8
Lighten Up!

The disappearance of the sun is apt to be a depressing event in the polar regions, where the long months of darkness involve mental as well as physical strain. But the Endurance’s company refused to abandon their customary cheerfulness, and a concert in the evening made the Ritz a scene of noisy merriment in strange contrast with the cold, silent world that lay outside.¹

—Ernest Shackleton

This strategy incorporates what is probably the most counterintuitive behavior of all the ten strategies for leading at The Edge. In stressful circumstances, when times are grim, celebration is usually the farthest thing from anyone’s mind. Under survival conditions, laughter is an unnatural act, and in tough business situations, humor can seem frivolous, inappropriate, or out of touch.

Yet, under extreme pressure, the ability to lighten up, celebrate, and laugh can make all the difference. It can break a spiral of depression and stimulate creativity. It can enable people to step back and get psychological distance on their problems. It can cut through fear and tension. Finally, it can enable a team to refocus, reenergize, and surmount daunting obstacles.

This chapter shows how these behaviors influenced the outcome of the Shackleton saga and the course of other survival situations. It also illustrates how effective leaders have used these qualities to make their businesses successful. Above all, it makes the case that, at The Edge, celebration and humor are neither superfluous nor luxuries. They are imperatives.

Find Something to Celebrate

From the very beginning, Shackleton’s expedition had a certain celebratory atmosphere that characterized the life of the group. It created an up-beat mood and a way of thinking about life that sustained the men through the grimmest of times.

This atmosphere of celebration contributed to the sense of cheerfulness and optimism, as described in Strategy 3, but it was more than simple cheerfulness. It reflected the complexity of Shackleton’s leadership and his ability to be both deliberate and spontaneous in shaping the culture of the team.

Shackleton grasped any excuse—some rather far-fetched—in finding things to celebrate. On May 24, 1915, for example, they marked Empire Day, an occasion originally created as an opportunity to encourage patriotism among British children. To celebrate Empire Day, the crew of the Endurance sang songs in the Ritz, seizing the occasion to honor their native land.²

Later, while still aboard Endurance, Shackleton continued the festivities by calling for a “Dog Derby.” In this twilight celebration, dogsled races stimulated merriment, laughter, and heavy betting involving chocolate and cigarettes.³ The following week, on June 22, they celebrated Midwinter’s Day. It was an occasion that gave the physicist, Reginald James, an opportunity to display his “witty and truly unintelligible” acting ability with a tongue-in-cheek “Dissertation on the Calorie” by Herr Prof. Von Schopenbaum.⁴

In those early days, when times were not so bad, celebration came easily. What is most impressive, however, is that the spirit of celebration continued throughout the darkest of days, when cheerful rituals could easily have turned to deep despair.

The day of December 5, 1915, marked one full year since the crew had left civilization. Their ship had been crushed two months earlier, and they had been carving out a harsh existence on the ice floes. According to the original plan, they would have been heading home by now, so this anniversary might have turned into a gloomy reminder of their predicament.

Shackleton, realizing the significance of the day and the potential for disappointment, decided to be proactive. Exemplifying the aphorism “If you can’t fix it, feature it,” the Boss declared a holiday to celebrate the anniversary of their departure from South Georgia. What could have been a day of depression turned, instead, into a day of celebration.⁵

Later, at Patience Camp, the living conditions continued to deteriorate. Food was in such short supply that discarded seal heads and flippers had to be dug from the ice in a desperate search for any last scrap of blubber. They lived hand to mouth, relying on the few penguins and seals that could be snared. All of the suet had been used, so any meat that was brought in had to be fried in fishy seal blubber.

These were not times that cried out for celebration. Yet Shackleton still found occasions for festivities:

On Leap Year day, February 29 [1916], we held a special celebration, more to cheer the men up than for anything else. … The last of our cocoa was used today. Henceforth water, with an occasional drink of weak milk, is to be our only beverage.⁶

The living conditions of the expedition continued to worsen, but the commitment to celebration did not. By June 1916, the abandoned cast-aways were living in the desolate squalor of Elephant Island. Blackborow’s foot, which had been frostbitten on the open boat journey, got progressively worse. It was clear that an amputation had to be performed to save his life, and Macklin and the other surgeon, James McIlroy, went about their business.

