by Tavis Smiley
Second, the road to success in the Social Media Age demands higher levels of integrity. Discretion has become so bastardized that you are assumed a liability before you’re hired. Many employers now require new hires to sign nondisclosure clauses. Sometimes heavy penalties are exacted for violating these clauses.
A few years ago, ABC News profiled celebrity assistants—those charged with chauffeuring duties, setting personal appointments, landscape work, dog appointments, and everything in between. Some worked for the likes of Olympia Dukakis, Matthew McConaughey, Hugh Jackman, Renee Russo, and other stars. According to the report, “Nondisclosure agreements are commonplace among personal assistants, who are expected never to repeat anything they see, hear, or do for their bosses. If they do, punishments range from getting fired to monetary fines.”
The point in all of this is that the maxim “Loose lips sink ships” seems sort of disconnected from modern-day society. Ships are safe. People aren’t. Loose lips—gossiping, spreading somebody else’s business—has a boomerang effect. It can disable the innocent and slash the slinger. Trust is no longer something that’s expected; it’s something you have to earn. Gossiping in this “no benefit of the doubt” work environment can get you branded early as untrustworthy and mortally wound your career.
Short of avoiding loquacious ex-lovers, in a world with dissipating moral boundaries, you are the best person to control your brand. Make it a brand people trust.
Take it from someone who is paying a karmic price for his foolish deed. I have become a “personality,” and there’s a big, red gossip target on my back. Be vigilant—for yourself and for your career. Be ever observant—not only for your well-being, but also for future generations destined to inherit a world where boundaries are murky and careless words can be perilous.
CHAPTER 10
GET IN WHERE
YOU FIT IN
It’s a testament to fortitude when a CEO humbly admits that he isn’t best suited to run a multibillion-dollar company. That’s exactly what John Sculley, former CEO of Apple Inc., did. The best man for the job, he said during an interview with BusinessWeek, was one of the company’s original founders—Steve Jobs.
In 1983, Apple’s board of directors considered Jobs—then 28—too young to manage the responsibilities of chief executive officer. Sculley, PepsiCo president and the developer of the “Pepsi Challenge,” was selected instead. In 1985, Apple board members directed Sculley to “contain” Jobs, which led to the visionary’s bitter exodus. Jobs’s departure, Sculley said, almost sent the company into its “neardeath experience.”
Of course, Jobs came back, and by 2000, he was once again Apple’s official CEO. It was the perfect fit all along, Sculley said. Way back in the early ’80s, he told BusinessWeek, Jobs had the “outrageous idea” that computers—which were relegated to the business world at the time—would become consumer products that would “change the world.”
Incidentally, Sculley was no slouch. Under his ten-year tenure as CEO, Apple’s sales rose from $800 million to $8 billion annually. But a few bad development decisions and intense competition from Microsoft and other high-tech companies hurt Apple. Sculley’s forte was marketing. With Jobs, he said, “everything is design.” That successful methodology is evident in products released since Jobs’s return to Apple Inc.: the iPod, the iPhone, and the iPad among them.
Had Jobs not come back, Apple would have been “absolutely gone,” Sculley insisted.
There’s universal wisdom in his comments. And it’s not necessarily about the billions Jobs has generated for Apple or himself. To me, it’s about knowing your role, discovering your niche, developing your talent, and multiplying your rewards.
In short, it’s about learning how to get in where you fit in.
Why Can’t I Crack Jokes, Too?
Until I joined the Tom Joyner Morning Show in 1996, the program was all about entertainment. For four hours each day, Tom and his crew entertained their audience by telling jokes and playing music and taking the pulse of Black America in public. Tom and I defined my role as the “empowerment component.” He understood that his show could be used for more than just a platform to entertain; we could also empower people; give them information that could improve their lives. So the strategy for my weekly segments was that Tom and the crew would get folks to laugh, and I’d focus on getting them to listen.
