in our own lives.
"We're on the same team now," he added with a smile. "This journal weaves it all together, yourself included. Nothing could please me more."
Nothing could please me more, either. I'm on my dad's team!
"But you're not done," Dad said matter-of-factly. "Some important dimensions are still not woven into the story."
I waited while he collected his thoughts.
"All the partners we've involved, Mike—the police, the corporate executives, the pastors—have to be connected to each other because they each bring a strength to the table that is needed by others. Isolated greatness, whether it's in the police department, a profitable business, or a growing church, isn't greatness at all. We need our communities to come back to life. We're doing this work in order to make the kind of citywide impact that can only be made when we bring our collective strengths to the service of the whole."
Dad paged back to my pyramid diagrams and reviewed my terms: Upend the Pyramid, Raise the bar, Blaze the Trail.
"I need you to look at some great work done in Chicago several years ago by John Kretzmann and John McKnight. Martin has spent a lot of time with these guys looking at how you build on the strengths of a community."
He pulled their workbook down from his shelf, and we spent an hour paging through it as Dad explained how the Serving Leader paradigm encompasses the larger community.
"Here's another paradox for you," he then said. "You've heard that the best way to improve yourself is to work on your weaknesses. It turns out that the opposite is true."
I frowned in puzzlement. I've been working on my weaknesses for decades. Well, okay, so maybe these efforts haven't been all that effective.
"Paradoxically," Dad continued, "you get better results by shifting attention away from your weaknesses. It's far more productive to shift your focus to your strengths."
"Sounds irresponsible," I said, deadpan. Actually, giving it a moment's thought, it sounded pretty good. Still, it didn't sound quite proper.
"The Serving Leader's job is to focus everyone on the team and in the organization and in the community on living out their strengths. When people are living out their day-to-day lives by exercising their strengths, they're more productive and, frankly, happier."
"Okay," I drawled. "So you just pretend you don't have any weaknesses?" Isn't that what I've always done? Hasn't that been precisely the thing that's gotten me into trouble?
"Pretend you don't have weaknesses?" Dad laughed. "And who'd buy that? No, Mike. The point is that it's dumb to pour all your good life energy into turning weaknesses into serviceable mediocrity!"
All right, so this is starting to make sense.
"The better approach is to bring together a team where the individual strengths offset the individual weaknesses. A high-performance team is put together with the greatest care and attention to how each person's strengths can be used to the max and how the weaknesses will get covered by someone else on the team.
A high-performance team is put together with the greatest care and attention to how each person's strengths can be used to the max and how the weaknesses will get covered by someone else on the team.
"In my first corporate lead role," Dad continued, "I figured out that I was terrible administratively. My instincts were scarily accurate when it came to spotting a new opportunity for our company and then in knowing what would be needed to translate that opportunity into success. But I'm not good when it comes to the follow-through. Once I saw the opportunity and conceived a strategy to implement it, I stopped paying the kind of attention that's needed. So I made sure I had a COO that was gifted administratively. Together, we were quite a team. I helped craft high-level strategy, and my COO made sure things got translated administratively into tactical plans with i's dotted and t's crossed.
"Serving Leaders must work to create teams where everyone is living out their strengths day to day. This applies to small teams, to midsized organizations, and to whole communities.
"Now here's my point," Dad concluded. "In the same way that good Serving Leaders in a corporation build upon the strengths of their employees, Serving Leaders in a community build upon the assets that are already present there. They don't put their focus on the problems but rather on the solutions that already exist.
"I'm calling the No-Name Team to a special meeting," he declared suddenly, as though he'd just made up his mind. "I don't have much time, and I don't care if there are stockholder meetings or black-tie dinners at the White House. We're meeting tomorrow! This work is more important than anything any of them might have on their calendars."
I just smiled. Dad was feeling like the boss again, and I loved seeing him like this. I also sensed that he was preparing himself for a final push to the finish line.
I made note of Dad's point:
To address your weaknesses, focus on your strengths.
We met this morning, everyone convening in a section of the city Dad identified on the map as Greenwood. "Where're we going?" I asked as Dad directed me along the streets. I'd never visited Greenwood, never driven through it, and never met anybody from there, in fact. Indeed, there was nothing green about it. A more miserable twenty-five city blocks I have never seen.
"We're in the heart of our city's best hope," Dad answered evenly.
I must have had an incredulous look on my face because Dad just grabbed my arm. "You need new eyes. Eyes to see what's here, not what's not. Remember what we just talked about yesterday? Build on strength?"
I remembered, and I was looking. But I couldn't see!
"I'm going to introduce you to an old friend this morning, someone who will help to improve your eyesight."
We arrived in the parking lot of a well-weathered redbrick church. Our meeting took place in the church basement, this venue being quite a surprise to me, especially after starting out five weeks ago at the Pyramid Club.
We walked down the steps into the church's fellowship hall, and everyone was there, those I'd already met as well as nearly thirty others.
The chief of police came, along with his community liaison officer. Two hospital administrators were present, an editorial-page writer for the Enquirer, nearly a dozen neighborhood leaders and organizers, the mayor's chief of staff, several local pastors, Alistair Reynolds, Will Turner, Dorothy Hyde and Harry Donohue from Aslan, Stephen Cray and Anna Park from BioWorks, Martin Goldschmidt's university research team, and many other business leaders.
I don't think I've ever been in such a circle, certainly not in my consulting work. This group was as female as it was male, more African American than White, and also Hispanic and Asian. And the spirit was delightful; these people knew each other, and the banter told me that they also liked each other.
A large square of folding tables had been arranged for us, encircled by folding metal chairs. I was greeted by many of my new friends and introduced to many others. Dad was obviously the guest of honor. Everyone wanted to say a word to him, give him a hug and, in the case of many of the women in the circle, a kiss. I saw their looks of dismay and their exchanged glances of sorrow as they realized how much weight he had lost, how frail he looked. Dad was among his family, and the care they showed him was deeply moving to me.
We took our seats, and I was pleased that Anna positioned herself next to me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, can I call you all to order?" Dad's voice was clear but very weak. You could have heard a pin drop.
"Some of you have already met my son, Mike." Nods, smiles, and "Hey, Mikes" all around. "He's writing our story, and, fatherly bias aside, it's as good a piece of work as I've ever seen."
I felt a small blush crawl up around my ears and really liked seeing the smiles that showed the group's love for Dad. Somehow, I felt that their love for him was being graciously extended to cover me, as well. As to the compliment, I doubted anyone believed that "fatherly bias" had been set aside in the least.
"I think your father's wonderful," Anna whispered, leaning close. I started to slouch toward her to acknowledge her comment.
"Mike," Dad barked, "I called this meeting for you, so pay attention!"
Everyone roared at the start this gave me. They'd all been called to better order at one time or another by Dad's commanding instructions and clearly enjoyed seeing the old man's boy get the very same treatment. I was sitting very straight and tall now. Dad looked pleased with himself.
"Usually, quarterly meetings are devoted to our community-building projects," he continued. "The goal of the No-Name Team is to serve the communities of our city by developing stronger Serving Leaders throughout all city sectors. We support these leaders with many kinds of needed resources and then magnify their impact through the strategic interconnections of this broad group. Occasionally, we even help them find expert consulting services, I might add," he said, winking at me.
"Traditionally, the community sector is left out of the equation, Mike," Dad went on, now addressing me directly. "But we think of our work in the first three sectors—the public, the private, and the nonprofit—as all needing to contribute to the building of the most important fourth sector, the community. Our work, then, to put it simply, is to develop the Serving Leader model in each of these sectors—building their teams and organizations—and then to connect these sectors to improve the life and vitality of the communities and neighborhoods where people actually live."
By this time I was writing furiously.
"For our meeting today, I'd like to ask my friend Jim Silver to update us on developments underway right here in Greenwood. Jim?" he said, nodding to a man about my age seated across the table from us.
"Listen up, Son," Dad added, enjoying this final fatherly gibe.
"I'd like to just say, as an introduction, that Robert Wilson is a money grubber," Jim began, causing the group to again collapse into laughter. My dad was grinning broadly. "I've brought your lousy hundred bucks, Bob," Jim continued. "You thought I was going to try to weasel out of it, didn't you?"
I wondered what he was talking about.
"It was your dad, Mike," Jim continued, "who got me stuck in the middle of everything here. He and I met while flying back from a business convention, and we just started talking on the plane about the sad state of some of Phila-delphia's urban communities. Anyway, he asked me if I thought I was really putting my best gifts to use for the broader community, and frankly, I knew that I wasn't. The fact of the matter is that I wasn't putting my best gifts to use for anything! I was at the very top of my game, head of the company, and feeling like an empty shell. I think your dad sensed it, Mike. He says to me, 'Jim, I've got a big idea that I'd like you to consider.'"
More chuckles. My dad has apparently buttonholed more than one person with one of his big ideas for their life.
"'I'd like you to do an experiment, Jim,' he told me. 'Do you believe in prayer?'"
"'Of course,' I said. Which was a total exaggeration, I'll tell you right now. What I knew about prayer was a joke."
Laughter gave way to serious listening.
"'Well, then I'd like you to pray every day for Green-wood,' Bob says. Greenwood! I thought. Why Greenwood? 'We'll put a bet on it,' he said, 'and six months from now, if something significant hasn't happened in Greenwood, I'll give you a hundred dollars.'"
"I told Bob then that I didn't blame him for only making it a hundred since I knew enough about Greenwood to not expect anything significant to ever happen here."
I noticed several of the attendees looking rather stoical at this remark. They were Greenwoodites, I surmised, and less than amused by Jim's negative press on their neighborhood.
"Well, I took Bob's challenge, and I took it seriously," Jim continued. "I started praying for Greenwood every day, but then I began to figure that I couldn't really pray for this neighborhood unless I knew a little bit more about it. So I got a map of Greenwood and began to pray over the map every day. Then it occurred to me that I couldn't just pray over a map but that I'd need to start actually visiting Greenwood and learning to know some of the people here. Call me a rocket scientist," Jim quipped.
"So I started driving around the neighborhood, stopping in at churches and shops, meeting people. I brought my daughter, Sara, to a diner here on Saturdays. One day, a group of local folks stopped in during a neighborhood cleanup project, and we asked if we could join in. We spent that beautiful fall day working and laughing with them.
"Another time at the diner, Sara and I started talking to a guy in a suit and tie. He told us he was from Jersey. He'd spent the morning scouting factory locations for his company and had just given up. He told me he realized that this was the wrong neighborhood.
"Here was my first surprise, "Jim declared. "That man's comment really ticked me off. I'd spent enough time hanging around here that his bias against Greenwood felt like a bias against me! If all he saw were problems, then he wasn't looking right!"
The stoical faces had warmed up to the presentation again.
"I told him I thought he could do very well here and that I'd line up some contacts for him if he'd like. So I arranged for him to meet several businessmen interested in his product and got him together with a couple of local community leaders who were eager to provide incentives for him to move here. Long story short, he changed his plans. As we speak, he's in the process of relocating his manufacturing operation right here in Greenwood. A hundred and twenty new jobs will grow out of this."
Applause and a few hoots.
"And what's the hook? We have an incredible asset—an available, trainable workforce and a world-class job-training organization. Dorothy agreed just yesterday to put an Aslan training branch right into his new facility to deliver those workers."
Cheers again, this time acknowledging Dorothy.
"A few other things have happened, too," Jim went on. "I was telling a friend a while back about my prayers for Greenwood—she's a representative of Big Brothers/Big Sisters—and she told me about Dr. Turner's work with children of prisoners. Well, I got right on that since I'd met quite a number of incredible Greenwood community leaders by that time. Short of it is, we've now activated a hundred and fifty mentors from local churches for kids in the Greenwood area.
"Like I said, Bob," Jim continued, smiling broadly, "you're a money grubber! And do you want to know where my family and I have just decided to move?" he asked, his voice combative and playful.
"Greenwood," was Dad's simple answer. "You owe me a hundred bucks, Jim," he added. There were tears in his eyes.
"Glad to pay it," Jim replied, his voice suddenly missing the tone of bravado that had characterized his report. "I feel like I'm living for something now," he added, struggling to control his emotions.
There were several other exciting reports during our meeting. A group of churches in the city is working together to help their members learn about their gifts and passions and then "mobilizing" them strategically in the community. New businesses are forming. Several neighborhood groups are being trained in community organizing skills to increase their effectiveness in addressing neighborhood challenges. A dads' group is teaching young fathers how to be fathers. They're finding some of these absent dads by hanging out in maternity wards where the guys sneak in to try to get a look at their babies! This excited me a lot—even "AWOL" dads often want to see their children.
