It's Not Luck (5 page)

“And I thought that the big gambling was in Las Vegas or on Wall Street,” he says in astonishment.

“Yes, but let’s put it aside.” I tell him about my upcoming trip to Europe.

“Should I schedule a briefing meeting with the presidents of all the companies?” he asks.

“Good idea, but stagger the meetings. I want to spend half a day with each. Now, let’s figure out what paperwork I need for the trip.”

It takes us almost two hours to compose the long list of papers Don will have to prepare for me. On this trip I will not be traveling light—in any aspect.

5

“In two weeks,” I say as casually as I can, “I’m going to Europe.”

“Aaawsome!” Sharon jumps in her chair. “You have to bring me ‘Hard Rock Cafe’ shirts.”

“For how long?” Julie asks. She doesn’t look too happy.

“About one week,” I reply. “I have to meet some prospective buyers for the companies.”

“I see,” says Julie, looking even more unhappy.

“Daddy, what about my T-shirts?”

“Sharon, decide, coffee-shirts or tea-shirts?” I ask. Only to get a long lecture on these particular shirts. When I was a kid we treasured baseball cards. Now it’s funny T-shirts. I guess each generation of kids finds fascination in something useless to collect. The only difference is in the price. The shirts are outrageously expensive. I promise Sharon I’ll do my best—subject of course, to my schedule restrictions.

“And what about you?” I ask Dave. “What do you want?”

“I don’t need you to bring me anything,” he smiles. “I want something you already have. Can I have your car while you’re gone?”

I should have guessed it. Dave has a crush on my car, any occasion is a good excuse to ask for it, and when appropriate, I yield. But for a whole week? No way.

“I’ll pay for the gas,” he hurriedly adds.

“Thank you, very much.”

“And the ten-thousand-mile check-up that’s due, I’ll take care of that, too.”

Not really decisive arguments. Since he got his driver’s license a little over a year ago, he’s become a car freak. I think he spends more time disassembling and assembling his junk car than he spends studying.

In order not to ruin dinner, I say, “Let me think about it.” He doesn’t press the issue. Dave is a good kid. The rest of dinner we spend talking about the places I am going to visit—Frankfurt and London. Julie and I were there once, before the kids were born, and they—especially Sharon—are interested in hearing about our romantic memories.

After dinner I turn on the TV. There is nothing to see. I give up and turn it off. Julie is humming over her files.

“I’m bored,” I say. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“I’ve a better idea,” she smiles. “Why don’t we both work on your commitment?”

“What commitment?”

“The commitment you just gave Dave. You answered him, ‘Let me think about it.’ ”

Count on Julie to turn any potential problem into a win-win situation. What she’s referring to is the fact that whenever we answer, “Let me think about it,” we are actually giving a commitment. We are committing ourselves to take the time to think about it—whatever the “it” is.

“That’s a good idea,” I say, knowing that otherwise I’ll never give Dave’s request a second thought. Until he raises the issue again, that is. And then I’ll have to shoot from the hip. One thing I have learned is that I am not John Wayne. Whenever I try to shoot from the hip, I usually hit my own foot.

It’s strange. I do take my commitments seriously, and I do know that if you say to somebody “Let me think about it,” usually the person with the crummy idea does come back and demand an answer. Nevertheless, too often I find myself in the embarrassing situation where I haven’t devoted any time really thinking about it.

It’s not. only that it’s difficult to clearly verbalize gut feel, it is unpleasant to criticize someone else’s idea. We all know that if we criticize the idea of the inventor, the reaction is usually a counterattack and hard feelings. If there is one thing that irritates people more than criticism, it’s constructive criticism.

Jonah taught us how to turn these sensitive situations into win-win. It takes some work, and some reexamination, but it certainly pays off. To tell the truth, even though it works like a charm, the effort involved causes me to be more careful with the phrase—“let me think about it.” Probably not careful enough.

“Okay, let’s start by the book,” I say. “What are the positive things about Dave’s request to have my car while I’m away? I’m stuck. I can’t see any. He’s a good driver and relative to his age he’s quite responsible. But my new Beamer?” Desperately I write, “The check-up will be done on time.”

“Can’t you come up with something more convincing?” Julie is amused.

“Frankly, no,” I laugh. But there must be something else, or I would have given him a flat “no.”

She echoes my thought, “Well, why didn’t you tell him ‘no’ on the spot?”

“Because I was afraid of his reaction. He would have been hurt, and have felt as though I were treating him like a child.”

“Yes,” Julie replies. “At his age it is very important to feel that his father trusts him.”

“I don’t know if I trust him to that extent,” I say. Nevertheless, I write down, “Strengthening the trust between me and my son.”

“What else?”

“That’s good enough,” I say. “This is a good enough reason. Now, let’s go to the easy part, the negatives. I have zillions of them.”

Julie smiles. “You know what usually happens, Alex. Before we write them it looks as if there are infinite reasons, but when we put them down, it turns out that there are relatively few, and more embarrassing, most of them are pitiful excuses.”

“Okay,” I say to Julie, “let’s see if it’s the case here; I don’t think so.”

“Start writing.”

Without hesitation, I put down the first two reasons that pop into my mind. “One. ‘High risk of damage to the car.’ Two. ‘High risk of Dave injured in an accident.’ ”

“Wait a minute,” Julie says. “I thought you said that Dave is a good driver. You are letting him drive your car from time to time. Besides, if you’re so worried about increasing the risk of damage to your cherished toy, why do you drive it downtown?”

I think about it for a second. And what about the alternative, parking it at the airport? “You’re right,” I agree, and cross off the first item.

