A Message to Garcia

McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; 
Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?"

— Elbert Hubbard

In our teamwork-obsessed era, when it takes a village just to turn the lights on, we'd do well to bring back into everyday use the phrase "a message to Garcia."

As the Thesaurus of Traditional English Metaphors explains, to "take a message to Garcia" is to "accept responsibility and have enough courage and resourcefulness to complete a task."

Responsibility, courage and resourcefulness are clearly absent from the workplace today. 

The phrase a "message from Garcia" originates from a once-popular 1899 essay about a certain army officer, First Lieutenant Andrew Rowan.

Relying solely on his wits, according to "A Message to Garcia," Lieutenant Rowan ran the Spanish blockade to deliver a crucial letter from then-President William McKinley to the Cuban rebel leader General Calixto Garcia, who was secreted in his mountain hideout.

The Spanish-American War was about to heat up and McKinley wanted Garcia to tell him how many Spanish troops occupied Cuba. 

"There is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze," "A Message to Garcia" says of Rowan, "and the statue placed in every college in the land."

The point of the essay is simple: Rowan's exploits should prove to boys that, in a world where lethargy and irresponsibility are the norm, initiative trumps know-how every time.

"No man who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed hasn't been appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man—the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it," "A Message to Garcia" says.

"Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes other men to assist him."

Rowan's guts and ingenuity are qualities every boy should strive to acquire, "A Message to Garcia"  says.

"It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this or that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies; do the thing—carry a message to Garcia!"

In short, the workplace needs studs, omni-competent self-starters who are willing to carry the ball without a full playbook, constant handholding, or the promise of a merit badge at the end.

Alas, the self-esteem movement—and its sappy replacement, social-emotional learning—have robbed our workplaces of studs.

Today, employees are entitled. To offer even a lick of initiative, they demand moment-by-moment mollycoddling by their employers in the form of continuous stimulation, entertainment, rewards and appreciation. 

And so they are awarded gamified jobs, chill-out spaces, flexible hours, onsite masseurs, free catered lunches, nap pods, life coaching, artisanal coffee bars, and free gym memberships.

Absent those perks, they become "disengaged."

Even a text message to Garcia may never arrive.

Above all, "A Message to Garcia" wants readers to know that their value to employers comes not from book-smarts or eagerness, but from a kind of deferential dutifulness, a quiet reliability that puts the "help" in "hired help."

"The man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never has to go on strike for higher wages. 

"Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks will be granted; his kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city, town, and village—in every office, shop, store and factory. The world cries out for such; he is needed, and needed badly—the man who can carry a message to Garcia."

Carry a Sharp Blade

The world’s mine oyster, which I with sword will open.

— William Shakespeare

When in The Merry Wives of Windsor Shakespeare's scalawag Falstaff refuses to lend money to his trash-talking henchman Pistol, Pistol replies, "Why then, the world’s mine oyster, which I with sword will open."

Knowing Pistol is a blowhard, Falstaff doesn't take the veiled threat seriously. 

But the English-speaking world has.

"The world's your oyster" we are prompt to say to anyone who's unsure about her next avenue.

It is advice I'd freely offer kids, teens, and twenty-somethings fresh out of college.

It's also advice I'd offer retirees. 

Especially retirees.

So often I hear retirees say that they can't decide how to spend their time productively—that the opportunities to accomplish good things are few and that they lack the know-how needed.

It's a shame our language has forgotten the second half of Pistol's threat, or else we'd say: The world's your oyster if you carry a sharp blade.

In other words, countless pearls are within your grasp provided you can pry them out; so carry a decent knife.

Sound like strange advice?

You should realize that Shakespeare's audience would not have found it so.

Being voracious consumers of oysters, they would have grasped it—as they did Pistol's words—instantly.

That's because large rivers like the Thames teemed with oysters in their day, supplying London with cartloads of the cheap and savory snack.

Playgoers in particular liked to chomp on oysters during performances at the Globe, as archeological evidence shows.

They knew full well oysters demanded a sharp blade. 

