REMEMBER THE CUBE

Back in the days when I was in the cube, I learned innumerable lessons every day about how the company worked. There were certain things that made perfect sense, and many others that made no sense at all. But when you're in the cube, you're supposed to carry out what “those guys” have decided.

My cube mates and I would often wonder what those guys were thinking when they made some of their decisions. Sometimes, the real mystery was what those guys did day in and day out. Our roles were clear: we ordered inventory, paid invoices, or collected receivables. But we couldn't figure out what our boss or our boss's boss was doing. It seemed as though they were continuously in meetings, and what was really scary was that they seemed to spend a lot of time meeting with each other instead of visiting customers, suppliers, and other people outside the company.

Often things seemed highly disorganized, and we wondered why those guys didn't turn to one of us for help. Didn't they realize that we were the ones who really knew what was going on in the company? For example, if orders weren't coming in at their usual pace, we clearly knew that the company wasn't doing well. But it appeared as if those guys were trying to figure out whether they should let us know that business was slow. Of course we knew—but we weren't sure that they did.

Back in those days, it occurred to me that I might never get out of the cube. So, to amuse myself, I used to make lists of what I would change if I ever got to the next level. I didn't do this as part of a plan to advance in the company. Rather, I wanted to capture all the things I observed firsthand in the cube, which one day might be of use to me and my colleagues.

One of the items on the list was never to call the staff in on a Friday afternoon and announce that such-and-such needed to be done by Monday morning. Whenever our boss did that, I always wondered where he was on Wednesday or even Thursday. Didn't he know that this was coming up? Of course there could be an emergency or a sudden development, but these calls happened far too many times at five o'clock on a Friday for this to be a string of extraordinary events. Therefore, I vowed that if I ever became the boss, I would tell my team what projects, priorities, and deadlines were coming up as soon as I knew, so that we could avoid fire drills. That way, the team members could plan their time accordingly. Maybe someone would decide to stay late one night or come in very early the next morning if extra hours were needed. But I wouldn't tell them so late on a Friday that the only option was to work most of the weekend.

I also thought that we could be much more productive with open and transparent communication. For example, I distinctly remember receiving a phone call from someone who had been one of my classmates in the MBA program at Kellogg. After exchanging pleasantries, he informed me that he was now working for a consulting firm that was handling a big project for the company. Then he told me that he was sending me a fifty-page fax with questions that I needed to answer in order for the consulting firm to gather in-depth information to present to my boss's boss's boss.

The phone call took me by surprise. I wasn't annoyed that I had to do the paperwork. Rather, it seemed ridiculous that I was filling out these fifty pages for a consulting firm, which would then package the information and present it back to my bosses—and charge a hefty fee! Why couldn't someone in my company call me for the information directly? Twenty years later when I was the CEO, when someone would ask me if we should hire a consultant for a particular project, I would reply that I was open to obtaining an objective third-party analysis. However, remembering my time in the cube, I would ask if it was remotely possible that one of the fifty thousand team members in the company already knew the answer that the consultant was supposed to give us. If so, we could not only save time, energy, and dollars but also avoid causing frustration for someone in a cubicle somewhere who was going to ask himself exactly what I wondered twenty years ago!

Little did I know back then that my lessons from the cube would become valuable as I was promoted, from my first job as a manager all the way to the C-suite. By following the principle of genuine humility, I remembered and appreciated the many good ideas and the great perspective in the cubes.

Throughout my career, up to and including when I was CEO, I benefited from the fact that I worked with a number of amazing people who were willing to prevent me from doing things that did not make sense. In other words, they kept me from becoming one of “those guys.” I can recall sending memos or e-mails within the company about what needed to be done. Although I would base my final decision on the best information I had at the time, there were often additional details of which I was not aware. I can imagine five or six people standing by their cubes discussing my latest decision after reading my memo. They probably knew that my decision did not make much sense. In fact, they knew that if they did what was asked in the memo, it would make the current situation worse, not better. If I had become one of those guys who thought he had all the answers, the people in the cubes would have shrugged their shoulders and said, “He'll find out.”

Instead, because they knew I invited feedback, they told me exactly what they thought. They knew that I not only tolerated challenges but encouraged them. I was the same guy I always was, and I truly valued everyone in the company. My view was that we were all in this together. Because of my attitude, it was a no-brainer for them to call or send an e-mail to me, letting me know that my plan could have some unintended consequences. Fortunately, I did receive calls and e-mails from people in the cubicles. A person would tell me, “Harry, if this is what you want us to do, we'll do it. However, are you aware of the following two or three reasons why this may not make sense?” The principle of balance reminded me of the importance of doing the right thing, as opposed to needing to be right, so I was always grateful for this input. On the many occasions when I realized that the person was correct, I would send out a memo or e-mail or call a meeting, during which I would thank the person for alerting me to the consequences of my decision and then adjust the course of action as needed.

Openness and rapport didn't happen only through phone calls and memos. I made sure that the people I worked with over the years never felt uncomfortable around me. Sometimes I received invitations from people I had worked with ten or fifteen years previously, letting me know there was a company softball game after work. Whenever I could, I'd show up unannounced in jeans, a T-shirt, and my baseball cap, and play for one of the teams. I can remember being tagged out on a close play, or running for a fly ball and having someone crash into me, and then hearing somebody yell out, “Hey, maybe you shouldn't be so tough on the CEO.” Inevitably a person who was new at the company would call someone aside and say, “That's not really the CEO, is it?” No doubt the newcomer would get clued in, but as for me, I wasn't worried. At that moment, I was Harry Kraemer, outfielder.

And then there were the company picnics on the beautiful landscaped grounds around the company headquarters. We had plenty of space to set up tables for food and games. For one of the picnics, my assistant, Kathy Straus, thought it would be fun to have a dunk tank, with the corporate officers, including me, each taking a turn as the target. In a dunk tank, you sit on a wooden seat that tips and dumps you into a pool of water whenever someone hits the bull's-eye with a ball. I figured that as long as people stood way back while throwing the ball, I'd be all right. However, Kathy decided that the distance wasn't fair to the children, so she let them come right up close to the target—sometimes even hitting it with their hand instead of the ball. I spent my three hours in the dunk tank mostly underwater.

Kathy was also good at making sure that I was as accessible as possible. Whenever someone would come to headquarters—perhaps a first-level manager from one of our plants who was on site for training—Kathy made sure the person met me for a few moments, even if I was in a meeting. Kathy would usher the person in, saying, “I think it's really important that you say hello to Jane Smith, who is visiting from our plant in North Carolina.” We'd talk for a few minutes, get to know each other, and then I'd go back to my meeting. My hope was that Jane Smith would now feel free to let me know what she thought or saw happening, and that she knew I recognized her value.

As I practiced the principle of genuine humility, there were those who thought I was crazy. They just didn't get it. Maybe they thought it was some kind of gimmick. But of course I treated everyone as if he or she were important because they were.