Continuing Education

Having recently embraced a concentrated curriculum, I have concluded that professional self-improvement begets more disillusionment than enlightenment. In fact, I knew it before I strode purposely across the threshold of knowledge, yet I persevered.

Was it my obsessive-compulsive personality, my deep-rooted ethnic guilt, my inveterate admiration of scholarly mouthpieces, or a too sanguine assessment of the portability of some memorable prescription for personal or business invigoration that roused me from my luxurious accommodations at the Anatole Hilton in Dallas, Texas, propelled me through a chilly predawn six-mile run, and deposited me in class at 8:00 AM on three consecutive mornings for nine sleep-deprived hours of continuing education -- when, in truth, I suspected it would all be for naught?

After all, as one lecturer metaphorically remarked, good ideas are like slippery fish, and, once the hook is removed, they require aggressive measures to be retained and digested, which he graciously supplied: a to-do list, good intentions ambitiously recorded in the rarefied air of the laboratory, and a to-review list, notable objectives resolutely consummated in the real world of retail frenzy.

Even that formula for piscatorial containment was difficult to spear. Whether from stubbornness, perversity, egotism, or simply habit, ignoring the savant's advice, I took copious notes instead; I always do; otherwise, my attention falters and my diligent attendance is wasted. Consequently, I now have a to-do list that is so daunting I shudder at initiating even Task One and a to-review list that is as unblemished as the crystalline snowflakes that unexpectedly dotted the Dallas suburbs that morning. If only a written examination had been in the offing, I would have made the Honor Role, since my notes are exceedingly thorough. Alas, the only tests here are self-administered ones for performance, and in that regard, as my readers have no doubt already deduced, I hardly rate a passing grade.

Of course, there is another way to way to view this whole exercise. Once one has mastered the principles, promulgations, and best-practices of leadership, management, and motivation, and the ability to regurgitate them on cue, one would seem eminently qualified to don the mantle of consultant -- a line of work in which the responsibility for the actual execution of all these directives rests on the heavily-weighted shoulders of someone other than the preacher. Some of these putative experts are indeed veterans of the types of businesses for which they are professing wisdom; whether their disengagement and reinvention can be attributed to past success, failure, or mediocrity is a pregnant question. For surely there must be a modicum of truth in the adage that a consultant is a person who knows fifty ways to make love but can't get a date.

Not intending to be disrespectful, I am amused by the crowded -- and lucrative -- cottage industry of consultancy, in which each "suit" seems to be cut from the same bolt of cloth. Patient but anxious, he stands at the head of the class, smiling, adjusting his equipment, greeting a few of the eager, bleary-eyed, fifty-something students who stroll in, wondering if this is the man (or woman) who can deliver the magic bullet they have traveled some many miles in search of. He lays his jacket aside so it will not interfere with his energetic body movements; he wears a necktie subdued in color and design to minimize distractions. His voice is deep, resonant, and forceful, hardly needing the amplification provided by the tiny microphone attached to his shirt.

He talks smoothly, confidently, and often rapidly, trying to compress three hours of potent material into sixty or ninety minutes. His words gush forth like torrents from a fire hydrant, while his thirsty auditors sip the swirling waters like soda through a straw or sift for sparkling nuggets of golden edification before they can wash away. His delivery is polished, professional, familiar but not memorized, the product of countless hours of similar presentations, rehearsals, and recordings. He floats out a few half-hearted jokes or witticisms -- usually to emphasize a point -- but, in truth, he doesn't have much time for humor. He sporadically attempts to engage the audience, but unless a lucky guess surfaces quickly he answers his own question and races on. He enhances his message with a handout, in my view a poor substitute for listening, and power point slides, which can be helpful but also disconcerting.

While my companions often gravitate to the sides and rear of the meeting room, I always sit in the first or second of the five or six rows of parallel tables, and near the center, in order to see and hear better. Some speakers will ask the peripheral folks to move forward and fill up the front seats; others will roam down a center aisle to reach them, leaving me, who had the courtesy to sit up front, staring into space, justifiably irritated.

My first class, "Rewards that Produce Results," is taught by Sam A., a tall, lanky, rectangular-faced gentleman who warms up his audience by recounting the trials, tribulations, and frustrations of working in his family's carpet business -- still owned and operated by his eighty-year-old father, who, since Sam left, can't seem to find any good help -- and blaming the requisite long hours for the breakup of his first marriage. He made a nice recovery, however, as evidenced by the striking, black-haired beauty, fifteen years his junior, brightening up the rear of the rear of the room selling his books and CD's.

