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Life Is Not a Spectator Sport

“Life is just one damned thing after another.” So said nineteenth-century American editor, publisher, and writer Elbert Hubbard. He didn’t differentiate between the personal and professional sides of life, but either way he was right. We’re a busy people, more so today than when he wrote those true words.

The way we spend time professionally is a function of what kind of job we have, demands on us in our job, and whether we control our destiny each day. We probably do better than the boss, who has to respond to more demands. Does anyone help the boss manage that schedule, sort out his or her requirements, and point the conductor of the organizational train to the right stations, helping the boss make the right stops? Someone should, even if it’s not requested of that person.

Far too often, the leader gets so wrapped up in meetings and spending time with visitors that he or she misses what is happening outside the immediate circle of office life. Widen that circle if you can and, if the boss will let you, try to mix the activities he or she engages in.

When was the last time your boss left the office to be with the employees in another part of the building or in another facility? Has the boss recently walked the workplace floor, visited the assembly line, had lunch in the cafeteria with employees, or stopped by a watercooler or communal coffee bar to chat with folks? If the boss does these kinds of things, does he or she do them without a lot of physical presence of the staff? The boss can take mental notes; no need for a note taker. And watch the look on people’s faces.

Another way to see what is outside the boss’s comfort zone is to have the boss look for opportunities to meet stakeholders he or she might not normally see: family members, retirees, vendors, customers, government officials, elected officials, area residents, anyone who has a vested interest in the organization and how it’s run.

After the Gulf War in 1991—43 days total, 100 hours for the ground campaign—when we routed Saddam Hussein’s army, there was an overwhelming outpouring of public appreciation. Great praise was given to the servicemen and servicewomen who accomplished that remarkable operational feat.

Thanks came in many forms. Major League Baseball was just beginning the 1991 season, and teams found ways to express their appreciation. The New York Yankees wanted a chance to pay their respects. I took their telephonic invitation for General Colin Powell to throw out the first pitch at a game in Yankee Stadium on April 15, 1991.

The chairman wasn’t very interested; there was lots going on. True, but here was a chance for him to receive a tribute on behalf of the “troops” who had performed so well in battle, all 541,000 of them. This ceremonial salute would be seen in person by nearly 58,000 in the ballpark, by millions watching the game on television, and by tens of millions who would see the press reports later on TV and in newspapers.

You can’t buy that kind of publicity, I suggested. He agreed. We accepted. That was the easy part. The hard part was getting him focused and ready to “throw it down the pike.” On the Friday before the Monday game, I rode home with him at the end of the day to his quarters. “How about a little practice throwing a baseball this weekend?” I suggested. “Don’t need any,” he replied. I reminded him that President George H. W. Bush had thrown the first pitch days earlier at the Texas Rangers opener low and into the dirt in front of home plate. “I’ll be just fine,” the general said as he climbed out of the sedan.

All weekend I fretted over what might happen. In the dirt, over the catcher’s head, way off to the side, all the way to the backstop. Yes, this was a spectator sport, but not when you’re on the field and on television.

Off we went to New York City, to Yankee Stadium, the Mecca of professional baseball, situated in the Bronx, which happened to be the general’s boyhood neighborhood. We spent time in the locker room with members of the Yankees. Great fun! We stood poised in the dugout along with Mayor David Dinkins. Great honor! The appointed hour and moment were upon us.

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff took the mound. My throat went dry as photographers lined up for the ceremonial first pitch. My eyes wanted to close but were bolted open. A cross between fear and anxiety gripped me.

Dressed in his utility military uniform, the chairman glanced at the catcher, who was crouched at home plate. He wound up and threw the ball fast and hard. Smack! A perfect strike into the catcher’s mitt. The crowd went wild. My reaction was a yelp of relief and joy. He’d done it!

Pride in him, pride in the Yankees for putting him on their ceremonial stage, and pride in this grand salute to the armed forces of the United States. A magical moment to be sure.

Later, I learned from the general’s son, Michael, that the two had practiced Saturday and Sunday to get it right. Yes, he had done that. No spectator in that man! It reminded me of the army expression “train as you fight; fight as you train.”

In any leader, in any organization, the C-suite is not the sole seat to occupy. It’s out on the front lines, meeting and greeting the people who matter most—those who have a stake in the company. Those who invest—their time, their money, their hope, and their promise—in what you do.