Authors: Colin Powell
It Worked For Me (7 page)
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ost organizations are like pyramids, with the leaders at the top and everybody else on descending layers down to the bottom, where the heaviest physical work normally takes place and where people start out. Now imagine each person in that organization to be a sphere. On the lowest level of the pyramid, each sphere is tiny, but it’s capable of growing. Everything outside the pyramid is the environment in which the organization lives.
Over time people ascend within the pyramid from layer to ever higher and narrower layers. As they gain experience and show ability, their spheres grow bigger and bigger until they hit the inside walls of the pyramid. During this process, hopefully, they develop into leaders. Once that happens, the only way to keep growing and rising is to expand outside the pyramid. Rising leaders begin to learn about the world outside the narrow confines of the pyramid, the world in which the pyramid exists.
In most organizations leaders are chosen in one of two ways. They rise up from the bottom of the pyramid, or they are brought in from outside. In the military, we only grow our leaders inside the pyramid. If we need a battalion commander, he or she must have come up inside the organization. We don’t lateral them in from IBM.
Because so much of their life is spent inside their own service, rising young officers may not have wide experience of the world outside their beloved and comfortable pyramid. Senior officers must learn about that world. They must also learn about the contributions of the other services to the nation’s safety and security. They must gain experience in the operations of international alliances, such as NATO. They must understand and appreciate the political process, the role of Congress, the civilian departments of government, media relations, economics, and a host of other subjects outside the pyramid. Only when an officer has mastered these areas is he able to rise to the more senior layers, where increasingly he deals with and integrates that outside world. If a rising leader fails to understand and engage with the outside environment his sphere will never expand beyond the walls of the pyramid and he will stop rising.
In the Army, this is how you rise up through and beyond the pyramid. Let’s say you’re a young infantry lieutenant. You start out as a tiny sphere deep in one of the corners at the bottom of the pyramid. Your job is to master both your corner of the pyramid and command of a platoon, taking care of forty soldiers. As a young lieutenant, you don’t worry about geopolitical issues or how the economy is doing. Your life at that moment is dedicated to preparing yourself and those forty soldiers for battle.
Time passes, your sphere gets bigger, and you begin to rise in the organization. You become expert in your field, no longer an apprentice. You are of increased value to the pyramid.
More time passes . . . about fifteen years. By then you may have become a superb battalion commander. Your sphere has become so large that it starts to rub against the sides of the pyramid.
You are sent to more senior military schools that focus beyond the skills and knowledge a battalion commander must master. You learn how to lead larger, more complex organizations. You learn the importance of working with the other services. You may be sent to a civilian graduate school to get an MBA or other advanced degrees. You begin to work with higher level civilians, even politicians.
More years pass. As you rise higher, your personal sphere increasingly balloons outside the narrowing pyramid. You leave behind many of your peers, even though they are well qualified. Some have not grown to meet the increased expectations placed upon them; for others there’s simply not enough room. Not everyone qualified will climb to the top of the pyramid.
You become a general. You no longer wear the insignia of your original branch, such as the crossed rifles of the infantry. When you are promoted to brigadier general they pin the star on you, give you a red flag with a single white star in the middle. You get a special General Officer’s belt to wear in the field. You get a special edition General Officer’s pistol. You are not in Kansas anymore. You are a vice president of the company.
More years pass. You may rise higher up the pyramid and gain more stars. You may never see another infantry unit. You might even rise to the very top, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, where you have responsibility to supervise other services and not just the Army. Your pyramid is no longer just the Army pyramid; it includes all the other military pyramids. You are at the pinnacle of our military pyramid and can go no higher. At the top, most of your time is devoted to the external environment: relations with allies, working with international organizations, the White House. Your job is to seek opportunities, identify risks, obtain resources, and serve as the lead spokesman for the needs, aspirations, and purposes of all the services. You will find yourself connected to other pyramids—the intelligence pyramid, the economic pyramid, the budget pyramid.