Dr. Turner updated the group on the mentoring program for children of prisoners. The pastor of the church where we were meeting reported on the church's success in obtaining a nonprofit designation for a new computer skills program for the neighborhood. And several other members of the group shared some new ideas, asking for guidance or direction as they pursued their vision.
The last forty-five minutes was spent in prayer. The most moving part for me was when the group surrounded Dad and prayed for his healing. "Heal him here," the host pastor prayed, his hands on Dad's shoulders. "Or heal him there. But heal him for sure!"
Heal him for sure. That's my prayer, too.
Serving Leadership upends the pyramid, it raises the bar, and it blazes the trail. But it does something else that's very important. It builds on strength. And now I understand what my dad's been saying to me about new eyes. You can't build on strength if you can't see the strength—if all you see is the weakness. To be a Serving Leader, you need new eyes!
Dad's No-Name Team is a strength finder. And a strength connector. Moving from great teams and organizations— established by great Serving Leaders in all areas of business, government, and social sector work—Dad's team aligns strengths for the good of whole communities. This is exciting!
Weeks ago, Martin Goldschmidt had said this to me: "Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work. Only a Serving Leader can catalyze that kind of a miracle!"
I saw what he meant today. More to the point, I felt a part of community today. I feel like I belong and that I have strengths to contribute. I also feel that my weaknesses can be covered by others. It's another paradox, really. You can't become the best unless others do, too. Our best requires their best. We need a community if we really want to shine. "Lone Star" is an oxymoron. If a star is alone, it can't shine.
Today, I drove into a totally alien neighborhood and I experienced community!
Yesterday I reviewed with him the work I've done so far, showed him my journal, and talked at length about what I've been learning. I watched him intently while he read— saw his smiles, his nods, and at times his outright laughter. And I was riveted to his face for a couple of incredible moments when he stopped his reading, tears in his eyes, to look up at me.
"This is really good," he said simply when he had finished. His face told me everything a son wants to know.
We talked about how personal my journal has become, and Dad told me this was, in his estimate, the best part of it.
"If it wasn't personal, Mike," he declared, "it wouldn't be worth a thing!"
His strong statement startled me. He made his point.
"You wrote what Martin had to say about helping people," Dad explained. "I've found that his point applies to everybody, children of prisoners and CEOs alike. If all we're doing is offering services or insights to people, we're just playing that tired old dependency game. All of us must make our contribution. It has to be personal. All of us must bear the fruit of this work in our own lives.
"We're on the same team now," he added with a smile. "This journal weaves it all together, yourself included. Nothing could please me more."
Nothing could please me more, either. I'm on my dad's team!
"But you're not done," Dad said matter-of-factly. "Some important dimensions are still not woven into the story."
I waited while he collected his thoughts.
"All the partners we've involved, Mike—the police, the corporate executives, the pastors—have to be connected to each other because they each bring a strength to the table that is needed by others. Isolated greatness, whether it's in the police department, a profitable business, or a growing church, isn't greatness at all. We need our communities to come back to life. We're doing this work in order to make the kind of citywide impact that can only be made when we bring our collective strengths to the service of the whole."
Dad paged back to my pyramid diagrams and reviewed my terms: Upend the Pyramid, Raise the bar, Blaze the Trail.
"I need you to look at some great work done in Chicago several years ago by John Kretzmann and John McKnight. Martin has spent a lot of time with these guys looking at how you build on the strengths of a community."
He pulled their workbook down from his shelf, and we spent an hour paging through it as Dad explained how the Serving Leader paradigm encompasses the larger community.
"Here's another paradox for you," he then said. "You've heard that the best way to improve yourself is to work on your weaknesses. It turns out that the opposite is true."
I frowned in puzzlement. I've been working on my weaknesses for decades. Well, okay, so maybe these efforts haven't been all that effective.
"Paradoxically," Dad continued, "you get better results by shifting attention away from your weaknesses. It's far more productive to shift your focus to your strengths."
"Sounds irresponsible," I said, deadpan. Actually, giving it a moment's thought, it sounded pretty good. Still, it didn't sound quite proper.
"The Serving Leader's job is to focus everyone on the team and in the organization and in the community on living out their strengths. When people are living out their day-to-day lives by exercising their strengths, they're more productive and, frankly, happier."
"Okay," I drawled. "So you just pretend you don't have any weaknesses?" Isn't that what I've always done? Hasn't that been precisely the thing that's gotten me into trouble?
"Pretend you don't have weaknesses?" Dad laughed. "And who'd buy that? No, Mike. The point is that it's dumb to pour all your good life energy into turning weaknesses into serviceable mediocrity!"
All right, so this is starting to make sense.
"The better approach is to bring together a team where the individual strengths offset the individual weaknesses. A high-performance team is put together with the greatest care and attention to how each person's strengths can be used to the max and how the weaknesses will get covered by someone else on the team.
A high-performance team is put together with the greatest care and attention to how each person's strengths can be used to the max and how the weaknesses will get covered by someone else on the team.
"In my first corporate lead role," Dad continued, "I figured out that I was terrible administratively. My instincts were scarily accurate when it came to spotting a new opportunity for our company and then in knowing what would be needed to translate that opportunity into success. But I'm not good when it comes to the follow-through. Once I saw the opportunity and conceived a strategy to implement it, I stopped paying the kind of attention that's needed. So I made sure I had a COO that was gifted administratively. Together, we were quite a team. I helped craft high-level strategy, and my COO made sure things got translated administratively into tactical plans with i's dotted and t's crossed.
"Serving Leaders must work to create teams where everyone is living out their strengths day to day. This applies to small teams, to midsized organizations, and to whole communities.
"Now here's my point," Dad concluded. "In the same way that good Serving Leaders in a corporation build upon the strengths of their employees, Serving Leaders in a community build upon the assets that are already present there. They don't put their focus on the problems but rather on the solutions that already exist.
"I'm calling the No-Name Team to a special meeting," he declared suddenly, as though he'd just made up his mind. "I don't have much time, and I don't care if there are stockholder meetings or black-tie dinners at the White House. We're meeting tomorrow! This work is more important than anything any of them might have on their calendars."
I just smiled. Dad was feeling like the boss again, and I loved seeing him like this. I also sensed that he was preparing himself for a final push to the finish line.
I made note of Dad's point:
To address your weaknesses, focus on your strengths.
We met this morning, everyone convening in a section of the city Dad identified on the map as Greenwood. "Where're we going?" I asked as Dad directed me along the streets. I'd never visited Greenwood, never driven through it, and never met anybody from there, in fact. Indeed, there was nothing green about it. A more miserable twenty-five city blocks I have never seen.
"We're in the heart of our city's best hope," Dad answered evenly.
I must have had an incredulous look on my face because Dad just grabbed my arm. "You need new eyes. Eyes to see what's here, not what's not. Remember what we just talked about yesterday? Build on strength?"
I remembered, and I was looking. But I couldn't see!
"I'm going to introduce you to an old friend this morning, someone who will help to improve your eyesight."
We arrived in the parking lot of a well-weathered redbrick church. Our meeting took place in the church basement, this venue being quite a surprise to me, especially after starting out five weeks ago at the Pyramid Club.
We walked down the steps into the church's fellowship hall, and everyone was there, those I'd already met as well as nearly thirty others.
The chief of police came, along with his community liaison officer. Two hospital administrators were present, an editorial-page writer for the Enquirer, nearly a dozen neighborhood leaders and organizers, the mayor's chief of staff, several local pastors, Alistair Reynolds, Will Turner, Dorothy Hyde and Harry Donohue from Aslan, Stephen Cray and Anna Park from BioWorks, Martin Goldschmidt's university research team, and many other business leaders.
I don't think I've ever been in such a circle, certainly not in my consulting work. This group was as female as it was male, more African American than White, and also Hispanic and Asian. And the spirit was delightful; these people knew each other, and the banter told me that they also liked each other.
A large square of folding tables had been arranged for us, encircled by folding metal chairs. I was greeted by many of my new friends and introduced to many others. Dad was obviously the guest of honor. Everyone wanted to say a word to him, give him a hug and, in the case of many of the women in the circle, a kiss. I saw their looks of dismay and their exchanged glances of sorrow as they realized how much weight he had lost, how frail he looked. Dad was among his family, and the care they showed him was deeply moving to me.
We took our seats, and I was pleased that Anna positioned herself next to me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, can I call you all to order?" Dad's voice was clear but very weak. You could have heard a pin drop.
"Some of you have already met my son, Mike." Nods, smiles, and "Hey, Mikes" all around. "He's writing our story, and, fatherly bias aside, it's as good a piece of work as I've ever seen."
I felt a small blush crawl up around my ears and really liked seeing the smiles that showed the group's love for Dad. Somehow, I felt that their love for him was being graciously extended to cover me, as well. As to the compliment, I doubted anyone believed that "fatherly bias" had been set aside in the least.
"I think your father's wonderful," Anna whispered, leaning close. I started to slouch toward her to acknowledge her comment.
"Mike," Dad barked, "I called this meeting for you, so pay attention!"
Everyone roared at the start this gave me. They'd all been called to better order at one time or another by Dad's commanding instructions and clearly enjoyed seeing the old man's boy get the very same treatment. I was sitting very straight and tall now. Dad looked pleased with himself.
"Usually, quarterly meetings are devoted to our community-building projects," he continued. "The goal of the No-Name Team is to serve the communities of our city by developing stronger Serving Leaders throughout all city sectors. We support these leaders with many kinds of needed resources and then magnify their impact through the strategic interconnections of this broad group. Occasionally, we even help them find expert consulting services, I might add," he said, winking at me.
"Traditionally, the community sector is left out of the equation, Mike," Dad went on, now addressing me directly. "But we think of our work in the first three sectors—the public, the private, and the nonprofit—as all needing to contribute to the building of the most important fourth sector, the community. Our work, then, to put it simply, is to develop the Serving Leader model in each of these sectors—building their teams and organizations—and then to connect these sectors to improve the life and vitality of the communities and neighborhoods where people actually live."
By this time I was writing furiously.
"For our meeting today, I'd like to ask my friend Jim Silver to update us on developments underway right here in Greenwood. Jim?" he said, nodding to a man about my age seated across the table from us.
"Listen up, Son," Dad added, enjoying this final fatherly gibe.
"I'd like to just say, as an introduction, that Robert Wilson is a money grubber," Jim began, causing the group to again collapse into laughter. My dad was grinning broadly. "I've brought your lousy hundred bucks, Bob," Jim continued. "You thought I was going to try to weasel out of it, didn't you?"
I wondered what he was talking about.
"It was your dad, Mike," Jim continued, "who got me stuck in the middle of everything here. He and I met while flying back from a business convention, and we just started talking on the plane about the sad state of some of Phila-delphia's urban communities. Anyway, he asked me if I thought I was really putting my best gifts to use for the broader community, and frankly, I knew that I wasn't. The fact of the matter is that I wasn't putting my best gifts to use for anything! I was at the very top of my game, head of the company, and feeling like an empty shell. I think your dad sensed it, Mike. He says to me, 'Jim, I've got a big idea that I'd like you to consider.'"
More chuckles. My dad has apparently buttonholed more than one person with one of his big ideas for their life.
"'I'd like you to do an experiment, Jim,' he told me. 'Do you believe in prayer?'"
"'Of course,' I said. Which was a total exaggeration, I'll tell you right now. What I knew about prayer was a joke."
Laughter gave way to serious listening.
"'Well, then I'd like you to pray every day for Green-wood,' Bob says. Greenwood! I thought. Why Greenwood? 'We'll put a bet on it,' he said, 'and six months from now, if something significant hasn't happened in Greenwood, I'll give you a hundred dollars.'"
"I told Bob then that I didn't blame him for only making it a hundred since I knew enough about Greenwood to not expect anything significant to ever happen here."
I noticed several of the attendees looking rather stoical at this remark. They were Greenwoodites, I surmised, and less than amused by Jim's negative press on their neighborhood.
"Well, I took Bob's challenge, and I took it seriously," Jim continued. "I started praying for Greenwood every day, but then I began to figure that I couldn't really pray for this neighborhood unless I knew a little bit more about it. So I got a map of Greenwood and began to pray over the map every day. Then it occurred to me that I couldn't just pray over a map but that I'd need to start actually visiting Greenwood and learning to know some of the people here. Call me a rocket scientist," Jim quipped.
"So I started driving around the neighborhood, stopping in at churches and shops, meeting people. I brought my daughter, Sara, to a diner here on Saturdays. One day, a group of local folks stopped in during a neighborhood cleanup project, and we asked if we could join in. We spent that beautiful fall day working and laughing with them.
"Another time at the diner, Sara and I started talking to a guy in a suit and tie. He told us he was from Jersey. He'd spent the morning scouting factory locations for his company and had just given up. He told me he realized that this was the wrong neighborhood.
