Parables For Men of Management

By Sam T. Greene

 Men of management are a breed all to themselves. They think in terms not shared by other en. They typically communicate with each other in phrases and concepts that are vivid, breezy, and tangy with a free-swinging imagination unshackled by fears of being thought unusual. Instead they dread the thought of being "ordinary."

Sam T. Greene has been communicating with such men successfully for nearly a quarter century and it is little wonder that he has developed a message all his own, a unique style, and an ability to drive home his story with power-packed punch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederick Fell Publishers, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780883914748

Sam T. Greene

In a manner of speaking, Sam T. Greene was born with the smell of printer's ink in his nostrils, inasmuch as his father and grandfather were both newpapermen before him. In his early days young Sam sought to break away from family tradition by becoming a cattle rancher but fate intervened and he found himself owning and editing a weekly newspaper in the desert country of southern Arizona. This he appropriately named the Cactus Blade. After serving with distinction in World War I he returned to civil life and again engaged in various aspects of the printing and publishing business. He has been publisher of Supervision magazine since 1940 and editor for the past nine years.

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Preface

When I became Editor of the monthly magazine, SUPERVISION, a few years ago, I had some misgivings about the assignment. It wasn’t that the gathering and editing of material for each issue was such a difficult task. We had many sources throughout the nation and a competent cadre of contributors. But rather, it was that I was dismayed at the prospect of each month coming up with an editorial which would satisfy me and which the subscribers would read. The chore of composing—month in and month out—a message that is supposed to be weighted with wisdom and ringing with challenge to the reader seemed to be more than I should attempt. Besides, there was the sneaking, nagging suspicion that most editorials are read only by the editors who write them.

Of course, in a current-topic publication the problem is not so serious. There is almost always a burning issue into which an editor can get his teeth. But a management journal is something else again. Here, our mission is to provide help and useful information to the men who supervise the work force of industry. Nevertheless, we had an editorial page—and what were we going to do about it?

Necessity, the mother of invention, and her handmaiden, laziness, came to our rescue with an IDEA. The idea was to kick the editorial, as such, out the window and replace it with a human interest yarn which would get our point across without recourse to a welter of pontification. We would select some character from Biblical or secular history—or from everyday life, for that matter, and use him as the standard bearer or villain, as the case might be. To qualify, this individual would need to have demonstrated some management virtue or some management sin. Then, we would tell the story as interestingly as we could and let the reader pick out the moral for himself. And, finally, we would call these true stories parables instead of editorials.

Well, the idea caught on; and many readers of the Magazine have urged that these Minute Messages be gathered together and published in book form. We hearkened to this grassroots demand, and now present to you, PARABLES FOR MEN OF MAN- demand, and now present to you, PARABLES FOR MEN IN MANAGEMENT. We hope you get as much pleasure from reading and using them as we got from putting them together.—STG.

Concentratability

ONE OF the earlier practitioners of work simplification and methods improvement was a Greek by the name of Archimedes. This man operated in the ancient city of Syracuse during the third century B.C., and although he is best known for his discovery of the law of specific gravity his mechanical inventions were numerous and diverse.

ARCHIMEDES also was a supervisor of no mean accomplishment for, although he worked for King Hiero, he headed up a large and well staffed laboratory on the palace grounds. But the thing that makes this man interesting to us is one particular quality which he had in generous measure, and which every supervisor must develop if he aspires to become any great shakes as a problem solver.

THIS QUALITY was demonstrated most dramatically, at the close of his life, at the ripe age of 75. After many years of peace, prosperity, and progress, Archimedes and his fellow Syracusans found themselves behind the eight ball. A powerful host under the Roman general, Marcellus, laid siege to their fair city, and the outlook was dim indeed.

NEVERTHELESS, our man was in there pitching. He invented all sorts of engines of war: grapnels that pulled enemy ships out of the water by one end and then allowed them to fall back and sink; great engines for hurling stones; and giant mirrors that concentrated the sun’s rays and set the ships afire. It was a tough struggle, and the commotion was terrific, but never once did Archimedes get rattled; never once did he allow himself to be distracted; never once did he fail to concentrate on the problem in hand — he had schooled himself that well.

THE ROMANS eventually won out and Marcellus sent a soldier to pick up Archimedes and bring him into headquarters, with specific orders to spare his life. Archimedes, though, wouldn’t go until he had finished a mathematical problem. So the soldier blew his stack and killed a man whose concentratability — ability to concentrate — was unimpaired even in the face of defeat and death.

Value of Follow-Through

THE Battle of Gettysburg was first fought nearly a hundred years ago and has been since fought a thousand times by historians, military experts, and arm-chair strategists the world over. So… one more crack at it may be permissible—especially as the story of this three-day wing ding contains so many lessons for those of us who are in management. Actually, any good account of this battle might well be called a How-not-to classic.

