I was talking to a business owner today who was lamenting the fact
that his management team wasn’t functioning like a team and that he
needed to do something to pull them together.  I suggested he call
“Scott,” a professor at a local college to see if he could help.

Then I related to him the following story:

I had just taken over a business that was losing $2 million on
revenues of $10 million (yes, it really is possible.)  As you can
imagine, the management of the company was in complete disarray, as was
everything else.  I didn’t know the players well, so I called Scott.

Scott is a professor at a local college, where he teaches
leadership.  But this isn’t just your basic, classroom leadership
course. Scott teaches the type of leadership courses popularized by
National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) in Wyoming.  The course uses
ropes and related equipment to solve increasingly difficult
challenges.  This not only makes it painfully obvious who the leaders
are, but shows who the creative thinkers are.  I guess finally, it also
shows who the nay-sayers are.

We took about 15 senior and mid-level managers to the course.  The
setting was the beautiful mountains outside West Yellowstone Montana. 
We started our day with the “trust fall.” I don’t know if you’ve ever
done anything like this before.  This is where you stand on a tree
stump about six feet tall, while the other members of the team form two
lines (facing each other) behind you.  All you have to do is stand on
the stump, cross your arms over your chest, close your eyes, and fall
backward into their waiting arms (hence the name, “trust fall.”)

Well, everyone had done this.  We had started with the smallest
female manager and worked our way up to me.  At the time I was 6′2″ and
about 250.  Some of these women, whose job it was to catch me, had
upper arms smaller than my wrists.  I wasn’t so much afraid that they
wouldn’t catch me, I was concerned they couldn’t.  I considered backing
out.  But with intense peer pressure, I placed my life in their hands
and took the plunge.  I’m writing this, so I guess it went okay. 
There’s something about that experience that makes you feel closer to
those who caught you.  The more intense your fear, the closer you feel
to them.

From there, we went to increasingly difficult challenges (having
every last person get over a 12 foot wall, crossing a wide stream
without getting wet, etc.).  At the end of the day, we faced the
challenge that taught me the most about everyone.  Scott laid a circle
of rope on the ground about 25 feet in diameter next to a big
cottonwood tree.  In the center of the circle he put a snickers bar. 
“This is the final test,” he said.  “You have to get the snickers bar
from the middle of the circle.  Oh, and by the way, there are a few
rules (we knew that was coming.)  You can’t touch the ground inside the
circle with any part of your body, or the exercise is over and you fail
the course.  And, the person who is getting the snickers bar must be
blindfolded.  And, Allan will not be participating with you on this
one.  You will do it without his help.  You have one hour, time starts
now.”

With that, he hacked his stopwatch and motioned for me to join him
on the sideline.  We watched as everyone proffered an idea of how to
get the candy bar.  It quickly became apparent that the only way was to
suspend someone from the tree and lower them  over the circle.

It was interesting (fascinating is probably a better word) to watch
how 15 ideas boiled down to 10, then to 5, then to two.  Finally all
but a couple of people had settled on one person’s proposal and had
begun to get to work.  Obviously the best leader was the person whose
idea they were executing.  He had quickly won their support and was
leading them forward.  But other leaders emerged as well.  One woman
said, “I used to work technical rescue.  I know all about ropes and how
to use this gear.”  She was immediately put in charge of managing the
ropes.  Another said, “I can climb that tree.  When I was younger I
could climb anything.”  Of course he went up the tree to attach
everything.  Others had other specialties and took their places. 
Things were moving forward very quickly.

But probably the most interesting and educational thing I observed
in that exercise was one manager — the one whose idea made the final
two, but was finally rejected.  He was quietly going around to all the
people who were working to bring the current plan to fruition and
promoting them on his plan.  Can you believe that?  I mean, it was
over.  The die was cast.  With the exception of him, they were all
going a different direction.  They had things to do, and didn’t have
time spend listening to why the current idea wouldn’t work (it was
already working.)

Within a few minutes, one manager had sided with the nay-sayer
manager and they were standing off to the side lamenting how “the best”
plan hadn’t been selected.  As they were thus engaged, the group was
lowering the smallest of the female manager over the candy bar with the
ropes.  She was blindfolded and being given directions by the designer
of the plan.  He was speaking in a quiet, peaceful manner, both to her
and to those still lowering her over the candy bar.  His calm demeanor
was very reassuring and things were going well.  It looked like
everything would work out with minutes to spare in the time limit.

But just as she was about to reach for the candy bar, the nay-sayer
manager jumped to the edge of the rope circle and began to yell, “Be
careful!!  You’re going touch the ground!”  He was agitated and
shouting directions to everyone.  You could tell his agitation was
affecting everyone.  I’m sure he thought he was giving direction to
someone who needed it, but she had a source of direction — one that had
served her well up to that point.  The nay-sayer’s panic brought
nothing but pandemonium and confusion to the situation.

I loved how the original leader handled the situation.  “Bob,” he
said very quietly and calmly.  “We have this under control.  If you’ll
just step back and let us continue, we’ll get this finished up, then we
can talk about it.”  And they did.  He directed the manager that was
suspended above the ground to the candy bar (blindfold notwithstanding)
and got her back to safety.

During the wrap-up, Scott asked, “What did you think of this
exercise?  Or, more importantly, what did you learn from this
exercise?”   Everyone talked about how smoothly things went when they
had chosen (and bought into) a plan and then went about executing it. 
They talked about how good it feels to work as a team, instead of
everyone running about willy-nilly doing their own thing.   There were
a host of other good things they learned.

We listened and enjoyed their comments.  Toward the end, Scott said,
“What did everyone think about Bob’s contribution?”  That started a
pretty big “Bob-bashing” session.  “Bob never bought in!” said one. 
“Yeah, he stood on the side and watched and then tried to jump in at
the end and be the hero,” said another.   After a couple of other
comments, Scott said to Bob, “Bob, tell us how you saw it.”  Bob hummed
and hawed for a minute then said, “I guess I don’t see it like everyone
else.  I know my idea was a good one.  We could have had the same
result, only faster.” (NOTE:  I can’t say, having been there that I
agree with his assessment of his idea.)  “When I jumped in at the end,
I think I saved the day.  She was about to touch the ground and we
would have lost everything.  If it wouldn’t have been for me, we would
be having a different discussion.”

Isn’t that the way it goes?  This guy almost ruined it for everyone,
and yet he was a hero in his own mind.  He refused to see how his
unwillingness to buy-in had weakened the team. He contributed nothing
but hate and discontent, just like he did at work.  He was a capable
leader.  His ideas weren’t flawed, particularly.  He could have made a
tremendous contribution, but he chose (whether actively or passively)
not to.  What a waste of talent.

What I learned from the day’s activities is that natural leaders
will rise to the top.  People will follow natural leaders.  I also
learned that some people (by the choices they make, not the choices you
do) can’t be saved.  There’s no use to continue down the road with
anyone who refuses to be part of the team.  They not only don’t make a
contribution, they are actually a drain on everyone else.

The moral to this very long story is this:  Let the leaders lead. 
Let the followers follow.  Let those who refuse to do one of the above
find employment elsewhere.