CHAPTER 2
First Impressions
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge, fitter to bruise than polish.
— Anne Bradstreet
Two years have passed since I returned from my adventure in Houston. Yet, every once in a while, something unexpected brings back vivid memories of the past. That’s what happened yesterday. When I arrived home from work, I found a note from Paul on the refrigerator. He had a meeting with a client which included dinner. He sent his love and said he would see me about nine. There was a letter postmarked Houston lying on the counter. It began:
Dear Rachel,
I’ll bet you’re surprised to receive this a couple of years after your brief stay at TYH. I was with a group of friends last night having dinner at Oscar’s, and we got to talking about you. Do you remember what things were like when you came here?
Two Years Earlier: Houston
As I read those words, my thoughts went back to a rainy September day two years ago. It was my fourth day in Houston, and I was sitting at the top of the landing in the two-story apartment complex where I would live for the next few months. It was nothing like home but temporarily passable. Arrangements had been made over the phone. My new home was in one of those brick buildings with four or five dozen units surrounding two swimming pools. I had received a security card, and when I drove through the iron gates and they slowly closed behind me, I knew I was in the big city. But, here I was sopping wet on the landing, a small bag of dripping groceries beside me, my purse open, its contents sprawled out next to me, and searching frantically for my door key.
I had arrived on Friday and spent the day moving in. This was Monday, my first day at the office, and I wondered if I had left it on my desk. I heard a cough and, looking to my left, saw two brown oxfords beside me. “I hope I didn’t startle you,” said my neighbor Elizabeth Powell, a slim gray-haired woman I had met briefly when I was moving in. “I was wondering if I could help.”
I looked up. Frankly, I was glad to see a friendly face. Things had been pretty frosty my first day at TYH. In fact, the only friendly face I had seen the whole day belonged to Judy Simpson, the temporary secretary brought in to assist me. We were in the same boat. No one knew, or cared to know, either of us. When I went around to introduce myself, people had been polite but not very welcoming. Who could blame them? Another temporary replacement from PWE had arrived on the scene. I was an outsider just as Elroy had predicted. It was up to me to prove myself. I knew I would, but at the moment “how” escaped me.
Elizabeth picked up the milk and frozen orange juice. “I’ll just put these in my refrigerator so they don’t spoil, “she said, shaking the water off of them. “You need a towel, my dear.” She invited me for tea promising to call the manager or maintenance, who, she assured me, would bring a key right up. I replaced the contents in my purse and followed her across the hall. As we entered the apartment, I heard a husky male voice from another room. “That you, Lizzy?” “It’s just Lucien,” said Elizabeth. “He’s surfing the net, but I refuse to answer when he calls me Lizzy. He knows I hate that.”
As Elizabeth poured two steaming cups of tea, she told me that Lucien was searching for background data for a paper he was writing about culture and values in today’s business world. He had retired two years before and had published several articles about business since then. The Powells had recently sold their home and were looking for a smaller one. In the meantime, they were transients, like me. I told Elizabeth, who asked me to call her Beth, that I had been sent to Houston by Perry Winkle Enterprises to replace the recently departed wholesale marketing supervisor for To Your Health. I was concerned that I might be walking into a nest of swarming hornets. Sales had fallen and, according to the former Marketing Manager Ben Turner, the staff weren’t happy at all. There were even undertones that people might be looking elsewhere for jobs. Beth provided a sympathetic ear, and I was thankful for that. At the moment, a good listener was exactly what I needed.
Meanwhile, lured by the smell of freshly-baked oatmeal cookies, Lucien joined us. He was a tall slender man in his sixties, with more sandy hair than most men half his age. He entered the conversation briefly—long enough for me to learn that he had spent the last ten years of his career at TYH. “It’s probably a different world than you’re used to,” he told me. His words, “If I might make a suggestion,” were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was the manager, master-key in hand. Thanking Beth for the cookies and tea, I departed. Lucien looked disappointed. “Come back any time,” he told me. I knew I would, but at that moment, I had no idea how often it would be.
When I returned to my apartment that night, I found the missing key on the night stand beside my bed. On the small desk in my bedroom was my laptop computer. Before I went to bed, I sent a brief message to Elroy.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
TYH seems like such a cold place. Where are the free spirits you might expect to see in a company that is dedicated to health? The walls are painted white, and there are a precious few pictures scattered here and there. The offices I passed today were all but devoid of decorations. It was almost as if everything and everyone was temporary, and someone had cleaned up the place to be ready for the next tenant.
And it’s too quiet for me—a far cry from the noisy energy of Perry Winkle Enterprises. People stay in their offices and mostly seem to speak in whispers. Thank goodness the place is carpeted. If not, I might have been spooked by the echo of my footsteps as I walked down the hall.
Tomorrow, as pre-arranged by you, I am to meet the President, Altis Dunlop, for lunch. I also plan to introduce myself to the marketing group. Judy, my temporary assistant, is arranging a meeting for 3 p.m. I wonder what they will be like and how they will react to one more person parachuting in from Perry Winkle Enterprises. Stay tuned.