So when Pistol called the world his oyster "which I with sword will open," they caught his drift immediately: Oysters are everywhere; they're tasty—and some even have pearls; all you need do is open them.

The gift of a long life expectancy has created countless opportunities for today's retirees to make social, cultural and economic contributions previous generations never dreamed possible.

What a crime it would be to waste them for lack of a sharp instrument.

Call it what you will—retraining, reskilling, upskilling, or lifetime learning—keeping your blade sharp is a prerequisite to fulfillment in your final years on Earth.

So get off your ass and get busy acquiring a few new skills.

The world's your oyster.

Still.

Elizabethan pocketknife, circa 1600
Courtesy Shakespeare Birthplace Trust 

The Filthiest Word in the Language

Retirement is the filthiest word in the language.

— Ernest Hemingway

Some words should be retired.

Retired is one of them.

Just as we no longer call anyone "colored" or "retarded," we shouldn't call anyone retired.

The word means, to most people, "purposeless."

Hemingway told his biographer and friend, A. E. Hotchner, that retirement was like a terrible death. 

"The worst death for anyone is to lose the center of his being, the thing he really is," Hemingway said. 

"Whether by choice or by fate, to retire from what you do and what makes you what you are, is to back up into the grave."

"Retired" means purposeless: half-dead, half-gone, half-forgotten.

Over the hill. Out to pasture. Lingering about with one foot in the grave.

Retirement, indeed, is the filthiest word in the language.

Love, Work and Bullshit

Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanity.

— Sigmund Freud

In 2017, I predicted the "gig economy" would soon enforce downshifting and make a universal guaranteed income mandatory.

But Mother Nature had other plans. 

She used a pandemic to enforce downshifting and PPP to guarantee income.

The pandemic has also unpredictably spurred a popular uprising known as the Antiwork Movement. 

Marxist in nature, the Antiwork Movement calls for an end to slavish, fear-based jobs in favor of "idling" and finds voice within industries like high tech, hospitality, and healthcare—the same sectors leading the Great Resignation.

Whether Covid-disruption or the Antiwork Movement have lasting traction is anyone's guess. 

My money says they don't. 

Covid will soon morph into a common cold, and there will remain plenty of workers eager to step into jobs abandoned by "idlers" (we call those eager beavers "immigrants").

What Covid and the Antiwork Movement have done is cast a bright light on "bullshit jobs." 

Bullshit jobs are those make-work occupations first described in 2013 by anthropologist David Graeber: stupid jobs such as concierge, bailiff, closet organizer, medical coder, tax attorney, Instagram marketer, and human resources executive; demeaning jobs so pointless they represent, in Graber's words, a "scar across our collective soul."

As 2022 progresses, I predict, we will see Covid-19 and the Antiwork Movement run out of steam and be replaced by an Antibullshit Movement.

We'll see more and more workers move from meaningless, dead-end jobs into jobs that combine Freud's cornerstones, work and love. Jobs like school teaching, woodworking, art conservation, investigative journalism, firefighting, farming, fundraising, truck driving, and hospice working.

And we'll see fewer and fewer workers becoming dog washers, pizza deliverymen, telemarketers, community organizers, diversity trainers, celebrity chefs, and professional shoppers.

Idling, too, will fall from grace.

After all, there's no money in it.

Tom

Many a man has found his place in the world because of having been forced to struggle for existence early in life.

— Napoleon Hill

Joining the 9-to-5 workforce as a rookie, as I did in the 1970s, can be unnerving.

You immediately learn that it's filled with people like Tom.

I remember encountering numerous Toms in my first 9-to-5 job. 

Jovial, assured and smug, middle-aged Tom glides through his job, the very model of self-confidence. 

Without enemies, Tom gets all the rewards, all the perks, all the bonuses and the big trip to Mexico.

Tom's in control of his destiny.

But within five minutes of getting to know Tom, you realize he's unoriginal and vapid and completely complacent. 

He's pleased by his place in the organization; works minimally; and remains only truly passionate about golf and that new blonde in accounting.