I look at the second reason. My car is much safer than Dave’s piece of junk, I admit, and cross the second reason out as well.

Julie smiles at me. “Yes, that happens. When you verbalize and examine each negative, often it turns out that they are just unfounded prejudices.”

I don’t buy it. I don’t want to give my car to Dave. I don’t want to share it with anybody. It’s mine. “Okay, here’s a real one,” I say. “ ‘Dave gets used to using my car.’ No, that’s not strong enough.” I cross it out and write instead, “Dave feels he has a right to use my car.”

“Yeah, kids do get used to things very quickly,” Julie agrees. “He will drive it for one week and you will have a partner for your car.”

“That’s a big negative,” I say.

“There is another one,” Julie adds. “You know his dream of driving to Mexico? His spring break is the week you’ll be in Europe.”

“Take my car to Mexico!” I jump out of my seat. “And then he’ll get stuck there and I’ll have to come to his rescue.” I can vividly see this horrible scenario.

“How are you going to write that down?” Julie asks.

“Having to stop my business in Europe to come and rescue Dave.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating?”

“Julie, if, God forbid, he is stopped in some village in Mexico, if he needs a parent’s signature for whatever reason—remember he is still under age—would you go down there?”

“I prefer not to.”

Mexico, my God. What a thought. “What else?”

“Why don’t you put what it will all boil down to,” Julie suggests. “Deterioration in the relationship between you and Dave.”

I examine the list again. It’s very short, but it will do. Now we start the enjoyable part, proving with lock-tight cause and effect how giving the car to Dave will actually lead to the predicted negatives. We have fun constructing the “negative branch,” as Jonah calls it. And even more so when we rewrite it all, so that it will be less insulting and more convincing when I show it to Dave. A delightful evening, and I’m ready for Dave.

I wish it were as easy to solve my problems at work.

6

“What’s on the agenda?” I ask Don.

“You have your briefing with Bob at eight-thirty and at twelve o’clock with Stacey. They are both waiting for you.”

“Both?” I ask. “Never mind, call them in.”

Bob Donovan and Stacey Kaufman are good friends. They worked for me when I was a plant manager—Bob as production manager, and Stacey as materials manager. Together we learned how to turn a plant around; together we learned from Jonah how to manage a company. They were my key people when I was a division manager. So when I took over the diversified group and saw what a shambles it was, I insisted Bob be nominated as president of I Cosmetics and Stacey as president of Pressure-Steam. They are both very capable and solid people. A little bit older than I, but that has never disturbed our relationship.

Bob lets Stacey precede him, and booms from behind her, “Hey, Alex! Ready for your trip to Europe?”

“Not yet, but with your help I will be,” I smile back.

“Just tell us what you need and we’ll deliver,” Stacey says.

It’s good to be with old friends, people whom you can trust. Jokingly I say, “What I really need is a bloody miracle.”

“No problem,” Bob laughs, “miracle is our middle name.” And to Stacey, “I told you he’d find a way to turn it around.”

“I didn’t doubt it for a minute,” she says. “Okay, Alex, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Your plan,” they both reply. And Stacey adds, “How we’re going to convince the board not to sell our companies. Don refuses to give us even a hint.”

I look at them. They have too much confidence in me. Much too much. Not knowing what to say, I ask, “Why are you two so worried about it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stacey smiles. “We are conservative people, we don’t like any change.”

“Yes,” Bob joins in. “And besides, where are we going to find a boss like you? Someone who is so dumb as to let us do whatever we like.”

“Thank you, Bob. But seriously, why are you worried? You are superb managers, you know Jonah’s techniques inside out. Do you think that you’ll have a problem convincing any boss, whoever it will be, to leave you alone? To let you manage your companies your way?”

“Is this some type of test?” Stacey says in a fiat tone.

“Calm down, Stacey,” Bob says. “Don’t you see what Alex is doing? Alex is rightfully disappointed. He expected us to find the answer on our own, to figure out his plan.” And turning to me, he continues, “So now you are going to ask us pointed questions until we, the dummies, figure it out ourselves? No problem!”

Don leans forward. He has bugged me more than once about my plan, and refuses to believe that I don’t have one.

“Can you repeat your question again?” Stacey smiles.

This situation is becoming more and more embarrassing, but now I’m trapped. “What is so unique about working for UniCo?” I ask. “If UniCo decides to sell you to another conglomerate, what do you care?”

That stops them for a moment. “Actually,” Stacey hesitantly answers, “as long as you continue being our boss, we don’t care.”

“Stop the flattery,” I say, “be serious.”

“No, I am serious. Look, you know our situation. You know we got these companies only a year ago, and what shape they were in. But with someone who doesn’t know, and doesn’t care, and moreover doesn’t understand our mode of doing business, do you think we stand a chance?”

Bob continues in the same vein. “They’ll just look at the bottom line numbers and see that my company is still losing money, and Stacey’s company is barely making it. Then you know what will happen. The ax will come down. They’ll start to cut expenses. They’ll start to force us into the cost world. We’ll resign and our companies will be destroyed.”

Don nods his head in agreement. What do they all want from me? What do they take me for? Why are they so confident that just because I’m the boss, I’ve got the answers?

“If our companies were very profitable,” Stacey adds, “then it would be another ball game, they’d leave us alone. Nobody messes around with a gold mine. But, as Bob said, we’re not there—not yet, at least.”

She is right. “If we were much more profitable . . . ” I echo her words.

“So that’s your solution!” Stacey says in astonishment. “You really are asking for miracles.”

“How much time do we have?” Bob asks.

“How much time until when?” I ask back.

“Until we switch ownership, until we’re sold, until we have to report to another owner?”

“More than three months,” I reply.