March 11, 2010
The Levels in Action
Bob Costas vs. the Jerk
 |
| NBC Sportscaster Bob Costas |
I felt presumptuous handing a pro like Costas 60 index cards with my recommended wording for each introduction. To my surprise, he sat with me and patiently went through all of them. He read them aloud, adding comments like “nice” or “I like that.” A few times, he asked, “Would you mind if I changed this one?” I couldn’t believe a man of his status would seek my approval for anything, and of course, he wasn’t really asking permission but being gracious. He even sought me out later, as people were leaving, to say good bye. “Thanks for your help, John,” he said. “It was great to meet you.” I was surprised that after all the events of the day, he still recalled my name.
A year earlier at the same event, I had a less pleasant encounter with a different big-time announcer, whose name I’ll omit. His office hadn’t returned my calls and faxes, so I sought him out before the event to touch base. He scanned the one-page speech I gave him, scowled, and uttered words I’ll never forget: “What’s up with all this charity [excrement]?”
I explained that the luncheon was, in fact, a fund raiser for the charity in question. I said it was a “tradition” for the emcee to mention the organization by name, thank people for coming, and say a few words about where the money would go. “I don’t need this,” he said as he handed the paper back to me. Then he turned his head as though I were no longer there.
Defining Moments
For years, I thought these incidents stuck in my mind because celebrities were involved. That’s certainly part of it but not the important part, I’ve realized. A brush with celebrity tends to fade from memory over time, but close encounters with Level 2 hubris or Level 3 empathy leave a lasting impression.
When I started to write this column, I wasn’t thinking about Bob Costas or the other guy. I was thinking of various managers and colleagues I’ve known in my work life, and how memory tends to collapse a great many impressions into one defining moment. |
Costas behaved like a Level 3 kind of guy. He could see I was a young staffer trying to make an event filled with VIPs run smoothly. He empathized with me and gave me the gift of his time and his encouragement.
The other fellow seemed annoyed that his network had assigned him a charity gig, and he was in no mood to mask his pique and be civil to a non-profit peon like me. He dripped with disdain until the spotlight was on him, then he was charming. It was Level 2 behavior at its worst.
Within organizations, leaders are celebrities of a sort. Their actions are watched more closely and carry more impact. This is never more true than when words or action expose a Level 2 or 3 disposition. The latter inspires admiration and trust; the former accomplishes just the opposite.
When I started to write this column, I wasn’t thinking about Bob Costas or the other guy. I was thinking of various managers and colleagues I’ve known in my work life, and how memory tends to collapse a great many impressions into one defining moment.
The leader who wrote a personal check to cover the broken promise of a bonus … the visiting senior VP who indulged in a 20-minute description of his new yacht … the director who struggled to keep his voice from cracking as he delivered news of layoffs … a quite different director who gloated that the same layoff would end the career of one of his critics.
As a leader, you may not recognize a moment in which you’re making a deep impression. As far as you’re concerned, you’re simply going about your business and being yourself.
That’s precisely what people notice.
By John Keenan, Editor
Return to the Home
Last changed: Jul 01 2009 at 8:07 AM