31

If at First Your Opinion Doesn’t Succeed, Try, Try Again

How many times have you heard or used the expression “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”? It might have been when you were hovering over a homework assignment with a parent, hearing a teacher offer encouragement in the classroom, or listening to a coach on the athletic field.

Actually, there is a second part to that popular quote, courtesy of author-comedian W. C. Fields, who completed the thought by saying, “Then quit. There’s no point in being a darn fool about it.” He might have been joking, but he certainly knew what he was talking about. Or did he?

For those who have access to the boss and his or her thinking, a cardinal rule is to be honest with the boss. Anything less is unhelpful and of little value. Building a relationship of trust and confidence is important in that regard. Offering alternatives to the boss’s thoughts or decisions is essential. Identifying a problem is invaluable; providing a solution is essential.

Bosses may not like or appreciate it when they are offered a critique or rebuttal, but if they value the outcome of their decision making, they should listen and learn so that they benefit the most. For your part, the prospect of getting yelled at or kicked out of the office should live in the corner of your mind at moments like this but should not deter you from making your voice heard.

Back in the fall of 1991 such a moment, actually moments, occurred for me. My office phone rang one September morning, and I answered it to hear the voice and plea of the late CBS 60 Minutes reporter Ed Bradley. “I’d like to interview your boss,” he said. “Why so?” I asked. “Because he’s an American hero and the public deserves to know him better, especially after the successful Gulf War he helped orchestrate,” responded Bradley.

We discussed briefly the merits of his request, and I told Bradley, a highly respected broadcast journalist, that I’d get back to him after discussing it with the boss, Joint Chiefs chairman Colin Powell. As was the protocol, I prepared a memo with the details and offered a recommendation that he agree to the interview.

To my surprise, he put his initials on the “Decline” line at the bottom of the memo. For purposes of elaboration I went with memo in hand to his office to ask for his reason and his reconsideration. “I just don’t want to do it,” said Powell. Too many interviews, too little time for other requirements of the office.

Retreating to my office a bit wounded, though not fatally, I pondered the issue. This could be an opportunity to praise the 541,000 men and women who had achieved victory in the 43 days of combat during Operation Desert Storm earlier that year.

A few days elapsed, and I summoned the courage to request an audience to tell the boss I thought he was wrong about his twice-chosen declination. In the quiet of his office, just he and I, my appeal emphasized his chance to tell the American people how great the troops had been. Standing at the corner of his desk, I offered my rationale that it was about them, not him. His look was stern. He slammed his fist on the desktop and said sharply, “Goddammit, Smullen, I do everything you ask me to do.”

This was my opening, and I knew my last chance, maybe forever if he fired me for persistence. “Yes, sir, and I’ll never ask you to do anything that I don’t think is right,” was my retort. Silence, pause, then, “Okay, I’ll do it,” he said with more than a bit of exasperation in his voice.

Before he could change his mind I hastily departed, rushed to my office, called Bradley, and told him we were on. “Hooray” was his reaction. We talked details of the when and where. An hour later the chairman buzzed me on the intercom. “Have you spoken to Bradley yet?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” I answered. “Damn!” he replied before hanging up with a bang.

Knowing my credibility was on the line, I called Bradley’s producer, Marley Klaus, and invited her to visit me in the Pentagon for her research. It was my attempt to move the interview in a direction that wouldn’t get me fired and would make the boss—but more important the troops—look good. She agreed and spent a day with me in the Pentagon asking good questions.

The interview actually took place in Vancouver, Washington, on November 8, 1991, after General Powell gave the annual Marshall Lecture sponsored by the George C. Marshall Foundation.

We flew to Vancouver the day of the event. The good news was that General Powell was an admirer of General Marshall and so looked forward to the talk. The bad news was that in flight on a dedicated air force jet taking us to our destination, the chairman motioned for me to come forward to his cabin. “Smullen,” he said, “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this. I have a cold, I don’t feel good, and I’m not looking forward to the interview with Bradley.” Knowing that at 30,000 feet there was no place to hide from his disapproval, I stood my ground and assured him there was considerable benefit to the upcoming venture.

After the lecture and a talk he gave to some students at a local school, both of which Bradley’s crew filmed, the general retired to the quaint home on the campus of Fort Vancouver National Site, formerly Vancouver U.S. Army Barracks, where Marshall was stationed and lived from 1936 to 1938.

Bradley sat waiting in the living room of this historic home Marshall had occupied as the installation commander back then. He greeted Powell, who took a seat opposite him. I straightened the general’s tie and wished I could straighten his strained and wary look, one that cried out, “Let the pain be over.”

Relief was on the way as Bradley asked his first question about challenges to black men and women growing up in the Hunts Point section of the Bronx in the days of Powell’s youth. The general’s strained expression softened; he smiled and even chuckled before answering that that was where he got his start in life. An artful icebreaker by a crafty broadcast journalist; that research offer to Bradley’s producer had paid off.

The piece aired on January 12, 1992. It was heavily promoted during the professional football game televised on CBS before 60 Minutes that Sunday. No pressure there! As air time grew near, I got more nervous. If this went south, I’d probably go with it.

The segment was the first to air that night on 60 Minutes. It was long, it was good, it came as a relief. It had no sooner ended than my phone rang. It was the chairman. “Did you see it?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “What did you think?” “I liked it,” was all I could get out before he said, “So did I; thanks for asking me to do it.”

Whew! I’d live to fight another day. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it, Mr. Fields, but there is a point in sticking up for what you feel is right, in speaking out with your best advice.

To achieve something you never had, you may have to do something you’ve never done or have never wanted to do. That may mean telling the boss he or she’s wrong; it may mean walking softly but speaking smartly about what is best for the organization, which is the most important thing of all.