I think that I am an incurable romantic. Let me hasten to add that I mean romantic in the literary sense of the word. In the literary sense, a romantic is one who creates stories about the world. How that works out in my life is that I have a metaphor, or a story, for everything.
That serves as the platform for this day's post. As background to the topic, our company, ForeRunner, is committed to the idea of being a good place to work. This isn't an easy commitment. Once you get past the idea of month long vacations and four hour work weeks, the idea of what constitutes a good place to work means different things to different people. We are very concerned about what ForeRunner employees think about working here and work to find out. The results we get are certainly not always what we want to hear, and responding to the issues raised is thorny and often without any ability to solve those issues.
As one who has spent his adult working life in and around engineering companies, I have often thought an interesting way to see them is as aircraft carriers. They are full of highly trained people engaged in complex tasks requiring a high degree of teamwork. To carry out their job, the people on board must be committed to precision and smooth operation of sequential and interdependent tasks, which if not done "right" have serious consequences.
Yet there are two different classes of people on board that aircraft carrier. There are the pilots and there are the crew. Together they are a team, but the pilots experience a very different reality than those who stay on the boat. The glamour of "Top Gun" and Tom Cruise aside, carrier pilots live in a different reality. Their commitment is a different commitment than that of those who stay behind.
In an engineering company, it is a useful distinction to distinguish between those who go out to the job site and those who do not. We are all a team, and equally important to the ability of the company to perform our mission. But those of us who go out to the job site experience a different reality than those who stay behind.
In my teen years, I often daydreamed about piloting a Phantom over North Vietnam, imagining the sudden klaxon alert of a SAM launch or the flash of light signaling a MIG intercept. But very poor eyesight meant that it would always be a daydream for me. But those who were privileged to fly had a very different reality than the team back on the carrier whose work and effort allowed them to be in that position.
Too many times to count, I have driven a rental vehicle onto a job site in some remote area, or walked into a conference room filled with client personnel. Every time I did it, my body reacted. I am not sure if my heart could have beaten any faster or my stomach been more full of butterfly's if I had been in that Phantom. My reality of that project was much different than the draftsmen and engineers back in the office who also worked on those projects.
We live in the reality we experience. A good place to work is defined by the reality we experience. If we work in an office, a good place to work is often defined by the length of our commute, being able to work from home or having control over the work we do and how we do it. Professional decorum and reasonable expectations about timeliness are a given.
If we are in the "cockpit", we experience a different reality. We are lonely, in a hostile location and experiencing severe emotional upheaval. Then a good place to work is calling in and hearing a friendly voice that picks up the phone on the first ring. It is hearing that wonderful phrase, "I'll take care of it right away". Sometimes when we come back we are jumpy and might need a drink. Some of us might even kick our dog if they bark too much.
We are a company that contains both realities. We will continue to do our best to be a good company to work for. But mutual understanding and respect go a long way to bridge different realities. It is a foolish pilot who doesn't respect his deck crew. Most crews will cut the pilot some slack when they see his hand shaking.
But I would invite you to climb into that cockpit. Unlike the Navy, the qualifications to move into that launch position are minimal. Most anyone on that project team can work their way into the cockpit. All you have to have is that desire to strap in.
Once you launch off that deck, you will not want to be anywhere else ever again.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Low Imagination Energy
This week was the annual COGA (Colorado Oil and Gas) show. It is our local yearly come together where we brag, sell and commiserate with our fellows in the oil and gas business. Our keynote speaker this year was Boone Pickens, well known "maverick". Boone sounded a clarion call for windmills and natural gas fueled vehicles as a vision for the future of energy in the United States.
Windmills and natural gas fueled cars? Give me a break. My first thought was this is another example of why history treats those who know how to make money so poorly. Good businessmen, almost by definition, are lacking in the charisma that stirs the imagination necessary for great deeds. Of course we would all be cold and hungry, living in dirty caves haunted by vermin, if not for businessmen. But they don't often understand how to move beyond short sighted logic and excite the passion that drives us to the heights.
