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Don’t Be Afraid to Take a Risk
Risk can be a frightening or an exhilarating experience. You can run from it because you fear it or gravitate toward it because you seek the thrill or excitement of something unique.
Most people are risk-averse. They answer affirmatively to Alfred E. Neuman’s “What, me worry?” question. In contrast, there are hurricane hunters, cliff climbers, and high-wire walkers who think nothing about beating the odds of taking a chance.
Having jumped out of airplanes, I tend to relate to those willing to take a chance, a walk on the wild side if you will. It’s not for the faint of heart; if one is drawn to a moment of uncertainty and it excites that person, so be it. The payoff can be grand.
Fortunately, in the everyday world of doing business, calamities are not waiting around every corner. However, there are opportunities to improve on the outcome of an event or a cause by taking unusual, even risk-laden steps to achieve a goal.
Scientists devise formulas to determine the probability of success or failure of an experiment. Others rely more on faith in hard work and intuition. That doesn’t suggest just bumbling along hoping for the best. It’s more about designing the best strategic plan based on the most thoughtful considerations.
Back in 1989, I was part of a historic and unprecedented event. My boss, Admiral William J. Crowe, Jr., the eleventh chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was invited by his Soviet counterpart to visit the USSR. For nearly 45 years the Soviet Union and the United States had faced off on opposite sides of the so-called Iron Curtain. They were two superpowers poised to do mortal combat the outcome of which could have led to Armageddon.
Crowe had asked his former counterpart, Marshal Sergei Akhromeyev, to visit him in the United States in 1988. That in itself was a daring act; inviting the known enemy into your tent was considered a bit risky. However, the admiral, a kind and cunning man, exposed the wary but curious Soviet leader to the beauty and principled nature of our society and its people. Come see this thing we call a democracy, Crowe beckoned, in hopes of building trust.
Turnabout is fair play. Come see this thing we call a communist state, the Soviets countered a year later. We couldn’t wait to see firsthand this thing we called and believed to be a Russian bear, 12 feet tall at least. Or was it? The invitation from Akhromeyev’s successor, General Mikhail Moiseyev, was to spend 11 days and cross 11 time zones to see, touch, and feel the proverbial beast.
World-class stuff, this moment in time. How were we going to share it with the American people? the admiral asked me in April, 60 days or so before the planned trip. Or should we not attempt to document it at all, given the uncertain nature of the outcome? It could be a bust.
Too historic a moment, was my response. We needed to capture it somehow, and the best way to do that was through the eyes and ears of the press in some form or another. Should we take a pool of reporters with us or simply rely on those who would be on Soviet soil watching our every move?
He and I were alone in his Pentagon office debating the pros and cons, the risks and ramifications involved. The chairman was not risk-averse, and neither was I. We opted for a high-stakes approach: one news organization to capture it all as part of our travel party to the Soviet Union. We settled on the late Mike Wallace of 60 Minutes. Risk aplenty. Wallace was known as one of the best but toughest American broadcast journalists; CBS’s 60 Minutes was a highly-regarded program known for its thorough, thoughtful reporting. Often, however, they were critical of the U.S. military about everything from bad decisions to faulty weapons systems.
Why risk asking 60 Minutes? The knowns were several. Wallace had covered the Akhromeyev visit in 1988; he and the admiral had hit it off well. He described himself as “tough but fair,” and he was. 60 Minutes was one of the most respected programs on American television, with a demographic audience that would fall into the intelligentsia category.
The unknowns were several as well. There was no guarantee the Soviets would allow Wallace and his crew to accompany us to record our every move in their country. Moreover, there was no assurance that the story that would come of this, even if they agreed, would favor either the Soviets or us. Yet the admiral and I concluded that we’d never get a second chance to make a first impression.
We pressed forward to gain the Soviets’ permission. Haltingly they agreed after the exchange of dozens of cables on the matter. They countered our request for acceptance with their demand for certain security conditions, to which we agreed. Next came my overture to Mike Wallace to accompany us but to agree to play by Soviet rules. When I called to ask if he would have an interest in joining such a venture into the unknown, he jumped at the invitation and the chance to be a witness to history.
