Welcome to the latest entry in The Captain’s Log…
I’m your host, Bob, and my mission here is to share personal, behind-the-scenes stories of ups and downs from my career leading tech startups and corporate innovation.
I write to make you think, smile and discover a shortcut to success or a trap to avoid. Here we go…
I’m guessing you’ve encountered the phrase “From the mouth of babes…” somewhere in your life. It goes back to the Bible and refers to when a young child with little experience says something wise beyond their years. As a father of two daughters, I found myself saying this a few times when they were small and observing the world for the first time.
When I was a youngster in the business world, I came across something a bit “perpendicular” to this. I call it “From the mouth of blowhards.”
This is when someone in a leadership position who is severely full of themselves drops a useful nugget of knowledge. It’s something that sticks in your brain and can guide who you become when you “grow up.”
Years ago, I gained a powerful insight into two different leadership strategies and chose a direction that still guides my work…and life.
The Mentor Assignment
It’s the Fall of 1999, and I’m part of a class of new assistant brand managers at a large consumer goods company. I had recently finished business school and moved across the country with my wife to take this position. While most of my MBA friends either stayed in New York City for finance roles or moved to San Francisco to join the first dot-com wave, I chose this very traditional (boring) company in the Midwest because it was renowned for its leadership culture and training.
And, boy, did the training come fast and furious! There was plenty of on-the-job learning in my brand assignment. And additionally, our group of new hires was expected to attend classes and special events organized by HR. It was a big workload but worthwhile. I loved learning things that I could immediately apply on the job. And I knew this was the time to do my best work—as only about 1/3 of new hires made it to promotion. Instructors in our classes helpfully kept this up-or-out warning top-of-mind.
About three months into the job, we learned that a new mentor program was launching. The idea was that each new hire would be paired with an experienced Director (two levels up) in a different business unit. This would be a chance to get regular coaching and support from someone who had “made it,”—and since this mentor was outside our usual chain of command, we could be more open and direct.
I got an email announcing that I had been assigned “Adam” as my mentor. Adam worked in a different product category based on a different floor of our headquarters. We scheduled a chat at his office the next week.
So on a Tuesday afternoon at the appointed time, I’m outside his office on the 10th floor, and he’s still on a conference call. The door is open, and I duck my head in to see a man red-in-the-face, speaking loudly, moving his hands aggressively, and pacing around the room. I see that he’s using the speakerphone and that the person on the other end cannot get a word in.
Adam sees me and motions me inside to sit down as he continues his diatribe. As the new kid in business, I’m all ears and eyes, trying to figure out the topic of his call and whether this is how all Directors operate. But after 10 minutes, I’m wondering if our mentorship meeting will happen or not.
He finally ends his call, rather brusquely, looks at me, and asks, “Who are you?”
I proceed to remind him that we got paired in the mentorship program. He stops moving for a second as it registers, and he takes a seat. Adam stops talking, which I have learned by now is exceedingly rare. He stares into the distance, I assume, trying to figure out what a mentor is expected to do. I keep sitting quietly…and nervously.
Suddenly Adam is back out of his temporary trance, and he begins to speak again:
“Here’s the thing…you need to decide what kind of leader you want to be. Some leaders choose to Manage Up. That means they focus on what their bosses want and give them what they need. Others choose to be a “Man of the People”—or now they call it Servant Leadership. They focus on what their direct reports need to be successful. You can’t be great at both, so you need to decide what fits best for you.”
Adam points out a few senior leaders of the company that represented these two alternatives and compares their rises within the ranks. Then his phone rings. Without hesitation, Adam hits the speaker button and begins another discussion. But he pauses to hit the mute button momentarily, looks over to me, and says, “I need to take this; we’ll schedule some more time later.”
I exit my chair and slink out of his office, still hearing Adam’s voice several meters away as I hit the elevator button.
Adam and I never did have a second meeting. It was clear to me that he was no man of the people. He didn’t reach back out, and I had no interest in another conversation with him. About once a year, I see what he’s doing now on LinkedIn and wonder how his strategy is working out for his career and those who work for him.