A blazing pile of penguin skins created enough warmth to vaporize the chloroform needed as an anesthetic. McIlroy removed the bandage from Blackborow’s foot and systematically severed each of the gangrenous toes at the ball joint. At the end of the fifty-five-minute operation, the stowaway opened his eyes, smiled, and asked for a cigarette, which the surgeon rolled using a page from the Encyclopaedia Britannica.⁷

These were not the hopeful, fun-filled early days of the expedition. This was life at its harshest, most severe, and frightening limit. And yet, a week later, a second Midwinter’s Day celebration was held. The occasion was marked with a concoction of nut pudding, biscuits, sledging rations, and powdered milk.

Amazingly, the castaways summoned enough energy to put on a program of twenty-six different acts, including poetry and music. Although the members of the audience lay in their sleeping bags, the event was spirited. Not only did Hussey play the banjo, but James also sang a clever song about Frank Wild and their primitive living conditions.

The celebration ended with a toast to Shackleton and the crew of the James Caird, followed by the only available libation: “Gut Rot, 1916.”⁸ The concoction—made with stove alcohol, water, ginger, and sugar—was not Dom Perignon, but it served its purpose. They had celebrated together and broken the endless monotony of waiting for rescue. Shackleton’s ability to use celebration and ceremony to boost team morale seemed to come naturally. It is surprising, though, that many leaders fail to understand the importance of ceremonies—or conduct them so ineptly that spirit is diminished rather than enhanced.

The story of the Karluk provides numerous illustrations of failures in leadership. The sinking of the ship, for example, served as an occasion for Captain Bartlett to indulge himself in a unique and bizarre ceremony. Although the rest of the crew had abandoned the doomed vessel, Bartlett stayed aboard. He built a roaring fire in the galley stove and proceeded to play all the gramophone records aboard the ship, one by one. As each record was finished playing, he threw the disk into the galley fire … save one. He played Chopin’s Funeral March, then set it aside for later.

When the end finally came and water reached the deck of the Karluk:

Captain Bartlett placed the Funeral March on the Victrola. With the water running along the starboard side of the deck and pouring down the hatches, he waited at the rail until it came down level with the ice. Then he stepped off. … The Canadian Blue Ensign fluttered until it cut through the water. Captain Bartlett, deeply moved, stood right alongside her until she was gone.⁹

Watching the Karluk sink to the strains of Chopin’s Funeral March undoubtedly served some need of Bartlett’s. But imagine the effect of this lugubrious scene on the twenty-two men, one woman, sixteen dogs, and a cat that watched the funeral event. It was not a ceremony likely to build hope, confidence, and morale.

Lessons for Leaders

Effective leaders find ways of building celebration into the culture of their organizations, and there are as many methods to bring teams together as there are reasons to celebrate. I’ve worked with teams that celebrate business-related achievements such as promotions, employees making partner, and departments achieving sales goals, or personal events, such as birthdays and engagements.

Companies recognize employees with celebrations ranging from elaborate annual holiday parties to monthly half-hour gatherings around a birthday cake. For a more personal touch, team members can send colleagues “thank you” notes for specific contributions to projects.

Some businesses have structured recognition systems, such as a drop box where employees can nominate each other for monthly awards. At the month’s end, the department leader draws three names from the box and publicly recognizes the staff members’ contributions.

One marketing research department uses its annual planning and midyear meetings as occasions to recognize employees with personalized awards. For example, “The Dazzling Diva” award was bestowed on an employee who had auditioned for, and won, her first leading operatic role. The award took the form of a large, sparkling star inscribed with her name for her dressing room door. “The Life Savers” award, including flowers and rolls of Life Savers candy, was given to an employee who frequently came to the rescue of her coworkers. Other awards took a similar tone.

These awards were inexpensive but heartfelt, and imbued with humor and sincerity. Great care had obviously gone into their selection and preparation. The division leader had personally created the Dazzling Diva star. In the process, she had covered her home with sparkles, which she jokingly said had risked a domestic disturbance. It was clear that the awards, while simple, were thoughtful and personal. They meant something, and that was the point.

A survey of friends and colleagues working at different organizations produced the following list of company celebrations. You may want to consider adding to this list by surveying your colleagues:

  We hold quarterly events to energize and excite the team for the upcoming quarter and to celebrate achievements from the previous quarter. We had a Fiesta Friday and an offsite Crab Feast with Maryland Bay Crabs. We try to make them themed dinners to support our diversity initiatives.

