Management Lessons: That's What She Said

Flash and Substance

Miami Vice, which was pitched to executives as "MTV Cops," was noted for its hyper-stylish and artistic ouevre, and for plots that focused on the glamorous and sexy Miami underworld life of illegal sex and drugs. The sets, the music, the camera angles all took a relatively routine cop show formula in a new, pretty (and for the most part, sort of cheesy) direction. The writing was a little flat, but the colors sure popped, especially Sonny Crockett's trademark outfits.

Lt. Martin Castillo is the counterpoint to the rest of the show. He is button-down and wears dark suits. (We'll let the hairstyle go. It was the 80s.) He is quiet and deliberate, not splashy and wisecracking. Castillo is, to some extent, a Latino version of Frank Furillo in that he is a humane and sympathetic leader who adheres to a strict code. But where we learned a lot about Furillo's personal life, Castillo is even more laconic with his staff and he is pretty much a recluse outside of the office.

(There's nothing wrong with this, I'd like to add. Depending on who you are and what your work situation is, sometimes keeping your personal life personal might very well be the best thing you can do for your staff.)

This is probably not surprising, given that co-executive producer Anthony Yerkovich worked on both shows. If a formula works, why would you mess with it? Right down to the -illo surname suffix, if you please.

We learn a good deal about Castillo's formula early on in the series, when his group is re-assigned to the robbery division to help crack a home-invasion case. Crockett came from robbery, so he is the bridge between the two lieutenants. It's an interesting dichotomy: the good ol' boy visiting his old stomping grounds with his uptight by-the-book boss.

It's also a lesson in how to bigfoot a meeting. Ordinarily, I'd advise against this sort of behavior. There's not much to be gained in taking a guy down in front of his people. Even if you're right, this sort of thing will make you wrong in the eyes of many people and create enemies unnecessarily. 

As the episode progresses, Castillo essentially conducts his own investigation and does his own legwork, which does help advance the case, but also makes things a bit awkward for Crockett as he is left hung out to dry with his old boss.

This competitive police work and calling out of shoddy work escalates -- if you can call it escalation; Castillo isn't exactly a volatile guy, so there are never any huge altercations. But right about here is where any normal person in Crockett's position starts bitching to both sides and, if at all possible, starts refusing to stand in the middle.

(Also note, please, how Crockett's coat pulls down the stripes in the patio umbrella in the photo above. This sort of attention to artistic detail was really what made this show.)

Ultimately, of course, Castillo demonstrates his superior ability to crack the case, but it is a group effort.

And for whatever reason, after all the bad guys are caught and Castillo shows himself to be a steady hand in a shootout, we see that he's willing to let bygones be bygones -- and pay the rare compliment.

I admit, the ending doesn't ring particularly true for me. But even if it is completely insincere, knowing when to be gracious and give the guy an out is also a sign of a good leader. No point kicking a guy when he's already out the door, right?

Our Troubles Are All the Same

What do you do when alcoholism ruins your athletic career? You buy a bar. People of a certain age will recall that once upon a time, there was such a bar in Boston. While it changed hands several times over the course of the series, it was pretty much always Sam Malone's establishment.

Part of the show's appeal was how it focused on class differences, kicking up friction by pairing the educated and polished with the working class stiffs. In the first season things get bad enough between the two waitresses, Carla and Diane, that even as laid-back a manager as Sam has to address the situation.

Of course, leaving the two women to work out their differences alone is not the best approach.

Sam eventually makes the same mistake so many sitcom bosses do; he gets involved with an employee. When Diane finally calls it quits with him (so Shelly Long could leave the show,) Sam sells the bar and decides to sail around the world -- a plan that doesn't last long -- just long enough for the bar to come under new management and be fully staffed upon his return. The new manager, Rebecca Howe, is a pretty transparent interchangeable part for Diane, but with the balance of power shifted.

It was interesting to watch Rebecca's character develop. In this scene, you'll note, she is on the ball. She knows her staff and how much to expect of them. She knows how to hold her own with Sam. She dresses the part, she works hard, she is a model executive on her way up the ladder.

But it doesn't take long for her to devolve into a neurotic, gold-digging mess. Only one season later, she is on her way down, and her judgment is clearly suspect. Nobody would push their boss for career news in the middle of their establishment -- especially after being deflected twice.