"Here was my first surprise, "Jim declared. "That man's comment really ticked me off. I'd spent enough time hanging around here that his bias against Greenwood felt like a bias against me! If all he saw were problems, then he wasn't looking right!"
The stoical faces had warmed up to the presentation again.
"I told him I thought he could do very well here and that I'd line up some contacts for him if he'd like. So I arranged for him to meet several businessmen interested in his product and got him together with a couple of local community leaders who were eager to provide incentives for him to move here. Long story short, he changed his plans. As we speak, he's in the process of relocating his manufacturing operation right here in Greenwood. A hundred and twenty new jobs will grow out of this."
Applause and a few hoots.
"And what's the hook? We have an incredible asset—an available, trainable workforce and a world-class job-training organization. Dorothy agreed just yesterday to put an Aslan training branch right into his new facility to deliver those workers."
Cheers again, this time acknowledging Dorothy.
"A few other things have happened, too," Jim went on. "I was telling a friend a while back about my prayers for Greenwood—she's a representative of Big Brothers/Big Sisters—and she told me about Dr. Turner's work with children of prisoners. Well, I got right on that since I'd met quite a number of incredible Greenwood community leaders by that time. Short of it is, we've now activated a hundred and fifty mentors from local churches for kids in the Greenwood area.
"Like I said, Bob," Jim continued, smiling broadly, "you're a money grubber! And do you want to know where my family and I have just decided to move?" he asked, his voice combative and playful.
"Greenwood," was Dad's simple answer. "You owe me a hundred bucks, Jim," he added. There were tears in his eyes.
"Glad to pay it," Jim replied, his voice suddenly missing the tone of bravado that had characterized his report. "I feel like I'm living for something now," he added, struggling to control his emotions.
There were several other exciting reports during our meeting. A group of churches in the city is working together to help their members learn about their gifts and passions and then "mobilizing" them strategically in the community. New businesses are forming. Several neighborhood groups are being trained in community organizing skills to increase their effectiveness in addressing neighborhood challenges. A dads' group is teaching young fathers how to be fathers. They're finding some of these absent dads by hanging out in maternity wards where the guys sneak in to try to get a look at their babies! This excited me a lot—even "AWOL" dads often want to see their children.
Dr. Turner updated the group on the mentoring program for children of prisoners. The pastor of the church where we were meeting reported on the church's success in obtaining a nonprofit designation for a new computer skills program for the neighborhood. And several other members of the group shared some new ideas, asking for guidance or direction as they pursued their vision.
The last forty-five minutes was spent in prayer. The most moving part for me was when the group surrounded Dad and prayed for his healing. "Heal him here," the host pastor prayed, his hands on Dad's shoulders. "Or heal him there. But heal him for sure!"
Heal him for sure. That's my prayer, too.
Serving Leadership upends the pyramid, it raises the bar, and it blazes the trail. But it does something else that's very important. It builds on strength. And now I understand what my dad's been saying to me about new eyes. You can't build on strength if you can't see the strength—if all you see is the weakness. To be a Serving Leader, you need new eyes!
Dad's No-Name Team is a strength finder. And a strength connector. Moving from great teams and organizations— established by great Serving Leaders in all areas of business, government, and social sector work—Dad's team aligns strengths for the good of whole communities. This is exciting!
Weeks ago, Martin Goldschmidt had said this to me: "Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work. Only a Serving Leader can catalyze that kind of a miracle!"
I saw what he meant today. More to the point, I felt a part of community today. I feel like I belong and that I have strengths to contribute. I also feel that my weaknesses can be covered by others. It's another paradox, really. You can't become the best unless others do, too. Our best requires their best. We need a community if we really want to shine. "Lone Star" is an oxymoron. If a star is alone, it can't shine.
Today, I drove into a totally alien neighborhood and I experienced community!
Blaze the Trail
Dad and Mom headed back to the hospital this morning to review results from yesterday's tests. He is resolved about not wanting any medical heroics that will add no real value to the time he has left. They are considering, however, a round of radiation to deal with an intestinal blockage caused by tumor growth—we know, now, why Dad has no appetite.
I feel I should postpone my schedule. As much as Dad wants me out in the streets, I feel I should be spending time with him. My head's filling up with facts, principles, and diagrams, but my heart needs—I don't know what my heart needs. Instruction? Engagement? If I'm learning anything, I'm learning that the Serving Leader model can't be understood through principles and diagrams alone.
I think my relationship with Dad is a key. I still feel terribly disconnected from him. This is troubling to me because Dad tells me that a Serving Leader focuses on a new kind of relationship. Well, I'd like to have some of this new kind of relationship taking place between us.
Today Will Turner and Martin Goldschmidt gave me the whole day. They're an unusual and wonderful pair. Former Mayor Turner is African American, a gray-bearded Christian, gracefully companionable, and dressed to the nines. Gold-schmidt is Jewish, reserved in speech and manner, and frumpily academic. They love each other and respect each other highly. I could use more days with men like this!
Dad told me last night that they are key to the whole Serving Leader project and that I'd gain much from my time with them.
"When I retired from my position as mayor," Will said in the car, "my life and career hit a brick wall. I had reached the top, achieved the goal of a lifetime of effort, and I wasn't even halfway through my fifties.
"I didn't know what to do with my contacts, energy, and passion for my city," Will continued. "I wasn't mayor anymore, but I still loved this city, and serving her had become the purpose of my life. I was in that stage of life one writer calls 'halftime.' I had success for myself, and I had served my city well, I believe. But I knew there was something even more significant that I was yet to do with my life."
"In my own very small way, I'm starting to understand what you're talking about," I said. "Not that I've achieved anything like you have," I quickly added, feeling a little dumb for making the comparison. "What I mean is, I'm not sure my goals will bring me the satisfaction I'm really looking for."
"You've just told me something very wonderful about yourself. You're on a venture, a journey toward your life's significance. I like that!"
I smiled dubiously. I hope that's true. I really do hope it!
"But tell me what the two of you are up to. All I know is that you're leading a nonprofit organization and that your work has strong coaching, mentoring, and teaching components."
"Will's doing all the work," Martin said. "I just watch in awe."
"Don't listen to that nonsense, Mike!" Will retorted. "Martin's research makes our work possible. Old do-gooders like me are notoriously soft on results, and that's unacceptable. Martin finds out if our good deeds actually do anybody any good. I need the validation he provides because life is too short to waste it on sentimental pursuits that don't actually improve anything. We want to move the needle on real social indicators in the community.
"What we're putting together here," Will continued, "is a teaching and mentoring program that's aimed specifically at children who have a parent in prison. Children of prisoners are among the most vulnerable populations in the city. Serving these kids yields incredible benefits for all of us. So we're building Serving Leaders who can work effectively with these kids. It is our focus on building leaders that gives us real hope for success here.
"We've activated churches and businesses throughout the city, working through Philadelphia's Big Brothers/Big Sisters organizations to coach these children. Your dad and Ali have been instrumental in helping us get started. Our Serving Leaders teach them reading, math, study skills, and, more importantly, life skills. All the while, they stick to them through thick and thin, hang out with them, give them a real relationship with an adult who's totally on their side.
"The point of it is," Will added, looking at me very firmly, almost challengingly, "these kids are getting loved!"
I just nodded my head. There isn't a professional category for it, but I'm starting to get the fact that love is part of the equation. Will's face told me I had met his challenge.
"These children are remarkable in their strength of will and ability to adapt. I'm very proud of what is happening to them." The expression on Will's face made that pride obvious.
Will and Martin took me to Big Brothers to see a mentortraining class. What an incredible cross section of Serving Leaders sat there: African American grandfathers, young suburban housewives, a Hispanic attorney on a break from work, a Vietnamese pastor, a couple of Philadelphia cops, as well as Muslims, Navy guys, Christians, Jews, and twenty-something Generation X-ers.
The trainer created several role-plays by bringing up different mentors to act out the scenarios that had been scripted. I was given a copy of the training manual and followed along as the group focused on a section called "Winning the Right." The role-plays focused on the initial encounter between a new mentor and a child, showing different ways that kids might resist someone who purports to care.
"These kids have lived through a lot of broken promises, ladies and gentlemen," the trainer said. "You're going to sound like one more promise that's just going to be broken, and your assigned child has had too much hurt already." The trainer spoke with the kind of authority that comes from having been there herself. "You've got to really understand that," she continued. "Don't misunderstand their bluff or their hardness. They might even do things just to make you angry. It's a test. Will you leave, too? Are you going to dismiss them as unredeemable like everybody else? They're going to test you, and I just want you to know something that's very, very important."
The teacher paused, piercing the class with her life-tempered, soul-rich eyes. No one stirred.
"The child you will be assigned desperately wants you to pass the test!" she concluded. Tears almost jumped out of my eyes. I understand being a kid and wanting a grown-up to pass the test. I didn't expect this visit to hit so close to home.
At the end of the class, the teacher asked Will Turner to say a few words. He tried to demur, but the teacher wouldn't have any of it. The former mayor dedicated his remarks to the task of affirming each of the men and women in the room for the "world-changing impact" each was making.
The mentors watched with keen attention as Will spoke, rapt with the words of appreciation they were hearing. This movement has tapped into something very profound, not only for the children that receive the help, but also for the people who are here to give of themselves. Will affirmed the difference these people are making in each other's lives, and he envisioned a community that would be healthier for their efforts. I pictured a "waterfall of service" cascading down from this team, bringing life to many.
After the class, Will and Martin took me to Will's office, housed in a Baptist seminary in West Philadelphia. Will started the discussion.
"The churches and businesses working together have been a key to our success here. Strong support has come from churches that have shifted from just taking care of themselves to equipping themselves for service in the community and then actually getting out there!"
"Do Baptists drink coffee, Will?" I asked, needing some reinforcement before we plowed on.
"Indeed we do, Mike. There's a nice coffee shop in the commons. Shall we walk and talk?"
As we headed out, I said, "I need some help. The Serving Leaders you are training to mentor kids are terrific. But I work in the corporate world. How does what these leaders do apply in business or in your former world of government? Does it apply?"
"Great question, Mike," Will answered approvingly. "We think that effective leadership, what we are calling Serving Leadership, is a key to creating lasting results. I've known this intuitively for many years, but it was Martin who helped clarify my thinking."
We filled coffee cups in the commons and took seats around a table by the tall, bright windows facing south from the campus.
We teach others the knowledge, skills, and strategies they need to succeed. And we work hard to get obstacles out of their way so they can make progress.
"I believe the responsibility of any leader is twofold," Will continued. "We teach others the knowledge, skills, and strategies they need to succeed. And we work hard to get obstacles out of their way so they can make progress. In the inner city, our leaders teach the kids how to succeed while removing their barriers."
"Can you give me any examples of barriers?" I asked.
"Lots of them. A teacher at school who expects the child to fail—that's a barrier. You talk to that teacher and challenge him or her to see the child differently. And you keep at it so the teacher pays better attention. Or no healthcare is available when the child is sick—that's a big barrier. You take the mother or grandmother or whoever is raising the child to get a health card provided by the state. When the nine-year-old girl gets an earache, she also gets an antibiotic and some pain relief. And a lot of these kids can go to college, but they don't know that they can. That's a barrier. They'll never get there if you don't tell them it's possible, and then after you've told them, you walk them step by step the whole way through the process.
"So, it's a step at a time," Will continued. "Teach and remove barriers. And the very same principles apply in business or government. Serving Leaders have to reduce their wisdom on 'how to succeed' into bite-sized packages. The Serving Leader teaches these packages of wisdom to the team, which in turn teaches others."
"It sounds like what Noel Tichy has been saying for years," I interjected.
"Thanks to Martin, here, I actually know who you're talking about," Will said, smiling toward his silent sidekick. "He has made sure that I read everything pertinent to this subject."
Martin raised one eyebrow in restrained acknowledgment. I was becoming very curious about Dr. Goldschmidt. He hadn't said much so far, and yet I knew his hand was in everything I was seeing and hearing about.
"We find, though," Will continued, seemingly oblivious to my growing curiosity about this Penn and Teller routine, "that leaders often need training to become articulate about the 'how to succeed' wisdom that uniquely works in that organization."
Another acknowledging eyebrow from Goldschmidt. Apparently he thought his student, the former mayor, had done his homework well!
"The two of us are giving workshops to corporate and government executives on the 'teaching' and 'obstacle removing' practices of Serving Leaders. We call this area of our work 'Trailblazing' since a Serving Leader must both teach and remove obstacles so that others can follow the path they've blazed.
"It's trailblazing in another way," Will added, a playful smile on his face. "We're blazing a trail right into the heart of your consulting business!"