We wonder today, what's wrong with our economy? Why won't Gen Y'ers and Z'ers accept all the plentiful jobs available—and stick with them for more than a year?

We look all over the place for answers, when the answer's obvious.

Gen Y and Z weren't raised, as Boomers were, to tolerate—even celebrate—the Toms of the world.

Boomers were raised to put up with chronic bullshit; to accept that the workplace by nature was discriminatory and that "both cream and scum rise to the top;" and—most importantly—that the Toms earn their comfortable stature in the workplace by dint of tenure, obedience, and affability—and nothing more.

Boomers' parents, children of the Depression who came of age during World War II, taught them those beliefs.

They taught Boomers that struggle at a young age was the law of success; that, in the words of self-help pioneer Napoleon Hill, "far from being a disadvantage, struggle is a decided advantage."

Gen X'ers and Z'ers, on the other hand, were taught Trophy Communism. Struggle is anathema to them. 

As a result, they want it all, and they want it now. 

Gen X'ers and Z'ers are contemptuous of the Toms of the world and content to "sit out the economy" until all the Toms retire.

Unbundled

The creator economy allows people to unbundle from traditional employment and still be successful.

— Destinee Berman

Ageism is a thing. 

Indeed, a basic tenet of Critical Age Theory (CAT) holds that ageism is systemic.*

It begins to affect you the day you're no longer carded for an alcohol purchase.

Things go downhill from there.

By your late 60s (my age), ageism rears its ugly head every day. 

Waitresses give you the senior discount without asking; kids hold open doors for you; your mailbox is stuffed with offers for long-term care; your spam filter is clogged with emails about ED; and all the TV and Facebook ads feature Tom Selleck.

Worse, whenever you're asked for the name of your employer, the only answer the clerk will accept is "retired."

I'm not retired; and never will be, Lord willing. 

I'm unbundled.

To be unbundled is to be part of the gig economy.

A perhaps creaky part, but a part nonetheless.

Currently, I consult to clients; advise three nonprofit boards; tutor a high-schooler; write occasionally for magazines; and, first and foremost, paint original still lifes in oil.

Just ask the IRS whether I'm "retired."

I have no issue with anyone who's really retired, but only with those binary people who believe everyone over 60 must be retired, when in truth a lot of us are unbundled.

Why isn't that on your form, punk?

*NOTE: Bob James' Critical Age Theory (CAT) is not to be confused with linguist Eric Lenneburg's Critical Age Theory. The latter pertains to children; the former, to geezers. Lenneburg's theory is, in addition, widely accepted, while James' theory is still controversial.

No Place Like Home?

Considered a social distancing pioneer, Marcel Proust wrote all seven volumes of In Search of Lost Time in his bed.

Move over, Marcel. Americans may have you beat.

According to a new study by lead-gen company CraftJack, 45% of remote workers routinely work from a couch; 38%, in bed; and 20%, outdoors.

CraftJack asked 1,500 Americans who worked from home where in the house they did so.

While some have home offices, most Americans do not—particularly the city-dwellers.

Those unfortunate workers have been forced, since Covid-19 shut down the country in April 2021, to make do with couches, beds and chaise lounges.

Working from home under these conditions is no cakewalk, which could explain employees' poor reaction to Google's announcement yesterday (following Apple's lead) that it has postponed their return to the office to mid-October.

One Job

Is leadership possible without a purpose larger than ambition?

― Doris Kearns Goodwin

When my last manager drove me to quit a great company, little did I know I was in the majority.

Only six months later, Gallup asked a million employees why they'd quit their jobs and found the Number 1 reason to be the manager.

Seventy-five percent of employees who quit did so from sheer contempt for bossypants.

My manager was pretentious, narcissistic and bewitched by her own—and her betters'—power. She was a vestige from an acquisition and completely unlike her home-grown, more admirable, peers. I was unlucky enough to work for her—until I quit. It was a hard choice, but unavoidable.

A manager has one job. One. That's to, as Jean-Luc Picard always said, Engage!

