Photo by Jason Tavares

We all want to grab the attention of someone we hope to impress, and we’re tempted to do just about anything to be noticed. Remember Elle Wood’s pink and scented resume in Legally Blonde? She is not alone; officious employees have tried a myriad of attention grabbing techniques over the decades.

With a new crop of fresh graduates submitting resumes on the open market, Michael Margolis at the 99% suggests in a recent article entitled, “The Resume Is Dead, The Bio is King”  that job applicants should reconsider submitting a weighty resume in an effort to impress. Instead, a well-crafted narrative will do a better job of piquing the interest of potential business associates.

On the surface, the reason for the shift in viewpoint seems simple: thumbing through a large stack of resumes can be a daunting and mind-numbing task for potential employers. A captivating bio can break the monotony of an endless sea of self-reported accomplishments, former employers, and schools attended.

Richard Nelson Bolles in What Color is Your Parachute writes, “an employer is going through a whole stack of resumes, and on average he or she is giving each resume about eight seconds of their time… Then that resume goes either into a pile we might call ‘Forgeddit,’ or a pile we might call ‘Bears further investigation’” (73).

The bio, as Margolis suggests, has a greater chance of ending up in the second pile because it helps the employer distinguish who one really is beyond a tedious list of deeds done.

But the bio, apart from offering a release from the monotony of reviewing resumes, has a deeper influence: the human psyche seems predisposed to story. From an early age, we are drawn to the hero or heroine, enraptured by the ensuing conflict or struggle that inevitably comes, and renewed by a character’s victory or hope of redemption. As children, stories ignite our imagination when protagonists battle dragons and slyly outwit venomous villains. In The Uses of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim writes, “Like all great art, fairy tales both delight and instruct; their special genius is that they do so in terms which speak directly to children” (53). And we might add, adults, too. We never lose our appetite for a good story.

And herein lies our point: story transforms who we are as human beings. We’re shaped by it, and we shape it. When we tell our story (or attend to the story of another), we wake up and experience more of life. Story, like few other experiences, stirs passions and remembrances of days foregone, and reminds us that pain from failure and disillusionment from broken promises can bring growth. Through story we become more human.

Photo by Stephen Poff

In A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller asserts, “I’ve wondered, though, if one of the reasons we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life is because we don’t want the responsibility inherent in the acknowledgement. We don’t want to be characters in a story because characters have to move and breathe and face conflict with courage. And if life isn’t remarkable, then we don’t have to do any of that; we can be unwilling victims rather than grateful participants” (59).

Yes, in today’s limping economy a bio might increase your prospects of landing a job, which is good news for the job seekers out there. But maybe you should write your bio with a desire to become more integrated, as well as connected to the world around you. Drafting a resume is safe; penning your story and sharing it with others requires risk and fortitude. In a slowly recovering economy, let’s take time to look inward, outward, and upward. It is these postures of learning and our capacity to intuit self and the larger world that makes one truly desirable in organizational life.

—

(This is a collaborative piece with Donovan Richards, Research Assistant to the Center for Integrity in Business at Seattle Pacific University)

Frito-Lay found this out the hard way when customers began complaining about the firm’s biodegradable SunChips bag. Although they liked the concept of a 100 percent compostable package, the 80-85 decibel level was higher than most customers could bear. How can anyone hear the television over all that bag noise!?

Just a few days ago, Frito-Lay announced that it has found a solution in a new adhesive which will attach the inner and outer layers of the bag.

The story of the noisy SunChips bag received a lot of attention over recent months. I wrote about the drama in a recent article for Comment Magazine, Snack Chips and Lessons in Environmental Consciousness, which you might enjoy.

As Professor Witherington notes, work ought to be pursued as a calling, a ministry, a mission, and an act of gratitude and offering to God. It is a gift from our Creator that was bestowed upon humanity before sin entered the world. When we acknowledge God in our work, we join him in the creation and redemption story, mirroring God in thought and deed. Conversely, when we reduce work to a curse, or, more subtly, a mere act of “making a living,” we disconnect from the larger, grand narrative for which we are part.

To a certain extent, the gift of work is outwardly focused, bringing healing and restoration to a hurting world. But it has internal implications, too. Part of the goodness of work is that we are renovated through it and by it. God transforms us and summons our trust in him through the highs and lows of daily labor. In the grittiness and routine of our roles and responsibilities, we too often let go of this important perspective.

