My Boss Likes Me, He Likes Me Not

When I took over the reins of the Phillies (in 1981), I wanted to keep Dallas Green as manager, but he moved on to the Chicago Cubs to run their baseball operation. As he departed, he recommended that I hire Pat Corrales as the Phillies new manager. I did that, and Corrales got a lot out of the team in his first season. But by 1983, Corrales had become very distant from his players.

“I hate most of these guys,” Corrales would tell me.

I did not like the idea that the manager hated most of his players, so I fired him in mid-July despite the fact that the Phillies were in first place.

Did you catch that? Giles fired Corrales while he was in first place!

What do you think? Can a manager succeed who hates his team?

More importantly for us, can an editor succeed who hates his staff? For that matter, can an editor successfully manage an individual he or she does not like?

Let’s be clear about the question we’re asking. Are we asking whether you need to be friends with your staff to succeed? Or are we asking whether leaders can be effective if they truly dislike working with their staffs?

My interest lies in the latter question, and it’s a complicated one. After all, lots of editors say they enjoy working with some members of the staff more than with others, and some of those editors are very successful.

Does that mean it doesn’t matter how you feel about working with your staff?

I think it does matter. And for me, the key word is respect.

If I respect you, believing that you use your talents to serve the public and help our organization succeed, I will find it much more satisfying to work with you. That doesn’t mean you have to be agreeable or even pleasant — but I need to know that we’re after the same goal: excellent journalism.

I need to respect you. And it helps if you respect me.

If I don’t respect you, well, let’s be honest: I’m probably not going to work as hard on your behalf. I might avoid you. I’ll probably give you assignments that are safer, less likely to require I work with you. If I’m lucky enough to have an assistant, I’ll assign your work to him or her. Or I’ll leave your stories for the staff on nightside to edit.

Merit raises? Don’t hold your breath.

Promotions? Only if one of my unsuspecting colleagues can be suckered.

Sound familiar?

And here’s the real danger: I think there’s a “tipping point” in this situation, a point at which I dislike working with enough of the people on my staff that I begin managing from a distance. Maybe I hide in my office. Or bury myself in my computer. Begin communicating mostly by e-mail. And build — together with my similarly-frustrated colleagues — a wall between editors and staff.

Is this happening in your newsroom? And has there ever been a time when our resource-challenged newsrooms could less afford for this to happen?

I’ve been part of such a culture. As a young editor, I contributed to it.

I remember a night, back in Baltimore, when a group of editors on the metro desk went out for dinner. There were about 10 of us around the table, and before we knew it, we had slipped (all too comfortably) into a bitch session about our reporters. We were having our share of laughs at the staff’s expense when, suddenly, one of our more experienced colleagues spoke up. Listen to yourselves, he said. Is that what you really think of your staff? If it is, should you be in these jobs?

He was right. He also might have asked what any of us had done to help our reporters address the “weaknesses” we found so easy to criticize. We — at least, I — had done very little.

And so it is in too many newsrooms. Editors and their staffs default to a position of limited or non-engagement, all because we allow the shortcomings we find in one another to divide us. To become reasons to lose respect.

A leader cannot succeed in this atmosphere. And while leaders and their staffs both contribute to creating an atmosphere of mutual respect, it is the editor who assumes responsibility for ensuring that such an atmosphere can develop — whether it’s for a whole newsroom, a department, a desk or just a shift.

So how can I, as a leader, ensure that the conditions exist on my staff for mutual respect to develop?

For starters, let’s accept reality: The members of my staff have different talents and shortcomings, some of them serious. It’s a package deal.

Next, let’s acknowledge that a big part of my success will depend on how I respond to those shortcomings. That’s a big challenge, because where do I find the time to patiently, strategically address my staff’s weaknesses in these relentless times of “Do More With Less”?

Yes, it’s difficult. But in my experience, the editors who substantively address their staff’s shortcomings — who consistently and positively communicate, “We can become better” — most often create an atmosphere of mutual respect.

How about you? What kind of atmosphere exists on your staff? Have shortcomings become wedges that divide you, or do you address them in an atmosphere of mutual respect?

Here’s a brief self-assessment, five questions designed to help you honestly assess your relationship with your staff.

1. Do I enjoy working with my staff?

Regardless of your answer, ask: Why? What do they do that makes the work either satisfying or frustrating? If it’s good, how can we do even more of that?

If you’re feeling frustrated, what are members of your staff doing that disappoints –- or even angers -– you? Be as specific as possible; don’t settle for, “Jim can’t write,” or “Sue never has ideas.” Seek observations like “Jim’s stories aren’t focused on one idea or theme.” Or “Sue’s story lists rely too heavily on meetings and events.”

Identifying the specifics behind your frustrations opens the possibility for you to intervene. After all, you might not be able to turn Sue into an “idea person,” but you might coach her to look beyond the meeting to a better story, one that will benefit your audience. And you might help Jim, before he starts writing, to find his focus. Challenge him, for example, to identify the sentence or word that says what his story is really about.

2. How am I responding to my frustration?

• Am I managing any of my staffers from a distance?
  
• Am I avoiding her? Am I giving her “safe” assignments? How often am I leaving the editing of her stories for other editors?
  
• What percentage of my communication with him is e-mail?
  
• Does he know why I’m treating him this way? Do I care?

(Please know in a personal assessment, “I don’t care” is a perfectly acceptable answer. If you’re being honest, it’s an unmistakable signal that you need another job. Such clarity is priceless.)

3. What could I do to help the staffer address this issue? (There might be more than one issue, but take this one at a time.)

• When did I have my last candid conversation with my staffer, sharing my concerns and why I think they must be addressed?
  
• How explicit have I been about my expectations for his performance?
  
• Am I sure he understands my expectations for him? How do I know?
  
• What is our timetable for revisiting his progress and setting new goals?
  
• How have we adjusted our daily working relationship in order to check our progress, if practical, every day?
  
• What “special treatment” –- extra coaching, a different deadline, a temporary change in assignment -– am I willing to give this staffer in order to improve his performance?
  
• When did I last ask the staffer for feedback on my performance –- and what did she say?

4. What help do I need to improve this staffer’s performance?

• What has my boss done to support my efforts?
  
• How are my assistants or colleagues contributing to this effort?
  
• What training do I or my staffer need, and how can we get it?
  
• Which of my colleagues or mentors could listen to my frustrations and give me encouragement and ideas?

And finally, one more important question:

5. Has my frustration grown so large that I’ve become an ineffective editor?

• Do I find myself on my ride to work dreading the day ahead?
  
• When I talk with other editors about my staff, what do we talk about?
  
• How much of my time is spent working the room? What percentage is spent at my desk?
  
• What tough conversations am I avoiding?
  
• Am I miserable in my work?

Acknowledging the truth about our feelings toward our staffs –- and our performance in light of those feelings -– is a crucial first step toward creating a place where mutual respect might exist. And as long as we don’t say, “I don’t care anymore,” the opportunity exists to heal broken relationships and produce better work.

It all starts with candor. And as a leader, the first move is yours.