Monday, May 14, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Alaska in Black and White
Alaska in Black & White
I remember how, as a youngster growing up in Oakley, Idaho, we had one of the first televisions in the valley— the picture came only in black and white, but we were thrilled— with a huge antennae on the roof to catch the signal, big enough to snag passing satellites, had there been any in those dark, unenlightened days. So I was one of the few to be able to watch, in black and white, the shedding of tears in Texas as Alaska was voted into the union of the 50 states. Alaska of course being bigger than Big Texas.
There was a story here, some pride-impact that was a vague entry in my infantile lexicon of human understanding. Not until I married a girl from Virginia and learned that what Texas and Virginia both have in common is that they both believe they are the best state in the union, did I comprehend some the depth of Texas’ sorrow. Comprehending that bruised Texas pride and the lone star commitment to a vast separateness was the beginning of the Alaska story for me. Later, I thought the world a very strange place when my wife took out Texas citizenship in Cedar Hill, TX in the late 80’s. I myself have never wavered from my Idaho citizenship. Even though I am currently from a flat land called Kansas City Missouri.
North to Alaska
The current chapter of the Alaska story starts with the fifth trip of my life to the frozen north, always as a consultant. In this case, an organization change management consultant. Alaska is frozen only 9 months of the year, actually. I had made a few trips in the mid-80’s to work with the maintenance mechanics on the North Slope, or “the slope”, as it is called by those who know what’s what. On this special fifth trip, 2 decades later, the major event consisted of meeting with the operations manager for Cook Inlet and northern Alaska for one of the major oil companies. Turns out he is one of the best natural team-builders I have ever met. I told stories of being on the north slope; he told other stories.
I knew he would want an Alaska aficionado: which I was. I listened to his stories of the excellence of the Alaska workers and of his operation. I came to feel the energy of his caring for and pride in his operation. I listened to the song of the inlet, the sweeping song of the wrestle with the oil, gas, water and ice.
I gave him advice on how to tell the Alaska story to his matrix masters thousands of miles to the south. I offered ideas. He appeared to listen. It was the beginning of ambiguity.
The trouble with consulting is that most people don’t know what to do with you. They know they need something, or they would not be talking to you. They know the “pinched toe” theory—if your toes hurt, something about the fit of the shoes is wrong. But what to do—thinner socks, bigger shoes, less walking?
On the trip a couple of weeks previous, ambiguity reigned. I had a series of mute meetings with the managers of the location. People spoke, asked pretty good questions, I spoke and watched for signs of receptivity…but only muteness passed between us. Now this fifth trip there was some coherence in the paragraphs we shared. Ambiguity rained less.
What Consultants Really Do
One of my consultant mentors once said that if ever you were asked into an organization, you could be sure that someone there wanted you to be an extension of his/her power. Another of my consultant mentors defined consulting as hours and hours of sheer boredom, punctuated by moments of sheer terror…his more graphic description of what happens in consulting is “some days you eats the bear, and some days the bear eats you”. In this case an Alaskan bear was chewing on me pretty good—the worst kind of culinary adventure!
To help clear up the confusion, I decide to ask one of my children in his 20’s (which most of them are) what he says when someone asks him what his father does for a living. I have been a consultant for 20 plus years, by the way, since before this particular child was born. He hems and haws, chuckles and eyes the ceiling, and then says “I tell them you are in the mafia, or that you are an international spy…and then I tell them that you are a consultant to businesses to help them work better, that you work with groups of people to help them work together better as teams; I tell them you work for the evil oil companies…” So except for that last part, I guess he gets it.
I remember how, as a youngster growing up in Oakley, Idaho, we had one of the first televisions in the valley— the picture came only in black and white, but we were thrilled— with a huge antennae on the roof to catch the signal, big enough to snag passing satellites, had there been any in those dark, unenlightened days. So I was one of the few to be able to watch, in black and white, the shedding of tears in Texas as Alaska was voted into the union of the 50 states. Alaska of course being bigger than Big Texas.
There was a story here, some pride-impact that was a vague entry in my infantile lexicon of human understanding. Not until I married a girl from Virginia and learned that what Texas and Virginia both have in common is that they both believe they are the best state in the union, did I comprehend some the depth of Texas’ sorrow. Comprehending that bruised Texas pride and the lone star commitment to a vast separateness was the beginning of the Alaska story for me. Later, I thought the world a very strange place when my wife took out Texas citizenship in Cedar Hill, TX in the late 80’s. I myself have never wavered from my Idaho citizenship. Even though I am currently from a flat land called Kansas City Missouri.
North to Alaska
The current chapter of the Alaska story starts with the fifth trip of my life to the frozen north, always as a consultant. In this case, an organization change management consultant. Alaska is frozen only 9 months of the year, actually. I had made a few trips in the mid-80’s to work with the maintenance mechanics on the North Slope, or “the slope”, as it is called by those who know what’s what. On this special fifth trip, 2 decades later, the major event consisted of meeting with the operations manager for Cook Inlet and northern Alaska for one of the major oil companies. Turns out he is one of the best natural team-builders I have ever met. I told stories of being on the north slope; he told other stories.
I knew he would want an Alaska aficionado: which I was. I listened to his stories of the excellence of the Alaska workers and of his operation. I came to feel the energy of his caring for and pride in his operation. I listened to the song of the inlet, the sweeping song of the wrestle with the oil, gas, water and ice.
I gave him advice on how to tell the Alaska story to his matrix masters thousands of miles to the south. I offered ideas. He appeared to listen. It was the beginning of ambiguity.
The trouble with consulting is that most people don’t know what to do with you. They know they need something, or they would not be talking to you. They know the “pinched toe” theory—if your toes hurt, something about the fit of the shoes is wrong. But what to do—thinner socks, bigger shoes, less walking?
On the trip a couple of weeks previous, ambiguity reigned. I had a series of mute meetings with the managers of the location. People spoke, asked pretty good questions, I spoke and watched for signs of receptivity…but only muteness passed between us. Now this fifth trip there was some coherence in the paragraphs we shared. Ambiguity rained less.
What Consultants Really Do
One of my consultant mentors once said that if ever you were asked into an organization, you could be sure that someone there wanted you to be an extension of his/her power. Another of my consultant mentors defined consulting as hours and hours of sheer boredom, punctuated by moments of sheer terror…his more graphic description of what happens in consulting is “some days you eats the bear, and some days the bear eats you”. In this case an Alaskan bear was chewing on me pretty good—the worst kind of culinary adventure!
To help clear up the confusion, I decide to ask one of my children in his 20’s (which most of them are) what he says when someone asks him what his father does for a living. I have been a consultant for 20 plus years, by the way, since before this particular child was born. He hems and haws, chuckles and eyes the ceiling, and then says “I tell them you are in the mafia, or that you are an international spy…and then I tell them that you are a consultant to businesses to help them work better, that you work with groups of people to help them work together better as teams; I tell them you work for the evil oil companies…” So except for that last part, I guess he gets it.
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