Lots of planning took place before our departure. Wallace agreed to meet us in Helsinki, Finland, the Sunday before our Monday, June 13, departure for Moscow. Our official travel party numbered fewer than 20, plus the 60 Minutes crew, which consisted of Wallace; his producer, Barry Lando; a cameraman; and a sound-light technician. As a group, we gathered for a predeparture dinner in the hotel on Sunday night. I felt like offering a prayer that this venture would turn out well but thought better of it. Silently I said it on my own.
Early the next day we were off to Moscow on what I sensed would be an excellent adventure. Wallace interviewed Crowe en route, asking him on camera what he anticipated and hoped to achieve. The admiral allowed that he wasn’t sure of the outcome but knew it was a seminal moment.
Like a first dance, it was a bit strained and awkward at the beginning, with most of the attention on the visitors from America. With more than a bit of actor in him, the admiral knew he was on the world stage. Always comfortable in his own skin, he became a showman starting with the opening act, an interview upon arrival on the tarmac of the international airport in the Soviet capital. He subsequently was interviewed by reporters at every stop, in every setting, by anyone who wanted to ask what he had seen, what he felt about it, and what he sensed it meant.
Along the way, as often as possible, he sat with Mike Wallace one-on-one. Wallace and Lando were beside themselves with the access they had. Both of them handled it in the most professional way.
Unlike Crowe, the head of the Soviet general staff wanted nothing to do with the press. Moiseyev would position himself outside the circle of reporters who were assembled at each stop to ask questions of the admiral. I asked my Soviet counterpart why Moiseyev didn’t participate in those media availability sessions. “The general does not do interviews,” was his brusque answer. A model of risk aversion.
On the second day, while visiting a Soviet air base, I mentioned this to the admiral, who whispered, “Watch.” Midway through a barrage of questions being flung his way, Crowe paused, motioned to General Moiseyev to join him for the questioning, and waited until the Russian hesitatingly entered the circle. Behavior modification at its best. Uncomfortable at first with the spotlight on him, Moiseyev eventually eased into his new interviewee role.
Tellingly, by the fourth day, he and the admiral were fighting for a position of attention both literally and figuratively. They both realized the world was watching and listening courtesy of the reporters from around the globe who were on the scene covering a piece of history.
Over the course of 11 days, the 60 Minutes crew shot massive amounts of video. They captured our visits to many military installations, rides aboard helicopters, trips at sea on a guided missile frigate, a tour of a submarine in the Barents Sea. We even got a close-up view of a Soviet nuclear missile site. There were stops at monuments and museums, talks with Russian veterans of World War II, and best of all talks with the common citizens of the many cities we visited. No holds barred, virtually no restrictions. Only once did they ask me to have Mike Wallace shut off the camera at a highly classified site. He quickly did.
When we said our goodbyes in Vladivostok on our last evening in that immense country we had seen end to end, inside and out, we had mixed emotions. We were sad to end our adventure with new friends we once thought were the enemy but happy to be climbing aboard that shiny blue and white air force jet with the words United States of America adorning both sides.
Once airborne, the admiral called a group of us up to his cabin. Some sat at the conference table and others were on the floor, all of us tired but content to be going home. The chairman asked us the question of the day, perhaps the century. “What do you make of what we did and saw these past 11 days?” he asked. Sounding like a bunch of amateur philosophers, some of us took turns at suggesting what this had meant and would be likely to mean over time. None of us got it quite right, but collectively we believed something different yet important in the life of the U.S.-Soviet relationship was occurring. And looking back, it was; it was the beginning of the end of the Cold War.
What if we hadn’t allowed this historic event to be documented courtesy of 60 Minutes? Sure, it still would have happened, and it would have been covered intermittently by countless reporters. But the sights and the sounds, the nuances and notions that played out consistently each day would have been lost. Yes, we took a chance that it would turn out to be a positive experience. When Mike Wallace rendered a 15-minute report on 60 Minutes in early September, it was better than just plain good. It was an incredible account of how the world was changing, he concluded, for the better.
Not everyone gets to take such rides and risks; not everyone wants to. At the same time, all of us should want to put forth the best image and account of our people, our products, our services, and our stakeholders. To get to do it successfully with competence and confidence is a rewarding thing. To not want to do it because something could go wrong along the way will yield little more than another day, another dollar.
The latter is not my idea of gain. There is no chance of true prosperity in such an approach. Risk is not about being a good gambler. It’s more about being a good manager of opportunities that can lead to measurable successes for you, your boss, and the things you stand for and can stand behind. Relax, Alfred.