I read this story this morning from one of my HR newsletters and I thought it was a really good story. It's a little long, but worth the read.
Mr. Lockhart's Do-Over
Sometimes you learn important lessons from the most unlikely places. I once learned a terrific lesson about leadership from a milkman. It happened in 1954, when I was eight years old.
At this stage of my life, two important events happened at the same time—Mother's Day and the carnival. Both required money, so I had to save for months. That year I had hoarded my fifty-cent weekly allowance until I had saved six whole dollars—two dollars to buy my mom a pair of the Mother's Day earrings she had pointed out to me at a local jewelry store, two dollars for food and bus fare, and two dollars for an unlimited ride pass at the carnival. (I loved the Octopus. In fact, I loved every single thing about the carnival.)
When I got off the bus the day I set off to buy Mom's earrings and take a look at the carnival, I could hear the joyous sounds of the kid rides a couple of blocks away. But first things first—I had to get those earrings. As I approached the jewelry store, the cry of the carnival beckoned me. It was so inviting that I decided to put off buying the Mother's Day earrings and go straight for the home of the Loopty-Loop. The thoughts of cotton candy and the fun house were more than I could withstand. This, of course, was my first mistake.
I made my second mistake when I arrived at the carnival itself. Instead of going directly to the ticket booth and buying my unlimited ride pass, I moseyed into the midway where a hoard of carnies tried to get me to toss baseballs or pop balloons. I resisted any temptation to compete until I came across a booth that offered as its prize small cages containing parakeets. I had never seen such birds. They were blue and green—almost florescent—and I soon learned that you could teach them to talk.
Mom would like one of these birds way more than any old earrings! Why, just look at the gorgeous creatures! And all I had to do was throw a dime and land it on a plate—a huge plate no less. And there were dozens of plates. So I eagerly cashed in a dollar for ten dimes. The first one hit right on a plate—oh boy oh boy oh boy!—but then it bounced off. But it almost landed on another plate. This was going to be easy. After bouncing six dimes and winning nothing, I stared to get discouraged. But the nice fellow who worked the counter told me not to worry—I was bound to win soon.
And so went the two dollars I had set aside for food and return bus fare. Nevertheless, if I won, I could use the two dollars I'd set aside for the earrings and I'd be back to even. The next twenty dimes bounced pretty much like the first twenty. But once again, the fellow behind the counter was certain I would soon win.
As I clutched my last two dollars, I was tempted to walk straight to the jewelry store before it was too late, but one of the parakeets chirped, "Pretty bird!"—at least, I thought it did—and that's all it took. I had twenty more chances to buy the best present any kid had ever bought his mom for Mother's Day!
The three-mile walk home that day was a miserable one. I hadn't eaten anything, I didn't have a present, and boy was I going to get in trouble when mom found out what I had done. As I walked down the last mile of the dirt road that led home, my next door neighbor, George Lockhart, drove up in his milk truck. George got up every day at the crack of dawn and delivered milk to stores and families around town. He was on his way home. Normally I would have been thrilled to hitch a ride—you know, ride up front with a guy wearing a milkman uniform and white hat; maybe he'd even give me a fudgecicle. But not this day. I had just suffered the great parakeet debacle of 1954.
One look at me and Mr. Lockhart could tell I was unhappy. As I told him my story about the beautiful birds—I mean really, you could teach them to talk and everything!—I told him how I'd lost all my money, and he nodded knowingly but didn't say a word. Eventually, when we got to his house, he turned to me and said, "I've done you a good turn by giving you a ride home, would you do something for me? I've just had a new load of wood delivered, and I need some of it chopped into kindling." Then he handed me a large sharp ax.
All right! I'd get to swing a really cool ax and I wouldn't have to go home and face the music! Now, before you go all safety-conscious on me, let me remind you that this was in 1954. Back then eight-year-olds went to the carnival by themselves, walked long distances alone, and yes, they even swung the occasional ax. Well, I did anyway.
After a couple of hours, Mr. Lockhart reappeared, gave my stack of kindling a nod of approval, and said it was getting dark and I should go home. As I turned down the path that connected our two houses, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around and there was Mr. Lockhart. In his right hand he was holding a wad of six one-dollar bills. "This is for the work you did." Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
Six dollars! At age eight, and on that particular day, it was like a million dollars to me. I could hardly wait to get home and tell Mom what had happened.
Now, let's think about what Mr. Lockhart had done. He heard the story of how foolish I had been. Of course, he knew that my intentions were pure. He realized that I had made an innocent mistake. And he knew that I had learned from the experience. And so, instead of lecturing me—something I really didn't need—he didn't say a word. Instead of keeping me from trying again, he set me up for another go around.
He gave me a do-over—and it was exactly the right thing to do. When I returned to town the next morning—six dollars in hand—I went straight to the jewelry store and bought the beautiful earrings Mom wanted. She wore them on special occasions for over fifty years. When I made my way over to the carnival, I wouldn't let myself walk within a half-block of the parakeets. I knew I'd be too weak to resist the temptation. Averting the siren call of "Pretty bird!" I bought a wad of cotton candy and an unlimited ride pass, and spun myself into oblivion.
I had learned several lessons that day. But the real lesson here is the one I learned from Mr. Lockhart about leadership.
When direct reports make a sizeable mistake, stop and ask yourself what they really need.
Were they well intended? Did they not know any better? Have they learned their lesson and what they really need now is support? Football coaches understand this. Watch what happens when a field goal kicker misses an important field goal. When the fans are jeering, booing, and threatening to hang the kicker in effigy, the coach is typically encouraging the poor fellow. There will be more kicks—maybe soon—and it's not like the kicker didn't care. At this point, what he needs is confidence, not criticism. Later you may help him work on his technique, but for now, you're going to give him a do-over.
And so, when someone messes up big time at work—or perhaps it's one of your kids who lets you down—when your natural inclination is to lay on a lecture and lay it on thick, think about old George and ask yourself: Does this person need a do-over?
Sometimes it's just what the milkman ordered.
