I’ve read research claiming that, as bosses, 50 or even 60 or more percent of what we do is unnecessary. I am skeptical. Not that 50 percent of our time is poorly allocated, but I think many people who say such things have a naive view of the world. That is, a helluva lot of the “unnecessary” stuff we do is, in fact, necessary. We attend a meeting in which we have no interest, or at least no apparent interest. But in fact there is a compelling interest: The subject matter is irrelevant, but you are there to show visible support for Mary Smith—who is a potential roadblock or supporter to your pet project’s crucial next step. That is … you are there 100 percent for political reasons! But since implementation of anything is about 95 percent politics, it is indeed a “must attend, must appear attentive” meeting. Hence, there are a lot of “low-yield” (substance) things you need for “high-yield” (politics) reasons. So we must search all the harder and thoughtfully for the true “to-don’ts.” I will offer no advice on the choice process—I leave that to you and a library full of books more or less on the topic. I merely mean here to underscore my support for a … formal-systematic hyper-high-priority “‘to-don’t’ management process” … which, indeed, must include that trusted adviser.
So, top of your “to-do” list for today is immediately beginning work on your “to-don’t” list!
STOP!-IN THE NAME OF STRATEGY
In preparation for a short speech at a Nature Conservancy fund-raiser, I read Bill Birchard’s Nature’s Keepers: The Remarkable Story of How the Nature Conservancy Became the Largest Environmental Organization in the World. When former TNC president John Sawhill had just taken the helm, he appointed a key task force to do a ground-up look at the organization’s strategy. More specifically, per Sawhill’s charge:
“What areas should the Conservancy focus on and more important—what activities should we STOP?” [My caps.]
I suggest outright mimicry: In the next 90 days, work with your leadership team on a … “‘Stop Doing’ Strategic Review.”Once “stop” decisions have been made, a careful, disciplined get-out-from-under execution plan must be developed. (Beware a “stop doing” that subsequently goes underground—every activity has its rabid and wily adherents!)
(NB: Keep it simple. The sheer beauty of Sawhill’s charter is its clarity—What should we do? What should we stop doing? Alas, such clarity is AWOL in most such calls for strategic review.)
71. Some Things Worth Doing Are Worth Doing Not Particularly Well.
Readers of this book are adult in fact and in their approach to life. This item may insult your intelligence. On the other hand, it may help you free up, say, 20 percent of your time as currently spent. Hence, I will take the risk of insulting you.
The reminder came one night as I was doing dishes. (It’s my thing.) I was dealing with a particularly resistant old baking pan. I cleaned up the food residue—it was fully sanitary. But there was some crusty crap left, which I went after with a vengeance—but somewhat unsuccessfully. At one point I started laughing at myself. The pan was sanitary and “clean enough,” plus I really didn’t need to treat the effort like a speech to Fortune 50 CEOs. That’s a tough sell to an engineer with mostly German blood—namely me.
The micro-event (I did stop) reminded me of the Greater Truth. In a world (personal, professional) of limited resources (time, in this instance) and priorities of the utmost importance (to you and me at any rate), there’s a lot of “stuff” that must be done—but for which “good enough” is in fact good enough.
There are numerous instances when obsessing on the last two inches of a 100-mile journey is of paramount importance—like writing a book. (The “two last passes” which follow the “two last passes” are all-important to me, a state of nature from which I will never be dislodged.) I am in fact an ardent fan of “perfectionism,” downsides notwithstanding.
Still, there are a lot of baking pans that are clean enough. The art of deciding which things do and don’t merit the “two-last-passes-following-the-two-last-passes” is an important one. There’s much to do—and perfectionism concerning things that don’t merit perfectionism is, for some of us, a significant resource absorber.
Suggestion?
Time is your most precious resource.
Obvious.
(But always worth repeating.)
There is “stuff” that you must indeed do.
(That’s the point, you do have to do it—the dishes.)
But it really ain’t important enough to kill yourself over.
Spend no more than “enough” time on that stuff.
You may well be surprised, perhaps even “stunned,” by how much time you can reallocate.
(Again, sorry for insulting your intelligence, if, indeed, I have.)