Sam erupts with a barrage of aphoristic statements and statistics which, at first pass, sound like revelations, but, on second thought, are hardly ingenious. Businesses succeed because people want them to. Satisfied customers go elsewhere; only loyal customers come back. Our employees should look like they want to be at work; tell them to tell their faces that they are having a good day. The sales force generates four times as much loyalty as advertising and marketing. Ninety per cent of customer loyalty is generated by twenty-five per cent of the sales force. The single most important determinant of an individual's performance is his relationship with his immediate superior. A people problem is a leadership problem. (I wonder if Sam ran that one by dear old Dad.)

You can see where we're heading. Sam transitions into a philosophical analysis of leadership, which he defines as the finessing of contraries. Using the Abraham Lincoln of Doris Kearns Goodwin's "Team of Rivals" as an example -- a man who was charismatic yet unassuming, consistent yet flexible, willing to take risks, yet patient -- Sam portrays the inspiring leader as one who can manage conflict between opposing forces, even initiate such conflict, because conflict has the power to generate creative tension and original thinking. After all, he announces profoundly, the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth. And the sign of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing views in the mind and still function.

Sam drifts from those profundities to the tactics of leadership -- hiring and firing, managing by walking around, measuring performance, setting goals, delegating, and coaching -- which he has little time for, because he is anxious to illuminate its most effective quality -- which inspiring leaders cultivate in themselves -- love. Yes, it turns out, all you need is love -- because you can buy employees' heads but not their hearts; managers have learned to love techniques and use people, when they should be doing just the opposite; and, in a truly felicitous play on words, love makes ordinary workers extraordinary.

Well, it is Sunday morning, so Sam's sermon isn't too far-fetched. The heart of love is the spirit of giving, and Sam, dripping with love for his congregants, bestows upon us the five love languages for success in business and personal relationships: quality time; acts of service; gifts; touch; and words of affirmation, encouraging words, kind words, humble words. He reminds us of what we innately know: the tongue has the power of life and death; the killer of motivation is criticism; a person needs eight praises for every criticism; inspiring leaders focus on strengths and manage around weaknesses.

I leave the room thinking that he certainly got that ratio right; my wife criticizes me once and I praise her eight times.

I enjoy Sam enough to risk a second class the next day -- on a different subject, of course, "Business is a Game of Margins," replete with a whole new assortment of insightful word-smithing, beginning with this groundbreaking formula for success: build a business; don't do business, that advice following hard upon the by-now-familiar saga of his carpet-store apprenticeship. Today's lesson is that a negotiated dollar adds or subtracts from the bottom line and to increase profitability, don't cut prices; raise them. (Apparently, Sam A. never heard of Sam W . . . alton.) Increase your prices ten percent, and you can make the same profit with thirty-four per cent fewer sales. (The problem with that calculation is that it's not so easy to raise prices ten per cent.)

As it turns out, pricing power is largely a function of positioning, your ability to differentiate yourself from your competitor. To put it bluntly, as Sam does, differentiate or die. Customers will never perceive you are the best unless they perceive you are different.

If your advertisements, store appearance, and customer service are no different (or no better) than your competitor's, then your customer, when confronted by similarity and reduced to commodity shopping, will make her buying decision on price, in which case, the lowest price wins. If a customer claims she can purchase your product at a lower price, tell her why you are worth more. Never admit sameness; if necessary, acknowledge the price differential, but convey your conviction that your product is better.

Add some love to your marketing mix -- the same kind of love Sam advocates for employees. Customers want our love, our empathy. The opposite of love is, not hate, but indifference, and indifference on the part of employees is why customer don't come back.

Sam tosses out a school of slippery fish, hoping his listeners can spear one or two more: shop your competition, not to copy him, but to surpass him; offer a diverse product and price mix; price every item on your floor; use printed price tags; price by perceived value rather than by a standard margin; highlight certain products for comparison with other products; and brand yourself -- with an identity, not a hot iron. That is an extensive to-do list; and I've got four other classes to attend.

Dave A. teaches the next one, entitled "Consumer Communications," a general treatment of communication skills applicable, in fact, to all kinds of interpersonal relationships.