Cheers was a much-loved show, and the series finale was comparable to that of Lost. NBC dedicated most of a night's airtime to the final episode, beginning with a "pregame" show hosted by Bob Costas, followed by the final 98-minute episode itself. Local affiliates then aired tributes to the show during their late-night newscasts, and the event concluded with a special Tonight Show broadcast live from the Bull & Finch Pub.

In the final episode, Diane returns, but realizes she doesn't need Sam to sustain her new life as a writer. Rebecca chucks her power suits for a plumber, and Sam remains with his one true love: the bar. The show ends with the promise that the next day at Cheers will be like every other day -- the bar will open, the regulars will arrive, the wisecracks will continue. Perhaps the best lesson the show had to offer, then, is to not mess with a good thing. Follow your bliss, and you will find success.

Theatrical Thursday: Fix Your Bedside Manner

"Get in, fix it, get out."

Building on yesterday's post about what to do when the going gets rough, there's a medical movie out there that is reasonably inspirational in its exploration of how people can learn from their misfortunes and times of crisis.

I will admit that "The Doctor" trends a bit maudlin for my own tastes, and that there are yooooge chunks wherein I roll my eyes and feel a snark attack coming on. But if you can hold that in check -- or, hey, if you truly dig melodramatic chick flicks -- the film does a pretty good job in showing the evolution of a bedside manner. 

In it, William Hurt plays Jack MacKee (or maybe McKee, I couldn't really get a ruling on this and the credits just list him as Jack) a hotshot heart surgeon who's charming and breezy, but not very involved with anyone, including his patients, including his family.

"Caring's all about time. When you've got 30 seconds before some guy bleeds out, I'd rather cut more and care less."

And then it all goes south. Jack's driving with his wife one night when he hacks up a bunch of blood on his shirt. Surprise! You've got cancer! And there he is, on the other side of the fence, getting -- yeah, yeah -- a taste of his own medicine (which also happens to be the title of the book upon which this movie is based.) His doctor's manner is every bit as briskly detached as his own. He gets pissed off at being at the mercy of the experts.

It is here we learn that breezy distance is not just a persona, it has infected his personality. He treats his illness as he treats his patients, just another job to work through and attain success. He continues practicing though colleagues suggest he take off and rest. He shuts out his wife's attempts to be there for him.

Essentially, then, we have a person here who is all business, and has little regard for the human condition. A bad trait in doctors, and a bad trait in managers. You have to remember your employees have lives, even if you might not. Sometimes they want to go home and watch the game, or play with their kid, or take an afternoon off to decompress from snarky co-workers and automaton managers.

Eventually, Jack gets weaker. In his time of need he winds up turning to June Ellis, a fellow cancer patient who has an inoperable brain tumour. Formulaically, the dying woman is granted a sort of special wisdom and connection with MacKee. On the one hand, you can buy this, because she's been a patient a lot longer than he has and thus her expertise is earned, and they both have cancer, so on and so forth. And hey, at least they don't have an affair. On the other hand ... why dying? Can't someone with a future have some deep insight and understanding? Can't he see a shrink? Can't his wife break through? Can't he figure it out when his kid smiles at him? Blargh.

The other bothersome thing is that while MacKee does undergo difficulties - accessing his files, being patronized, filling out forms, etc. - there are some aspects that don't really translate. For one thing, he can march right in and demand the surgeon of his choice, and that choice can be an informed one.  Any of you got that option? I certainly don't. We are supposed to ignore that part, though, and focus on how he chose the nice guy over the uber-talented shark. On the plus side, this does make way for a very nice scene that shows the best way to apologize to a colleague -- and the best way to receive an apology:

Jack: I've been pretty ... no, very ... insulting about you in the past, which I'm ashamed of.
Dr. Blumfield: Well, that's OK. I've always wanted to slit your throat, now I'm gonna get a chance to do that.

For another, he doesn't seem to worry about the expense, or of missing that much work. He doesn't freak out that the insurance companies have screwed up and double-charged for anesthesia. There are a lot of aspects missing here that really put him on a level with the rest of us rabble. Instead, he focuses on his family, and his recovery, and the meaning of June's life. Ultimately, of course, we have the happy ending wherein Dr. Jack is a changed man, more sympathetic, more empathetic, more in tune with humanity and his family and la la la. It's smarmy, but it's still a valuable lesson. 