I am still stunned by the impact we had for 12 years. The crew did four hours every day, 20 hours a week. I was on for only ten minutes a week—one five-minute commentary on Tuesday and another on Thursday. Yet, the force of those ten minutes became genuinely powerful, especially after I learned how to play my role.
Because Tom and the whole crew were veteran entertainers, I wanted to fit in and thought I needed to crack some jokes, too. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of just sitting back, idly waiting for my five minutes. I wanted to hang with the funny folks. So every now and then, I’d chime in with something I thought was funny. Each time, it turned into a comedic beat-down.
“What, did somebody just say something?” Tom would jokingly ask his co-hosts.
“No, wasn’t us; must have been Tavis.”
Once I was exposed, the crew would unload the one-liners:
“You think you being funny and cute, but it can turn on you real quick!”
“You ain’t in this, Tavis. We done told you; don’t get in grown folks’ business!”
I’d just fall out laughing. I love stand-up comedy. Sometimes I’d crack a bad joke just so they’d beat up on me. I thought it made for great radio banter.
Well, one day, Tom matter-of-factly informed me that it wasn’t so great.
“All jokes aside,” he said. “This comedy thing we keep teasing you about … I know you like it and think it’s great, but this show requires that each person play his or her unique role.
“I am the point guard and you’re the forward,” Tom continued. “In fact, you’re so good, you’re a power forward. So, all I’m asking you to do is run the play. If you get open, I’ll get you the ball, and you’ll score. I’m Magic Johnson and you’re James Worthy.
“Let’s just run the play.”
“Coach” Joyner was absolutely right. I had no comedic timing when I first joined the show. So after Tom schooled me about my role on the team, I committed myself to perfecting my position. I listened for the setup and waited for the openings to score with my commentaries. In the process of listening and watching my teammates do their thing, I developed my own rhythm and timing. I learned how to be the straight man, to gauge tone and tenor, and to weave into a joke without telegraphing the punch line.
In short time, my five-minute segments became a very popular part of Tom’s show. I became comfortable in my assigned role, and Tom became more comfortable letting me play that role—which included comedy from time to time. The commentary/comedy combo was a hit. Ratings went through the roof. The show was syndicated to more than 100 markets with about 10 million Black listeners.
Tom knew his team’s potential. His advice to learn my role was invaluable. We hit our stride when we perfected the team. The Morning Show crew offered balance that Black listeners, at the time, weren’t getting on the airwaves elsewhere. Our approach got them addicted to our game. We provided the razzle-dazzle and entertainment they wanted and the serious contemplative challenge they needed. Learning the value of perfecting my game with Tom, made slam dunks seem like a natural part of our repertoire. In reality it was just a team of professionals each doing their own thing to win the proverbial game.
Use Your Talents Wisely
In today’s culture, very few understand the value of perfecting their roles. Everybody wants their 15 minutes of fame; they want to be the star. We forget that sometimes the headliner isn’t the scene-stealer in a movie. Often, it’s a secondary or unknown actor who winds up stealing the picture and claiming the spotlight. The point is, if you strive to be the best in your role—particularly when you’re just starting o
ut—you just might become that unexpected rising star.
The key is honing in on your talent and multiplying it with hard work and deeds.
Why is this so important?
I’d like to use my favorite source, the Bible, to answer that question. The Parable of the Talents, found in both St. Matthew and St. Luke, contains variations of a story that emphasizes the importance of recognizing and using gifts to your best ability.
Here’s the condensed version (Matthew 25:14–30): Jesus gives three individuals some talents, according to their own ability. One man was given five; the other, two; and the third, one. To paraphrase, Jesus basically said: “Take these talents and get busy!”
Sometime later, the men returned. One by one, they gave accounts of their gifts. The first man said: “Lord, you gave me five talents, and look at all I have done with them.” Jesus was so pleased the man had used the gifts given him wisely that he doubled his talents.
The second man showed Jesus that he, too, had developed his talents.