But my second thought was for the dullness of imagination in our present culture. After all Boone, and those like him, are not going to do more than hold a mirror up to what we believe possible. Currently there is an ad running on the radio about the wonders of HD Radio. The ad talks about the wonders of HD Radio and the built in intelligence of the radios that can use it. But the adman then wonders about where his flying car is? The ad is built around the idea that HD Radio is part of a wonderful future that was promised us decades ago (remember the Jetson's). Well the radio is here, but where are our flying cars?
As an immature teenage boy, interspersed with furtive visits to the pages of Playboy magazine, I was an avid reader of science fiction. In fact my absolute all time favorite novel is "We All Died at Breakaway Station" by Richard Meredith. But in everything I read was such a sense of optimism about the future that I am now living in. It was just an accepted fact that we would flying around the Solar System with large numbers of people living in "space" by now.
Well, teen age boys, despite their outward sophistication, are very naive. Reading Playboy to learn about women gives undeniable evidence of that. But our failure of imagination about energy is depressing. Our culture's expectation then was that we would be well along on the way to breaking the light speed barrier by now. Instead we are talking about building windmills to power our civilization. We are congratulating ourselves that the United States can be the "Saudia Arabia of Wind". I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I don't think that starships will be powered by windmills. I don't think they will be powered by natural gas either. We may create a really nice culture where every body uses hemp grocery shopping bags, composts their waste and takes a bicycle to work. We may "save the Earth" and all sing Kumbaya. I believe we can create that future if we wish to. And it may be a very pleasant place to live if you have a certain dullness of spirit. The Shire portrayed in "Lord of the Rings" comes to mind. But it will also be a dead end and exist at the sufferance of those nations and peoples who continued to imagine of greatness.
Windmills and natural gas fueled cars? Give me a break. My first thought was this is another example of why history treats those who know how to make money so poorly. Good businessmen, almost by definition, are lacking in the charisma that stirs the imagination necessary for great deeds. Of course we would all be cold and hungry, living in dirty caves haunted by vermin, if not for businessmen. But they don't often understand how to move beyond short sighted logic and excite the passion that drives us to the heights.
But my second thought was for the dullness of imagination in our present culture. After all Boone, and those like him, are not going to do more than hold a mirror up to what we believe possible. Currently there is an ad running on the radio about the wonders of HD Radio. The ad talks about the wonders of HD Radio and the built in intelligence of the radios that can use it. But the adman then wonders about where his flying car is? The ad is built around the idea that HD Radio is part of a wonderful future that was promised us decades ago (remember the Jetson's). Well the radio is here, but where are our flying cars?
As an immature teenage boy, interspersed with furtive visits to the pages of Playboy magazine, I was an avid reader of science fiction. In fact my absolute all time favorite novel is "We All Died at Breakaway Station" by Richard Meredith. But in everything I read was such a sense of optimism about the future that I am now living in. It was just an accepted fact that we would flying around the Solar System with large numbers of people living in "space" by now.
Well, teen age boys, despite their outward sophistication, are very naive. Reading Playboy to learn about women gives undeniable evidence of that. But our failure of imagination about energy is depressing. Our culture's expectation then was that we would be well along on the way to breaking the light speed barrier by now. Instead we are talking about building windmills to power our civilization. We are congratulating ourselves that the United States can be the "Saudia Arabia of Wind". I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I don't think that starships will be powered by windmills. I don't think they will be powered by natural gas either. We may create a really nice culture where every body uses hemp grocery shopping bags, composts their waste and takes a bicycle to work. We may "save the Earth" and all sing Kumbaya. I believe we can create that future if we wish to. And it may be a very pleasant place to live if you have a certain dullness of spirit. The Shire portrayed in "Lord of the Rings" comes to mind. But it will also be a dead end and exist at the sufferance of those nations and peoples who continued to imagine of greatness.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Gettysburg III
One hundred and forty five years ago today, the sun came up over the humid haze of mid summer outside a small town in Pennsylvania. The morning breeze carried that peculiar sweet and sour smell that visitors to a meat packing plant would recognize in the air. That distinctive odor mingled with the acrid smell of gunpowder as well as the odor of latrines for tens of thousands of men, further mingled with the odor of tens of thousands of horses and cattle. There was no mistaking it for a vacation spot.