To illustrate, Witherington shares the story of a visit he took to the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte, North Carolina. While walking through the memorial garden and remembering the life of Ruth Bell Graham, Billy Graham’s wife, he was moved by the following words etched into her tombstone: “Construction Completed. Thanks for your patience.”

As we reach out to serve others through faithful, courageous work in the world — whatever our tasks or professional responsibilities might be — rest assured that the Spirit of God is moving inwardly and mysteriously in us, bringing healing and wholeness. The cornerstone has been laid; the construction process is underway.  Dr. Witherington concludes in Opus Magnum:

…nothing’s wasted in God’s hands
When we respond to his commands
Then we shall hear him say “well done”
To those who worked under the Son.
—

Opus Magnum, by Ben Witherington (2005)

Weary, worn, welts on hand
Work has whittled down the man
To the bare necessities
Of what he is, and what he’ll be
Was this then his destiny?

Defined, refined by what we do,
The toilsome tasks are never through
Thorn and thistle, dirt and dust
Sweeping clean, removing rust
All to earn his upper crust?

Sweat of brow, and carried weight
Rose too early, slept too late
Slaving, striving dawn to dusk
‘Til the shell is barely husk
Staunch the stench with smell of musk?

But work is not the curse or cure
By which we’re healed, or will endure
It will not save us in the end,
It is no foe, but rather friend
But while it molds us will we mend?

Task Master making all things new
Who makes the most of what we do,
Let our work an offering be
A timely gift from those set free
From earning our eternity.

When work is mission on the move
By those whose efforts serve to prove
That nothing’s wasted in God’s hands
When we respond to his commands
Then we shall hear him say “well done”
To those who worked under the Son.

Given our fractured state, something remarkable happened  last week: a heartfelt apology in America’s greatest pastime. For the non-sports fans out there, on Wednesday night, June 2, 2010, in Detroit, Michigan, Tiger’s pitcher, Armando Galarraga, threw the almost-perfect game against the Cleveland Indians. (In a perfect game no opposing batter reaches base. It has only been done 20 times since the modern era in baseball began in 1900.)

In what should have been the final out of a night of flawless pitching, umpire Jim Joyce, one of the best in Major League Baseball, botched a call at first base, robbing Galarraga of one of his sport’s highest achievements.

With so many firestorms raging in so many places, this story looked like more kindling. But something remarkable happened: an apology, and then ensuing acts of grace. Neither umpire nor pitcher (nor the entire Tigers organization, for that matter) spewed venom, but rather offered civility.

Joyce after watching the replay in the locker room after the game acknowledged his mistake and immediately apologized. “It was the biggest call of my career and I kicked the s— out of it. I just cost that kid a perfect game.”  As Bill Geist of CBS Sunday Morning noted this past week, “He didn’t make up excuses, didn’t say the devil made him do it, didn’t announce that he was going to umpire rehab.”

Galarraga returned the favor. “He (the ump) probably felt more bad than me… nobody’s perfect.”

A genuine mea culpa. The story flies in the face of modern-day events and practice (and legal counsel to boot). Wall Street firms aren’t offering apologies. British Petroleum is mum. Even the Catholic Church is stingy when it comes to apologies. The cover story of the June 7, 2010 issue of Time is entitled, Why Being Pope Means Never Having to Say You’re Sorry.

We’d all benefit by paying attention to baseball’s act of generosity. Civility breeds good will, and good will generates trust, and trustworthiness contributes to human flourishing.

This is true across the professions, including business. The story reminds me of an interview with Ken Melrose, former CEO of Toro

Melrose, with other senior leaders, committed the Company in the early 90s to a policy of alternate dispute resolution. Whenever a customer was hurt by a Toro product, including injuries sustained from their own gross negligence, the Company dispatched a team to visit the injured person, said they were sorry it happened, and then offered to satisfy the customer’s needs. The team was expected to offer empathy, but also empowered to pay medical expenses, lost work time, and even reasonable trauma costs.

In the case of Toro, civility and integrity bred trust, leading to positive outcomes for all parties involved. Cases going to court dwindled. Settlements were paid more quickly. And lifetime customer loyalty was cultivated. You can read more about the Company’s approach in the Ethix interview with Mr. Melrose.

While oil still gushes in the Gulf and livelihoods and habitats are being destroyed for years to come, I, like so many others, feel angry and frustrated. Outrage is expected, but I wonder if things might be a bit different if British Petroleum had pursued an alternative approach to dealing with its mistakes. Transparency and admission of fault feel (and often are) risky, but it is ultimately what sets the course for the rebuilding of trust and long-term healing.