If you get to the top, you have worked hard to know and improve yourself and to expand your vision beyond the constraints of the pyramid; opportunities have come your way; you have picked up a champion mentor; equals have left the pyramid; and you have been very lucky.
You are probably not entirely comfortable perched up there on the tip of the pyramid. There are myriad competing demands, pressures, and gut-wrenching decisions. Mistakes have large consequences. You are a highly visible target. It is easy to fall off. In spite of these pressures and anxieties, you must never lose your connection to the whole organization. Even as you are looking outward, you have to find ways to constantly see down to the very lowest level of the pyramid and into the most remote corner. If you don’t know what is happening down there, you will make mistakes up at the pointy end.
If you don’t rise that high you did not fail. Only a few can rise to the top. Most who didn’t continue to make the place work. They are no less important than the guy at the top, no less dedicated; they contribute no less to the success of the organization. I don’t measure your success by your rank or position, but by the contribution you are making.
Many officers I have known should not have been promoted. They were people who performed well at their previous level but whose potential for the level above had been misjudged, and they failed. A few were so overwhelmed by the responsibilities and expectations of the higher level that they fell into depression. When we are considering moving people up, their previous record is important, but at least as important is their potential to be successful at the higher level. It’s not easy to judge that potential, but time and experience help.
I always evaluated candidates by what I call the 50-50 rule. It works this way. I score 50 percent for their previous record. They had to have demonstrated proficiency, but that is just the ante to get into the game. The other 50 percent is that intangible, instinctive judgment I’d picked up over the years to measure someone’s potential to do even better at the next level. Though I was pretty good at it, I wasn’t perfect. I frequently made mistakes. I’d missed something in my evaluation, or I’d been swayed by friendship or insufficient diligence.
As I moved up, I always kept in mind the story of the old general sitting at the officers’ club bar staring into his third martini. A brand-new second lieutenant comes in and spots him. He can’t resist sitting next to the general and starting up a conversation. The old gentleman patiently listens to the kid and courteously answers his questions. After a time the lieutenant gets to what he really wants to know: “How do you make general?” he asks with raw, unconcealed ambition.
“Well, son,” said the general, “here’s what you do. You work like a dog, you never stop studying, you train your troops hard and take care of them. You are loyal to your commander and your soldiers. You do the best you can in every mission, and you love the Army. You are ready to die for the mission and your troops. That’s all you have to do.”
The lieutenant replied with a soft voice, “Wow, and that’s how you make general . . .”
“Naw, that’s how you make first lieutenant. Just keep repeating it and let ’em see what you got,” said the general, finishing off his last martini. Then he left.
When I was a young second lieutenant, I loved my job. I loved the Army. I put everything I had into doing the job well. And I was content. Nothing was promised, and I had few expectations. Count on maybe becoming a lieutenant colonel and retiring with twenty years of service at half pay, I was told. Just be thankful for anything that comes after that and thank your soldiers for making it happen. If you hit the walls of the pyramid, find satisfaction there. Be happy with that prospect. And I was.
Potential, Not Just Performance
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n the Army, we are measured constantly and exhaustively. We get evaluation reports annually and every time we change jobs or our supervisor changes jobs. Our immediate superior evaluates us. So does our next higher superior, and his evaluation compares us with all our peers who serve under him. Our school performance is graded. Our spouses are silently observed. Our careers are obsessively examined and managed.
The reason is simple and obvious. We do not hire from outside. If we need a battalion commander fifteen years from now, we have to grow one now from a promising new second lieutenant. Sergeants major are not hired in from Walmart or Hertz. It takes many years to grow them from basic training recruits. I was told as a lieutenant that only one out of a hundred of us would become a general. Ah, but which one!
Performance evaluations determine that choice. They are an essential part of the promotion system. We are bended, folded, and mutilated throughout our careers.