Greeting that dawn was a manager without any good options. His opponent, the Union Army of the Potomac under George Meade, held a strong position and time was very much on the Union side. But perhaps most troubling was his sense that he had been failed by his senior leadership team. His soldiers had again displayed the élan that had won victory after victory. But their leaders had failed those men, and him, badly. But what to do about it?
The manager, Robert E. Lee, had made his choice during the night to attack the center of the Union line across more than a mile of open field. He was going to throw 9 brigades, 15,000 men, in an attack straight up the middle. His men would be advancing in ordered rows of marching men under Union fire for over 10 minutes before they would be able to return that fire. Even under the most favorable outcome, thousands of his boys would not return from that walk across the field.
But who would lead that attack? I imagine that Lee's heart ached for his strong right arm, Stonewall Jackson. But Stonewall lay in a cold grave back in Virginia, lost in Chancellorsville's wild melee. If Lee was human, he must have wanted to punish those who had left him with this choice, to make them accountable for this sad state of affairs. He had not wanted to fight here, and once engaged, opportunity after opportunity had been lost. Ewell had been cautious when boldness was necessary. Stuart had abandoned duty to engage in headline hunting. Longstreet had sulked because his advice had not been taken, letting victory slip from their hands because he was in a snit.
But instead of giving vent to his frustration and anger, Lee sought out Longstreet and engaged him in awkward conversation. Lee laid out his plans, tapping Longstreet to command the advance. Longstreet argued passionately against Lee's plan, advancing his own plans instead. It is a familiar argument for both, repeated many times in the past months. After patiently hearing him out again, Lee again orders his planned advance. Longstreet begs that command be given someone else. Lee, with sadness and resignation in his voice, tells Longstreet that no one else can do it as well as he. He, James Longstreet, is ordered to command the attack; seeing to it that it is coordinated and handled according to plan.
And so it happened. We remember it as Pickett's Charge, but it would be more rightly called Longstreet's Charge. Again it was late. Again the Confederate artillery was poorly coordinated. Again the Confederate attack was disjointed and poorly led. Again the courage and spirit of the individual soldiers and unit leaders was superb. Again the Confederate's failed, admitted defeat and returned to Virginia.
Who was accountable? Who was to blame? On whose head should the responsibility for failure be laid? In our modern world we believe in accountability. Review performance on objective criteria, measure performance and then mete out justice. When things go wrong, someone must be blamed for failure. Certainly the question of who lost Gettysburg has been endlessly debated in the years following.
Was Lee too bold? Was his invasion of Pennsylvania reckless? Was he overconfident and overcome by pride? In retrospect, this certainly seems the case. Yet, hindsight also argues that Gettysburg was lost by the Confederacy rather than won by the Union.
Did Longstreet let his ego get out of control? Did his pouting prevent him from doing the job he was assigned to do, and for which he was well competent? Certainly the operations over which he had control were carried out poorly and with no evidence of good management. Yet, is it right to assign responsibility for successful execution of a task to one who believes that it will fail?
True to his character, Lee accepted full blame for the action. He was not much for accountability. When his men succeeded, he praised them. When his men failed, he accepted the blame. If his judgement indicated one of his men unsuitable for their position, he quietly saw to it that they were posted somewhere more suited to their talents and without public humiliation.