Rachel
Tuesday morning began with the arduous tasks of moving in. The four boxes I had packed so carefully before leaving PWE stood sentinel beside my desk. They did nothing to harm the décor of my office. My temporary quarters had the look of a room in an inexpensive motel. I made a mental note: if I were going to make it through the next three months, I’d need to do something to warm it up.
Just then, Judy walked in to report on the status of today’s meeting. A tall, slim middle-aged woman, she had an air of competence and the warmest smile I had seen at To Your Health. Four of the marketers had indicated they were coming—a little reluctantly, she reported. The fifth had offered her apologies. Gayle was sick with a stomach virus and would be out today and possibly tomorrow. Judy handed me the personnel files I had requested earlier. I decided to read through them before the meeting, but I would skim the performance appraisals, preferring to make my own assessments. Judy lingered long enough to give me some bad news. She was looking for a permanent job and would probably be leaving in two weeks. She asked, and received, permission to do some interviewing. I made a mental note to call Human Resources. I liked Judy, and I wondered if there were some chance TYH could make her an offer. Then I returned to the folders. I was in the midst of them when the phone rang. It was Judy. “I just wanted to remind you of your lunch appointment,” she said.
Management at TYH
Lunch with Altis Dunlop, President of TYH, was not at all what I expected. He seemed a man suspended in time and space. He let me know he was not sure he would be staying since he had been offered a separation package by PWE and had been given three months to make a decision. That was over a month ago. We talked about many things, but nothing of substance. Looking back, I realize it was little more than a courtesy meeting. Altis was a man in his late fifties. His thinning hair and high-pitched voice made him seem much older. He had been president of TYH for five years, moving up from Vice President to President shortly before Griff Lawrence, then CEO, retired. Now he was considering the separation offer, but he told me he was also waiting to see what, if any, other opportunitie
s PWE might present.
Based on early impressions of Altis and my long association with PWE, I could have told him not to hold his breath. When PWE offers a manager the opportunity to make a graceful exit, there’s little more to say than yes. Should you choose to remain, the next step is generally corporate oblivion, with your new (and much smaller) desk moved to some forgotten corner, a secretary that visits on alternate Fridays and an obscure administrative project that no one bothers to ask about because no one really cares.
During lunch, Altis expressed concern about Ben Turner saying he hoped the marketing job hadn’t been responsible for his heart trouble. I hoped so too. He wished me luck and told me if he could help, give him a call. That was it. Any attempts I made to get his perspective on why marketing was in the doldrums were met with vague comments like, “I think the people in Marketing might want to help you with that.” Altis suggested I talk with Charlie Rothstein, the previous head of Marketing, who was now managing the plant in Sugar Land. He said Charlie had been with TYH for over twenty years and knew “where all the bodies were buried.”
The Marketers
So, I was back on my own and looking forward to meeting the marketers with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety. In retrospect, I think they knew that as yesterday’s letter points out.
I’ll bet you weren’t exactly thrilled with our first meeting: one missing, one late, and all of us acting like we were part of a command performance at the home of a spinster aunt.
I laugh as I think about that comment. It is only too accurate. The meeting was scheduled for three. First to arrive was Alicia Juarez. A small, slim woman, she was carrying a folder, a pen and a steno pad in one hand and a can of soda in the other. Almost from the moment she entered the room, Alicia seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting with her pen, tapping on the soda can and responding to my friendly inquiries with all the spontaneity of a contestant picking letters for Wheel of Fortune.
Alicia processed all the orders, and dealt with customer complaints. She was thirty-five and had worked in the sales office of TYH for six years. According to her file, she was a hard worker, arriving at seven each morning. Ben had expressed concern because she stayed every afternoon until 5:30 or later, rarely leaving her office and eating lunch at her desk. She had a degree in Business Administration, and I was puzzled that she was in a support staff position. A previous supervisor had noted that Alicia had been offered, and had rejected, a better paying sales position. He didn’t say why, but I resolved to find out more.
Stuart Kennedy and Katy Jackson walked in together: I had heard them laughing and talking as they neared my office, but when they entered the door, they were silent and solemn. I introduced myself, and Stuart smiled as he shook my hand. Did I feel a slight pressure in the joints of my fingers, or was that my imagination? A slim athletic-looking man in his early forties, Stuart was of medium height, blond and slightly graying. It was his expression that caught me off guard. Was his smile patronizing and a bit sardonic, or was I just reacting to some of the “press releases” in his personnel file? Ben had described him as cynical and disgruntled. The manager before Ben had found him argumentative. His file suggested that Stuart had been a real go-getter at TYH, at one time slated for company management. I wondered if he had gotten caught in the flattening of the organization or had been moved aside because of his attitude. Perhaps these two factors were linked, and he was disappointed that his career at TYH hadn’t taken the direction he wanted. Either way, I resolved to keep an open mind.
