People do the darnedest things

Jun 1, 2005 12:00 AM, By M. Richard Vinocur

Vinocur’s Perspective

My wife and I spent a recent weekend with our grandsons. One of my duties was to escort the oldest, Max, to Little League practice. Having coached for nearly 10 years, I could hardly wait to see Max in action. He’s not yet eight and is one of the youngest players on the team. While the kids took batting practice, I sat on the bench with two fathers who are much younger than I am. One teaches business at a local college and the other is an investment banker. The conversation moved to a discussion of companies and the mistakes many corporations make.

I told my "Devil’s Advocate" story. About 20 years ago, I wrote that I had seen companies do so many stupid things I was launching a new company called Devil’s Advocate. Tongue in cheek, I suggested, "Before you do anything—hire, fire, merge, acquire, implement a new marketing strategy, advertise or promote—call me and I’ll tell you whether or not it’s stupid." In a week’s time I had received 10 phone calls from people looking to buy my new service.

Staff gaffes
One of the fathers asked why I think companies do stupid things. I responded, "The one thing all companies have in common is that they have no option but to hire people. And people make mistakes."

I happened to catch part of a new TV show, "The Office," while channel surfing one day. It’s an American version of a popular BBC offering. In the episode, one character said to the general manager, "Let me tell the staff. I’m the assistant general manager." The GM countered, "No, you’re the assistant to the general manager."

I told the two Little League fathers that repartee reminded me of the first time I realized companies and their people make mistakes.

It was nearly 50 years ago in New York City. I had landed my first job as an associate editor on three publications. Don’t laugh, but the titles were Starchroom Laundry Journal, National Cleaner & Dyer and Sports Age. (I took the job because I had been sports editor of the Ohio State Lantern, the campus daily.) I had a choice to be a copyboy for the New York Daily News for $40 a week or to take this job, which paid $65. The decision was a no-brainer.

About six months into the job, an editor of one of the other 14 magazines published called me for a favor. He asked, "Would you interview an applicant for me? He went to Ohio State and you might know him." I was a young kid, still wet behind the ears, and I had no idea what to ask Arthur Radwin, the candidate. He came into my cubicle and I had never seen him before, but I went through the motions of interviewing him. "So, why do you want this job?" I asked. He told me $80 a week was a nice starting salary. Remember, I had been there six months and was only making $65.

Me and my big mouth
I cut the interview short and barged into the GM’s office. Regular readers know I have a quick tongue. "I quit," I told Ned Wintersteen, explaining what had just happened. After calming me down, Wintersteen called the American Business Press association and asked for the human resources manager. I heard him tell the person on the other end of the phone line, "I want to give someone a raise, but I can only do it if we give him a new title. What’s better, assistant editor or assistant to the editor?" The voice on the other end must have said, "Assistant to the editor." He hung up and told me I had been promoted and that my salary was being raised to $90 a week. I was euphoric.

Within minutes, a notice was posted on the bulletin board announcing my promotion. I preferred the associate editor title, but the salary hike was more important. After the announcement was posted, other editors asked me what had happened and, like an idiot, I told them. Wintersteen soon summoned me back to his office. He berated me for my big mouth, which continued to get me into trouble for the rest of my career. He stormed out of his office, ripped the notice from the bulletin board and told me, "You’ll keep the raise, but you’re demoted back to associate editor." It was the best of both worlds.

Both Little League fathers chuckled at my story. I pointed out that when you think about it, virtually everyone in that cast of characters screwed up. The other editor should never have asked a rookie to interview. The candidate should never have said the salary was the reason he wanted the job. The company should never have had a rule that a salary increase could only be based on a promotion. The GM should never have made the promotion public. And, of course, yours truly should never have opened his big mouth.

It all reminds me of one of my favorite movie lines from the 1959 film, "Some Like It Hot." It’s the last line. Jack Lemmon’s character is posing as a woman, Daphne, to escape the mob. Joe E. Brown’s character, Osgood, wants to marry Daphne. After going through a litany of excuses, Lemmon, frustrated beyond belief, pulls off his wig and shouts, "But Osgood, I’m a man!" whereupon Brown utters, "Well, nobody’s perfect." I guess that’s true in business, as well. Next month, I’ll recount yet another "stupid company story." In the meantime, if you’ve got one I can add to my collection, e-mail me.