Customers
72. It’s 11 A.M.—Have You Called a Customer Today?
Never.
Ever.
Get Out of Touch.
With Customers.
Easy to lose touch.
G. W. Bush.
B. H. Obama.
Me.
You.
BigCo.
WeeCo.
Must not happen.
Stop.
Now.
Call a Customer.
Out of the Blue.
Ask:
“How can I help?”
“How are we doing?”
“Have we delivered on every promise, implicit as well as explicit?”
Listen.
LISTEN.
Take notes.
Meticulously.
(Record in Special eFolder/Notebook.)
Follow-up-on-at-least-some-one-“little”-thing.
FAST.
INSTANTLY.
Repeat.
48 hours hence.
Hint: This applies to 100 percent of us. Not just “bosses.” And not just to those with “external” customers.
We.
All.
Have.
Customers.
73. There’s Nothing But Nothing Better Than an Angry Customer!
Bizarre but true: Our most loyal customers are ones who had a problem with us … and then marveled when we went the Extra 10 Miles at the Speed of Light to fix it!
Business opportunity No. 1* = Irate customers converted into fans.
(*Yes, No. 1.)
So … are you on the active prowl for customer problems to fix?
Rules:
Make “over” reacting to problems a keystone in the corporate culture, a plank in the Corporate Values statement. (“We respond to customer concerns with passion and rapidity and resources in ways that stun-amaze-overwhelm those customers 100 percent of the time.”)
Reward (BIG TIME) those who unearth … and report … customer problems.
“Over”connect; let the customer know ASAP (!!), and update constantly—even if there is absolutely nothing to report.
Ensure that there are devoted resources at the ready to respond to problems. (This is more or less “anti-Just-In-Time.”) (No matter how good your systems, there will be problems—you must be staffed adequately, and then some, to respond at lightning speed.)
Work assiduously (reward lavishly, punish harshly, promote, demote) on cross-functional cooperation; most fixes (99 percent?) require such cooperation.
Reward—BIG TIME—great responses to problems.
Reward—BIG TIME—responses to “little” problems. (There are no “little problems” in the customer’s universe.)
Publicize great responses to problems. (Internally and externally.)
Do not on threat of dismemberment imagine that prevention is “the answer” to flubs. Prevention is great—obviously. Nonetheless: Shit happens. Regardless of the effectiveness of your systems, things will and do go wrong.
Repeat: Business opportunity No. 1 = Irate customers converted into outspoken fans.
74. What We Have Here Is a Failure to Over communicate.
I long ago promised myself I’d stop using airline service horro
r stories. I got tired of beating dead horses, and was boring myself to death—and doubtless boring the likes of you, as well. Still, a useful reminder is a useful reminder (hence this book’s raison d’être):
I was flying home from Mexico City to Boston, on Delta, via Atlanta. The ATL-BOS leg was delayed about 75 minutes. Never once did waiting area personnel or the pilot provide any explanation whatsoever. I do not exaggerate. Not one bloody, frigging word.
No, this is not really news in “airline-service-sucks-significantly land”—though it was a smidgen worse than usual. Nonetheless, it serves as a not-quite-friendly alarm bell to all of us in any and every circumstance, signaling the … Insanely Important Value of Keeping People Informed/Over-informed 100 Percent of the Time.
To reiterate a reiteration of a reiteration: We can almost all deal quite well with shit—we all/almost all deal very poorly with uncertainty. Tell me it’ll probably be a 90-minute delay because the pilot is in the bar popping tequila shots—and I’m fine. (More or less.) Total Silence? I’m on edge, pissed off as hell—irate, in fact.
Communicate! Over communicate!
Communicate! Over communicate!
Communicate! Over communicate!
Whatever amounts to “sensible communication,” 3X it!
Immediate “command”:
Play back the last 24 or 48 hours. Is there an instance where you have failed to Fully Inform a Client, or other stakeholder including frontline employees, of a delay (wee or grand) or glitch (wee or grand)? If your answer is “nope, all is well”—you are a liar. (Sorry, it just slipped from the keyboard.)
Get cracking.
Now.
Make the call.