"If I ever hear you describe a patient as 'terminal' again, that's how you'll describe your career!"

He goes so far as to insist his interns spend 72 hours as patients in the hospital, undergoing the same indignities, confusions and procedures their patients will, in an attempt to make them better doctors. (Though the movie doesn't mention who's footing the bill for this exorbitant educational expense, I feel I should point out.)

"You are no longer doctors, you are hospital patients."

It is surprising, but this is apparently an incredibly enlightened managerial perspective. Trying to walk a mile in another's shoes may be cliche advice, but -- more's the pity -- not enough people in positions of power tend to follow it, nor do they make their employees follow it. As a manager, you have to make sure your staff understands that although it might feel like they are the center of an unjust and unappreciative universe, the fact is, there are half a billion other people roaming around who feel exactly the same way.

A million years ago, I attended a staff training session where we were exhorted to view all our interactions as customer service -- not just with paying customers, but also everyone with whom we interacted in our workplace. If you promise to deliver a file by 9 a.m. Thursday, you treat that promise with every bit as much respect and importance as you would treat a person handing you their money -- or their vocal cords. First of all, it's common courtesy. If you say you'll do something, follow up and do it. Think about what happens if you don't turn over that file on time. You screw over the person expecting it, and you screw up whatever they need it for. This in turn probably screws up some other project, and the domino effect goes from there. Furthermore, it's just good sense. It's a safe bet that someday you'll need something from that same person, and do you really want them to remember you as the guy who screwed them over with the 9 a.m .file?

If up to now you've been a bit of a dragon lady, a drill sergeant, an ice queen or tyrant -- take a look at what you're doing and think of how you'd feel having it done to you. There's time to change, assuming you don't have an inoperable brain tumor. And apparently, even then you can take a shot.

MASH Management

Just remember, there's a right way and a wrong way to do everything and the wrong way is to keep trying to make everybody else do it the right way.

And now for another ride in the wayback machine, let's look at M*A*S*H for another one of my favorite managerial types, and another doctor who has his act together in ways Lisa Cuddy does not.

Like Lisa Cuddy, Col. Sherman Potter has to deal with mavericks and rogues who have no patience for rules or protocol. Like Lisa, he has to keep a lot of plates spinning at the same time.

But where she comes across as overwhelmed and stressed out, he comes across as organized and calm. He knows how to delegate. He knows when to let things go. A Regular Army man, he has a thorough grasp of the system and its foibles (and a number of superior officers with whom he is on first-name basis.

He is also as homespun and folksy as they come. If you read enough of his quotes he sounds like a total hick. And he probably wouldn't argue much with the assessment. But he's a sharp guy. Something to remember about hicks -- they talk and talk, and some of them can talk you right out of your last dollar.

Now, son, none of us wants to be here. I don't want to be here, Radar doesn't want to be here, the doctors, the nurses, certainly the wounded don't want to be here. But we've got to do our best.

Potter embodies much of the best in good managers: integrity, humor, perspective, and an understanding of human nature. He leads mainly by example, always doing his best and encouraging others to do the same. When there is work to be done, he's right there with his team -- first man in, last man out. But he strikes the balance between hard case and humorist, recognizing the need for levity in what is a grim and dismal situation.

I had a still in Guam in World War I. One night it blew up -- that's how I got my Purple Heart.

His is also a human, and humane, character. He recognizes there are bad days, and there are different ways of dealing with them.

This is happy hour. Angry hour starts at ten.

Another thing Potter does right -- he stands up for his guys to  the top brass, no matter what. A manager and a leader has to take ownership of his group. This means shouldering the blame, accepting the responsibility and defending those who have no defenses of their own.

I'm not fond of personal abuse, Colonel. I was in this army when the only thumb you cared about was the one you had in your mouth!

And then, once the coast is clear, if his guys did screw up, he makes damn sure there'll be no repeat offenses. While he will join in the fun on occasion, he is also stern and decisive; if he feels things are getting too carried away he puts his foot down -- often on the necks of staffers who slack in their duties.

