I’d like to illustrate my point by repeating a story that I told in my book The Language of Leaders. The story was about my encounter with the safety director of a home construction company. His name was ‘Steve’ and I was called in because he was being ineffective in his communication and adversarial in his style. The HR director who brought me in said that although Steve was passionate about his role as head of health and safety, he was actually angry and controlling all the time and was having an adverse effect on staff morale.
People had no sense of what drove him or why he pushed so furiously for every last detail to be checked. Steve fumed that his people ‘weren’t paying attention’, hated that they merely responded to crises and never sought active ways to tackle problems or bolt the fine points down.
We dug into his beliefs and values to find what really drove him. Steve told me how, at a previous company, a boy had strayed onto one of his sites. He had managed to get through a gap in the fence after everyone had gone home, fallen into a deep pit excavated for foundations and had been severely injured. In pain, bleeding profusely, he died alone in the night.
Steve took on the agonizing responsibility of telling the boy’s mother himself. It was his duty, but it was the most harrowing experience of his life.
It was made all the more bitter when he learned the gap in the fence had not been secured by one person in his crew. The pit too had not been protected properly by a different member of his crew; by themselves, minor omissions, but a confluence of details that proved fatal.
Steve’s credo became that no detail was too small when it came to health and safety. No one could have mistaken the strength of his feeling when he told me, ‘I never want to have to tell another mother that her child has been in an accident on one of our sites.’
I advised Steve to go and tell that story everywhere in the organization. Every chance he got, he was to tell that story without making any other points. ‘Just tell that story and then get out,’ I told him. His story, when told, had a profound and positive impact on his business.
Steve’s entire workforce saw why attending to such details of health and safety practice was important, and responded wholeheartedly. His story moved them in a way that rules and regulations never could. Authentic, based on his strong point of view and entirely appropriate to his organization, it changed behaviours and raised the benchmark for safety. His people did what was right whether he was there or not, and were happier doing it.
Initially, Steve had acted rationally in pursuing a strategy of active health and safety for his company, but this alone left him frustrated and his people cold. His story channelled his passion and produced a win–win for all the stakeholders – especially Steve, who now knew what his integrity could achieve.
This story has six essential elements, the crucial components that go to make up a powerful and purposeful story. In a few pages I will deconstruct the story for you, and show you how you can construct your own compelling stories that will help to drive change in your own organization.
Time for a new story
First, however, I want to tell you the different story, one that contains the same six essential elements. Both these stories are very different. In the first, the subject of my story used his story to change the culture of a whole organization. It was a one-to-many story. This next one is an example of a story I used in one-on-one coaching.
Recently I was coaching one of my senior consultants. He had been exhibiting a tendency to rush into action without properly thinking things through. Sometimes he was lucky and quick action delivered rapid results. Often, however, he took hurried action that had unintended consequences, creating more work – unnecessary work – and costly complications. I wanted him to think about the need to pause and reflect before rushing into things. I wanted him to understand that sometimes doing nothing was a better option.
I told him this story of a recent journey home:
‘Every day I commute by train from London to my home in Oxfordshire on a 40-minute journey. Last Friday, at the end of a long week, I could think of nothing but getting home to a glass of wine, putting my feet up and enjoying a late sunset with my wife. I really, really wanted to get home quickly. When I finally boarded the train, I began to relax and anticipate the weekend. Opposite me was a friendly businesswoman. We started a conversation. Just then an announcement warned us that there would be a delay because of a death on the line a few stations beyond mine at Didcot. Those of us wanting to stop at Didcot should leave this train (currently on Platform 1) and get on board the train now waiting to leave on Platform 10. Difficult choice. Stay comfortable and wait for hours? Or make the sprint across the station to ensure I got home early? I reluctantly excused myself and dashed across the station.
Aboard the train on Platform 10, I soon learned that this too was delayed. A fresh announcement said that those of us travelling to Didcot should now hurry to Platform 5 instead, as that train would leave ‘in five minutes’. In a panic, I hurried from the train on Platform 10, but bashed my arm on a protrusion on the train door as I left. Great pain. Checking to see that my suit was not torn, I suddenly remembered that I had left my raincoat on the train on Platform 1. I ran from Platform 10 to Platform 1, clattered aboard the train and greeted the businesswoman with whom I had been chatting. By now, I was sweating profusely. She looked startled as I grabbed my raincoat and excused myself again, running back to Platform 5, where I managed to get aboard with seconds to spare.
I sat down, looked at my watch, and realized with horror that blood was pouring from my sleeve and dripping from my fingers. On investigation, I discovered that whatever I had bashed my arm on had gouged a chunk of skin from my arm, which was now bleeding profusely. Luckily it had not yet soaked through the sleeve of my suit jacket, which I took off to save it from ruin. Using my pristine white handkerchief, I bandaged my arm in order to stem the bleeding. Quickly, the handkerchief soaked with blood.
Using my smart phone, I discovered that the train I was on was not going all the way to Didcot. I was going to have to change trains again. I looked up online how I could connect to Didcot from Reading Station where this train would drop me. I saw that I could connect to my train, but I would have to hurry because I had just three minutes to cross four platforms. Running all the way, carrying my briefcase, my raincoat and my jacket, I made it just in time.
By now, I was a sight to behold. My collar was open, my tie undone. I was sweaty, dirty and bleeding. There was one spare seat that I could see, so I made my way over and literally fell into it, panting. Can you guess who was sat opposite me? It was the businesswoman from the train on Platform 1! She looked at me with a mixture of horror and amusement… and we began to laugh. We had both made exactly the same progress, only I was much the worse for wear. “Sometimes it pays to just sit tight,” she said.’
Upon hearing the end of this tale, my senior consultant also broke into laughter, but I could tell that he had got the point. I did not have to say any more. He understood everything I was telling him about his own tendencies, the consequences of rushing about without thinking things through, and the need to stay calm in the face of urgent distractions and sometimes just do nothing.
A few times since then he has urged me to repeat my story, simply for the amusement of others, but in the meantime, his decision-making performance has improved.