I had this whole thing wrong! I'd figured them for sophisticated do-gooders. But then I started hearing about the high standards—at BioWorks, the theme was "Raise the Bar." And now I'm listening to a man who's using the Serving Leader approach to outcompete me with corporate executives. Charlie was right. This is a new game!
"Mind telling me your approach with corporate executives?" I asked. "You don't want to leave me back in the dust, do you?"
"Room up front for all of us, Mike," Will responded kindly. "Our approach is simple. We help executives become better teachers. They become more articulate about the strategies, tactics, models, tools, and approaches that uniquely work in their own corporations. These leaders are the first teachers, their students in turn becoming the next set of faculty, and so forth, down through the organization. We design it so that one group serves the next, passing along knowledge relevant to the most pressing problems faced in the organization."
"I have an image of a teaching waterfall," I said, "with the impact cascading throughout the organization."
"That's a wonderful picture," Will responded, his face filled with warmth.
"But is there any danger of working yourself out of a job doing what you say?" I continued. "If you teach everything that you know, then maybe you're not needed anymore."
Will's face brightened, his eyes now twinkling with good humor. "It's a paradox," he declared. "Ever hear of a paradox?"
I just laughed.
"The more you teach your people to not need you, the greater your value," he pressed on. "Want to hang onto your value? Give everything you have away." Now his face was positively radiant. I grabbed my pen.
To protect your value, you must give it all away.
"But hold on," he continued. "We're not finished with the point—there's another step. Remember your image of a waterfall? The second step is to remove the boulders and obstacles in the current that impedes the flow. Teaching and removing obstacles need to go together. We teach this in our workshops. But may I share a few words yet about the additional process we use to build Serving Leaders?
"Please!" I almost shouted. My hand was cramped from writing, but I knew I'd hit a mother lode, and I wasn't going to stop digging now!
"We lay out the model of Serving Leadership, with readings, tutorials, and exercises. Frankly, I use the life and teachings of Jesus as one of the models here."
My turn to raise a Goldschmidt-ian eyebrow. A quick glance at Martin told me we would have scored well on synchronization just then.
"Outside the workshops, we implement what we call 'walking the talk.' On a regular schedule, we observe our leaders at work, collect feedback from their colleagues, and then give the leaders direct feedback on how their behavior compares to the behavior of a Serving Leader. This can be painful.
"And finally," Will concluded, "we encourage these men and women to join or create what we call an 'encouragement group' of trusted colleagues who help each other persevere in pursuit of their leadership and personal goals."
"And by the way," Goldschmidt interjected, startling me with this sudden foray into the conversation, "we only teach leaders who have really joined us. We take clients who are committed to developing as Serving Leaders. No half-hearted students make our cut."
I heard Martin's last comment and felt a chill. They were practicing strategic selection, just like Stephen Cray at BioWorks. This "loose" team of people isn't loose at all. They are building on each other's learning and using each other's principles. There is an integration here, and I know now that my dad is up to something incredible.
I felt a chill for another reason. Martin said they only take clients who really join them. And Ali thanked me yesterday for joining them. And hadn't I said I wanted my research to become more hands-on? This wasn't just another assignment; it was becoming much more personal than that.
"Mike, I'm afraid you're going to have to hold any other questions," Will added. "Our time's up—I tutor a thirteen-year-old boy in half an hour and must go pick him up." Answering the question on my face, he said, "Yes. I walk the talk!" Will's smile was proud and resolute.
"Martin will take you back. Let me give you an outline we use to describe our Trailblazing model."
I thanked Dr. Turner, took his outline, and headed out with Martin.
In the car, Martin and I spoke for a few minutes about his relationship with the former mayor. He then asked me to look over the outline Will had just handed me.
1. Serving Leaders build teaching organizations to create excellence at every level.
2. Leaders who teach become consistent in their own performance—leaders learn to introspect, to articulate their knowledge, and to improve consistency.
3. Serving Leaders remove obstacles so others can succeed.
"I asked you to read that, Mike," Martin said when I'd finished, "because I want to add a very important point. Maybe the most important one.
"I'm not in this business to make organizations work better; I should just declare that outright. Lots of organizations work well enough but add nothing to the world.
"I want to see communities being restored, lives improving, kids learning to read, prostitutes breaking the drug and economic chains that hold them, neighborhoods gaining local jobs. That's what I'm after."
I was listening very quietly, aware that Martin was speaking from a depth of passion. After he spent the morning in near silence, I suspected that his spare remarks would be worth waiting for.
"There's some powerful research my team at the university has been working on for several years. I won't bore you with the details of methodology and statistics, but the implications are clear."
My pen was poised.
"Simple fact: if you want to do something that really changes someone's life, the best thing you can do is make the person you're trying to help a participant in the process. If all you have are passive clients—or employees or students or parishioners for that matter—you've got nothing."
I looked at him quizzically, waiting for the connection.
"The research is clear. When the working poor are enlisted to help build houses for themselves and others, they become responsible homeowners. When a prostitute going through recovery and life-skills training is put on the team that assures that other prostitutes receive training, that woman doesn't slide back into a life of prostitution. When neighbors who need their block rid of pushers are given the opportunity and the know-how to join the police to get rid of the pushers, the block stays clean. Simple fact, Mike, well researched."
"Why is that?" I asked, my spine tingling with a sense of the great significance in his remarks.
"Because substandard housing, prostitution, illiteracy, and drugs are not the core problem," Martin replied hotly. "The fact that human beings have no sense of belonging to a real community is the problem. And what is that sense of belonging to a real community all about?"
I waited.
"The experience of community is when we know that we're important to the team! Everyone's in the game. Leaders put others first. Leaders expect great things from everybody. Leaders teach and get rid of obstacles for others.
Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work.
"Giving our clients services doesn't make community," he continued. "Neither does just giving them training. Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work. Only a Serving Leader can catalyze that kind of a miracle!"
I have to say it. This was an incredible day. I'm going to be considering these remarks for a very long time. What I'm really hoping for is the chance to see and experience what Will and Martin talked about today. I want to become a part of the kind of community experience they described.
When I got home, I visited with my folks until they went to bed. I began to collect my notes for the day and had just updated my pyramid when Ali stopped by. He wanted to hear about my day so we moved out to the porch to talk. Ali was back to his teacher's role—which, all gibes aside, I really appreciate.
"Summarize for me," he said, after I had told him about the day. "What's been added to your picture?"
"All of these Serving Leaders are outstanding teachers," I began. "They give their followers very specific advice on what to do and how to do it, based on their own success using these same approaches. Their teaching has credibility because they live what they teach. Will's expression is 'Walk the Talk.'"
"That's good," Ali said. "But is it sufficient to teach people what to do and then to stand back and hope they succeed?"
I pulled out my updated pyramid—graduated from a napkin to a proper journal entry—and told him about Will's use of the term "Trailblazing."
"Trailblazers do more than teach," I continued. "They push obstacles out of the way of the people they are serving." This was really starting to click, to come together, to make sense to me. "They are obliterating red tape," I continued. I was on a roll. "They are deep-sixing all the nonsense policies and sweeping away all the barriers that keep people from success. Their success lies in clearing the path for others to succeed." (Yes, I noted the paradox—and added it to my growing list!)
"The Serving Leader is a trailblazer," I concluded, now fully feeling my rhythm. "All levels of leadership in an organization trailblaze for their teams, teaching and removing obstacles, and the team members then do it for their own teams. Bang! Now we've got enough clear running room for a whole company to really acceleratate down the track!"
Ali liked it. He took another forty-five minutes to tell me how much he liked it and—I guess I'll just say it—to really pour on the affirmation. If my mother had been awake to hear it, she'd have warned me about getting a swelled head. No danger. It's my heart that's swelling.
After Ali left the house, the hour quite late, I thought again of that great picture of my dad making his own sprint down the track. That set me thinking.
There's a painful irony about my dad's leadership. He is truly the expert in Serving Leadership. And yet, his son doesn't feel that he ever got much benefit from it.
I always thought my dad had set an unreachable leadership standard. I didn't know how to reach it, that's for sure. And if I couldn't reach his standard, then I'd never be able to reach him. I may as well have been a welfare client staring across the uncrossable gulf between myself and the well-dressed professional looking over my claim. That's the feeling—I could never hope to reach his standard. I could never hope to be like him. At the deepest level, I could never hope. So why even bother trying?
But the truth is, my dad is far from perfect, and I'm sure he knows it acutely, probably painfully.
So he's not perfect, yet look at all the incredible goodness he's unleashed.
In the past, I felt terribly angry about this. There was no hope that Dad would ever really be in my corner—I would never be able to do enough to win his favor—and all the while he was always in everyone else's corner! He was out there blazing trails for other people, removing their obstacles, never doing it for me. Honestly, he wasn't even around enough to know what my obstacles were.
So how do I feel about this now? Now I feel, well, hopeful. Just hopeful. How about that. My father's not perfect, and yet he's done such great good. And I'm not perfect, either. So maybe, like father, like son.
Dad has opted for radiation. I bagged my plans for a while. Time to be with Dad. I told Ali I was going to look for some hands-on experience, didn't I? So where exactly was I planning to look?
I feel I should postpone my schedule. As much as Dad wants me out in the streets, I feel I should be spending time with him. My head's filling up with facts, principles, and diagrams, but my heart needs—I don't know what my heart needs. Instruction? Engagement? If I'm learning anything, I'm learning that the Serving Leader model can't be understood through principles and diagrams alone.
I think my relationship with Dad is a key. I still feel terribly disconnected from him. This is troubling to me because Dad tells me that a Serving Leader focuses on a new kind of relationship. Well, I'd like to have some of this new kind of relationship taking place between us.
Today Will Turner and Martin Goldschmidt gave me the whole day. They're an unusual and wonderful pair. Former Mayor Turner is African American, a gray-bearded Christian, gracefully companionable, and dressed to the nines. Gold-schmidt is Jewish, reserved in speech and manner, and frumpily academic. They love each other and respect each other highly. I could use more days with men like this!
Dad told me last night that they are key to the whole Serving Leader project and that I'd gain much from my time with them.
"When I retired from my position as mayor," Will said in the car, "my life and career hit a brick wall. I had reached the top, achieved the goal of a lifetime of effort, and I wasn't even halfway through my fifties.
"I didn't know what to do with my contacts, energy, and passion for my city," Will continued. "I wasn't mayor anymore, but I still loved this city, and serving her had become the purpose of my life. I was in that stage of life one writer calls 'halftime.' I had success for myself, and I had served my city well, I believe. But I knew there was something even more significant that I was yet to do with my life."
"In my own very small way, I'm starting to understand what you're talking about," I said. "Not that I've achieved anything like you have," I quickly added, feeling a little dumb for making the comparison. "What I mean is, I'm not sure my goals will bring me the satisfaction I'm really looking for."
"You've just told me something very wonderful about yourself. You're on a venture, a journey toward your life's significance. I like that!"
I smiled dubiously. I hope that's true. I really do hope it!
"But tell me what the two of you are up to. All I know is that you're leading a nonprofit organization and that your work has strong coaching, mentoring, and teaching components."
"Will's doing all the work," Martin said. "I just watch in awe."
"Don't listen to that nonsense, Mike!" Will retorted. "Martin's research makes our work possible. Old do-gooders like me are notoriously soft on results, and that's unacceptable. Martin finds out if our good deeds actually do anybody any good. I need the validation he provides because life is too short to waste it on sentimental pursuits that don't actually improve anything. We want to move the needle on real social indicators in the community.
"What we're putting together here," Will continued, "is a teaching and mentoring program that's aimed specifically at children who have a parent in prison. Children of prisoners are among the most vulnerable populations in the city. Serving these kids yields incredible benefits for all of us. So we're building Serving Leaders who can work effectively with these kids. It is our focus on building leaders that gives us real hope for success here.
"We've activated churches and businesses throughout the city, working through Philadelphia's Big Brothers/Big Sisters organizations to coach these children. Your dad and Ali have been instrumental in helping us get started. Our Serving Leaders teach them reading, math, study skills, and, more importantly, life skills. All the while, they stick to them through thick and thin, hang out with them, give them a real relationship with an adult who's totally on their side.
"The point of it is," Will added, looking at me very firmly, almost challengingly, "these kids are getting loved!"
I just nodded my head. There isn't a professional category for it, but I'm starting to get the fact that love is part of the equation. Will's face told me I had met his challenge.
"These children are remarkable in their strength of will and ability to adapt. I'm very proud of what is happening to them." The expression on Will's face made that pride obvious.
Will and Martin took me to Big Brothers to see a mentortraining class. What an incredible cross section of Serving Leaders sat there: African American grandfathers, young suburban housewives, a Hispanic attorney on a break from work, a Vietnamese pastor, a couple of Philadelphia cops, as well as Muslims, Navy guys, Christians, Jews, and twenty-something Generation X-ers.