The demands of the war required Longstreet to be sent, along with his men, to Tennessee. There Longstreet quarreled with his new boss. But rather than continue to work with him as Lee had done, his new boss exiled him to an out of the way backwater where Longstreet would be free to pursue his own plans. Those plans went nowhere and the following April found Longstreet back in Virginia under Lee again. After the war he rose to senior management in the federal bureaucracy where he seems to have been comfortable.
Greeting that dawn was a manager without any good options. His opponent, the Union Army of the Potomac under George Meade, held a strong position and time was very much on the Union side. But perhaps most troubling was his sense that he had been failed by his senior leadership team. His soldiers had again displayed the élan that had won victory after victory. But their leaders had failed those men, and him, badly. But what to do about it?
The manager, Robert E. Lee, had made his choice during the night to attack the center of the Union line across more than a mile of open field. He was going to throw 9 brigades, 15,000 men, in an attack straight up the middle. His men would be advancing in ordered rows of marching men under Union fire for over 10 minutes before they would be able to return that fire. Even under the most favorable outcome, thousands of his boys would not return from that walk across the field.
But who would lead that attack? I imagine that Lee's heart ached for his strong right arm, Stonewall Jackson. But Stonewall lay in a cold grave back in Virginia, lost in Chancellorsville's wild melee. If Lee was human, he must have wanted to punish those who had left him with this choice, to make them accountable for this sad state of affairs. He had not wanted to fight here, and once engaged, opportunity after opportunity had been lost. Ewell had been cautious when boldness was necessary. Stuart had abandoned duty to engage in headline hunting. Longstreet had sulked because his advice had not been taken, letting victory slip from their hands because he was in a snit.
But instead of giving vent to his frustration and anger, Lee sought out Longstreet and engaged him in awkward conversation. Lee laid out his plans, tapping Longstreet to command the advance. Longstreet argued passionately against Lee's plan, advancing his own plans instead. It is a familiar argument for both, repeated many times in the past months. After patiently hearing him out again, Lee again orders his planned advance. Longstreet begs that command be given someone else. Lee, with sadness and resignation in his voice, tells Longstreet that no one else can do it as well as he. He, James Longstreet, is ordered to command the attack; seeing to it that it is coordinated and handled according to plan.
And so it happened. We remember it as Pickett's Charge, but it would be more rightly called Longstreet's Charge. Again it was late. Again the Confederate artillery was poorly coordinated. Again the Confederate attack was disjointed and poorly led. Again the courage and spirit of the individual soldiers and unit leaders was superb. Again the Confederate's failed, admitted defeat and returned to Virginia.
Who was accountable? Who was to blame? On whose head should the responsibility for failure be laid? In our modern world we believe in accountability. Review performance on objective criteria, measure performance and then mete out justice. When things go wrong, someone must be blamed for failure. Certainly the question of who lost Gettysburg has been endlessly debated in the years following.
Was Lee too bold? Was his invasion of Pennsylvania reckless? Was he overconfident and overcome by pride? In retrospect, this certainly seems the case. Yet, hindsight also argues that Gettysburg was lost by the Confederacy rather than won by the Union.
Did Longstreet let his ego get out of control? Did his pouting prevent him from doing the job he was assigned to do, and for which he was well competent? Certainly the operations over which he had control were carried out poorly and with no evidence of good management. Yet, is it right to assign responsibility for successful execution of a task to one who believes that it will fail?
True to his character, Lee accepted full blame for the action. He was not much for accountability. When his men succeeded, he praised them. When his men failed, he accepted the blame. If his judgement indicated one of his men unsuitable for their position, he quietly saw to it that they were posted somewhere more suited to their talents and without public humiliation.
The demands of the war required Longstreet to be sent, along with his men, to Tennessee. There Longstreet quarreled with his new boss. But rather than continue to work with him as Lee had done, his new boss exiled him to an out of the way backwater where Longstreet would be free to pursue his own plans. Those plans went nowhere and the following April found Longstreet back in Virginia under Lee again. After the war he rose to senior management in the federal bureaucracy where he seems to have been comfortable.
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