Oh, you're a peck of pips, all right. Despite my direct orders you had to put 'Be Stupid' first on your list of 'Things to do Today'!

Potter has a lot to offer as a management role model. He is demanding and exacting, but he is not irrational, nor is he hard-hearted.

Listen, it's too big a world to be in competition with everyone. The only person who I have to be better than is myself. And in your case, that's enough.

Soul-Sucking

I just wrapped up watching the series Dead Like Me -- a little late, I know, but hey. We don't get premium cable.

It's a good show for this blog because the protagonist has not one, but two bosses, and they have very different bossing styles. Bonanza!

Plus, well. Mandy Patinkin. Seriously, how can you go wrong with Mandy Patinkin? The man succeeded in making an Elmo movie bearable, for pity's sake.

So here we have George, a teen-ager who has dropped out of college and is living with her parents. She dies a few minutes into the first episode, during her lunch break on the first day of a new job with a temp agency. Rather than go on to claim her celestial reward, however, George becomes "undead" and winds up with a full-time, no-pay job as a Reaper collecting souls for a guy named Rube. Reapers are corporeal, however, and food and shelter cost money.  So George also gets a part-time paying job at the same temp agency she'd spent her last living day, working for Delores.

As I noted last week, managing and parenting are a lot alike.  This show tugs on that string pretty hard. Rube is paternal, Delores maternal. Rube lets George fall down and get hurt, then dusts her off and straightens her out. He loses his patience. Delores is hovers and fusses, giving George safe haven and, on one occasion, bailing her out of jail. 

Rube
Reaper Daisy: You do that, you know. You withhold the love.
Rube: How can I withhold that which I do not possess?

Rube John Sofer is "middle management" and supervises the group of Reapers with whom George works. He is laid-back and unemotional -- excellent traits for a middle manager. Much of that job requires minimizing drama and getting people to sit down, shut up, do their work. But he doesn't put up with a lot of nonsense and  easily takes offense at interruptions into his daily routine (such as poorly done reaps or poorly cooked meals). Most important, at the bottom of it all he cares deeply about the work and about his group, and he recognizes you can't have good work without good workers. He demonstrates this several times throughout the series with small acts of kindness and expressions of concern for their well-being and their ability to get their jobs done.

George: You really care how it's going with me?
Rube: Sure. You make my face look like this and concerned words come out.

From the very first time he meets George, Rube refers to her as "peanut", the nickname he called his daughter in life. And like a father, he teaches her how to behave.

George: Rube, can I borrow your truck?
Rube: Are you a responsible driver?
George: I am an excellent driver. [Rube pulls his keys out.]  I promise to take care of your piece-of-shit truck.
Rube: [Puts his keys back.] Well, that's not the response I was looking for.

Despite -- perhaps because of -- this paternal streak, he becomes increasingly aggravated as George refuses to do her job, looking for loopholes and shortcuts and ways to save the doomed from dying. He is aware of her every subterfuge, and he hammers at her to get better when she disappoints him.

I need somebody to give me lessons on how to communicate with you, Peanut, cuz I'm at a loss. The coin's in the slot, the gumball's on its way, and I'm plum out of wisdom. I'd start sleeping with the lights on if I were you.

He also recognizes when harsher discipline is required.

Rube: Last time I checked, being pissed off wasn't enough of a reason to remove a person's soul from their body. Don't do that again.
Veteran Reaper Roxy: I didn't think he'd turn into a nutball.
Rube: Well, how would you have responded, Roxy? God appeared to the man.
Veteran Reaper Roxy: I wouldn't be making up words and shit.
Rube: He's creating a mythology to take back to his people. Joseph Smith had the same thing happen to him. Now the Mormons have a monopoly on the hotel industry.
Veteran Reaper Roxy: Well what do you want me to do?
Rube: It's about restoring the status quo. The guy wasn't supposed to get enlightened, he was supposed to get a parking ticket. You got to turn him back into a prick. If you ever take someone's soul again without first having a post-it, I'm gonna break this pipe off in your ass.

Just as important, he knows when to give someone a break.

Cook: Who's complaining about the eggs?
Rube: Oh, no complaints, just observations.
Cook: Such as?
Rube: The eggs are not good. Its normally a moot point at the a la carte price of $2.95. I love eggs. I love 'em fried, scrambled, soft-boiled, florentine. These I didn't like. So who do we blame - the hen or the cook? [The cook has a very sour look.] Let's blame the hen.