Baseball has its own share of problems, but on an early June night it modeled grace and civility. I wish more of us more of the time would “play ball” this way.

John Terrill is a Boston Red Sox fan and loves to vacation on the Gulf Coast of Florida.

According to Martin, one way to break down modern capitalism is into two eras. The first era, beginning in 1932, was characterized by the notion that firms need professional management (management should be divorced from ownership). The second era, beginning around 1976, is characterized by the belief that the purpose of business is to increase shareholder value.

The problem, as Martin details, is that shareholders are no better off in the second era than the first. With all the attention on shareholders, you would think there would be long-term metrics to validate the focus. Not so. From 1933 to 1976, shareholders of the S&P 500 earned compound annual real returns of 7.6 percent. From 1977 to the end of 2008, they earned real returns of 5.9 percent per year.

Shareholder value is largely driven by expectations about the future. The implications for managers’ actions are clear. To increase shareholder value, one needs to raise expectations about the future, which is often done through rapid growth.

Martin cites GE and Coca-Cola under Jack Welch and Roberto Goizueta, respectively, two of the most iconic and successful figures of the shareholder movement. Both chiefs generated incredible market capitalization, but the executives who followed them “have struggled to deal productively with the legacy of rapid growth and frenzied acquisition.” Growth works for a while but eventually catches up with firms, which cannot raise shareholder expectations indefinitely through such means.

Two companies that have pursued customer satisfaction as their top priority over decades and have performed admirably are Johnson & Johnson and P&G. In the case of Johnson & Johnson, the company’s steadfast dedication to customers, expressed eloquently in its credo, which dates back to 1943, has guided the firm through serious storms, most notably the Tylenol poisoning cases of 1982.

For both companies, shareholder value is a by-product of customer satisfaction and not the top priority for the firms. J&J and P&G both lead their respective sectors in creating shareholder value over the long term, helping to demonstrate that focusing on customers over shareholders often returns greater rewards to owners.

My favorite anecdote from the article involves Research in Motion (RIM), maker of the BlackBerry. As the author recounts, back in 1997, just after the RIM’s initial public offering of stock, the founders agreed that anyone who talked about share price at work would be obligated to buy donuts for the entire organization. When the company was small, mistaken pronouncements about the stock price were not as costly. But in 2001, when the chief operating officer slipped publicly, he was forced to buy donuts for all 800 employees.

The debate over the purpose of business and primacy of shareholder value intensifies.  The conversation is healthy, as companies, business schools, governments, even the Vatican, search for ways to reform capitalism so that it increasingly delivers value to customers, pays fair returns to owners, and serves other societal stakeholders.  What are your thoughts about the ultimate purpose of business?

John Terrill is the Director for the Center for Integrity in Business at Seattle Pacific University

http://dumbest_moments_in_business

Not only do death rates decline, but general medical problems become less prevalent during tough economic times.  Smokers cut back on their smokes and couch potatoes go mobile.  One might assume that the reasons are rooted in economics alone, but they aren’t.  According to Colvin,  “Strapped consumers apparently aren’t getting fitter because they must bike to work and survive on oatmeal and turnips.”  The real  reason seems to be extra free time.  Not having a job leads to more time for exercise.  Exercising non-smokers trim fat, and exercising smokers smoke less.

So, during this time when all of us feel pinched, let’s celebrate the collective pounds we’re shedding as a nation.  Put down those cigarettes, enjoy your leisure, and offer a grateful ”shout out” to lethargic consumer confidence, flat GDP, and anemic in-store sales.

Reframing Business Education

Whether bearish or bullish about the economy, there is no denying that business and management education are in a state of turmoil.  The “new normal” will likely be something we’ve never seen before.  A recent story on National Public Radio (NPR) captures this sentiment:

American Business Schools trained many of the people who had their hands on the tiller when the nation’s economic ship ran aground.  Now, those in leadership positions at top business schools are asking themselves what degree of responsibility they share.

The Schools had critics before the economic crisis cost millions their jobs and their retirement saving.  Now, the critics are louder, and the questions they raise are being taken more seriously.[1]

Anger germinates, even abounds in this current environment, but not all agree about what should be done.   In the same NPR story, Jay Light, Dean of the Harvard Business School (HBS), and Stephen Kaplan, Professor at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business, paint contrasting pictures of the current state of affairs in business education.

