One of the reasons I'm going

 What follows are my observations of a speech my new boss gave to a group of his managers last year.

A leadership moment

It was 4 o'clock on the final afternoon of a three-day, midlevel manager’s meeting. A hundred or so auditors were thinking about getting home, getting a drink, or both. The room was a large conference hall, stocked with 70 tables in 10 rows facing a big stage, fluorescent lights overhead, the kind of windowless light that makes everyone look slightly gray. The kind of room that sucks the oxygen out of the air.

The Director got up to make his closing remarks. He started with recognition of several people who were retiring, offering up thanks and honoring their years of service. People clapped, their enthusiasm dependent on how well they knew or cared about each of the of the retirees. The applause died down. People glanced at the clock, their watches. The Director fumbled with his first slide, made a self-deprecating remark about his need for glasses. Polite laughter.

The slide came up. Twelve expectations for the way ahead. A recap of what they’d been talking about for three days. Setting clear expectations with customers and following through. Finishing any audit they started. Being timely. Getting through the audit backlog. Taking care of the workforce. Communicating better. After he read each one, he paused. At one point, somewhere around the middle of the list, he said, “I need you to get this done. Can you get this done?”

The silence was deadly. He tried again.

“If there’s barriers or impediments to getting this done, I need to know about them.”

More silence. There was only 30 minutes until they were released. Home. That drink. He continued with the list. They snuck another look at the clock.

He finished with number 12. Paused. Those of us on his side worried a little bit. He was somber. The oxygen continued to leak out of the room.

Then he said, “You know, we’ve had a lot of critics.” Got his second slide up. A long quote. Someone in the audience took off his glasses, rubbed his nose wearily, and put them back on. His neighbor sat next to him, staring stonily ahead.

The Director said, “This is a good quote. Anybody know who said it?”

A voice piped up from the back: “Teddy Roosevelt.”

“Yes! Very good,” he said, obviously pleased. Then he read it out loud.

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood ...”

He stopped there and said, “‘marred by dust and sweat and blood.’ That’s a great line, isn’t it?” He sounded a little like a kid. You could feel the start of a slight smile in the crowd.

He continued.

“... whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

As he read further, his voice took on a different tone, raising in enthusiasm. Reverence for the wisdom of Teddy Roosevelt. A certain sense of determination.

“I really like that quote,” he said, looking out at the crowd. Then, with a self-awareness that foreshadowed the integrity that was to follow, he said, “I think that quote is really for me.” He laughed, and the managers laughed too, genuine this time. The energy in the room began to shift.

“We have a lot of critics,” he repeated. The pause was short, but pointed. “Frankly,” he said, “I’m sick of the critics.”

The guy in the glasses looked up from the table.

The Director seemed to pull himself upright, straightening up from his bend toward the microphone. But no one had any trouble hearing the conviction in his next words.

“This is a damned good organization,” he said. There was a crack of emotion in his voice that was barely discernible.

No one was looking at the clock anymore.

“We have a great workforce, and you do excellent work. I’ve been listening to the critics for two years. The naysayers are wrong. It’s time to stop apologizing.”

The shift was palpable now. The room woke up. The oxygen came back.

“We have got to prove them wrong,” he said. “I have faith that we can do that. I have faith in you.”

Picture an organization that has been kicked so many times that it doesn’t even bother getting up anymore. The kicks still come, but they’d gotten pretty good at contortionist moves that made the blows bearable. Here was a man who was daring them to get up. Fight back. Who was ready to fight with them. His next words conveyed his certainty.

“Let’s get it done.”

Completely uncharacteristic of this crowd, they gave him a standing ovation. Auditors, enthusiastic. Unmistakable amazement. One woman started to cry. A crusty senior manager shook his hand and said, “Let’s get ‘er done.” Managers shaking other managers’ hands. Hope, embodied in an artificially lit room.

A leadership moment.