BOSS

I’ve had many bosses and am one myself.  I’ve read countless articles on what makes a good one.  Here’s what I can tell you:  it’s complicated.  But, in essence, you need to be a wonderful human being.  They never actually say that in the various articles because they don’t want you to be discouraged.  Because, really, how do you teach someone to be wonderful?  Of course, there are other teachable things but it all starts with being a good, decent human being.

My first boss chased me around his little kiosk in Kings Cross in Sydney, trying to grab various parts of my teenage body.  I was terrified, but didn’t know if this was what ‘working’ meant.  I still remember the smell of his cashew breath and the Jean Nate products he sold, which make me nauseous to this day.  When I finally told my mother, she made me quit.

While waitressing my way through college in Sydney, there was a restaurant in The Rocks where Warner, a large bald-headed German cook, was the unofficial boss.  Warner terrorized all the waitresses, who were mostly young women like me.   Once, when I took back a meal that a customer had complained was overcooked, Werner turned the offending steak over with the point of his huge carving knife, and piercing its flesh, pronounced, “Now it’s rare.” 

But there were fabulous ones, too.  My first boss in London held a job open—admittedly a tough one—for almost 6 months until my work permit came through.  My job at the Rosemary School for Severely Retarded Children was to work with their parents to help them cope.  I was alone in London with no family and few friends.  But, more germane, I knew very little about social work, and even less about coping with severely handicapped children. 

There was this little girl, Isabelle, who was a ‘bird-headed dwarf’.  Her head was the size of a tennis ball, although she was twelve.  It was shocking at first, but she was a vibrant child, sweet and loving.  The day I went to visit her parents to find out how they were coping, I had no idea what I would say.  But it turned out, there was no need.  The mother did all the talking.  She sat me down on the couch, gave me a glass of strong Italian liqueur (at 10:00 a.m.) and told me about the many times she and her husband had been urged to send Isabelle to an institution.  But while there was still breath in their bodies, they were not going to do that.  Tiny and handicapped as she was, she brought them great joy, yes, along with great sorrow.  But wasn’t that what life was all about, the mother asked, as she filled my glass again.  Joy and sorrow.  Mixed together.  Like pasta and a good rich tomato sauce. By the time I staggered away, I’d learned my first important lesson as a social worker.  Listen.  To your clients. They probably know more than you do.  And don’t take that second drink.

But, back to my boss.  She told me it was appropriate that I had accepted a glass of ‘courage’ with the mother.  (I didn’t tell her about the second one.)  She said that it had been important for the mother to feel that she was giving me something, because so much was being taken away from her.  She told me that even more important than rules and regulations, was being a good listener.  Being a support to an overburdened family.  She went even further, encouraging me to get my social work degree, even though it would be a great inconvenience for her. But then I would be able to serve the school so much better.  Shortly after getting my MSW, I moved to America, never returning to the Rosemary School for Severely Retarded Children.  To this day, I feel badly about it.  I was young, searching and clueless about what she had done for me.  Unfortunately, she died shortly after I left, no connection, please God, to my betrayal.  I want to tell her: “Thank you for taking a chance on me.  I’m sorry I let you down.  Now that I’m older, I hope you know the extraordinary place you hold in my life as my first great boss, and a wonderful human being.”

You never know the lifelong effect you have on young people.  Sometimes, it’s only a touch, or verbal praise.  Or how you carry yourself and get your work done.  Other times, it’s encouragement and good advice.  That’s one of the reasons I love working with young people in a community college setting.  They are so hungry for mentors—and I hope I am one of them.

As a boss, I’ve hired many wonderful, talented young people who left shortly after I trained them.  My initial reaction was hurt and anger, but then I remembered my own history, and how it was part of growing.  How it was part of life. 

My bosses have been mostly women, because I’ve worked in the nonprofit sector dominated by the fairer sex.  Those bosses have been bright, creative, and strong.  They mentored me without even being aware that I was absorbing everything they did and said.  I remember my first boss in Los Angeles telling me: “The most important thing you can do as a boss is to make a decision.  It doesn’t matter what the decision is, just make one.  Of course, try and make it the best one, but sometimes it doesn’t really matter.  Should the invitation be blue or green?  Who cares?  But someone has to make the call.  So let it be you, and do it with conviction.  Most of the time, people will be relieved.”  I think about her every time I make a decision.