Kaplan takes an optimistic view of the status quo, arguing that the reasons for the current crisis are multifaceted and cannot be attributed to MBA education alone.  He states, “You look at the business world and the global economy since 1980, and it’s stunning.  Productivity growth around the world has been terrific.  You know, where did all this come from?  There’s a huge success story of the tools of markets and economics that are taught at business schools.”

Light, alternatively, argues that the present crisis should serve as an opportunity for deep introspection and change. In fact, he has commissioned a Harvard faculty team to lead such an effort to ensure that the current moment is appropriately seized.

Wherever you fall in this debate, it’s clear we’ve approached a fork in the road, and the direction we choose will have important implications for the future.  Business, with its far-reaching and increasingly interconnected stakeholders, will have difficulty absorbing the highs and lows of un-reigned market forces.  Consider the chaos of just the last ten years:  the dot.com run-up and bust; Enron and a myriad of other corporate scandals; the housing bubble and sub-prime collapse; and the ensuing credit market meltdowns, just to name just a few.

In my role at Seattle Pacific University (SPU) as Director of the Center for Integrity in Business, I work alongside those in the academic and business communities to re-imagine the role of business education in light of this unprecedented crossroad. This work takes on many different complexions, but one area of focus for us has been to reframe—maybe more accurately, elevate—the purpose for business as taught and modeled to students.  In doing so, we’ve created an intentional break from famed economist, Milton Friedman, and his prevailing view that the ultimate purpose of business is to increase shareholder wealth.  While we don’t deny the integral nature of profit in business at SPU, we believe the highest purpose of business is to serve—first, by providing goods and services that enable communities to flourish, and second, by providing meaningful opportunities for persons to express aspects of their identity in meaningful and creative work.  As business serves communities well, long-term financial health and profits have ample opportunity to follow.

Jeff Van Duzer, Dean of the School of Business and Economics at Seattle Pacific University, challenges those at the intersection of Christian faith and business to redefine “the bottom line.” In our program, we “think of profit generation and return on investment as fundamental, as critical, as necessary, but not as the end of the operation.  It’s what you need to do in order to attract the capital from shareholders that will enable the business to do what it should be doing, which is to serve…”[2]

We don’t have this worked out perfectly and readily admit that these ideas need empirical testing.  But given the current environment, we feel less alone these days than we did just a few short years ago.  One interesting development in reforming business education has been a grass-roots campaign to install a Hippocratic-like oath—an integral component of medical education—to the field of management.  An oath for aspiring business leaders (see www.mbaoath.org) has gained momentum across the United States.  This past year, 400 graduating students took the oath at Harvard Business School.  And other programs, like Thunderbird, a highly-ranked global school of management in Arizona, have taken similar measures.

The campaign for an MBA oath dates back to 2004, when Ángel Cabrera, president of Thunderbird… suggested that his students write one.  It soon became an official part of the school’s MBA program.  The oath, Mr. Cabrera says, has been “a phenomenal change-management tool.”  Students constantly use it to question things they are taught, he says, citing those who took a faculty member to task for breezily asserting that paying bribes is a normal part of doing business in India.”[3]

These initiatives are important and should be applauded.  Business students must recognize, like doctors and lawyers, that they are part of a profession with shared values and aspirations.  And their actions in the marketplace should be held to such ideals.  But these efforts are just the beginning.  We need to rethink the entire business school experience, finding ways to define the moral imperative of business education.

One place to start is to find ways to counterbalance a long-term trend in management education that largely defines successful business training as scientifically rigorous.  The shift, which took place in the 1950s in response to a negative report from the Ford and Carnegie Foundations, was intended to strengthen lackluster faculty performance and narrowly-focused, vocational-oriented education.[4]  But, as often is the case, the pendulum may have swung too far in this direction.  Aspiring business leaders are often trained as compartmentalized clinicians rather than whole persons who assess both the analytical and social implications of business decisions.  In the pursuit of rigor, a corresponding and unintended depersonalization process has occurred.  A student’s ability to hedge currency risk may have greater value than engaging in honest conversation about doing the right thing.

An approach that might contribute to reversing this trend and that has had some success at MBA programs around the country is the use of literature to teach business ethics.  Harvard Business School has taken a leadership role in this process.  As Sandra Sucher, a senior lecturer at HBS explains, “through the novels, plays, short stories, and historical accounts, students are brought much closer to life as it is really lived, certainly closer than in lecture learning and even closer than in case discussion.”[5]  Through literature, students are forced to live less as clinicians and more as whole persons, seeing in characters of fiction and figures of history all the strengths, weaknesses, and fatal flaws that make us vulnerable in a world of moral complexity.

