Working to Be a Leader

What’s your recipe to be an effective manager?  Don’t know what I mean?  If not, you might find this post of interest in helping you create a new receipe or learning how to enhance the one you currently use.

Last August, my niece and I went to see “Julie & Julia”—a delightful movie about the life of Julia Child who, in 1948 and in her mid-thirties, discovered her career as a French chef and educator then evolved into a major cookbook author and television personality and making public appearances until her death in 1992.  The character “Julie Powell” was portrayed in the movie as a young writer whose job was to answer phones for those needing help after 9/11.  She felt frustrated at work and started a blog about Julia Child.  She also decided that she was going to cook 524 recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking co-authored by Julia Child in 365 days.

This spring, this same  niece lent me her copy of My Life in France, an autobiography of Julia Child written with Alex Prud’homme.  I started reading it at a pace of about 10 pages a day.  However, when I was about 100 pages into the book last weekend, I thought, “Why am I reading this?  I don’t really like French food!  I grew up on the basics, I cook the basics and I eat out to savor complicated dishes.”  Not one to give up on a book, however, I began to think about why I should continue reading and that brought me to remembering the first time I heard about Julia Child.

When I was a junior at the University of California at Berkeley, I had a part-time job as a work-study student in the Art & Music (A&M) Department at the Main Branch of the Berkeley Public Library.  As a Librarian’s Assistant, I helped patrons locate books, albums (!), and prints of major artists.  And I was also to report the behavior of a regular visitor—one of the many “characters” who at times put mirrors on the top of their shoes and stood very close to a female patron who was wearing a skirt.

Bruce Munly was the Librarian for A&M and manager of one full-time and many part-time employees.  Other part-time people included four middle-aged (and slightly older) women married to college professors and another Berkeley undergraduate student (he later became my husband).

“What did you think of Julia?” was Mr. Munly’s ritual greeting when one of the women arrived in the department.  They then would proceed to talk about the delicacy that Julia had prepared on the latest episode of “The French Chef” on our local public broadcasting station.  It was “all about Julia” for the first ten to fifteen minutes of a woman’s shift—and would often be revisited, many times when another gourmand arrived to talk about what Julia had prepared.

An effective manager who made the most of this diverse group, Mr. Munly organized a staff dinner once or twice a year.  This potluck supper was held at his or one of the women’s homes, often one in the Berkeley Hills with a spectacular view looking out beyond the Golden Gate Bridge.  When it came time to volunteer to bring food to the dinner, Mr. Munly and the women would decide which dish they would bring—usually a “Julia” dish.  The college students and the full-time employee would bring wine, bread, and possibly dessert—first asking the “elders” for specific instructions on what to buy.

Memories of one—if not the best—workplace experience of early career came flooding back to me last weekend as I turned each page of My Life in France.  Ignoring the world outside, I gave myself the afternoon to follow Julia’s journey through her writing career which she embraced enthusiastically and spent the evening learning how she had found her way to television.  Reading her book was like eating a good meal; I finished it feeling satisfied and satiated with good memories.

Looking back at his management style, I see how Mr. Munly maximized the talent he had in his small department.  He created a congenial atmosphere—based in part on Julia’s recipes—where he engaged and motivated his team to be productive through food, a love of the arts, and a great spirit.

At the close of each episode of “The French Chef”—and at the very end of her book—Julia wishes everyone a bon appétite!

As I asked at the beginning of this post, what is your recipe to be an effective manager?  No matter your “cuisine,” or your particular management style, I wish you time to think about how you manage.  Specifically, what is the thread of the conversations you have with your staff members and how do you connect with them on a regular basis?

While you are creating and enhancing your own recipe of effective management, I wish you bon appétite!

‘Tis the season to remember what was once the heart of the baseball world here in New York City. No, not the Yankees. The Brooklyn Dodgers. It was 50 years ago that the Bums left the area and moved to warmer climes. Specifically, my hometown of Los Angeles.

Listening to people who call in to WFAN, the sports talk radio show in NYC, I feel as if the move happened yesterday the caller’s pain sounds so raw. Reading stories like, “Exorcising the Dodgers: 50 years ago, the Dodgers left Ebbets Field for Los Angeles. Isn’t it time their ghosts left, too?” in New York Magazine is representative of the hold the team still has on the hearts and minds of the faithful.

I was close to making my first call to WFAN to say that, “Your loss was my gain.” I was a Dodgers fan at a young age. A Los Angeles Dodgers fan. My father made me and my sisters into loyal followers of the team. I’m glad for it. The team built relationships and started conversations within my family and also with neighbors in my changing neighborhood near Watts – conversations that happened before and continued after the riots of 1965.

Pop and Mom had five boys then produced four girls – of which I’m the youngest. The boys all played sports of one kind or another. The girls a little – but we made up for that by watching not just baseball in person plus football and basketball games on TV with Pop. It wasn’t just that Pop wanted to go to the games and needed company. That was part of it. It was also, though, part of our training in life to go with him. There was something about his observations of the players and the strategy of walking someone intentionally that has stuck with me. Watching my sister Lou fill-in the scorecard then doing it myself to record the statistics of achievement. Cheering when the bugle sounded whether the Dodgers were winning or losing; we did it because they were the home team.

There were times when it wasn’t fun. Like watching a one or no-hit game. Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale were great pitchers who could finesse a baseball to get it right where they wanted it. Watching got fun when Maury Wills tested the pitcher with a long lead from first base and then proceeded to slide into second, looking up to see if he could keep on going. Don, Maury, and Duke Snider were some of the players whose pictures hung on our bedroom wall. A closer look at our favorite players since our usual spot in Chavez Ravine was high up – the cheap seats – right behind home base. It hadn’t been any closer in the Coliseum where we first saw the Dodgers play.

As a leader, I’ve grown to appreciate the lessons I got from attending games with Pop, grateful that he didn’t write us off as just girls who wouldn’t be interested. There was another thing about sports that was important. It gave us a reason to go out and do something with Pop, to relate to him in new ways. Also, the girls used baseball as an excuse to travel. The four girls packed our Dodger blue sweaters and grey skirts then drove up to San Francisco to cheer our home team on in front of the other New York deserters – the Giants.

One of my nieces lives in Northern California and is a serious San Francisco 49ers football fan. In 2004, she said she wanted to come to New York to see her team play the New York Jets. Okay. The Jets won. That was fun. The next year, I went out to her stadium to watch the New York Giants beat the 49ers. Last December I volunteered my leadership services in New Orleans and that weekend the Saints were playing the 49ers. Yup! She was there with me – staying until the very last second of the game, risking missing her flight home even though her team couldn’t catch up. Next week, the 49ers are playing the Giants. My niece flies in on Saturday and leaves on Monday.

I’m looking forward to watching a game with her. It’s like watching a game with Pop. New Yorkers, thank you for parting with the Dodgers. Your loss was my gain. The gain of a gift that keeps on giving in new and delightful ways.