I turned toward Katy, extending my hand. A tall, athletic black woman, she looked like a poster girl for health products. As she shook my outstretched hand, I had the feeling she was sizing me up. Katy’s file was filled with glowing recommendations from her former professors at Stanford. A relatively new hire, she was twenty-three and had been with To Your Health for about seven months. She had come to TYH in the midst of crisis with the company on a down curve and constant changes in management. Until now, she had not lived up to Marketing’s high expectations of her. I wondered if she had received the help she needed to succeed.
The four of us engaged in the usual small talk. How was my trip? Was I finding everything I needed? How did I like Houston? To Your Health was a little company, a big change from Perry Winkle Enterprises, wasn’t it? I asked them questions I already knew the answer to. How long have you been here? What are you doing now? All efforts to fill the time as we waited for the last member of our group, Tom Gaines. I looked at my watch. He was now ten minutes late. We were not off to an auspicious beginning. The file on Tom Gaines had been enlightening, to say the least. He was the quintessential salesman-–the man everyone liked. That didn’t include me, at least not right now.
“Where’s Gayle,” Alicia asked, waking me from my reverie.
“I understand she has a virus,” I responded.
I remember the way Stuart and Katy looked at each other, then quickly back at me. “Yes,” said Stuart. “I hear it’s going around.” Katy giggled.
I decided to ignore what was going on, making a mental note to ask Judy what she knew about Gayle.
I remember how I felt when Tom finally showed up, twenty minutes late and with Charlie Rothstein in tow. A stocky man with a thick neck and a big smile, he put out a large, fleshy hand. “Hi, Rachel,” he said, as if he’d known me for years. “Meet Charlie Rothstein, the sugar man from Sugar Land.” I smiled and put out my hand. Frankly, I was annoyed, but I remembered something Elroy had said to me many years ago. There had been angry words in a meeting, and some of them were mine. After the meeting, he had come to my office, sat down and looking me straight in the eye said, “This isn’t personal, Rachel. It’s business. Get emotional and you’ve lost.”
“But, they finally saw it my way,” I had said, not a little defensively.
“Did they? They may have conceded, but they will remember how you reacted. Word gets around. Next time, people may come at you from a more adversarial position. Take it from somebody who’s been there. You have to pick your battles. Remember, negotiation is more rewarding than confrontation. It’s also more lasting.”
With Tom Gaines, I recognized a no-win situation immediately. First, I knew I was being tested—and in front of a very important audience. I had a position of authority, and that made me doubly careful about using it. The group would take my measure based on how I responded, so rather than be heavy-handed, I decided to greet Charlie and Tom as if nothing had happened and wait until later to find out why Tom was late.
Charlie said he had to go. I thanked him for coming by and said I’d like to meet with him as soon as it was convenient. He left, promising to call me in the morning. From what I had been told by Altis Dunlop, Charlie Rothstein would make a powerful ally. I decided to do my best to make that happen.
As for Tom, I waited until the meeting was over and asked him to stay for just a moment. He knew why. The minute the others left, he apologized for being late. “I was on the phone with a customer,” he told me. I nodded my understanding, and he was gone. We had both played “the game.” I had forced him to explain, and, of course, he came up with the answer I could not refute. The discussion had neither helped, nor hurt, but it allowed both of us to save face.
What about the meeting? I had originally planned to ask the marketers to help me understand what was happening at TYH. After the first few minutes, I realized they were being evasive and that no questions I asked stood the slightest chance of being answered, so I used the time to get acquainted.
From my perception, we were off to a rocky start. After twenty minutes of introductions, I promised to visit with each of them individually in the next few days and asked that they spend some time thinking about what they might want to discuss. Then the meeting was over, except for my short discussion with Tom.
My second full day at TYH had given me much to think about. Before leaving for the apartment, I sent a quick e-mail to Elroy.
To: [email protected]
From: r
[email protected]
Lunch with President: formal. Meeting with Marketers: more formal. Short tour of building: most formal. TYH needs to loosen up. Talk to you later.
Rachel
When I got back to my apartment, there was a computer note taped to the door. “Come to dinner. We’re having chicken and dumplings. No excuses. Beth is the world’s greatest cook.” It was signed Lucien Powell. Underneath those words, was a handwritten postscript. “Dinner is at 7. Please come. Beth”
After a delicious dinner, and at her insistence, Lucien and I had sat in two comfortable rockers while Beth cleaned up the dishes. “In this postage stamp kitchen, you’ll only be in the way,” she had said of my offers to help. “You go keep Lucky company. I won’t be long.”
“Is coffee on the way?” Lucien had asked.
“You know it is,” said Beth.
“Is Lucky your nickname?” I asked.
“Only to Lizzy,” he replied.
I smiled. They were truly a warm and affectionate couple, and I hoped to introduce Paul when and if he could pay a visit to Houston. “What can you tell me about TYH?” I asked Lucien, knowing it had been only two years since he retired.
“Which TYH are you interested in? The one we had ten years ago, five years ago, or when I left?” he asked me. “The headquarters TYH or the plant in Sugar Land?” he continued.
Apparently the company had made several key changes. My dilemma was I didn’t know which one to ask about. So I responded, “All the above.” That evening, I began to understand some things about TYH.
Morale at To Your Health, Lucien’s Story
The Art of Mentoring Page 3