The trainer created several role-plays by bringing up different mentors to act out the scenarios that had been scripted. I was given a copy of the training manual and followed along as the group focused on a section called "Winning the Right." The role-plays focused on the initial encounter between a new mentor and a child, showing different ways that kids might resist someone who purports to care.
"These kids have lived through a lot of broken promises, ladies and gentlemen," the trainer said. "You're going to sound like one more promise that's just going to be broken, and your assigned child has had too much hurt already." The trainer spoke with the kind of authority that comes from having been there herself. "You've got to really understand that," she continued. "Don't misunderstand their bluff or their hardness. They might even do things just to make you angry. It's a test. Will you leave, too? Are you going to dismiss them as unredeemable like everybody else? They're going to test you, and I just want you to know something that's very, very important."
The teacher paused, piercing the class with her life-tempered, soul-rich eyes. No one stirred.
"The child you will be assigned desperately wants you to pass the test!" she concluded. Tears almost jumped out of my eyes. I understand being a kid and wanting a grown-up to pass the test. I didn't expect this visit to hit so close to home.
At the end of the class, the teacher asked Will Turner to say a few words. He tried to demur, but the teacher wouldn't have any of it. The former mayor dedicated his remarks to the task of affirming each of the men and women in the room for the "world-changing impact" each was making.
The mentors watched with keen attention as Will spoke, rapt with the words of appreciation they were hearing. This movement has tapped into something very profound, not only for the children that receive the help, but also for the people who are here to give of themselves. Will affirmed the difference these people are making in each other's lives, and he envisioned a community that would be healthier for their efforts. I pictured a "waterfall of service" cascading down from this team, bringing life to many.
After the class, Will and Martin took me to Will's office, housed in a Baptist seminary in West Philadelphia. Will started the discussion.
"The churches and businesses working together have been a key to our success here. Strong support has come from churches that have shifted from just taking care of themselves to equipping themselves for service in the community and then actually getting out there!"
"Do Baptists drink coffee, Will?" I asked, needing some reinforcement before we plowed on.
"Indeed we do, Mike. There's a nice coffee shop in the commons. Shall we walk and talk?"
As we headed out, I said, "I need some help. The Serving Leaders you are training to mentor kids are terrific. But I work in the corporate world. How does what these leaders do apply in business or in your former world of government? Does it apply?"
"Great question, Mike," Will answered approvingly. "We think that effective leadership, what we are calling Serving Leadership, is a key to creating lasting results. I've known this intuitively for many years, but it was Martin who helped clarify my thinking."
We filled coffee cups in the commons and took seats around a table by the tall, bright windows facing south from the campus.
We teach others the knowledge, skills, and strategies they need to succeed. And we work hard to get obstacles out of their way so they can make progress.
"I believe the responsibility of any leader is twofold," Will continued. "We teach others the knowledge, skills, and strategies they need to succeed. And we work hard to get obstacles out of their way so they can make progress. In the inner city, our leaders teach the kids how to succeed while removing their barriers."
"Can you give me any examples of barriers?" I asked.
"Lots of them. A teacher at school who expects the child to fail—that's a barrier. You talk to that teacher and challenge him or her to see the child differently. And you keep at it so the teacher pays better attention. Or no healthcare is available when the child is sick—that's a big barrier. You take the mother or grandmother or whoever is raising the child to get a health card provided by the state. When the nine-year-old girl gets an earache, she also gets an antibiotic and some pain relief. And a lot of these kids can go to college, but they don't know that they can. That's a barrier. They'll never get there if you don't tell them it's possible, and then after you've told them, you walk them step by step the whole way through the process.
"So, it's a step at a time," Will continued. "Teach and remove barriers. And the very same principles apply in business or government. Serving Leaders have to reduce their wisdom on 'how to succeed' into bite-sized packages. The Serving Leader teaches these packages of wisdom to the team, which in turn teaches others."
"It sounds like what Noel Tichy has been saying for years," I interjected.
"Thanks to Martin, here, I actually know who you're talking about," Will said, smiling toward his silent sidekick. "He has made sure that I read everything pertinent to this subject."
Martin raised one eyebrow in restrained acknowledgment. I was becoming very curious about Dr. Goldschmidt. He hadn't said much so far, and yet I knew his hand was in everything I was seeing and hearing about.
"We find, though," Will continued, seemingly oblivious to my growing curiosity about this Penn and Teller routine, "that leaders often need training to become articulate about the 'how to succeed' wisdom that uniquely works in that organization."
Another acknowledging eyebrow from Goldschmidt. Apparently he thought his student, the former mayor, had done his homework well!
"The two of us are giving workshops to corporate and government executives on the 'teaching' and 'obstacle removing' practices of Serving Leaders. We call this area of our work 'Trailblazing' since a Serving Leader must both teach and remove obstacles so that others can follow the path they've blazed.
"It's trailblazing in another way," Will added, a playful smile on his face. "We're blazing a trail right into the heart of your consulting business!"
I had this whole thing wrong! I'd figured them for sophisticated do-gooders. But then I started hearing about the high standards—at BioWorks, the theme was "Raise the Bar." And now I'm listening to a man who's using the Serving Leader approach to outcompete me with corporate executives. Charlie was right. This is a new game!
"Mind telling me your approach with corporate executives?" I asked. "You don't want to leave me back in the dust, do you?"
"Room up front for all of us, Mike," Will responded kindly. "Our approach is simple. We help executives become better teachers. They become more articulate about the strategies, tactics, models, tools, and approaches that uniquely work in their own corporations. These leaders are the first teachers, their students in turn becoming the next set of faculty, and so forth, down through the organization. We design it so that one group serves the next, passing along knowledge relevant to the most pressing problems faced in the organization."
"I have an image of a teaching waterfall," I said, "with the impact cascading throughout the organization."
"That's a wonderful picture," Will responded, his face filled with warmth.
"But is there any danger of working yourself out of a job doing what you say?" I continued. "If you teach everything that you know, then maybe you're not needed anymore."
Will's face brightened, his eyes now twinkling with good humor. "It's a paradox," he declared. "Ever hear of a paradox?"
I just laughed.
"The more you teach your people to not need you, the greater your value," he pressed on. "Want to hang onto your value? Give everything you have away." Now his face was positively radiant. I grabbed my pen.
To protect your value, you must give it all away.
"But hold on," he continued. "We're not finished with the point—there's another step. Remember your image of a waterfall? The second step is to remove the boulders and obstacles in the current that impedes the flow. Teaching and removing obstacles need to go together. We teach this in our workshops. But may I share a few words yet about the additional process we use to build Serving Leaders?
"Please!" I almost shouted. My hand was cramped from writing, but I knew I'd hit a mother lode, and I wasn't going to stop digging now!
"We lay out the model of Serving Leadership, with readings, tutorials, and exercises. Frankly, I use the life and teachings of Jesus as one of the models here."
My turn to raise a Goldschmidt-ian eyebrow. A quick glance at Martin told me we would have scored well on synchronization just then.
"Outside the workshops, we implement what we call 'walking the talk.' On a regular schedule, we observe our leaders at work, collect feedback from their colleagues, and then give the leaders direct feedback on how their behavior compares to the behavior of a Serving Leader. This can be painful.
"And finally," Will concluded, "we encourage these men and women to join or create what we call an 'encouragement group' of trusted colleagues who help each other persevere in pursuit of their leadership and personal goals."
"And by the way," Goldschmidt interjected, startling me with this sudden foray into the conversation, "we only teach leaders who have really joined us. We take clients who are committed to developing as Serving Leaders. No half-hearted students make our cut."
I heard Martin's last comment and felt a chill. They were practicing strategic selection, just like Stephen Cray at BioWorks. This "loose" team of people isn't loose at all. They are building on each other's learning and using each other's principles. There is an integration here, and I know now that my dad is up to something incredible.
I felt a chill for another reason. Martin said they only take clients who really join them. And Ali thanked me yesterday for joining them. And hadn't I said I wanted my research to become more hands-on? This wasn't just another assignment; it was becoming much more personal than that.
"Mike, I'm afraid you're going to have to hold any other questions," Will added. "Our time's up—I tutor a thirteen-year-old boy in half an hour and must go pick him up." Answering the question on my face, he said, "Yes. I walk the talk!" Will's smile was proud and resolute.
"Martin will take you back. Let me give you an outline we use to describe our Trailblazing model."
I thanked Dr. Turner, took his outline, and headed out with Martin.
In the car, Martin and I spoke for a few minutes about his relationship with the former mayor. He then asked me to look over the outline Will had just handed me.
1. Serving Leaders build teaching organizations to create excellence at every level.
2. Leaders who teach become consistent in their own performance—leaders learn to introspect, to articulate their knowledge, and to improve consistency.
3. Serving Leaders remove obstacles so others can succeed.
"I asked you to read that, Mike," Martin said when I'd finished, "because I want to add a very important point. Maybe the most important one.
"I'm not in this business to make organizations work better; I should just declare that outright. Lots of organizations work well enough but add nothing to the world.
"I want to see communities being restored, lives improving, kids learning to read, prostitutes breaking the drug and economic chains that hold them, neighborhoods gaining local jobs. That's what I'm after."
I was listening very quietly, aware that Martin was speaking from a depth of passion. After he spent the morning in near silence, I suspected that his spare remarks would be worth waiting for.
"There's some powerful research my team at the university has been working on for several years. I won't bore you with the details of methodology and statistics, but the implications are clear."
My pen was poised.
"Simple fact: if you want to do something that really changes someone's life, the best thing you can do is make the person you're trying to help a participant in the process. If all you have are passive clients—or employees or students or parishioners for that matter—you've got nothing."
I looked at him quizzically, waiting for the connection.
"The research is clear. When the working poor are enlisted to help build houses for themselves and others, they become responsible homeowners. When a prostitute going through recovery and life-skills training is put on the team that assures that other prostitutes receive training, that woman doesn't slide back into a life of prostitution. When neighbors who need their block rid of pushers are given the opportunity and the know-how to join the police to get rid of the pushers, the block stays clean. Simple fact, Mike, well researched."
"Why is that?" I asked, my spine tingling with a sense of the great significance in his remarks.
"Because substandard housing, prostitution, illiteracy, and drugs are not the core problem," Martin replied hotly. "The fact that human beings have no sense of belonging to a real community is the problem. And what is that sense of belonging to a real community all about?"
I waited.
"The experience of community is when we know that we're important to the team! Everyone's in the game. Leaders put others first. Leaders expect great things from everybody. Leaders teach and get rid of obstacles for others.
Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work.
"Giving our clients services doesn't make community," he continued. "Neither does just giving them training. Community happens when everyone rolls up their sleeves and gets to work. Only a Serving Leader can catalyze that kind of a miracle!"
I have to say it. This was an incredible day. I'm going to be considering these remarks for a very long time. What I'm really hoping for is the chance to see and experience what Will and Martin talked about today. I want to become a part of the kind of community experience they described.
When I got home, I visited with my folks until they went to bed. I began to collect my notes for the day and had just updated my pyramid when Ali stopped by. He wanted to hear about my day so we moved out to the porch to talk. Ali was back to his teacher's role—which, all gibes aside, I really appreciate.
"Summarize for me," he said, after I had told him about the day. "What's been added to your picture?"
"All of these Serving Leaders are outstanding teachers," I began. "They give their followers very specific advice on what to do and how to do it, based on their own success using these same approaches. Their teaching has credibility because they live what they teach. Will's expression is 'Walk the Talk.'"
"That's good," Ali said. "But is it sufficient to teach people what to do and then to stand back and hope they succeed?"
I pulled out my updated pyramid—graduated from a napkin to a proper journal entry—and told him about Will's use of the term "Trailblazing."
"Trailblazers do more than teach," I continued. "They push obstacles out of the way of the people they are serving." This was really starting to click, to come together, to make sense to me. "They are obliterating red tape," I continued. I was on a roll. "They are deep-sixing all the nonsense policies and sweeping away all the barriers that keep people from success. Their success lies in clearing the path for others to succeed." (Yes, I noted the paradox—and added it to my growing list!)
"The Serving Leader is a trailblazer," I concluded, now fully feeling my rhythm. "All levels of leadership in an organization trailblaze for their teams, teaching and removing obstacles, and the team members then do it for their own teams. Bang! Now we've got enough clear running room for a whole company to really acceleratate down the track!"
Ali liked it. He took another forty-five minutes to tell me how much he liked it and—I guess I'll just say it—to really pour on the affirmation. If my mother had been awake to hear it, she'd have warned me about getting a swelled head. No danger. It's my heart that's swelling.
After Ali left the house, the hour quite late, I thought again of that great picture of my dad making his own sprint down the track. That set me thinking.
