CFC Blog #70: Leading from the Middle

I have only read two of James' pieces so far.. yet his writing is so memorable and capturing to me due to a certain specific attribute. In my opinion, it's the unpredictability of it. Each coming sentence takes me to a place or to an awareness or to a message that I never expect. I love that. 

Thank you, James. I am so looking forward to reading more of your pieces.
-Amanda

Leading from the Middle

I don’t have a lot in common with my brother.  I am a novelist and an at-large advertising creative director.  He’s a stonemason and a recently retired New York City Firefighter.  He’s a tall, physically imposing man and I am…not. When we discuss our professions his stories are invariably more interesting and rarely does a common theme emerge between us.  However, near the end of his time on the FDNY he told me a story that, while radically different than anything I encountered in advertising, was surprisingly, finally, relatable.

His truck had been called to a warehouse fire in the Bronx. There were still workers inside and firefighters were being elevated to the roof. My brother was on the ground coordinating the effort with a recently made captain. Because so many officers and experienced firefighters had died on 9/11/2001 a leadership gap had developed, forcing younger, less experienced firefighters to be fast-tracked to positions that had typically been given to more seasoned veterans.  My brother, who was then in his fifties and close to retirement (and for family and side-business reasons had never pursued the officer track), heard the captain issue an order that he knew was not only patently wrong, but would put the lives of the firefighters on the roof at risk.  He told the captain this. But the inexperienced captain ignored my brother and resumed giving orders into his radio.

Now here was a story I could identify with. Like my brother, because of family commitments and other career pursuits, I never pursued the “officer track”.  I never wanted to start or lead an agency. Yet I had reached the stage of my career where most people were either leading agencies or had moved on to other pursuits.  Now, knowing too much could actually be an issue. Advertising is an industry famous for eating its old and its ranks are filled with HR-proof euphemisms for going younger, but this is a different phenomenon than ageism. It has to do with a leader’s sense of self, and willingness to tap into the wisdom and experiences of her veteran staff.

I’ve worked for dozens of creative directors and I still enjoy healthy relationships with most.  But in recent years my cumulative experience, which had always been considered an asset, has become something of a liability to some.  Sure, most creative leaders still come to me for the main currency of the industry, ideas. And a smaller group, recognizing the value to be gleaned from an experienced colleague still deploy me as, for the baseball-minded, Yankees manager Joe Torre utilized his veteran bench coach Don Zimmer during their championship run in the late 1990s and early 2000s.  Though Torre was the clear leader, he knew that there was much to learn from his much older colleague. Like Torre, this small group of creative leaders are secure enough in their jobs (and convinced that I still don’t want them!) that they lean on me because I’ve been there before. Beyond idea generation they ask me to oversee projects. Mentor young teams. Run the pitch. Give the client another perspective. And share the occasional cautionary tale.

But why do more and more creative leaders seem genuinely threatened by the likes of me: a person of a certain age, talent or experience level who, for myriad reasons, doesn’t want to take their job or undermine them but, you know, knows some things? Fear and insecurity, sure.  But I suspect that culture at individual companies is equally responsible.

Back to that burning warehouse.  Since a bit more was at stake in the Bronx that day and because the FDNY has a different code of conduct than a Madison Avenue holding company, my brother didn’t slink back to a cubicle after he was ignored by his captain. Instead he grabbed him by the arm, led him out of earshot of the others and shoved the him against the burning building.  In more forceful language he explained why the young captain had to retract his order. Which he did. That day, my brother led, somewhat radically, from the middle.

Which begs the question, with the changing nature of our workforce and our life-balance formulas, how much untapped potential and wisdom is languishing in the middle ranks of the organizations that shape and occasionally save our lives?  As a leader, how do you mine it?  As a person in the middle, when and how do you unleash it?