Rube is, in my opinion, the better of the two bosses on this show. He has faith in his employees, he sets forth expectations to be met and he imposes consequences when they aren't.  He is compassionate, but he is not a pushover. He takes the mission and his role in it seriously, and in doing so, forces the group to do so as well.

Delores
I envy you, collating is so Zen!

Delores' character is, first and foremost, the counterpoint to Rube. Also a middle manager, she runs the temp office where George/Millie works. Where Rube is laconic and laid back, she is high-strung and keyed up, an interesting mix of cartoon nightmare and rational grownup. She talks in exclamation points and homilies. She has her own list of peeves, but they mostly revolve around the superficial  and extracurricular.

Look at your cubical, it's as bare as a pop star's midriff!

Where Rube is a keen observer of human nature and character, Delores is completely oblivious to George's dissembling and cynicism, taking every tale at face value and wrapping it in a big warm, oversharing hug. Where Rube acts on George's lackluster performances, Delores doesn't seem to notice, for the most part. George can be sleeping under her desk and Delores will promote her.

I said, "You choose." You're in a new position now, you get to do the interviewing and hiring. You're like the prettiest girl at prom -- or the sluttiest girl if you went to Catholic school. You get to pick.

Like Rube, Delores cares about the work and her group, but where he is subtle and reserved, she is almost monstrously inappropriate. Occasionally she will try to empathize with George by revealing startling facts about herself – including a past cocaine habit, tattoos, and "all those restraining orders."

You know, when you are young like you are, Millie, it's easy. Man, woman, bottom, top... sex is a big buffet and you are just a fat man with a fork. But, as you get older, it's harder to get a fork.

The thing with Delores is, it's all a facade. All that happy optimism is a front for someone you come to realize is quite sad and lonely, who is filling her void of a personal life with being a mother hen at her job. And yet, just when you think you'd spork out your eyes sooner than work for this woman, she does something eminently reasonable and compassionate -- albeit without realizing she is being lied to.

Delores: You're entitled to 5 bereavement days if it's a parent, grandparent or sibling. You said it was your aunt?
George: Well, she practically raised me. I loved her like a sister or a mother.
Delores: Even so, the death of an aunt or uncle only entitles you to three bereavement days.
George: But the funeral is out of town! And with travel and all ...
Delores: How about we say it was your grandmother who died?
George: Can we do that? I don't want to abuse the rules here.
Delores: Don't look now, but your grandmother just bought it. 

A word to the wise: Delores represents the dark side of being a motivational and enthusiastic leader. You don't want to go so far that instead of leading the charge, you become a caricature of yourself and a joke to your staff. Modulate your voice. Don't overshare. Don't be cute and homespun, even if that is who you are outside the office. Keep a little perspective and detachment. Keep a little mystery.  And find a George and befriend them: You need a person around who isn't afraid to tell you when you're acting like an idiot and that you should dial it back.

An interesting aside on this one. After the series ended, a direct-to-DVD movie sequel was made, and it struck an interesting note in career development. In it, George is still at the temp agency working for Delores, but in a more senior position. Rube has disappeared and the Reapers' new boss is Cameron Kane (Henry Ian Cusick, who plays Desmond on Lost.) Kane is the anti-Rube; he has no respect for the job or the work, he leads the group to break every rule: Letting the doomed survive, using their immortality for material gain, etc.  George is the only one who makes a good-faith effort to uphold her standards -- but at the same time, she is put in charge of the temp agency during Delores' absence. George snaps her cap at an incompetent employee, who threatens a lawsuit and gets George fired. Meanwhile, Kane is deposed (and killed in more ways than Rasputin, then shot into orbit,) and the group wonders who the new Reaper boss will be. As the movie closes, we learn the lawsuit is a scam, George gets her job back, and then finds herself suddenly showered with Post-Its magically falling from the sky, like the Post-Its Rube used to deliver their Reaps. Realizing this means she's been selected as the group's new leader, she tells us "I am so fucked."

But we know she's ready. She had a good upbringing.

Ensemble Casts: A Veritable Buffet

I love Lost. It is infuriating and fascinating and clever and keeps me coming back.  I also love that the title works on so many levels.