There's a painful irony about my dad's leadership. He is truly the expert in Serving Leadership. And yet, his son doesn't feel that he ever got much benefit from it.
I always thought my dad had set an unreachable leadership standard. I didn't know how to reach it, that's for sure. And if I couldn't reach his standard, then I'd never be able to reach him. I may as well have been a welfare client staring across the uncrossable gulf between myself and the well-dressed professional looking over my claim. That's the feeling—I could never hope to reach his standard. I could never hope to be like him. At the deepest level, I could never hope. So why even bother trying?
But the truth is, my dad is far from perfect, and I'm sure he knows it acutely, probably painfully.
So he's not perfect, yet look at all the incredible goodness he's unleashed.
In the past, I felt terribly angry about this. There was no hope that Dad would ever really be in my corner—I would never be able to do enough to win his favor—and all the while he was always in everyone else's corner! He was out there blazing trails for other people, removing their obstacles, never doing it for me. Honestly, he wasn't even around enough to know what my obstacles were.
So how do I feel about this now? Now I feel, well, hopeful. Just hopeful. How about that. My father's not perfect, and yet he's done such great good. And I'm not perfect, either. So maybe, like father, like son.
Dad has opted for radiation. I bagged my plans for a while. Time to be with Dad. I told Ali I was going to look for some hands-on experience, didn't I? So where exactly was I planning to look?
Senin, 19 Januari 2009
Run to Great Purpose
Run to Great Purpose
Dad and I lay low yesterday. Our trip to Greenwood pretty much wiped him out, though he's adamant about the fact that it was not his last hurrah. To prove it, he set up another appointment for lunch today. "It'll be a very important visit, Son," he told me.
We spent some of our day yesterday in the basement together, working on some final track hookup. Dad mostly watched, though he did touch up a few buildings with paint. We turned the whole system on and ran our trains. For a little while, time stood still—Dad and his boy just played with trains. I'll cherish this memory.
We also talked.
"What's up with Anna?" he asked at one point, a small twinkle in his eyes.
"Nothing," I replied a little defensively. "I don't think anything's up. She's nice, though," I decided to allow.
"Indeed. Like I said to you before. You need new eyes, my boy. Nothing, you say!"
I just looked at him, unable to suppress a small smile. Okay, maybe not nothing.
"I've steered clear of relationships for a long time, Pop," I assured him.
"That's supposed to assure me?" he asked, looking very unimpressed. "Trouble is, if you make a habit of steering clear of relationships, you can end up disconnected from everything, including yourself.
"God, too," he added, his eyes piercing me from out over the top of his reading glasses.
I also spent part of yesterday with Mom. Dad napped part of the afternoon, and I helped Mom with a grocery store run and with a couple of other errands. I was glad for the time to talk just with her, to talk about the future, hers without Dad and mine in light of what I've been learning. I'm realizing that this little visit to Philadelphia isn't little at all. My future won't be the same. For one thing, Mom is going to need much more support from me. I need to figure out how this is going to work.
All right, Mike. Time to get back to business.
I helped Dad to the car late this morning, and he surprised me by directing me to Philly's naval shipyard.
"I think you're developing a good model of what a Serving Leader does," Dad said. "But I still think you are missing a key piece. You've got the dynamics of it—how the leader builds the team, the business, and the community—but you're missing something very important. I believe that my friend Admiral Butler can help you with this."
"An admiral is going to teach me something about Serving Leadership?" I asked, a small note of incredulity slipping past my efforts to suppress it.
"Indeed!" he retorted. "I'm going to introduce you today to an admiral in the United States Navy who is a wonderful Serving Leader. You've got to keep your eyes open, Mike," he added. "Great men and women show up everywhere. You'll find them among the poor, and you'll find them among the powerful. But you won't find them if you're not looking for them!"
I felt duly chastised by this remark. Dad's on what turns out to be a pretty full-time mission to heal my blindness, and I admit to the infirmity. I need to keep my eyes open.
Arriving at the shipyard, we were cleared through security, handed passes, and escorted to a squeaky clean boardroom to meet Admiral "Rock" Butler. They had just brought in lunch, and places were set for the three of us.
"Admiral Butler," I said in greeting, a bit cowed by the man's high rank. "It's an honor."
"Call me Rock, please, Mike," he answered. "Everybody else does."
"Okay," I answered doubtfully, not quite ready to address this famous man as my old bud Rock.
Admiral Butler looked to be about fifty-five years old. He was not a big man, standing maybe five foot ten, but his presence was big. The best way I can describe it is that he was at home inside himself. His posture was completely relaxed, but there wasn't a single degree of slouch in his stance. He seemed in full command of his domain but without any particular exertion required. His hair was short and gray, and his face and eyes were as open as those of anyone I've ever met.
"I'd like you to talk to Mike about your approach to leadership, Rock," Dad said, wholly uncowed. "Give him the scoop."
"Before I do that, Mike," Rock replied, "brief me on what you've learned so far about Serving Leaders."
Dad shifted his full attention my way, looking pleased that the admiral had chosen to start out this way.
"Well," I stammered, feeling like I did when Dad put me on the spot back on my very first morning, "Serving Leaders are living paradoxes," I began.
Dad gave me a smile for that line.
"They are leaders who begin by turning the old hierarchy on its head and then placing themselves at the bottom. I'm calling that point Upend the Pyramid. They serve many people by first selectively serving a few, and they set high standards for their people. BioWorks calls this Raise the Bar. But then they help their people reach those high standards by teaching them how to succeed and by removing obstacles from in front of them. I'm calling this Blaze the Trail. And, finally, they help their teams focus on and align along their best strengths. And I'm calling this final point Build on Strength.
I stopped. "I guess that's the sixty-second elevator speech," I added, not feeling that I had quite captured it.
"A fair speech," Admiral Butler said equably. "Can you draw it for me?" he asked, pointing to the whiteboard on one side of the boardroom.
I stood, picked up a dark green dry-erase marker and sketched my upside-down pyramid, filling in the four actions I had just mentioned. When I finished the job, I sat down, feeling like a student waiting to get his grade.
Rock stared at the board for a moment, his face inscrutable, and then he turned toward me. "I like it," he began. "I agree with each point you've written there, and I teach them all to my leadership team here."
"Wow!" was all I could think to say. I glanced over at my dad, whose face was as unreadable as Rock's. I turned my attention back to Rock. "So you think I really am getting the important points?" I asked, fishing for one more round of confirmation.
"Well," Rock drawled, a kind smile slowly blooming on his face, "I think you're getting many of the important points. But I also think you're missing something that's very important."
"My dad said the same thing this morning, Admiral."
"You really are building a good model," he said encouragingly. "And I think I can help you flesh it out. And, Mike?" he continued. "It's Rock, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "You know, Rock," I added, emboldened to try my hand at this "Rock" business, "Dr. Martin Goldschmidt and I talked briefly about what drives the Serving Leader. He said that for him there has to be a larger purpose underneath all the techniques."
"Bingo! That's just what I want to talk with you about." He stood, took a marker, and wrote a phrase in large, bold letters underneath my pyramid.
Run to Great Purpose
Then he underlined the words.
"Let's talk about these words," Rock said, again taking his seat. "I think that Serving Leaders are people in pursuit of a great purpose," he began. "Not something puny but something really important. Important enough to live for. Important enough to die for."
I wrote his words down in my journal.
"What separates Serving Leaders from ordinary leaders is that they're on the trail of such a purpose—it's why I use the word run. Serving Leaders articulate a purpose so compelling that people are willing to run toward it. The leaders set the pace, and this spirit gets transferred to the people they serve.
"The thing about your model," he continued, "is that it doesn't have the right foundation." He let that comment stand for a second.
"I have to say it more strongly," Rock added. "Your model doesn't have any foundation. It's comprised of several excellent action steps, but what holds it all together?"
I just blinked. "Purpose?" I offered, feeling dumb. He had just told me it was purpose so what was I going to say?
Rock smiled, leaned over, and slapped me on the back. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll do a better job helping you out with this if I can tell you a story. And I need to take you upstairs for that. Are you up for a hike, Bob?" he asked my dad. "Mike and I will help you."
"Count me in," Dad replied, an old soldier's grim determination on his face.
"I want to take you up to what we call 'the Crow's Nest,'" Rock said, reaching into his briefcase to retrieve something. It was an old, weathered Bible. As I processed this, I rose to help Dad.
After navigating a series of stairs and walkways, we ended up inside a glass lookout atop a high wall from which we could see the busy naval port.
Rock started the discussion. "I thought you'd appreciate this. From here you can see the Pyramid Club, where I understand you started this journey." I turned around and looked out across the city, thinking about how far I had come.
Admiral Butler sat down at a small table in the lookout, pulling chairs up for Dad and me. "My role model for this business of great purpose is found in one of the oldest management texts in the world," he stated significantly, laying his old copy of the Bible onto the table between us. "The text is Nehemiah."
"It's in the Old Testament, Mike," Dad said.
"I know it's in the Old Testament," I replied a little testily, hoping Rock wasn't going to ask me to actually find it.
Rock just chuckled, opening his Bible in one flip of the pages right to the place. Dad peeked over at me, eyebrows arched, with a Mona Lisa smile of satisfaction on his face.
"Nehemiah was a senior executive," Rock began, "working in the court of a conquering king, far away from his home city of Jerusalem. He heard about the terrible condition of Jerusalem and felt called to the purpose of rebuilding its walls and gates."
"A slightly bigger task than rebuilding our communities here in Philly," Dad interjected.
"I wouldn't be too sure, Bob. Rebuilding an urban community is the most daunting purpose I know—it's harder than what we do here. Don't sell yourself short," he added.
Dad nodded his acceptance of the correction.
"Anyway, Nehemiah went courageously to the king of Babylon—that's roughly Iraq today—and asked for permission to return to his native city to begin work."
I was taking notes as fast as my hand could move.
"To get a view like we have here from the Crow's Nest, Nehemiah rode around the city, all the way around it, late at night, seeing for himself the damage and devastation. Compelled by the purpose in his heart, he presented a dramatic vision to his people of restoration of the twelve gates and interlocking walls of Jerusalem to their former splendor. At the same time, he was a realist, seeing the extensive damage before him. It would be an effort requiring the cooperation of everyone in Jerusalem.
"You see that, Mike?" Rock asked. "He had a great purpose. And he knew that the solution would require everyone's best strength. That's one of your key points."
I underlined it in my journal.
"The next day," Rock continued, "he brought together the elders and leaders of the city and gave them a purpose and a challenge, to restore Jerusalem to its former glory.
"Then came, what did you call it, the upside-down pyramid?"
"Upending the Pyramid," I answered.
"Right. Nehemiah divided the work according to families—families who were living adjacent to the damaged gates and walls—and then he upended the pyramid and put all his time into helping them succeed at their great task."
I underlined that, too.
"Soon critics and enemies of the rebuilding came out of the woodwork, threatening the workers. Nehemiah's role shifted again as a Serving Leader to providing physical and spiritual protection."
I scribbled Blaze the Trail in the margin here.
"The work proceeded to full success," Rock concluded, "because they were running with Nehemiah toward his great purpose; it had totally captured their hearts. One by one, the gates and walls were restored."
"I get it," I declared, nodding.
"It's my job right now," Rock replied, "to make sure that you do get it. And so I want to make my point even sharper. You've got a great model. It matches my own learning and experience profoundly well. But purpose isn't the final point, Mike." He stated this emphatically, and I just stared at him. Was there another point?
"Purpose is your first point!" Rock concluded. "Upend the Pyramid? Why? Raise the Bar to what end? Blaze the Trail so people can get where? Build on Strength to achieve what?"
He let the questions hang in the air, and we looked at each other.
"If the purpose isn't bigger than the people involved, none of the great things you're seeing here in Philadelphia would be happening. People need an answer to the purpose question, and, contrary to what most people believe, selfinterest isn't the answer that really delivers, and it isn't the answer that really satisfies."
Rock paused again and looked at me. I looked back. I was thinking. People need an answer to the purpose question, Rock had just said. So what has been my answer?
To get promoted; that's been one of my answers for a very long time. To get a bigger salary. Maybe win the boss's job. To get to the top. These have been my answers. And how empty they all seem right now. I could have stayed on that path, achieved every goal, totally succeeded, and ended up exactly where I started—still wondering why.
"None of the incredible acceleration and creative teamwork and high productivity your model speaks of will happen," Rock continued, "unless you build your model on top of the foundation of a great purpose. Get that clear first, and everything else will follow!
"Are you there, Mike?" he then asked, apparently unsure what was going on behind my glazed eyes.
"Oh, I'm here," I answered, chuckling and shaking my head. "It's just that I'm a little occupied right now rearranging all the furniture in my brain."
Rock smiled and nodded. He was more than satisfied.