  We celebrate quarter end (surviving!), audits, and employee anniversary milestones.

  We celebrate new project awards, annual growth, employees joining the company, baby showers, work anniversaries, birthdays, promotions, departmental transfers, and community efforts by employees.

  We celebrate when interns receive their offers, annual promotion day, and we all drink champagne when someone makes partner.

Find Something to Laugh About, Too

Shackleton and Wild set aside specific times for special celebrations, but humor, banter, and merriment were constants in the life of the expedition. Shackleton, in particular, went to great lengths to make sure that the mood of the group would be as lighthearted as possible under the circumstances.

In a dramatic gesture (described in fuller detail in Chapter 2), Shackleton threw gold sovereigns into the snow to emphasize the absolute necessity of ridding themselves of extra weight during their sledge journey. In a surprising move, however, the Boss went back to the wreckage of Endurance and retrieved Hussey’s treasured “zither banjo.” He presented the twelve-pound instrument to Hussey, who recalled the incident as follows:

“It’s rather heavy,” I said dubiously. “Do you think we ought to take it?”
“Yes, certainly,” was the chief ’s prompt answer. “It’s vital mental medicine, and we shall need it.”¹⁰

Shackleton made the right decision, and the banjo contributed in important ways to the continued positive morale of the expedition. Although Hussey had a limited repertoire—six tunes to be exact—many nights were spent listening to the “cheery twang” of the banjo.

Hussey’s music was supplemented by another favorite form of entertainment: good-natured banter. Captain Frank Worsley recalled:

Hussey was a brilliant wit, and his keen repartee was one of the few joys left to us. Often we would combine to provoke him just for the pleasure of hearing his clever retorts, and invariably he would emerge the victor, no matter how many of us tried to best him. On an ice-floe any little diversion is more welcome than people living in civilized conditions perhaps can imagine.¹¹

Hussey was not the only one to lighten the atmosphere. First Officer Greenstreet was also noted for his ability to “fool around” for a laugh. And then there were the inevitable impersonations. Impersonations were one of the most encouraged forms of amusement. They had the effect of lightening the mood while alleviating tension and subsurface conflict. Some of the more annoying characteristics of crewmembers were often the focus of these short expositions.

Orde-Lees, for example, had a habit of being a little too anxious to please Shackleton. McIlroy, the surgeon, thus saw an opportunity to mimic an interaction between the two, and Orde-Lees described the impersonation in his diary:

“Yes sir, oh yes certainly sir, sardines sir, yes sir here they are (dashes to pantry and back) and bread sir, oh yes sir, bread sir….” (Another dash to pantry and much groveling effusion….) “And may I black your boots sir,” and so on.¹²

Banter and impersonations broke the monotony, but humor also had its place in sustaining the crew through the darkest crises. The loss of Endurance was one of the lowest, most demoralizing points in the journey. When the ship finally succumbed to the unbearable pressure of the ice, Shackleton ordered all hands onto the floe. As they were going over the side, Shackleton turned to Orde-Lees and said:

“We’ve got it in the neck all right this time, haven’t we?”
“Well, no, I don’t think so,” [Orde-Lees] ventured. “You wouldn’t have had anything to write a book about, if it hadn’t been for this.”
“By Jove, I’m not so sure you aren’t right,” [Shackleton] remarked [at] which we both had a good laugh.¹³

Humor is a consistently effective tool for dealing with adversity, as I rediscovered in a conversation in Washington, D.C. I had the opportunity to present the Shackleton story and the ten Leading at The Edge strategies to then-Secretary of the Navy John Dalton. The meeting, held at the Pentagon, was attended by a number of the Secretary’s staff members, many of whom had their own personal experiences at the Survival Edge.

The discussion that followed my presentation was a stimulating one, and it expanded my understanding of the ten strategies. Afterward, a naval officer wearing pilot’s wings approached me. He said that he had enjoyed the presentation and asked whether I had heard about the “toga party.”

I remembered the toga party in the movie Animal House, with John Belushi. These were not the kinds of parties sanctioned by the Naval Academy, so I had no firsthand experience with such events. The officer’s comment did, however, raise a vivid image of comedian John Belushi hosting a fraternity toga party wearing only a sheet and a mischievous smile. So I knew exactly what he was talking about, but just how it related to leadership was completely obscure.