It is not, however, a particularly good case study for management technique. With an ensemble cast, there are lots of case studies on good and bad management techniques.

I can't begin to cram everyone in here, and much as I love like Sun, Jin, Frank, Charlotte, etc. a lot of those story arcs aren't really relevant to my field of interest here.

Other characters are clearly not leaders or managers but you can watch their story development to see how management decisions unfold on the backs of those required to carry them out. Charlie is the perfect example of the flunkie who has some hidden talents but is largely ineffective and most enjoys complaining about his station in life, Sawyer and Kate might be good managers -- they certainly have some fine leadership qualities. But they have never inserted themselves into the role, and for the most part tend to represent those who function best outside a team until circumstance forces them to cooperate. Juliet is mostly a model employee -- skilled and competent, generally willing to go along with decisions rather than make them. Problem is, once she starts disagreeing, she doesn't assert herself; she just gets subversive and dangerous.

Hurley: Actually, of all the characters, Hurley probably has the best managerial skills. He is a strong lieutenant; he demonstrates compassion and keeps an eye on things and lets the brass know when something needs to be done. But he also knows his limitations. He recognizes he's not equipped to lead the charge, and he's perfectly OK with that. Tip: Find your niche and excel in it.

Richard: I would place Richard second in managerial ability. He is a trove of institutional knowledge. He has the ability to get hysterical people to calm. The fuck. Down. He has his finger on the pulse of the group and alerts those in charge when trouble is brewing. But, like Hurley, he is a consigliore. He has great power, his will often carries the day, but he does not carry out missions and he is not Boss. Tip: The longer you stick around, the more knowledge you have of where bodies are buried, and the more valuable you become.

Sayid: Where Hurley is the heart, Sayid is the mind. Smart, shrewd, and thanks to his training a damn fine judge of character. But he's also a loner, and his history inclines him to passivity. He often has the best ideas, but he doesn't stand up for them if they're challenged. He is content to be a project manager, and invaluable in the slot. Had he taken over the group when the plane crashed, it would have been a very different show. Tip: You can learn a lot from a stint in the militiary -- including that you'd rather not run the show.

Jack: Jack is a leader, but he is not what I'd call a manager. He looks around, chooses a course, and people follow him because he's making decisions. But he's not generally strategizing and he doesn't always make the best use of his resources. He reminds people that they need to function as a team, but his modus operandi is too hands-off for him to be team captain or coach. Put bluntly -- his interpersonal skills are often for shit. And he commits the cardinal sin of resenting his position and letting others know. But I don't think we can blame him, really. Kickass surgeons are not usually renowned for their team-player attitudes or for giving much credence to differing or second opinions. Tip: Know your people. You can be a strong and good leader without management skills or trust in your team, but eventually you will face dissension and your job will get a lot harder.

Locke: (I'm only counting the real Locke here. Not-Locke is a different character altogether.) Much has been made of the man-of-science/man-of-faith dichotomy between Jack and Locke. You don't need either to be a good manager, so I'll leave that exploration to others. But Locke also takes a different tack in his social role. He's not a leader per se, in that he doesn't stand up and direct people. He's a confident pragmatist who leads by example -- hunting, finding water, so on. He also has determination in himself and others, taking a personal interest in individuals such as Walt and Boone and pushing them to do more than they thought they could Charlie quits heroin! Walt gives his dad a chance! Boone builds stuff! But, of course, Locke is also gullible as all get out, and that blind faith has devastating consequences. Boone winds up dead. Heck, Locke winds up dead and by the time of his death, he is back to square one: broken, afraid, alone. Tip: "Don't tell me what I can't do" might be a good personal motto but it sucks as a leadership strategy. 

Ben: Oh, Ben.  Ben is such a mess. He is the Peter Principle at work in spades. A very smart person who probably truly believes he has the best of intentions, he is nonetheless more image than substance. He wants to do right by his leadership role, but he's bad at it. He wants to manage, but he makes bad decisions. He is petty and shrill. He is afraid and maintains his position by making other people afraid too. His team can't depend on him, his superior doesn't think he is worthy of advancement, and he gets lots of people killed, including his own daughter. I think he was probably pretty relieved when it all came crashing down on him. Tip: Know your limits. Weakness in a position of strength is death. 