My next American boss deepened that. “You have to be able to shift if you get input that conflicts with your decision.  You have to let go of your ego.  It’s not about who is right or who is wrong.  It’s about integrating the best information to make a decision that will help achieve the goals that advances your cause.”  That is a hard lesson when you are young and trying to prove yourself.  It’s embarrassing to be second-guessed.  When someone challenges you, you feel that you’ve been found out to be the fraud you really are.  If you had known the right answer in the first place, they wouldn’t have second-guessed you.  But the older you get, the more you realize how nuanced everything is.  And how it is usually not about you, but about them—another lesson from a great boss.

Everyone sees things from his or her own vantage point—not right, not wrong, just differently.  If you’re in charge, though, you have to find a way to integrate all of that and come up with what you think will work for what you are trying to achieve.  And if you realize, halfway through, you were wrong, you have to have the chops to admit it and change course. 

I’ve had four bosses in the past four years, not because I’ve changed jobs, but because the top person has.  It’s been a learning experience. 

The first one knew she was on her way out when I was hired, although I didn’t.  She was angry and hated everyone there.  Not me, really, but she spent our weekly meetings enumerating the reasons the institution would fail.  Within three months of my hire, she was gone. 

The second boss was inexperienced and operated from fear.  She would shoot off e-mails in the middle of the night that were on the verge of hysteria.  It took me a while to learn how not to be hysterical back.  After advice from my trusted mentors (including my husband), I learned how to come back to her with facts and a well-thought out plan. 

The third boss was hired on a one-year temporary basis.  He never understood my job and didn’t have the time or inclination to learn.  He would leave the most critical things until the very end of our meeting—after he had told me that someone else waiting outside and had already stood up  to usher me out.  As I was quickly gathering my papers, hooking my purse on my shoulder, and starting to head out of his office, he’d hit me with it.  “I’m planning to move your team into the x space.”  It was his way, I guess, to not allow any feedback, in which he was not interested.  He only had a year to make changes, needed to move very fast and not look back.  I was pretty much was blindsided that entire year, so much so, that I would dread my meetings with him. I stopped trusting him, and spent many sleepless nights worrying, as, I might mention, did my husband, with whom I consulted on a daily basis. 

The fourth boss is a gem.  There is much to be learned from him.  He is smart, upfront and honest.  And he has a sense of humor.  Crucial in a good boss. Whatever goes wrong in a job is usually not that dire, unless you work in a hospital, fire or police station, or FBI.  But in my world, usually not life or death.  My new boss tells me important things at the beginning of the meeting—which we can discuss.  He listens to the challenges I am facing, and has suggestions. He has keen political sensibilities, which means:  he understands what drives the various players, and how to craft messages, interactions etc. in ways that make each of them feel good.  He is also not afraid to take a stand when it is important.  He sees things that I sometimes can’t because of our different vantage points. Already, after a few short weeks, I feel like he has my back.  That is an amazing feeling.  One that lets me, and by the way, my husband, sleep at night.

What kind of boss am I?  I guess you’d have to ask my direct reports.  But here is what I think.  I very rarely lose my patience at work. (Not necessarily the same at home, but that’s another blog.)  I give everyone permission to make mistakes.  We figure out together what went wrong, and how to prevent that in the future.  I tell them that there will be other things that go wrong, that’s life, but this one, we will solve.  I give them public credit for their work.  I make sure they have all the tools they need to do a good job:  my input and support, outside training, and an open door in which they can let me know about problems.

But I also know there are things I need to work on.  For one, I am basically a private person.  I don’t do small talk well, and am sometimes too focused on getting the job done.  I’ve come to learn, that that is not always the best way to get things done.  Sometimes, small talk is better.  You need to know what people are struggling with: their wayward kids, their out of work husbands, their various illnesses and catastrophes.  Those are the things of life.  Those are the things that, in the long run, matter.  But still, your ultimate success is dependent upon whether your project is completed, or your goals are met.  So how do you make that happen?

Well, here’s the thing.  If you are a wonderful person, people want to do good by you.  They want to help you achieve your goals.  They want to make you happy and proud.  They want to do a good job.  And a large part of being a wonderful person is caring about people’s lives--and realizing that sometimes, the most important thing is not getting the job done but listening to them when their kids are turbulent and troubled, and their lives are falling apart.

Next blog.  How to be a wonderful person.