The managers who shouldn't be managers don't get that. They can't. They only get blind ambition.

But ambition has nothing to do with being a manager.

Manager, meaning "one charged with conducting a house of business," came into English from the Italian maneggiare in the 14th century. Maneggiare means "to handle," especially with regard to teams of horses (maneggiare came the Latin manus, meaning "hand").

A manager acts as the "hand" that guides the business. 

She's there to direct work, neither "hands on" nor "hands off."

Her handiwork should be to engage, not to command, demand, or reprimand; and certainly not to manipulate, mandate, or manacle. More like to emancipate—in Latin, "to take someone by the hand."

"People leave managers, not companies," Gallup concluded from its million-person study.

When will companies come to grips with that?

Just Jake

America was going on the greatest, gaudiest spree in history.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Astute economists predict we're on the brink of another Roaring '20s, according to Axios.

"The economy may be close to consolidating years of technological advances—and ready to take off in a burst of productivity growth," Axios says. Those advances include digitization, AI, robotics, remote work, solar, and biomedicine.

A spree is overdue.

Although World War II drove three decades of productivity gains, that growth all but stopped in the 1970s. Despite a blip in the 1990s—attributable to computers—productivity has stagnated ever since.

But businesses have been investing in the new technologies over the past decade, and are mastering their use, Axios says. As a result, they're situated at the very bottom of a "productivity J-curve." 

They are ready to skyrocket. A survey by the World Economic Forum reveals 80% of businesses are accelerating digitization; 80%, remote work; and 50%, job automation. A big productivity leap is right around the corner.

That's just jake, as they would have said in the 1920's.

When's the Last Time You Got Laid?

"Off," I mean. Laid off.

I cringe each time a connection on LinkedIn opens his or her post, "After X years, I'm leaving my position at..."

As someone who was once laid off, I know how deeply anxious you feel. What's going to happen to me?

Much of the advice given to the laid-off, though well meaning, is shallow. It comes from Hallmark cards and self-published self-help books. 

Here's mine, take it or leave it. It comes from experience.

• Don't surrender to depression and fear. That's easy to do, I know, but don't do it.
  
  
• Don't self-medicate. 
  
  
• Don't spend money you don't have.
  
  
• Don't take advice from idiots (they're legion).
  
  
• Don't rely on a dusty old resume. Study state-of-the-art resumes and get outside help with yours, if you need it. 
  
  
• Don't spend hours applying for jobs on line. Work your network. And build on it as you do. 
  
  
• Don't jump at low-level sales opportunities you're offered (those businesses merely want to exploit you).
  
  
• Don't posture. Your usual baloney isn't welcome in a pandemic.
  
  
• Don't volunteer, unless your heart is in it and your efforts are valued (rare).
  
  
• Don't waste time. Spend four hours of every business day networking and four hours exercising. In the early mornings and evenings, read and participate in online workshops. Take the late evenings and weekends off.
  
  
• Don't surrender to "monkey mind." Try mindfulness mediation. Be patient with it.
  
  
• Don't bank on the "geographic cure." Moving to Austin or Atlanta or Anchorage won't land you a new job.    
  
  
• Don't fantasize a new life. If you think it's time for a self "reinvention," realize it will take years, not weeks, to pay off.

What's your advice to the laid-off?

They need sage advice.

Suite Nothings

At the conventions, fella, everything goes.

— John D. MacDonald

I have been whiling away the lockdown reading John D. MacDonald's "standalone" thrillers, paperback potboilers from the late 50's and early 60's. 

It's no wonder Ian Fleming and French mystery readers loved John D. His prose is pungent and punchy, and his take on Americans' habits raises his work to the level of the "literary" writers of his day (think of Norman Mailer, Kurt Vonnegut, Truman Capote and Gore Vidal).

A Key to the Suite, which earned John D the Grand Prix de Litterature Policiere, “examines the ferment of a big-time convention," according to the cover of the original 1962 paperback.