I looked over at Dad, and there were tears running down his cheeks. The look on his face told me that what had just happened pleased him beyond words.
"Okay, Rock," I said, clearing my throat. "I'll change my model. I haven't any doubt about it; Run to Great Purpose is the first action that marks the Serving Leader. It's the foundation. Everything else follows." I made this comment with absolute clarity of mind and real conviction.
Run to Great Purpose is the first action that marks the Serving Leader. It's the foundation. Everything else follows.
"Mike, it's going to be a pleasure learning to know you better," Rock said. His face told me that he meant every word of it. "And, Bob," he added, turning to my dad, "a chip off the old block is how I see it."
Dad's tears continued to flow, his face a portrait of gratitude.
"I'm thinking about your No-Name Team, Dad," I said, turning to face him squarely. He wiped his eyes. "They're connected at such a deep level. It's more than the techniques they're using. They have a purpose that pulls everything into focus. It helps me understand why such great people want to be on the team, where the morale comes from, and why I see such courage in the circle."
Dad nodded.
"They want to make a real difference for Philadelphia. For everybody who lives here. They believe they can."
"That's the whole point, Mike," Rock said. "Making a difference for others is the point of our lives. It is the great purpose that gives us everything we need to run the best race we can." His voice trailed off. He kept his eyes focused on me, his face deeply thoughtful.
"Has anyone told you before that you were born to make a difference?"
I held Rock's gaze, considering his question. No one had ever told me that, exactly. I really wanted to believe it and felt ready to.
"You were born to make a difference, Mike," Rock repeated. It wasn't a question this time. "And I see no reason why you shouldn't start today. Start right now," he added, his voice quiet and commanding.
No one said anything for a long moment, and then I nodded my head.
"This is an important day for me, Admiral," I said. "And you were right, Dad. I was missing an important piece. My model was missing it, and so was I.
"Can I ask you both a question?" I continued. "While we're dealing with missing pieces?"
"Ask," Dad responded.
"How does the spiritual part work? Or more precisely, is the spiritual part required for Serving Leadership to work? You both carry around Bibles."
"It's important to me, Mike," Dad said, his voice quavering with emotion. "My faith is important to me because it keeps me in mind of the fact that my life doesn't belong to me. My living needs to serve something bigger than myself."
"I know that's true of you, Dad," I answered, wondering why he was explaining this to me. I knew it full well.
"I want it to be true of you, too, Mike," Dad continued, his face now full of feeling.
"It is true of me," I answered strongly, now understanding how he had taken my question. He thought I was back to my personal ruminations, which at this moment I wasn't. "It's becoming true of me, I should say. If you're troubled about my part in this, you can put your mind at ease. I'm on the way." I walked over to where my dad was sitting and gave him a hug. I really appreciated how much he cared for me, for the whole of me.
"You were really asking two questions, weren't you, Mike?" Rock said. "One of a personal nature and one more professional."
"Thank you, Rock, for saying that so well," I answered, glad for the graceful transition he offered. "I work with a lot of clients, and I need to provide business value regardless of a client's spiritual orientation or nonorientation. I want to promote principles and actions that can be applied in many different settings and that work for many different kinds of people. Some of them are spiritually inclined, to be sure. And some have deeply humane principles that aren't religiously motivated. And some are driven to build great and profitable companies. So, yes, my question is, does Serving Leadership just plain work?"
"It just plain works," Dad answered. Rock nodded. "Many of our friends are from different faiths," Dad continued, "and many of the firms that use our principles have no faith agenda."
"We have colleagues in government," Rock added, "who are reporting great benefit from Serving Leadership. I use these principles right here in my Navy post."
"I guess I loaded up your schedule with a lot of the more faith-oriented colleagues, Mike," my dad then said, a grin of confession on his face. "A father's prerogative."
"But here's the point," Rock continued. "Bring great purpose to the table, turn your leadership into service to your workers, hold high expectations, make sure your team has what it needs in training and resources and clear running ground, and maximize the strengths you have. Take these actions, and you'll get real acceleration and impact. We believe it's how we've been designed to function best."
"Faith or no faith," Dad added.
"Whether working with a small team, working with an entire corporation, or working with all the sectors of a great city," Rock said.
"Live it out very personally, or set the principles in motion at a large corporate level. Let it bring deep private meaning to your life and to your family, or let it produce great public value," Dad added. "Better yet, do both."
Both men paused.
"But please don't steer clear of God in your own life, Mike," Dad continued. "Your father speaking here. Serving Leadership requires a deep humility and a willingness to pour yourself into the good of others. I pray that you let yourself be nurtured for this by something larger than yourself."
"Your dad is offering you excellent counsel," Rock said, his face sober. "Leaders find themselves in very difficult places. Great leaders do," he added.
"Admiral, Dad," I said, "you've answered my questions and then some. I want to make a difference with my life. And I want to help many, many others excel in their leadership so their lives can also make a difference. Thank you."
"I've enjoyed it, Mike," the Admiral said, rising to his feet. "But can I give you one more piece of advice?"
"Sure," I said, rising to join him.
"Call me Rock," he said, this time with a very wide smile.
"Rock," I replied, nodding firmly.
The Admiral gave me a big hug.
I picked up my notebook, which was an almost unreadable scribble of notes, filled with whole sections of Rock's remarks that I tried to capture word for word, as well as sidebar notations. I knew I was going to have my hands full getting it down more clearly later.
Not to mention the job of actually living it out. That's going to make the job of writing it all down a cinch in comparison.
I looked over at my dad, who had not yet gotten out of his seat. He looked back at me with eyes that were suddenly very tired. And very content.
Rock wanted a few final minutes just with my father, and I took the opportunity to reflect on what I had just heard, what it meant for my own life, and something that was still troubling me.
In the car, I asked Dad one remaining question. Given my own track record, was I fit to be a Serving Leader? He knew exactly what I needed to hear.
"We've all made mistakes and wasted lots of time and talent, Mike," he said, reaching over to lay his hand on my arm.
"But mistakes aren't the issue. What you do with them is the issue."
I nodded.
"We're all faced with three choices," he continued. "First, we can pretend that everything's always been just fine. If we make this choice, we have to spend all our time putting on a front for people, acting like we have it all together, and making up excuses for our meaningless lives."
Dad let the point hang in the air. I was thinking about the times I'd behaved just this way.
"We become smaller people when we do this, Mike. We're justified in our own minds but useless to anyone else.
"Secondly, and just as bad, we can destroy ourselves in lament and self-recrimination. We've wasted too much of our lives, it's too late to get on track now, and so we don't really deserve another chance to become really strong and great."
This description, actually, fit my condition better than the first one, I realized. Dad had just cut to the quick of my fundamental struggle.
"Again, this is wrong, and just makes us small. What good can a groveling, self-whipped soul be to anyone else?" he asked, the question needing no answer.
"And the third one, Dad?" I asked, trying to hide how desperately I needed to hear a better option.
Dad squeezed my arm. "Ask to be forgiven for the past, Mike. And then seize your future with all you've got. Join the team!"
It wasn't clear to me if he was just giving me his third point or if he was giving me a command.
I liked it either way. I was ready.
Dad and I lay low yesterday. Our trip to Greenwood pretty much wiped him out, though he's adamant about the fact that it was not his last hurrah. To prove it, he set up another appointment for lunch today. "It'll be a very important visit, Son," he told me.
We spent some of our day yesterday in the basement together, working on some final track hookup. Dad mostly watched, though he did touch up a few buildings with paint. We turned the whole system on and ran our trains. For a little while, time stood still—Dad and his boy just played with trains. I'll cherish this memory.
We also talked.
"What's up with Anna?" he asked at one point, a small twinkle in his eyes.
"Nothing," I replied a little defensively. "I don't think anything's up. She's nice, though," I decided to allow.
"Indeed. Like I said to you before. You need new eyes, my boy. Nothing, you say!"
I just looked at him, unable to suppress a small smile. Okay, maybe not nothing.
"I've steered clear of relationships for a long time, Pop," I assured him.
"That's supposed to assure me?" he asked, looking very unimpressed. "Trouble is, if you make a habit of steering clear of relationships, you can end up disconnected from everything, including yourself.
"God, too," he added, his eyes piercing me from out over the top of his reading glasses.
I also spent part of yesterday with Mom. Dad napped part of the afternoon, and I helped Mom with a grocery store run and with a couple of other errands. I was glad for the time to talk just with her, to talk about the future, hers without Dad and mine in light of what I've been learning. I'm realizing that this little visit to Philadelphia isn't little at all. My future won't be the same. For one thing, Mom is going to need much more support from me. I need to figure out how this is going to work.
All right, Mike. Time to get back to business.
I helped Dad to the car late this morning, and he surprised me by directing me to Philly's naval shipyard.
"I think you're developing a good model of what a Serving Leader does," Dad said. "But I still think you are missing a key piece. You've got the dynamics of it—how the leader builds the team, the business, and the community—but you're missing something very important. I believe that my friend Admiral Butler can help you with this."
"An admiral is going to teach me something about Serving Leadership?" I asked, a small note of incredulity slipping past my efforts to suppress it.
"Indeed!" he retorted. "I'm going to introduce you today to an admiral in the United States Navy who is a wonderful Serving Leader. You've got to keep your eyes open, Mike," he added. "Great men and women show up everywhere. You'll find them among the poor, and you'll find them among the powerful. But you won't find them if you're not looking for them!"
I felt duly chastised by this remark. Dad's on what turns out to be a pretty full-time mission to heal my blindness, and I admit to the infirmity. I need to keep my eyes open.
Arriving at the shipyard, we were cleared through security, handed passes, and escorted to a squeaky clean boardroom to meet Admiral "Rock" Butler. They had just brought in lunch, and places were set for the three of us.
"Admiral Butler," I said in greeting, a bit cowed by the man's high rank. "It's an honor."
"Call me Rock, please, Mike," he answered. "Everybody else does."
"Okay," I answered doubtfully, not quite ready to address this famous man as my old bud Rock.
Admiral Butler looked to be about fifty-five years old. He was not a big man, standing maybe five foot ten, but his presence was big. The best way I can describe it is that he was at home inside himself. His posture was completely relaxed, but there wasn't a single degree of slouch in his stance. He seemed in full command of his domain but without any particular exertion required. His hair was short and gray, and his face and eyes were as open as those of anyone I've ever met.
"I'd like you to talk to Mike about your approach to leadership, Rock," Dad said, wholly uncowed. "Give him the scoop."
"Before I do that, Mike," Rock replied, "brief me on what you've learned so far about Serving Leaders."
Dad shifted his full attention my way, looking pleased that the admiral had chosen to start out this way.
"Well," I stammered, feeling like I did when Dad put me on the spot back on my very first morning, "Serving Leaders are living paradoxes," I began.
Dad gave me a smile for that line.
"They are leaders who begin by turning the old hierarchy on its head and then placing themselves at the bottom. I'm calling that point Upend the Pyramid. They serve many people by first selectively serving a few, and they set high standards for their people. BioWorks calls this Raise the Bar. But then they help their people reach those high standards by teaching them how to succeed and by removing obstacles from in front of them. I'm calling this Blaze the Trail. And, finally, they help their teams focus on and align along their best strengths. And I'm calling this final point Build on Strength.
I stopped. "I guess that's the sixty-second elevator speech," I added, not feeling that I had quite captured it.
"A fair speech," Admiral Butler said equably. "Can you draw it for me?" he asked, pointing to the whiteboard on one side of the boardroom.
I stood, picked up a dark green dry-erase marker and sketched my upside-down pyramid, filling in the four actions I had just mentioned. When I finished the job, I sat down, feeling like a student waiting to get his grade.
Rock stared at the board for a moment, his face inscrutable, and then he turned toward me. "I like it," he began. "I agree with each point you've written there, and I teach them all to my leadership team here."
"Wow!" was all I could think to say. I glanced over at my dad, whose face was as unreadable as Rock's. I turned my attention back to Rock. "So you think I really am getting the important points?" I asked, fishing for one more round of confirmation.
"Well," Rock drawled, a kind smile slowly blooming on his face, "I think you're getting many of the important points. But I also think you're missing something that's very important."
"My dad said the same thing this morning, Admiral."
"You really are building a good model," he said encouragingly. "And I think I can help you flesh it out. And, Mike?" he continued. "It's Rock, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "You know, Rock," I added, emboldened to try my hand at this "Rock" business, "Dr. Martin Goldschmidt and I talked briefly about what drives the Serving Leader. He said that for him there has to be a larger purpose underneath all the techniques."
"Bingo! That's just what I want to talk with you about." He stood, took a marker, and wrote a phrase in large, bold letters underneath my pyramid.
Run to Great Purpose
Then he underlined the words.
