Regular readers of this blog—and those who attend my public presentations—know that I was shouting the virtues of transparency long before the recession made the term a household word.
What you may not know is that my first insights into the subject began much earlier—with one of my seventh grade teachers.
In the 1970s, Carolyn Higginbotham was a guidance counselor and teacher at the only school in Holden, Louisiana.
"Ms. Carolyn" was considered somewhat of a radical among the traditional southern teachers of the day. In fact, the blue-haired disciplinarians with their combination rulers and seat warmers thought she was a little nuts.
In her classroom, she and the students designated 25% of the room as a combination library and student lounge by carpeting the floor. Students were led to work together, and when their teams completed tasks on time, they could relax in the makeshift lounge.
This strategy dramatically increased team morale and individual self-esteem by spotlighting both group and individual accomplishments.
[If Ms. Carolyn is reading this, she has crossed out at least half of the words in the preceding paragraphs with a red Sharpie, but I am not embarrassed. One of the first tenets she taught me about writing was that you can break the rules, as long as you know a rule and have chosen to ignore it as a matter of style.]
My class had conducted a fund raiser, and with the money collected, we were directed to purchase something for our student lounge—something that would serve generations of junior high students to come.
As a lesson in democracy, Ms. Carolyn tasked us with campaigning and voting for our vision of that ideal purchase. After hours of debate, the majority vote was in favor of the new Saturday Night Fever record album, featuring an up and coming actor named John Travolta.
Ms. Carolyn thought our idea was unwise—I would have said "stupid" but she hated that word with a passion—but she wanted the class to discover the error of our ways on our own. To assist, she began what she later called "shining the light" on the absurdity of the situation.
Today, I think of the approach as "exaggerating transparency".
It works like this: If your colleagues in a debate do not possess the sense of urgency you know they should have, you can cut through the noise quickly by exaggerating an option that mirrors the one gaining the popular vote.
In the middle of our debate, the teacher raised her hand.
"I'm changing my vote," she said.
"I think Perry Como's Greatest Hits would be a wiser choice. Saturday Night Fever is new and unproven, but this album has stood the test of time."
Some of the class grew annoyed, almost angry, others found confirmation that their teacher was bonkers, but an inspired minority actually saw the light.
I was among that inspired minority, and I count Ms. Carolyn's light as one of the best tools in my leadership toolbox today, but—as you might have guessed—when I use it, some on my team get annoyed, some get really, really angry, and some just think I'm nuts.
However…
There is still that inspired minority that see the light, giving me hope that Ms. Carolyn's torch to transparency will serve them as wonderfully as it has me.
I'll bet you're wondering what became of Carolyn Higginbotham.
Today, she leads the team that manages federal programs for the Livingston Parish School Board.
Unfortunately, I haven't spoken with her since the 1980s. I believe she had just gotten back from astronaut training, when I asked her to assist me with a murder.
...but those are stories for another day.
No comments:
Post a Comment