(And if you have already let someone know about a glitch [good for you] … Call ‘em again … to update the status of the fix, or relay the sad but honest news that the fix is more complex than first imagined.)
Action
75. “Trying My Damnedest!” Wrong Answer!
For a series of reasons, I was thinking about my two deployments to Vietnam. And I recalled in particular a world-shaping (for me) event: I was out in the field, deep in the jungle-mountains west of Danang, helping to build a camp for a U.S. Army Special Forces team. I was unexpectedly accosted by a U.S. Marine Corps major who arrived in a USMC helicopter—and rushed me back to Danang. I was summoned to meet with the USMC commandant (No. 1), General Leonard Chapman, who was paying a visit to I Corps, the northern part of South Vietnam, which was under USMC command—more specifically under the command of General Lew Walt.
What the hell was a Navy LTJG (very junior officer) doing visiting with a four-star general? Simple. My uncle, Lieutenant General H. W. Buse Jr., was a USMC muckety-muck back in D.C., and my aunt had insisted that General Chapman see me in the flesh. (Aunts are like that, even, or especially, at the Mrs. Several-star-general level.) (Also, her son, my cousin, was in Vietnam as well—a USMC captain, holder of the Bronze Star and Purple Heart.)
When I got back from the field, covered with mud (it was rainy season—persistent jungle rain), I was sent directly to the commandant with no time to change into a respectable uniform—a great embarrassment. General Chapman engaged in all of about 15 seconds of chitchat, and having done his duty to my aunt, sent me on my way. As I was literally walking out of his temporary field office, he summoned me back, and said, out of the blue, “Tom, are you taking care of your men?” (I had a little detachment, about 20 guys as I recall, doing the work described before.)
I replied to the general, “I’m doing my best, sir.” To this day, with a chill going up my spine (no kidding—as I type this), I can see his face darken, and his voice harden. “Mr. Peters,* (*U.S. Navy junior officers are referred to as “Mr.”) General Walt, General Buse, and I are not interested in whether or not you are ‘doing your best.’ We simply expect you to get the job done—and to take care of your sailors. Period. That will be all, Lieutenant.”
The line still resonates with me—as you can doubtless tell. You are there to “get the job done”—not just merely to “do your best.” I recall the shock of recognition, many years later, when I tripped over a Churchill quote that went like this: “It is not enough to do your best—you must succeed in doing what is necessary.”
Reluctant as I am to use such strong and absolutist language, there is Only One Acceptable Standard: Getting done what is necessary to get done.
Proceed accordingly.
And … mercilessly … evaluate yourself accordingly.
FORMULA ONE
“A man approached J. P. Morgan, held up an envelope, and said, ‘Sir, in my hand I hold a guaranteed formula for success, which I will gladly sell you for $25,000.’
“‘Sir,’ J. P. Morgan replied, ‘I do not know what is in the envelope; however, if you show it to me, and I like it, I give you my word as a gentleman that I will pay you what you ask.’
“The man agreed to the terms, and handed over the envelope. J. P. Morgan opened it, and extracted a single sheet of paper. He gave it one look, a mere glance, then handed the piece of paper back to the gent. And paid him the agreed-upon $25,000.
“The contents of the note:
“1. Every morning, write a list of the things that need to be done that day.
“2. Do them.”
Source: NPR
76. It Is Not Enough to Care!
I sure as hell wish this one weren’t necessary. But I’m pissed off. Really pissed off. As pissed off as I’ve ever been.
We unnecessarily kill (very strong term; a little too strong—but I’m pissed off, remember) some 100,000 to 300,000+ patients in hospitals in the United States every year. We wound millions more—“and that doesn’t include the numberless victims in doctors’ offices,” as a senior ER doc and exec told me.
And, yes, it is by and large preventable, as any number of hospitals and hospital systems prove, like Geisinger Health System, headquartered in Danville, Pennsylvania. And many, if not most, of the cures are simple, requiring management and systems fixes, not more technology.