“Thou good and faithful servant,” Jesus replied before giving the man more gifts.
The third guy, with one talent, delivered “the poor me” victim’s story: “Lord, look, you gave me only one gift. I was so ashamed, I hid it in the earth. I didn’t do anything with it.”
“Thou wicked and slothful servant,” the Lord thundered. He took the man’s talent and gave it to the one who had ten—someone who was going to do something with it.
So now, the guy who started with 5 wound up with 11 talents.
The Parable of the Talents, like so many other Scriptures written thousands of years ago, has retro relevance. This particular parable reinforces the popular belief that we all come into this world with talent—a gift, something that we can do better or different than anyone else. But as the story illustrates, if you don’t use your gifts, you can lose your gifts.
The parable is written in didactic narrative. Jesus could very well have answered questions with “do this” or “don’t do that.” No, he told stories. And there was a reason. He wanted his apostles to figure out the meanings and messages of those parables.
That requirement still applies today. If you really pay attention, you glean the message from the Parable of the Talents. For instance, each man went his own separate way; they didn’t climb into a minivan and drive off together.
The moral of the story is to find comfort in our differences and to be pioneering. Don’t worry about your neighbor’s gifts or blessings. Don’t envy someone else’s gift. Discover your own. Remember, the men were given talents according to their own ability. Since we all don’t have the same ability, we have to discover the roles we are destined to play. This may involve trial and error, stumbling before we can stand erect in our individual comfort zones, and even falling flat on our faces.
Learn the value of your assigned role and perfect it.
When speaking to young people, I encourage them to find their own way; discover their very unique roles; and go out and give the world something it needs—something that only they can uniquely deliver.
There’s no doubt the Lord found favor with Marguerite Ann Johnson.
As a confused and abused eight-year-old rape victim, Marguerite chose silence based on the belief that “her voice” led to the brutal death of the man who had raped her. It took five years, but a benevolent teacher and family friend used the words of Dickens, Shakespeare, Poe, James Weldon Johnson, Frances Harper, Anne Spencer, Jessie Fauset, and others to help Marguerite find her own unique voice again. She found music and movement through the study of dance and drama. She found a cause to champion as the Northern Coordinator for Dr. King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). She studied African dance with Pearl Primus of Trinidad; modern dance with Martha Graham; and co-created the dance team of Al and Rita, with Alvin Ailey. Before becoming a worldrenowned author, she toured Europe as a producer and actress, vowing to learn the languages of every country she called home. In Africa, she wrote and acted in plays and edited the African Review before returning to the United States with her good friend, Malcolm X, in 1964 to help start a new civil rights organization called the Organization of African American Unity. The assassinations of her iconic friends—one in 1965, the other in 1968—did not dim her light for peace, equality, and spiritual freedom. The world knows Marguerite now as Maya Angelou, and her body of work is breathtaking. It includes books with titles such as I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ’Fore I Diiie, and Gather Together in My Name. It includes “On the Pulse of Morning,” the first inaugural poem commissioned and recited for a president (Bill Clinton) since Robert Frost graced John F. Kennedy with an inaugural recital in 1961. She’s been called Oprah’s mentor and inspired President Obama to gift her with the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2010. Maya Angelou, beyond a shadow of doubt, has been a “good and faithful servant” who multiplied her talents to the benefit of millions.
Whenever I use The Parable of the Talents in my speeches, I remind audiences that although the Bible enumerates the gifts—five, two, and one—it never tells us what those gifts are. That says to me that quantity isn’t important. Quality is.
That one wasted gift could have been the greatest gift given, but the third man in the story never used it, never put it to work. Who knows? That one gift could have been the cure for cancer or the answer to poverty and hunger.
Just because it’s one talent doesn’t mean it isn’t the greatest talent. It’s what you do to magnify your gifts that counts. If you have no comedic timing, don’t try to be a comedian. Be you. Hone your unique gift, work your talent, find your sweet spot, and let God do the rest.