I still marvel that he randomly shared this leadership insight with me that day. Maybe it was a nice way of telling me he didn’t care for the mandatory mentorship idea. Sometimes I wonder if stuff like this is the universe trying to send me a message. But it’s more likely that I was fertile ground for leadership lessons at this early stage in my career. I remember his words because they made me realize that “strategy” should be about more than my business decisions—I should be strategic about how I choose to lead.
The Path I Chose
We are mostly products of these early life experiences, and our “choices” reflect our DNA, early family life, and first jobs.
At an early age playing sports, I was never the coach’s favorite or the best player, but I was often the most vocal player—encouraging my team and “talking” it up on the baseball field and basketball court. My first exposure to business came from listening to my father, a management consultant, talk at the dinner table about how much he loved working with his team—and how he hated playing politics with his superiors.
I paid close attention in my early work. From summer jobs sacking groceries at Kroger to this new hire class at the consumer goods giant, I watched how other leaders got things done. Adam’s advice helped crystalize two paths I had seen along the way. And it was clear that the Servant Leader path was right for me.
I did my best work for managers that invested time in me and gave me responsibility and accountability. I took this approach to get great results from external partners—like creative agencies—when I treated them as teammates rather than “vendors.” This strategy was working for me.
Eventually, I was promoted to brand manager and inherited a team of direct reports. It felt natural to lead by supporting them. Of course, I had to play the “managing up” game in this corporate role, too. There are always approvals to get, after all. While I was effective, my worst career experiences came in dealing with leaders who cared most about pleasing their managers.
I left my corporate job a few years later, largely because I saw a Managing Up approach was the dominant way to work as one went higher in the organization. If you work at a large company, I’m sure you’re used to seeing these players—and felt the pressure to play along. I quit that game for the chance to be an entrepreneur and focus on building a great business—which I knew would require a Servant Leader mentality.
Robert Greenleaf coined Servant Leader in 1970. It can be summarized as “Leaders who prioritize serving the greater good. Leaders with this style serve their team and organization first. They don't prioritize their own objectives.”
Startups often attract—and create—leaders who “work for their teams.” After all, you need incredible help and commitment from your small tribe of underpaid, overworked employees to get a new company off the ground. Ordering them around doesn’t work, and there’s no boss to please.
Perhaps the only exception is the founder who is good at fund-raising—a form of Managing Up. But these folks eventually flame out over time. Work for them at your peril—or at least keep a journal for when the founder goes to jail (cover your ass) and you’re featured in a mini-series (sell your story).
Even if you’re not founding a startup or leading direct reports, this concept helps us decide who we work with and who we will become. If you work for the Managing Up type, you’re unconsciously trained to play the political game. You’ll carefully manage expectations and manipulate your manager—giving them what they need to look good to those above. This often has little to do with actual business results.
But if you choose to work with a Servant Leader, you must deliver the business. The great news is that you’ll have a coach to help you succeed and will give you all of the credit. You will be more confident through developing core skills and results. Maybe you’ll even start your own business someday.
And I think being a Servant Leader brings much larger rewards in the journey of your life.
Recently I heard a business podcast host trot out the old troupe: “No one on their deathbed ever says they wish they spent more time at the office.” I personally disagree.
A few of my top five moments in life have been in sharing a win—or even a challenge—with my fellow teammates at work. Leading a group of individuals toward a greater purpose—building something that makes customers’ lives better—can be a peak experience. And the older I get, the more I treasure my time with others and the chance to make a positive impact on their lives. This is the only thing that lasts past our deathbeds.
The choice of how to lead others defines who you are in life. Choose wisely.
As always, thank you for reading and sharing my posts. The more subscribers I get, the more motivation I have to keep writing!
Bob Gilbreath is a 2x-exit entrepreneur and co-founder of Hearty, a curated matchmaking service that combines top software developers with early-stage, venture-backed startups.