For example, Doctor Peter Pronovost at Johns Hopkins Hospital instituted a common checklist, an idea shamelessly stolen from airline pilots’ rituals, and he cut ICU line infections to zero at Hopkins. (FYI, experiment replicated in inner city Detroit.) Now “checklisting,” for any number of things, is becoming a staple in many hospitals. And, yes, many hospital employees are stretched to the breaking point—but the fact is, stressed out or not, religious hand washing creates, in 2010, near miracles in the world of patient safety.
To be sure, hospitals are “chipping away” at patient safety issues (and so-called “patient-centric care,” à la Griffin Hospital in Derby, Connecticut). There are literally thousands of experiments under way.
But …
“Chipping away” is simply … not … enough.
Instead I must disrespectfully ask:
Where are the … radicals?
Where is the … radicalism?
Glenn Steele has pulled off a miracle at Geisinger.
Where are the Glenn Steeles?
My wife recently waited five hours in an ER with a broken ankle—she described the pain as “second only to labor.” But she isn’t even pissed off—it’s what has happened to all her friends, it’s “what you expect.” As I write I’ve been to a “Top 10” hospital three times in the last ten days for tests. No, I was not left for hours upon more hours on a gurney in a hallway as Susan was. Nonetheless, there was a major error, two errors in one case, associated with each visit. One snafu could have had dangerous consequences for my beloved pacemaker. Yup, they batted a thousand. Three-for-three, an error 100% of the time.
At a dinner with eight guests, I deliberately turned the conversation toward this issue. Each … each and every one … of the guests or their immediate families had had a serious unforced error associated with their most recent hospital incarceration. In all but one case, the error had been life threatening. (And, depending on your interpretation, one
may have resulted in an unnecessary death; at the least, it made a bad situation much worse.)
This is not right.
This is wrong.
Of course there are numerous “externalities,” as the economists call it. Still, if I’m CEO of a hospital, this is my house—and a 100 percent error rate is waaaaay beyond “inexcusable.”
Let me be clear and crude: This shit doesn’t have to happen.
Where is the … shame?
Where are the … radicals?
Where are the CEOs, systemic externalities or not, who … Will not rest until this is fixed?
(As I write in October 2009, health care reform is wobbling through a dozen congressional committees. The outcome is unclear. That fact is irrelevant to this discussion. This is stuff that does not require Washington’s legislative help. This stuff requires … raw, rad-i-cal determination … and an … abiding sense of responsibility.)
(Hospital professionals do care—almost to the woman and man. But, per General Chapman and Winston Churchill, it is not enough to care; you must succeed at what is necessary.)
77. Captain “Day” and Captain “Night”: A Tale of Two Deployments. And Two Suggestions.
In 1966, I was an ensign in the United States Navy, serving in a combat engineering battalion (“Seabees”) in Danang, Vietnam. Per the Navy Seabee routine, I was deployed to Vietnam for nine months, came home for three, and went back over for another nine. With the tooth fairy looking over my shoulder, I lucked out and had two wildly different “COs” (commanding officers); taken as a pair, their impact on my worldview remains enormous 44 years later. (Pretty close to “all-you-need-to-know” status.)
To this day, I call them “day” and “night.” My first CO, Dick Anderson (CAPTAIN Anderson!), was “day.” Our job was to build stuff—roads, bridges, camps, gun emplacements, etc.—mostly for the U.S. Marine Corps. Captain Andy’s approach could be summarized in three words, subsequently made immortal by Nike; namely, “Just do it.” Or, more accurately in our case, “Just get the damn thing built—as fast as you can.” He made it clear to the very junior officers, including me, that we were to do whatever the hell our CPOs/chief petty officers told us to do. (These were the senior enlisted men whom, in theory, we had life and death authority over—as far as our CO was concerned, it was pretty much the other way around.) Above all, Captain Andy wanted no excuses of any flavor—monsoon rains that made everything impassible were our problem, not God’s. “What, do you only build when it’s sunny, Mr. Peters?” (Typical Andersonism.) Captain Andy, in retrospect, gave us a ridiculous amount of autonomy—and expected us to rise to the occasion. Oh, and when he gave us hell, which was frequently, it always ended with a smile from his weather-beaten face: “You’ll sort it out, Tom, I have no doubt.” The upshot was that we got a lot of work done, and done well, in short order.
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