It became clear, however, when he told me the story of Alfa Foxtrot 586, a Navy patrol plane that left Adak, Alaska, on October 26, 1978. The plane, a four-engine turboprop, had taken off with its crew of fifteen on a routine ocean-surveillance and antisubmarine mission. What was to be an uneventful flight turned into a crash landing at sea and a fight for survival. Their plight—desperate though it was—sheds light on one strategy for leading at The Edge.

After my conversation at the Pentagon, I gathered every piece of information that I could find about the crash. I read U.S. Navy incident reports and found other written material, including the Patrol Squadron Nine web page. I also corresponded with those involved in the rescue operation and survivors of the ordeal. As a result, I was able to make the connection between the toga party and The Edge.¹⁴

As the Navy patrol plane flew over the North Pacific, the weather worsened and winds increased. Of greater concern, however, was the performance of a propeller on the left wing of the aircraft. The engine was running erratically and was stopped, but the 1,200-pound propeller began to increase the speed of its rotation, from 103.5 percent of normal to 110 then 120, and finally 129.5 percent—the maximum that could be recorded. The prop was on the verge of shearing from its mount and causing great damage. Had this happened, the inevitable outcome would have been a nonsurvivable crash and the death of all aboard.

The pilot, Jerry Grigsby, climbed to slow the prop. At 1,100 feet, however, its speed was still much too high. Then, without warning, the engine burst into flames. The runaway prop was out of control.

The flight engineer, Harold “Butch” Miller, was able to extinguish the blaze with firefighting compound, but the action depleted the limited supply of the compound. There were sure to be other outbreaks, and the situation was grim. They were now 800 miles from Adak, an impossible distance to make in their current state, and 337 miles from the Air Force station on the island of Shemya—still light-years away for the crippled aircraft.

Anticipating an explosion, Grigsby brought the plane down to 1,000 feet. Then the fire alarm went off again. Miller used the last of the fire-fighting compound to douse the blaze. Grigsby continued to descend, to 500 feet, and they limped toward Shemya.

Anticipating the worst, the crew donned life vests and survival suits. The fire alarms went off again, smoke streamed from the crippled engine, and Matt Gibbons, the flight’s tactical coordinator, radioed the plane’s coordinates and added, “This is five eight six. Out.”

With those final words, Grigsby landed the aircraft in the frigid twenty-five-foot swells of the North Pacific. As the plane hit, the right wing came off, fuel tanks ruptured, and the engines exploded in balls of steam. The fuselage cracked open and water flooded in, but the plane was down.

In the jarring crash, many crewmembers had been buried in debris and caught in the wreckage. But the radar man was able to launch two life rafts, one large and one small. Grigsby stayed on the aircraft, counting his crew, until he was certain that everyone had made it off. Then he swam for the large raft.

After repeated efforts, Grigsby failed to reach the raft, and he was lost in the swells. The pilot then tried for the second raft and was within twenty-five feet of it when those aboard threw him his last hope—a rope anchored with an emergency radio. It fell short by a few feet, and Grigsby disappeared from sight.

Four men huddled in the large raft, which was designed to carry twelve, while nine men jammed into the smaller raft, designed to carry seven. The small raft, with no tarpaulin cover, was awash with breaking waves from the freezing ocean. In their desperate attempt to bail with the boat’s metallic survival blanket, they inadvertently opened an air valve.

The rafts drifted helplessly in the heavy seas while planes from Shemya searched for survivors. In the bitter cold and rain, the men—sea-sick and in a state of shock—began to lose their alertness and coordination. Finally, one airman in the seven-man boat realized that something was desperately wrong. The raft was deflating, and they were slowly sinking. This startling observation jarred the others from their near-comatose state, and they began a frantic search for the leak. Finally, the loose valve was discovered and closed.

As the hours went by, water entered the torn survival suit of Technician Gary Hemmer, and his eyes began to close. Master Chief Garland Shepard slapped Hemmer’s helmet until he regained consciousness. James Brooner, a sonobuoy technician who had gone into the water in an effort to save Grigsby, slowly slid into the water sloshing around in the raft. Soon only his head was visible. Three others pulled him up, talked to him, slapped him, and shook him. But they were all slowly dying.

In this grimmest of moments, the pivotal event occurred. Matt Gibbons and Navigator/Communicator John Ball¹⁵ had been engaged in a gallows humor conversation about their plight. As part of a mock qualifying exam, Gibbons asked Ball to describe the aircraft electrical system. “It’s under water,” Ball responded. Gibbons shot back, “Qualified!”