COMMUNICATIONS were generally pretty inefficient in that day. Few of the orders were written out, and this resulted in misunderstandings and consequent costly blunders. Management elements disagreed among themselves, on both sides, and wasted much valuable time in futile tugs-of-war. But the thing that seems most worthy of mention here is an incident which took place in the afternoon of the first day of this memorable conflict.

THE Union Army had been dislodged from its position on Seminary Ridge and was retreating in considerable disorder. The Confeds were yelping at their heels, even though they themselves were pretty well tuckered out by that time. The Yankee hope was for a breather and a chance to regroup and take up a defensive position on nearby Cemetery Ridge. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, with a good four hours of daylight left.

THE MAN of the hour was Lieutenant General Richard S. Ewell, commander of the Confederate 2nd Army Corps. He had three whole divisions at his beck and call, two of which were fresh. He could have turned these divisions loose on the Yanks and kept them off balance, possibly even routed them entirely and then turned to deal with Mead who was still 12 miles away. But no, our man chose to sit under an apple tree, whittling and mulling the situation over. Finally he voted to take the easier course and mount his attack the following morning. And the golden moment passed forever.

FORTY-EIGHT hours and forty thousand casualties later, a great general was defeated, largely because a weak link in his chain of command had not learned the value of timely and competent follow-through.

A Fair Day’s Work

THIS IS ABOUT a supervisor who, even as you and I, had read much and heard much about crooked quiz shows, payola, grafting office holders, and quick-buck artists generally. So, understandably enough, he came to have a somewhat cynical regard for the human animal of this day and age. But, he recently had an experience which shocked him out of his cynicism and taught him a great lesson about people.

IT so happened that an old and valued friend was laid up in the hospital with some serious misery and was in a bad way. So, our man made out to pay a sick call and give the sufferer what comfort a friendly visit might afford.

AS THE caller tooled his brand new station wagon into the hospital parking lot, he met a problem. The lot was crowded, it was on a side hill, and it was rocky, rutted, and lumpy. There was space for only one more vehicle, and that was really too small to accommodate his car without danger of scraping fender or bumper. But, help came from an unexpected direction.

A SHAD-BELLIED, freckle-faced lad of about 12 years appeared on the scene and proceeded to guide the visitor into his too-small berth. It was a difficult operation, and there was much backing and filling and cramping and twisting. Finally, however, the job was accomplished with all the paint where it should be—and the sweating visitor crawled gratefully from behind the wheel.

OUR MAN reached into his pants pocket for a piece of silver and offered it to the lad by way of appreciation for service rendered, but the youngster accepted it not! His refusal was polite but firm, and his explanation was summed up in the simple statement, This is what I get paid for.

WELL, FRIENDS, there you have it, the hope for America—that there are enough men and women of this boy’s calibre to outweight the chiselers—that the majority of the people are honest—and that most of them really want to deliver a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. So, the man went up to his sick friend with a lump in his throat and renewed hope in his heart.

No Epaulettes

THE Regimental Adjutant made a striking picture that bright September morning in Cairo. His uniform was resplendent, he was superbly mounted, and every bit of his arms and equipment shone and glistened in the sunlight. He looked—every inch of him—an officer and a gentleman. In fact, he was almost too pretty for the grim Business of War.

HIS MISSION on this occasion was to read to the assembled troops the first order of the day from the new commanding officer of the post, who had taken over on the previous afternoon. Neither the adjutant nor the troops had ever seen their new boss—and his name rang in them no bell of recognition.

ALL WENT WELL with the reading until the adjutant pulled a bad blooper. He inadvertently misread the general’s name in a way that gave it a rather disrespectful connotation. The snickers grew to chortles and from thence to guffaws and finally to thigh slapping. Everyone was having fun at someone’s else’s expense; even the adjutant couldn’t restrain a small chuckle at his accidental choice of words.

THAT IS, they were having fun until their collective gaze was pulled to a point a few yards to one side of the adjutant. Suddenly, things didn’t seem funny any more.

WHAT they saw was not frightening—just a pint-sized guy sitting astride a powerful clay bank gelding. He wasn’t even in uniform, his civilian garb wasn’t particularly sharp, and he was wearing the kind of black slouch hat a wife likes to throw away when her husband isn’t looking.

NEVERTHELESS, the soldiers (including the adjutant) sensed command presence. They knew immediately who he was. They knew that he was Brigadier General Ulysses S. Grant—the man they would later follow through many a bloody battle—the man they would always remember as one who needed no epaulettes to proclaim his leadership or his right to the last ounce of their loyalty.

Each According to His Gift

THE SCENE was at the confluence of the Tigris and Khosar Rivers in Ancient Assyria; the time was about 700 B.C.; and the problem was to get a forty-ton block of white limestone from river edge to its proposed emplacement in the capital city of Nineveh, several miles away, all uphill. The huge monolith had been sculptured at the quarry, in the shape of a winged bull with a man’s head; and it was destined to do guard duty at the main entrance to Sennacherib’s new palace.

THIS piece of work measured sixteen feet high, sixteen feet long, and it was all dead weight. Floating it downstream from the quarry on a large raft had been a breeze. Now