What is that unique thing that you can do better than anyone else you know? Young Maya Angelou withheld her true talent for five years, but once she discovered the healing, redemptive, and uplifting power of her words, she utilized and expanded that talent in ways far beyond most.
Perhaps you are meant to be that invaluable team player—the axis of group motivation, persuasion, and implementation. If it feels right, use it.
Maybe, like Dr. King, you are cut from the cloth of servant-leader. Maybe you are destined to lead by serving the needs of the disenfranchised. If you hear that call, answer it.
Be that good and faithful servant. Find your talent. Work and multiply your gifts.
Get in where you fit in, and I guarantee you: When that opportunity comes—and it will come—you’ll take that ball to the hoop and score big time!
CHAPTER 11
LIVING FOR
THE CITY
“Living just enough, just enough for the city … !”
—“LIVING FOR THE CITY”
BY STEVIE WONDER
Midway through Stevie Wonder’s 1973 hit single, the artist weaves commentary into the song that underscores big-city racism and injustice. A young man fresh from “hard-time Mississippi” travels to New York. He steps off the bus and, while savoring the city’s “skyscrapers and everything,” a stranger hands him a bag and darts off. Sirens swirl; cops swoop; handcuffs are slapped on wrists. The judge cares not that the youth’s an unwitting accomplice in the drug trade. The Southern boy is sentenced to ten years in prison.
Swap Wonder’s Mississippi protagonist with a wide-eyed dreamer from Kokomo; substitute LA for New York; and replace prison with the reality of hopelessness and the possibility of homelessness, and you have my “Living for the City” interlude.
My tale crescendos with a life-changing intervention that left me with much-needed perspective and an invaluable lesson about the meaning of holding on.
Boo-Boo the Fool
“ … So they loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly. Hills, that is. Swimmin’ pools. Movie stars.”
—“BALLAD OF JED CLAMPETT”
BY PAUL HENNING
It was early 1987. After spending Christmas with my family in Indiana, I packed everything I owned—which obviously wasn’t much because it all fit into my
orange Datsun 280Z two-seater—and hit the road to California.
Mayor Tom Bradley promised me a job after my internship, but he added a caveat: I had to go back to Indiana and finish my studies. I did. And although circumstances (mostly of my own doing) seriously delayed the receipt of my actual diploma, it wasn’t going to deter me from accepting the mayor’s promise. I had given him a date for my arrival, and, I was determined to show up for work in LA on the designated day.
After driving my overloaded Datsun nonstop from Kokomo to LA, I arrived in town eager to start my new job and new life. To my absolute shock and horror, I learned there was no job. The Reagan era was in full swing; the economy was bad; and California was still hemorrhaging from the recession. Mayor Bradley had just announced a citywide hiring freeze, which applied to all city employees except the police, fire, and sanitation departments.
So there I was, all hyped up, gung-ho, and ready to go to work … and there’s a hiring freeze. If I had known, I could have—perhaps should have—stayed in Indiana and made sure I had finished school properly. But since I didn’t know, I wound up stuck in LA without a degree, without money or a job, feeling like Boo-Boo the Fool.
If not for Eula Collins, Mayor Bradley’s secretary, there’s no telling what would have happened. Eula became a dear friend during my internship the previous year. If I wasn’t at work, I was hanging out at Eula’s house. She had two daughters but no son. Eula, my LA mother, seemed to enjoy having me around and doting on me. After arriving in town penniless, broken-spirited, and homeless, I gratefully stayed at Eula’s house in South Los Angeles.
A couple of weeks later, Eula found an apartment for me, right across the street from her house. As fate would have it, that apartment is right around the corner from my headquarters in Leimert Park today. Fortunately, the apartment was already furnished. The owner had to leave town and rented out her one-bedroom apartment complete with sheets, towels, dishes, a television, and a modest amount of furniture.