Though necessary and useful, performance evaluations don’t give the whole picture. Past performance alone does not adequately predict future performance. Sure, if past performance is mediocre or worse, satisfactory or outstanding performance in the future is extremely unlikely, and if past performance ranges from better than satisfactory to outstanding, chances are good that performance in the future will continue at that level. But it’s not a sure thing.
In both the military and civilian worlds, evaluations of potential are mostly subjective, or even anecdotal. “She’s going all the way.” . . . “He’s got General Officer potential.” . . . “She’s a winner, promote ahead of others.” . . . “He’s a water-walker.” Judgments like these are based on more than performance. Leaders and bosses see qualities that separate some few from the crowd. What do they see?
For starters, they see consistently outstanding prior performance in different positions.
They see someone learning and growing intellectually, someone preparing for the next level, not just maxing out in his current job; someone who is ambitious, but not cutthroat.
They see someone tested by assignments and challenges generally given to people with more seniority and greater experience, thus indicating early that he can probably perform well not only at that higher level, but at levels above that one.
They see someone reaching outside his comfort zone to acquire skills and knowledge that are not now essential, but are useful at a higher level.
They see someone who has demonstrated strength of character, moral and physical courage, integrity, and selflessness, and who will carry those virtues to the next level.
They see someone who is confident about the next step. His ego is under control, and he is mentally prepared for the added responsibilities and burdens of higher office. It won’t go to his head. He is balanced.
They see someone who enjoys the respect and confidence of his contemporaries who may soon become his juniors.
Even when someone passes this kind of evaluation with high marks, mistakes can be made.
After an officer I knew was promoted from colonel to brigadier general, an inadequacy surfaced that had not been detected earlier, and he broke under the burdens and expectations that were placed on him. One morning he committed suicide in his garage. We missed signs and portents we should have seen. He would have served successfully for many more years as a colonel, but we raised him up to a position beyond his potential.
His was an extreme but not uncommon case. Many people cannot scale up to the next level. I have known officers who asked not to be considered for promotion. They were satisfied with their place in life, realized they couldn’t handle greater responsibilities, and had the courage to act accordingly. A promotion would have made them miserable.
On the other hand, we sometimes missed an officer’s true potential.
There are many kinds of executive positions. Someone who can’t thrive in one may perform spectacularly in another.
Colonel Dick Chilcoat, my executive assistant when I was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, came highly recommended and I hired him sight unseen; I had never met him. Though he was only a few years younger than me, he had been passed over several times for promotion to brigadier general. Some problem earlier in his career had held him back.
Dick performed brilliantly for me, and I thought he should be promoted, but I realized that since he had missed promotion twice before, I needed to make the case that he had other talents that may not have been adequately considered by the promotion boards. I gave him a superior evaluation that pointed out another dimension of his potential—as an educator. The promotion board agreed and he was promoted to brigadier general. He went on to be promoted twice more, and rose to become commandant of the Army War College and president of the National Defense University. After retiring as a lieutenant general, he became dean of the George H. W. Bush School at Texas A&M University. He was a master educator. Dick, I’m sad to say, passed away in 2010.
At other times I’ve recommended someone for promotion to the next higher level with the understanding that he would go no further. This person had unique abilities that we needed one step up, but he had to stop there. No higher. His unique abilities would not be needed at a higher level, or he did not have the additional abilities the higher level required.
Needless to say, it may happen that he grows and expands his potential, or else the higher-level position may change and require his unique abilities.
The leader must understand his subordinates, an imperative that includes identifying, training, watching, mentoring, encouraging, and evaluating the next generation of his organization’s leaders.
But leaders are not gods. Their understanding is never totally clear, totally accurate, totally certain. Every leader is human . . . imperfectly human. Water-walkers sometimes fail, and quiet walkers sometimes end up on top. Leaders need to watch all their subordinates; work with all of them, encourage the hotshots, but invest in the others. Always be prepared to change your mind, however firmly made up, when dealing with those infinitely faceted beings we call people.
The leader must never forget that he may end up working for one of them.