Ana: Cop who got shot, and all the baggage that goes with that. Bossy, bitchy, vengeful. Fail. Tip: Don't shoot Shannon. Duh.

Eko: I find him fascinating. He can be selfless, but will kill without compunction if he has moral certainty on his side. He has learned from painful experience. He is the counterpoint to Ana. He's Sayid on the wrong side of the law. Tip: Confess your sins when called upon to do so.

Charles Widmore: Not a manager. He's the penthouse executive who hires other people to dirty their paws with management. Tip: Nice work if you can get it. 

But of course, the two who are really running the show are Jacob and Not-Locke. Well-matched in determination, wits, bravery and power, they are obviously two sides of the same coin. Not-Locke is, to all appearances, a tad sadistic and homicidal. Jacob is manipulative and kind of a dick about playing favorites. And to date, neither of them appears to have really clued anyone else into any of their long-term plans. I sure as hell wouldn't want to work for either of them.

O Captain! My Captain!

At the opposite end of the spectrum from Al Swearengen is a quiet yet forceful managerial type, and one that has served as a management role model for more than a generation.

Capt. Francis Xavier Furillo was the boss of Hill Street and the guy who held everyone together. Largely imperturbable, incredibly tough, yet hugely sympathetic, he is the first man you choose to have with you in a crisis.

Assistant DA: Are you kidding? Frank, there's a lynch mob out there.
Furillo: I know there's a lynch mob out there. I think I can use it.

Individual integrity is paramount in his world. Patriarch of the precinct, he is a betterer of society, incorruptible and idealistic at heart. He's as white hat as they come -- and a snappy dresser. His button-down suits project his by-the-book image, but he knows when to take off that vest and roll up his shirt sleeves. He handles hostage situations personally. You think you have it rough protecting your staff? Look at his job.  He has to manage down by sending his officers into a hostile work environment every day. He has to be constantly vigilant for signs the job is getting to his staff. 

Sgt. Mick Belker: How do we know that? He had it all ahead of him, and you threw his life away. His death is on your head.
Furillo: They all are, Mick.

Meanwhile, he also manages up against bureaucracy, injustice and self-serving superiors. (For a case study in truly bad management, look at Furillo's boss, Police Chief Fletcher Daniels.)

Furillo, before a police corruption commission: Officer Delgado has served this city for more than 29 years. After 9 years of service, he lost all seniority because he took a year's leave of absence [Ed. note: Delgado had a breakdown.] Today, he is still six months shy of a 20-year pension. If you pull the string on him now, he gets 40 percent of a 15-year disability ... you can't even feed a dog on that. I have Officer Delgado's record: four medals of valor, five humanitarian citations, three shootouts. Are we now simply to discard Officer Delgado? Yes, we've been carrying him until his retirement. I would feel only shame if we'd done any less. Then along comes this commission with cynicism and a hunger for headlines. Whatever we did for Art Delgado, I take responsibility. Why don't you prosecute me? Smear me in the press? Destroy my reputation if you can. But I'll not sell out Art Delgado. Now, am I dismissed?

And yet, he's also a real human being who is endearingly flawed. He has a failed marriage and struggles with the issues that come from being a divorced dad. He has a secret romance with the district attorney. (Well, it starts out as secret. They get married in the third season.) He struggles with the human condition.

Furillo: Smart move, LaRue. You went out on an important operation in a unit with no brakes. How do you explain that? Maybe I can explain it for you.
Detective J.D. La Rue: Hey. Wha ... wha ...
Furillo: [removes bottle from LaRue's shirt] You're a drunk, my friend. And because you're a drunk, you're a screwup. And I'm through waiting for you to change. You got a couple of choices, pal. Either this, or you call a Lieutenant Johnson down at Division and you say to him, "I'm a drunk, and I want to change." You got that? "I want to change." Otherwise, you're out of this police department, and I mean now.

It took LaRue a while to get into Alcoholics Anonymous. At his first meeting,  guess who he saw there.

I just loved this show.  And it holds up pretty well, (with the notable exception of David Caruso as the leader of a gang that look more like Lucky Charms leprechauns than threatening thugs.) Get thee to a hulu and watch!