Corporate hatchet man Floyd Hubbard has been sent by the home office to a trade show. His mission: to dig up dirt on a has-been sales manager, Jesse Mulaney. Management wants Mulaney gone and knows his obsolescence is on full display when he attends trade shows.

But Mulaney's ally, Fred Frick, knows Hubbard has it in for his buddy, and plans to turn to the tables.

Frick hires Cory Barlund, a classy prostitute, to woo the family man Hubbard. He instructs Cory to bed Hubbard, then “make some horribly slutty embarrassing scene" in front of his coworkers—a scene guaranteed to send Hubbard running back to headquarters.

The gorgeous Cory rather quickly seduces Hubbard, but then feels sorry for him and tells him about Frick’s scheme. 

And that's when the fireworks start.

As a veteran of the industry, I'm captivated by John D's taut descriptions of trade shows and the goings-on behind the curtain—both the innocent and the vile.

You find yourself so on edge following the fates of the husbands, wives, whores and hoteliers who populate the pages of A Key to the Suite, you can hardly put it down.

It's gritty realism at its best.

Perfect Storm

I'm doing what I was made to do―and I've got a feeling I'm going to do it even better this time.

― Capt. Billy Tyne

You know the drill.

A colleague phones―often he has sizable obligations―to say his job or business has withered.

Fortunately, all of my colleagues are sensible people with emotional and financial reserves, so there's no hint of "talking them off the ledge."

But I can imagine there are people who are making desperate calls―or none at all. 

In fact, suicide-prevention experts are worried the Great Shutdown will trigger a spike in unattributed deaths.

The difference between the sensible and the suicidal is hope. Behavioral scientists have correlated hope with coping.

In my opinion, people find hope in one of three places. 

Some people find hope in belief in a savoir; others, in substance abuse; still others, in sheer will.

The philosopher and psychologist Eric Fromm thought hope was the evolutionary counterweight to our acquaintance with finitude. 

Unlike the other animals, Fromm said, we are self-aware; and the price we pay for that awareness is insecurity.

"How can a sensitive and alive person ever feel secure?" Fromm wrote.

"Just as a sensitive and alive person cannot avoid being sad, he cannot avoid feeling insecure. The psychic task which a person can and must set for himself, is not to feel secure, but to be able to tolerate insecurity, without panic and undue fear."

Why aren't my colleagues hobbled by insecurity? 

What makes them hopeful?

A team of behavioral researchers in the UK think they've found the answer: self-esteem. 

In four different studies, the researchers separated respondents into two groups: those who tested positive for high self-esteem, and those who tested positive for low self-esteem. 

They then asked them to write about death. 

The researchers found that people in the first group felt very little after the exercise, while the people in the second group felt hopeless.

I've also noticed my colleagues aren't only hopeful; they're thinking of others. 

Who's depending on them to come through? 

How can they help customers? 

Can they find in this mess an opportunity to contribute more to society than they have in the past?

The nuns taught me back in Catechism class that hope is a virtue that aspires to "the to happiness which God has placed in the heart of every man." 

Hope is life-preserver. 

"Buoyed up by hope," the Catechism says, "man is preserved from selfishness and led to the happiness that flows from charity."

The nuns had that right.

Stay well.

Thankful

This Thanksgiving I'm grateful for Lauren O’Conner.

She's Harvey Weinstein's original accuser, a kind of Rosa Parks. 

Her 2015 memo, leaked to The New York Times, was the basis of the paper's revelations last month. They led within 72 hours to Weinstein's dismissal.

We're going to see many, many executives topple in the coming year, thanks to O'Conner's action. Caddishness frequently accompanies power. And there are many old grievances.

The Weinstein Effect will break the glass ceiling.

McGuffins

The main thing I've learned over the years is that the McGuffin is nothing.

― Alfred Hitchcock

Alfred Hitchcock named the mysterious―and incidental―thing that triggers frenzy in a film the McGuffin.

Famous Hollywood McGuffins include the toy sled in Citizen Kane, the transfer papers in Casablanca, the black statue in The Maltese Falcon, the ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz, and the government secrets in North by Northwest.