"Let's talk about these words," Rock said, again taking his seat. "I think that Serving Leaders are people in pursuit of a great purpose," he began. "Not something puny but something really important. Important enough to live for. Important enough to die for."
I wrote his words down in my journal.
"What separates Serving Leaders from ordinary leaders is that they're on the trail of such a purpose—it's why I use the word run. Serving Leaders articulate a purpose so compelling that people are willing to run toward it. The leaders set the pace, and this spirit gets transferred to the people they serve.
"The thing about your model," he continued, "is that it doesn't have the right foundation." He let that comment stand for a second.
"I have to say it more strongly," Rock added. "Your model doesn't have any foundation. It's comprised of several excellent action steps, but what holds it all together?"
I just blinked. "Purpose?" I offered, feeling dumb. He had just told me it was purpose so what was I going to say?
Rock smiled, leaned over, and slapped me on the back. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll do a better job helping you out with this if I can tell you a story. And I need to take you upstairs for that. Are you up for a hike, Bob?" he asked my dad. "Mike and I will help you."
"Count me in," Dad replied, an old soldier's grim determination on his face.
"I want to take you up to what we call 'the Crow's Nest,'" Rock said, reaching into his briefcase to retrieve something. It was an old, weathered Bible. As I processed this, I rose to help Dad.
After navigating a series of stairs and walkways, we ended up inside a glass lookout atop a high wall from which we could see the busy naval port.
Rock started the discussion. "I thought you'd appreciate this. From here you can see the Pyramid Club, where I understand you started this journey." I turned around and looked out across the city, thinking about how far I had come.
Admiral Butler sat down at a small table in the lookout, pulling chairs up for Dad and me. "My role model for this business of great purpose is found in one of the oldest management texts in the world," he stated significantly, laying his old copy of the Bible onto the table between us. "The text is Nehemiah."
"It's in the Old Testament, Mike," Dad said.
"I know it's in the Old Testament," I replied a little testily, hoping Rock wasn't going to ask me to actually find it.
Rock just chuckled, opening his Bible in one flip of the pages right to the place. Dad peeked over at me, eyebrows arched, with a Mona Lisa smile of satisfaction on his face.
"Nehemiah was a senior executive," Rock began, "working in the court of a conquering king, far away from his home city of Jerusalem. He heard about the terrible condition of Jerusalem and felt called to the purpose of rebuilding its walls and gates."
"A slightly bigger task than rebuilding our communities here in Philly," Dad interjected.
"I wouldn't be too sure, Bob. Rebuilding an urban community is the most daunting purpose I know—it's harder than what we do here. Don't sell yourself short," he added.
Dad nodded his acceptance of the correction.
"Anyway, Nehemiah went courageously to the king of Babylon—that's roughly Iraq today—and asked for permission to return to his native city to begin work."
I was taking notes as fast as my hand could move.
"To get a view like we have here from the Crow's Nest, Nehemiah rode around the city, all the way around it, late at night, seeing for himself the damage and devastation. Compelled by the purpose in his heart, he presented a dramatic vision to his people of restoration of the twelve gates and interlocking walls of Jerusalem to their former splendor. At the same time, he was a realist, seeing the extensive damage before him. It would be an effort requiring the cooperation of everyone in Jerusalem.
"You see that, Mike?" Rock asked. "He had a great purpose. And he knew that the solution would require everyone's best strength. That's one of your key points."
I underlined it in my journal.
"The next day," Rock continued, "he brought together the elders and leaders of the city and gave them a purpose and a challenge, to restore Jerusalem to its former glory.
"Then came, what did you call it, the upside-down pyramid?"
"Upending the Pyramid," I answered.
"Right. Nehemiah divided the work according to families—families who were living adjacent to the damaged gates and walls—and then he upended the pyramid and put all his time into helping them succeed at their great task."
I underlined that, too.
"Soon critics and enemies of the rebuilding came out of the woodwork, threatening the workers. Nehemiah's role shifted again as a Serving Leader to providing physical and spiritual protection."
I scribbled Blaze the Trail in the margin here.
"The work proceeded to full success," Rock concluded, "because they were running with Nehemiah toward his great purpose; it had totally captured their hearts. One by one, the gates and walls were restored."
"I get it," I declared, nodding.
"It's my job right now," Rock replied, "to make sure that you do get it. And so I want to make my point even sharper. You've got a great model. It matches my own learning and experience profoundly well. But purpose isn't the final point, Mike." He stated this emphatically, and I just stared at him. Was there another point?
"Purpose is your first point!" Rock concluded. "Upend the Pyramid? Why? Raise the Bar to what end? Blaze the Trail so people can get where? Build on Strength to achieve what?"
He let the questions hang in the air, and we looked at each other.
"If the purpose isn't bigger than the people involved, none of the great things you're seeing here in Philadelphia would be happening. People need an answer to the purpose question, and, contrary to what most people believe, selfinterest isn't the answer that really delivers, and it isn't the answer that really satisfies."
Rock paused again and looked at me. I looked back. I was thinking. People need an answer to the purpose question, Rock had just said. So what has been my answer?
To get promoted; that's been one of my answers for a very long time. To get a bigger salary. Maybe win the boss's job. To get to the top. These have been my answers. And how empty they all seem right now. I could have stayed on that path, achieved every goal, totally succeeded, and ended up exactly where I started—still wondering why.
"None of the incredible acceleration and creative teamwork and high productivity your model speaks of will happen," Rock continued, "unless you build your model on top of the foundation of a great purpose. Get that clear first, and everything else will follow!
"Are you there, Mike?" he then asked, apparently unsure what was going on behind my glazed eyes.
"Oh, I'm here," I answered, chuckling and shaking my head. "It's just that I'm a little occupied right now rearranging all the furniture in my brain."
Rock smiled and nodded. He was more than satisfied.
I looked over at Dad, and there were tears running down his cheeks. The look on his face told me that what had just happened pleased him beyond words.
"Okay, Rock," I said, clearing my throat. "I'll change my model. I haven't any doubt about it; Run to Great Purpose is the first action that marks the Serving Leader. It's the foundation. Everything else follows." I made this comment with absolute clarity of mind and real conviction.
Run to Great Purpose is the first action that marks the Serving Leader. It's the foundation. Everything else follows.
"Mike, it's going to be a pleasure learning to know you better," Rock said. His face told me that he meant every word of it. "And, Bob," he added, turning to my dad, "a chip off the old block is how I see it."
Dad's tears continued to flow, his face a portrait of gratitude.
"I'm thinking about your No-Name Team, Dad," I said, turning to face him squarely. He wiped his eyes. "They're connected at such a deep level. It's more than the techniques they're using. They have a purpose that pulls everything into focus. It helps me understand why such great people want to be on the team, where the morale comes from, and why I see such courage in the circle."
Dad nodded.
"They want to make a real difference for Philadelphia. For everybody who lives here. They believe they can."
"That's the whole point, Mike," Rock said. "Making a difference for others is the point of our lives. It is the great purpose that gives us everything we need to run the best race we can." His voice trailed off. He kept his eyes focused on me, his face deeply thoughtful.
"Has anyone told you before that you were born to make a difference?"
I held Rock's gaze, considering his question. No one had ever told me that, exactly. I really wanted to believe it and felt ready to.
"You were born to make a difference, Mike," Rock repeated. It wasn't a question this time. "And I see no reason why you shouldn't start today. Start right now," he added, his voice quiet and commanding.
No one said anything for a long moment, and then I nodded my head.
"This is an important day for me, Admiral," I said. "And you were right, Dad. I was missing an important piece. My model was missing it, and so was I.
"Can I ask you both a question?" I continued. "While we're dealing with missing pieces?"
"Ask," Dad responded.
"How does the spiritual part work? Or more precisely, is the spiritual part required for Serving Leadership to work? You both carry around Bibles."
"It's important to me, Mike," Dad said, his voice quavering with emotion. "My faith is important to me because it keeps me in mind of the fact that my life doesn't belong to me. My living needs to serve something bigger than myself."
"I know that's true of you, Dad," I answered, wondering why he was explaining this to me. I knew it full well.
"I want it to be true of you, too, Mike," Dad continued, his face now full of feeling.
"It is true of me," I answered strongly, now understanding how he had taken my question. He thought I was back to my personal ruminations, which at this moment I wasn't. "It's becoming true of me, I should say. If you're troubled about my part in this, you can put your mind at ease. I'm on the way." I walked over to where my dad was sitting and gave him a hug. I really appreciated how much he cared for me, for the whole of me.
"You were really asking two questions, weren't you, Mike?" Rock said. "One of a personal nature and one more professional."
"Thank you, Rock, for saying that so well," I answered, glad for the graceful transition he offered. "I work with a lot of clients, and I need to provide business value regardless of a client's spiritual orientation or nonorientation. I want to promote principles and actions that can be applied in many different settings and that work for many different kinds of people. Some of them are spiritually inclined, to be sure. And some have deeply humane principles that aren't religiously motivated. And some are driven to build great and profitable companies. So, yes, my question is, does Serving Leadership just plain work?"
"It just plain works," Dad answered. Rock nodded. "Many of our friends are from different faiths," Dad continued, "and many of the firms that use our principles have no faith agenda."
"We have colleagues in government," Rock added, "who are reporting great benefit from Serving Leadership. I use these principles right here in my Navy post."
"I guess I loaded up your schedule with a lot of the more faith-oriented colleagues, Mike," my dad then said, a grin of confession on his face. "A father's prerogative."
"But here's the point," Rock continued. "Bring great purpose to the table, turn your leadership into service to your workers, hold high expectations, make sure your team has what it needs in training and resources and clear running ground, and maximize the strengths you have. Take these actions, and you'll get real acceleration and impact. We believe it's how we've been designed to function best."
"Faith or no faith," Dad added.
"Whether working with a small team, working with an entire corporation, or working with all the sectors of a great city," Rock said.
"Live it out very personally, or set the principles in motion at a large corporate level. Let it bring deep private meaning to your life and to your family, or let it produce great public value," Dad added. "Better yet, do both."
Both men paused.
"But please don't steer clear of God in your own life, Mike," Dad continued. "Your father speaking here. Serving Leadership requires a deep humility and a willingness to pour yourself into the good of others. I pray that you let yourself be nurtured for this by something larger than yourself."
"Your dad is offering you excellent counsel," Rock said, his face sober. "Leaders find themselves in very difficult places. Great leaders do," he added.
"Admiral, Dad," I said, "you've answered my questions and then some. I want to make a difference with my life. And I want to help many, many others excel in their leadership so their lives can also make a difference. Thank you."
"I've enjoyed it, Mike," the Admiral said, rising to his feet. "But can I give you one more piece of advice?"
"Sure," I said, rising to join him.
"Call me Rock," he said, this time with a very wide smile.
"Rock," I replied, nodding firmly.
The Admiral gave me a big hug.
I picked up my notebook, which was an almost unreadable scribble of notes, filled with whole sections of Rock's remarks that I tried to capture word for word, as well as sidebar notations. I knew I was going to have my hands full getting it down more clearly later.
Not to mention the job of actually living it out. That's going to make the job of writing it all down a cinch in comparison.
I looked over at my dad, who had not yet gotten out of his seat. He looked back at me with eyes that were suddenly very tired. And very content.
Rock wanted a few final minutes just with my father, and I took the opportunity to reflect on what I had just heard, what it meant for my own life, and something that was still troubling me.
In the car, I asked Dad one remaining question. Given my own track record, was I fit to be a Serving Leader? He knew exactly what I needed to hear.
"We've all made mistakes and wasted lots of time and talent, Mike," he said, reaching over to lay his hand on my arm.
"But mistakes aren't the issue. What you do with them is the issue."
I nodded.
"We're all faced with three choices," he continued. "First, we can pretend that everything's always been just fine. If we make this choice, we have to spend all our time putting on a front for people, acting like we have it all together, and making up excuses for our meaningless lives."
Dad let the point hang in the air. I was thinking about the times I'd behaved just this way.
"We become smaller people when we do this, Mike. We're justified in our own minds but useless to anyone else.
"Secondly, and just as bad, we can destroy ourselves in lament and self-recrimination. We've wasted too much of our lives, it's too late to get on track now, and so we don't really deserve another chance to become really strong and great."
This description, actually, fit my condition better than the first one, I realized. Dad had just cut to the quick of my fundamental struggle.
"Again, this is wrong, and just makes us small. What good can a groveling, self-whipped soul be to anyone else?" he asked, the question needing no answer.
"And the third one, Dad?" I asked, trying to hide how desperately I needed to hear a better option.
Dad squeezed my arm. "Ask to be forgiven for the past, Mike. And then seize your future with all you've got. Join the team!"
It wasn't clear to me if he was just giving me his third point or if he was giving me a command.
I liked it either way. I was ready.
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