Dave likes lists, beginning with seven rules for good communication: since communication is a dialogue, not a monologue, let the other person talk; listen with the mind, by developing better eye-contact skills, such as focusing on the bridge of the talker's nose (if nothing else, I have been honing in on noses lately); do not argue, which injects emotion into the dialogue; never interrupt, either verbally or non-verbally (such as by looking away); ask questions; minimize negatives; and deflect gossip, or negative talk about other people.

Fifty-five per cent of communication is transmitted by one's body language, thirty-eight per cent by voice, seven per cent in words (Now where did he come up with that one?) -- which means that, in a telephone conversation, one's tone of voice is five times more important than the words one speaks. Three barriers to communication are boredom (because one listens five times faster than the other person speaks, unless the speaker is a silver-tongued business consultant); voice inflection, which alters one's meaning; and the tendency of the listener to lock on to his own perception of what is happening and to lock out what is actually being said.

For effective communication, ask open-ended questions beginning with what, how, and why (like we did as children, until our parents started answering us, "Because I told you so, that's why"), not with closed-ended ones beginning with where, when, and who.

Dave concludes his remarks with a list which logically would have been more useful to his audience if shared earlier -- poor listening habits: pencil listening, or taking notes (and there I was, feverishly scribbling away, excusable, however, because this wasn't a one-on-one conversation, unless, of course, everyone else was asleep); pretending to listen; not listening and not even pretending; not caring about what is being said; completing another person's thought before he can; and displaying boredom -- by yawning, or similar body language, even during an 8:00 AM class, which this is. Fortunately, I can yawn, write, and listen simultaneously.

Who can resist a class with the scintillating title "Explode Your Sales," taught by Robert B.? Robert opens with a statistic that is not all that surprising but nevertheless embarrassing: fifteen per cent of weekly sales are made on Sunday, and our stores are closed on Sunday. Thus, I'm not sure if our company fits the alliterative model of the new Millenium Merchant, who operates during customer-friendly hours, understands the power of an exceptional staff, uses technology to benefit his business, and leverages other people's ideas.

Robert presents three ways to grow one's business, which, in retrospect, aren't that novel either: increase the average sale; increase the number of transactions per customer; and increase the number of customers. The first of these he dispenses with quickly: train your staff to sell more to each customer (which doesn't seem like much of a solution without some elaboration of the word "train") and raise your prices (which doesn't seem any easier to do just because I hear it a second time). At this point, I am tempted to tell Robert to go fly a kite, since furniture prices do not float up as effortlessly as the kites once manufactured by the company he co-founded with his brother in his youthful, entrepreneurial days.

Robert ramps up the originality when he addresses how to generate more transactions per customer: develop a frequent buyer program, rebating a customer after a specified number of purchases; market by e-mail, using short, interesting, and timely messages; and organize special events, such as parties, contests, and clubs.

Acquiring new customers is the most difficult of the three objectives. Robert proposes a new paradigm: give in order to get; lose on the first transaction to make money later; make a sale, regardless of cost, in order to get a customer (to which I would respond: since consumers don't purchase furniture that often, I'm not sure we can afford the initial losing transaction). Among the tactics one might employ in implementing this strategy are distributing gift cards, offering to share the proceeds from purchases with non-profits, and rewarding customers who refer others to your store -- all of which may yield benefits, but, even taken together, are hardly likely to create the critical mass furniture retailers are looking for.

I have to laugh out loud as I slide into my next class, "It's About Time," where the instructor, a professorial-looking fellow named George P., is extremely agitated. "What's wrong?" I inquire. "This has never happened to me in eight years of consulting work," he says. "The organizers of this program didn't give me enough time." Too bad, George, I think to myself, not wanting to engage in negative conversation, because, in your own words, time can't be saved, and, in a rather daring assertion for this Bible-belt territory, you might not have another life after this one. Actually, I believe that is a certainty.

Given a second chance this morning, George manages his time better, because my notes are brief and to the point. He lists ten principles of time efficiency. Zap distractions (by closing your office door, for example, when you do not wish to be disturbed -- and make sure your employees know why it is closed). Plan your day on the way to work. (Sorry, I'm listening to Mike and Mike sports talk.) Make a to-do list (another one). Delegate, because the person who rows the boat doesn't have time to rock it (as long as the crew is not up the creek without a paddle). Once you pass the baton -- give an assignment to an associate -- don't take it back. Make meetings about the future, not the past. Recruit rigorously and effectively, because eighty per cent of one's time is spent as the result of a bad hire. (And if you have wonderful employees, like I have, you can reduce your work time by eighty per cent.) Discipline effectively, following a brief verbal, formal warning, interview, and write-up process (which seems more time-consuming than time-efficient). Get your sleep (and remember to close your door). And finally, learn to multi-task, his best piece of advice, although I doubt any of the executives in this room would have made it this far if without already possessing that skill.