The wandering conversation led to a fanciful reminiscence about a wild party at Ohio State University, and the image of John Belushi in a sheet emerged. Then, slowly, the chant started: To-ga … To-ga … To-ga … To-ga. Somehow, from the foggy depths of despair, the image of the comedian dressed in a sheet at a fraternity party had entered the consciousness of the survivors. As Ball recalls, “When we were at the lowest point of our morale, chanting, ‘Toga, Toga, Toga’ became a mantra for our raft.”

The chant, feeble at first, grew in strength and rallied the survivors, just as Belushi had rallied his despondent fraternity brothers. This strange combination of humor and determination breathed a last element of life into the group, which was finally rescued by the Soviet fishing vessel MYS Synyavin.

In all, five died in the crash. One crewmember went down with the aircraft, three others died of exposure, and the pilot, Jerry Grigsby, was lost at sea. He was later awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for “extraordinary heroism and professionalism above and beyond the call of duty.”

The story does not have a Hollywood ending, but survivors of the crash hosted a reunion twenty-six years later. It was dubbed “26th on the 26th” an allusion to the twenty-sixth anniversary of their ditching on the twenty-sixth of October. Alexandr Alexeevich Arbuzov, captain of the Russian rescue vessel, was an honored guest.

Dennis Mette, navigator/communicator on the first rescue aircraft to reach the scene, described the reunion as “a time of remembrance, and a time to thank rescuers from the Air Force, Coast Guard, and Navy, as well as Captain Arbuzov. This was an event where seamen and airmen from two countries put the Cold War aside to rescue those in peril.”¹⁶

In the end, the ten who survived the crash of Alfa Foxtrot 586 owe their deliverance to perseverance, the support of their comrades, and—ironically—the humorous spirit of the toga party.

Lessons for Leaders

Humor is one of the most effective leadership tools. The ability to use humor skillfully has served American presidents with political views as disparate as John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagan. The absence of humor also undermined the effectiveness of Richard Nixon, who often appeared grim or mean-spirited.

The multipurpose nature of humor makes it a sort of leadership Swiss Army knife. Kidding that is truly good-natured—not hurtful—can strengthen interpersonal bonds. A joke can break the monotony of routine work, some of which is inherent in any job. Laughter can create a relaxed atmosphere and stimulate creativity. Humor, even dark humor, can cut through tension, fear, and anxiety.

Herb Kelleher, former CEO of Southwest Airlines, is one leader who understands the power of humor in creating organizational success and bottom-line profitability. In Nuts! Southwest Airlines’ Crazy Recipe for Business and Personal Success, authors Kevin and Jackie Freiberg outline Kelleher’s formula.¹⁷

The playful attitude he encouraged began with casual clothing, or “fun ware,” which was designed to engender a lighthearted perspective. Kelleher himself appeared at meetings dressed as Elvis, General Patton, and Corporal Klinger from the M*A*S*H television show.

A tabloid-style internal publication titled Southwest Airlines Plane Tails shared stories of employees who had developed innovative solutions to problems, along with humorous, tongue-in-cheek articles. One piece, for example, discussed the nuances of eating Southwest Airlines Peanuts.

A sense of playfulness can permeate an organization, affecting the way employees interact with both customers and one another. The “Southwest Way to a Sense of Humor” included these guidelines:

  Think funny. Look for the flip side of situations, and make outrageous thoughts fun.

  Adopt a playful attitude. Stay open to silly or nonconformist thoughts and behaviors.

  Be the first to laugh. Try to be the first to find humor in stressful situations.

  Laugh with, not at. Promote healthy, constructive humor.

  Laugh at yourself. Take work seriously, but not yourself.¹⁸

In reading this list, I was struck by how well these guidelines fit the norms of the Shackleton expedition. Almost a century later, they still work.

Expedition Log

1. Do you celebrate the major successes and achievements of your team?

2. Do you look for opportunities to celebrate the “small wins” as they occur?

3. How would you characterize the culture of your organization: grim and serious, or playful and spontaneous?

4. Do those you manage feel free to be themselves and to find humor in work situations? If not, what can be done to promote a relaxed atmosphere?

5. Do people joke with others in healthy, constructive ways?

6. When things go wrong, do you use humor to defuse tension?

7. Can you laugh at yourself?