This is just the beginning of a wave of change that is taking place in business education.  Business deans and faculties are searching for ways to enrich the moral education that is offered in MBA programs. Creating a Manager’s oath is a promising start, as are efforts to broaden the ways we train business leaders.  The use of literature is an intriguing idea that has a track record of success.  The “new normal” of business has not yet been codified, but one thing seems to be certain— the purpose of business as defined by Friedman appears to be changing.  Maximization of shareholder wealth alone doesn’t feel compelling in this day and age, and it certainly doesn’t capture the imagination of market participants.  With all due respect to fiduciary responsibility to company shareholders, we need something grander, more compelling, and more sustainable.  It is time for practitioners and academics, alike, to work together to create and live out such a framework.

[2] Scott, Alwyn (2009, May 29).  Questions for Jeff Van Duzer. Puget Sound Business Journal Online.  Retrieved from http://seattle.bizjournals.com/seattle/stories/2009/06/01/story10.html

[3] (2009, June 4).  A Hippocratic Oath for Managers: Forswearing Greed.  Economist.com.  Retrieved from http://www.economist.com/businessfinance/displaystory.cfm?story_id=13788418

[4] Holland, Kelly (2009, March 15).  Is It Time to Retrain Business Schools?  New York Time Online.  Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/15/business/15school.html

[5]Gilbert, Sarah Jane (2007, November 19).  Teaching the Moral Leader.  Working Knowledge.  Retrieved from http://hbswk.hbs.edu/item/5801.html

Carlo Ponzi

Everyone has heard about Bernie Madoff, the former President of the NASDAQ stock exchange who swindled $50 billion from would-be investors.  The scope of the fraud was new, but the format was not.  Madoff’s ponzi ran out of gas as the global financial crisis deepened and the onslaught of redemption requests intensified.

Ponzi schemes, which promise high profits from fictitious sources, have been around since the 17th Century.  They spring up all over the world, and vary in scale.  In the 1990s, for example, two-thirds of the population of Albania poured $1.2 billion into Ponzi schemes, some of which were endorsed by top government leaders. (See Wikipedia or The Week, January 30, 2009, for interesting historical details)

The scam’s name comes from Carlo Ponzi (photo above), who immigrated to Boston from Italy in the early 20th Century and promised to double investors’ money in 90 days.  More about him later…

Here is how Ponzis work: The operator of the scheme sits at the top of a “pyramid” by bringing in a small number of early investors.  High dividends are paid to this first wave of investors from funds invested from the next round of investors, and so forth and so on.  The operator either milks money from the the start or waits until the “house of cards” is about to fall to extract his fortune and get out of dodge.  What all Ponzi schemes have in common, according to Carlos Ponzi biographer, Michael Zuckoff, is “a three-step playbook: splash, cash, and dash.”

Carlo Ponzi, who’s name is forever linked to this form of fraud, told American investors he could double their money in three months by buying and selling European postage stamps.  He was so successful in netting cash, that at one point he was able to raise $1 million in investments in just three hours.  (In the early 1900s, this was a boatload of money)  Unsurprisingly, Ponzi’s $15 million fraud came crashing down after only nine months.  It turned out he had only purchased $30 worth of stamps.

Why do such schemes seem to play out again and again?  Greed is part of the answer, but does not account for it all.  Most successful Ponzi schemes play on networks, peer pressure, and a sense of entitlement and being on the inside.  John Bennett (Foundation for New Era Philanthropy) in the mid-1990s touted his faith credentials to lure some of the most respected Christian organizations in the world into his investment scheme before his “house of cards” collapsed.  Bernie Madoff pursued a similar strategy, netting investors from his religious community, wealthy Jewish philanthropists with whom he socialized at his Palm Beach country club.

Given this short history lesson, what can we learn?

• If something sounds too good to be true (except God’s grace and mercy), it probably is;
• If assets are not held by an independent, third-party custodian who can verify their existence, “run for the hills,” and call the SEC while doing so.
• Honesty rewards; dishonesty bankrupts.  It isn’t always so immediately but is always true in the long term.  As Proverbs 21:5-6 reminds us,

“The plans of the diligent lead to profit as surely as haste leads to poverty.  A fortune made by a lying tongue is a fleeting vapor and deadly snare.”