Taking to heart George's warning about bad hiring decisions, I rally for the closing day's serendipitous class on "Hiring and Firing." Attendance is embarrassingly sparse, as many of my colleagues, pressed for time, have headed home, leaving many empty seats in the rear of the room for the remaining dozen or so to choose from. Our instructor, Daniel A., is tall, well-groomed, nattily attired, and a fast talker who, it appears, can hire or fire with equal aplomb.

Daniel begins by identifying the hiring challenges employers face these days. By 2010 there will be ten million more jobs in our society than workers to fill them (unless, I reflect, we open up our borders or raise the retirement age, two simple, but politically suicidal, solutions). Whereas workers of my generation chose a job for life, today they opt for a life full of jobs, and change them eleven times before retirement (a number which seemed exaggerated to me, perhaps skewed by some who change monthly). Higher pay reduces turnover; Costco's average hourly pay is forty per cent higher than Sam's Club, and its turnover is six per cent compared to Sam's twenty-one per cent. Baby boomers like me (with a strong work ethic!) face a generational challenge; we are relegated to hiring Generation X'ers who, raised in a latch-key environment, may be defensive and angry, or Generation Y'ers who, operating in a universe of high-tech communications, desire working conditions suited to their lifestyle.

Daniel warns of several hiring traps. Seventy-two per cent of companies don't have a structured process. They hire under pressure and lower their standards. They focus on what prospective employees can do rather than on what they will do, when, in fact, they should hire on attitude and teach technique. Reference checks are worthless. Bad hires are costly: three times the employee's salary, lower company morale, retraining expenses, lost business opportunities, and poor customer service (not to mention, eighty per cent of the manager's time).

Who could argue with Daniel's next piece of advice? Look for people who possess integrity, intelligence, and common sense; who maintain eye contact (or at least bridge-of-the-nose contact); and who are organized, can multi-task, and are willing to change. (In other words, look for someone just like you!) Sadly, the best place to find such superhumans is in industries other than retail: customer service, hospitality, teaching, the military, and airlines. (I wonder which friendly skies he's been flying.)

Daniel suggests how such individuals might be recruited. Pay bonuses to current employees for referrals (as much as $1000 to be effective). Run advertisements, which are free, on the AARP web site. Ask manufacturer's representatives for assistance by posing such innocuous questions as "Who do you know who might be interested in this opportunity?"

Daniel goes into considerable detail on the interview process. He recommends three interviews: a telephone interview and one each by the prospective employee's supervisor and an associate. He screens applicants by having them respond to voice mail: "Welcome to Schewels. Please leave a brief message and five reasons why you would do well in the furniture industry." The best respondents are called back for a five-minute telephone interview, and those who pass this line of defense are invited for a personal forty-minute interview.

It begins with some casual pleasantries and the interviewer providing basic information about himself and the company culture. Then the conversation flips, and the interviewer asks the applicant about his background, education, military service, and job experience. He asks him to rank in order one to five his reasons for wanting to make a job change: challenge, location, advancement, money, and security. (They are easy to remember; just think "clams.")

He searches deeper, trying to ascertain the applicant's motivations. He asks for three adjectives his former supervisor would use to describe him, and, if he receives a prepared answer, he probes for amplification with open-ended "why" questions. (Remember those?) He asks what his former supervisor would say are three areas in which he needs personal improvement.

If he likes the applicant, he closes the interview by asking him: on a scale of one to ten, how interested is he in this position, and then, how the gap between his response and number ten can be closed. He asks the applicant to call him a 10:15 the next morning -- a sly test of punctuality. A third interview is conducted by an associate, whose reaction must be positive for the applicant to be hired.

Daniel concludes with the last sound bite of my strenuous three-day rest, rehabilitation, and re-education adventure: a failure to hit the bull's eye is not the fault of the target.

I'll remember that one, along with a few other zingers. Love your employees (but don't get too close). Differentiate or die (unless a competitor has an idea too good not to copy). Focus on the bridge of the nose (when you can't bear to look the person whom you are about to fire in the eye). It's about time (to get home and back to work). Actually, the maxim not a single one of these garrulous authorities propounded among the thousands of words they fluidly disgorged is the one that by far seems the most appropriate: It's all easier said than done.