Directors love McGuffins.

Managers do, too. Consultants call workplace McGuffins administrivia, which The Urban Dictionary defines as, "mindless bureaucratic tasks imposed on workers by management in order to crush the soul and prevent one from achieving anything useful or fulfilling."

McGuffinish time-wasters are inescapable. The seven worst are:

• Deciphering thoughtless emails 
• Learning seldom-used software platforms 
• Attending purposeless meetings 
• Assembling management reports 
• Explaining the obvious to untrained people 
• Explaining what everybody heard, but no one else wrote down 
• Redoing good work 

If McGuffins like these are triggering frenzy during your day, my advice is:

• Tackle urgent and strategic chores first
• Handle things once
• Identify the one or two biggest time-wasters and eliminate them

Until you learn to deal with workplace McGuffins, you'll never get off the crazy-making, value-destroying treadmill.

#MeToo

And now a word from Captain Obvious: women will no longer suffer harassment from the Weinsteins, O'Reillys and Trumps of the world when more of them preside in C-suites. 

I know. From experience.

For the first half of the '80s, I worked for a Fortune 500 company, managing an in-house agency staffed largely by women.

One day, the company announced its appointment of a new CMO, a man who'd been a behind-the-scenes operative in Republican presidential politics for two decades.

It wasn't long before a few of them came to me, independently of one another, and told me of his many unwelcome advances. I asked the other women who reported to me whether the CMO had hit on them, as well. He had. 

I didn't hesitate to report my conversations to my boss, who went immediately to HR.

The CMO was fired, unceremoniously, the same week.

I failed to mention: women filled many of the senior executive positions in the company at the time.

In themselves, firings, lawsuits, board resolutions, and employee training won't put an end to harassment, or to organizations' file cabinet compliance with civil rights laws.

Those will end when more women lead.

Hustle

In a recent op-ed in The New York Times, Disrupted author Dan Lyons slammed Silicon Valley's work ethic.

Under the rubric "hustle," Lyons says, the Valley worships workaholism.

"You hear it everywhere," he writes. "You can buy hustle-themed T-shirts and coffee mugs, with slogans like 'Dream, hustle, profit, repeat' and 'Outgrind, outhustle, outwork everyone.' You can go to an eight-week 'start-up hustle' boot camp. You can also attend Hustle Con, a one-day conference where successful 'hustlers' share their secrets."

Angel and hero Gary Vee (Vaynerchuk) tells hustlers to work 18-hour days, seven days a week, according to Lyons. So do employers like Uber and Lyft. They've fetishized hustle, and made hardship a mandate.

While too busy to read books, Valley dwellers would do well, in my opinion, to read the last pages of Steve Jobs, the entrepreneur's authorized biography. They recount Jobs' deathbed interview.

Jobs tells his biographer he permitted the posthumous book not for the public's sake, but as a memento for his children. "I wanted my kids to know me," he said. "I wasn't always there for them, and I wanted them to know why, and to understand what I did."

Asked whether he cared much for children he never knew, the multi-billionaire said they were "10,000 times better than anything I've ever done."

My Chakra is Ferkakta

Fans of Mindfulness-Based-Stress Reduction (MBSR), which finds rays of Western science in Eastern meditation, have become saintly inside many Fortune 100s.

They've set up MBSR programs for employees of Aetna, Intel, Target and, naturellement, Google.

With all our Internet-induced stress, it's little wonder.

"We need this stuff right now," says New York Times reporter David Gelles, author of Mindful Work, "Mindfulness is an effective way to get off the hamster wheel of our minds."

But if your māyā detector just buzzed, I'm with you.

I've tried mindfulness meditation, sitting with a great teacher.

I learned enough to know it's hard work.

People peddling MBSR as an easy remedy to stress are selling snake oil.

There ain't no cure for work-life imbalance in one-minute meditations and cutesy memes.

After all, it took Siddhârtha seven weeks to work it out.

And he had a fig tree.