Management Lessons: That's What She Said

No Management in Philadelphia

In honor of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia arriving on Comedy Central, this week I'll do my best to glean management tips from bar shows.

The only problem is, there aren't any real lessons to be gleaned from the self-centered owners of Paddy's Irish Pub in Philadelphia -- other than, "watch this show, and do exactly the opposite." Don't work with friends, don't get your dad involved, don't be a dick. Nobody's in charge, nobody's accountable, and nobody's a role model. Which makes it pretty great to watch, but painful to contemplate as a real-life work scenario.

And one note: Not that anyone under the age of 20 reads this, but being a cable show and all, this is a little raunchier than usual. Nuff said.

Don't try to get a job at the fern bar down the street. I guess if you do, and you get fired, farewell shots might be OK -- if you don't get caught.

Unless you've got someone as dumb as Charlie around, it's probably easier to just get the yuck work done yourself. But if you do have a plan, I wouldn't recommend sharing it with the person who isn't benefiting until you're out of range of the filthy mop she wields.

On the other hand, if you are the dumbest member of your gang, it might not be a bad idea to come to them in a crisis.  Except, of course, they aren't that much smarter than you are, and will be easily distracted.

Dee does one thing right -- she knows exactly what to expect of the rest of the gang, and she reacts accordingly. And ... diversifying exposure to your business isn't a bad idea either.

And finally, if you're going to run for office, you probably don't  want any of these guys to help you out. Also? Don't try to stop a stroller like that unless you've got some badass shoes.

Faux Pas Friday: All Politics Is Personal

Sue Sylvester: You may be two of the stupidest teens I've ever encountered - and that's saying something. I once taught a cheerleading seminar to Sarah Palin.

During the last election, I worked in a capacity that required me to read the correspondence between our company's CEO and an operating committee member.  I opened an email one day to read the CEO saying that he would be voting for Candidate A, and that anyone who voted for Candidate B was a moron and shouldn't be working for our company.  Guess which candidate had my vote?  Guess which CEO lost some of my respect?

Political affiliations, like religious ones, are very personal and it is hard to separate political opinion from ego.  This is why you have to tread very carefully when it comes to talking politics in the office--you might end up calling one of your best employees a moron.  And that moron might write a blog entry about you later.  If she's the grudge holding type.

When I was getting ready to write this entry, I asked my husband if he could think of any television shows where characters had talked about politics inappropriately.  He said, "The View.  They are too stupid to be allowed to talk about politics."  I'm not sure that those ladies count, but his comment does convey a clear sense of one problem with talking politics:  If you aren't well informed or well spoken, you can sound like a complete tool. Current talking head, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, is a perfect example.  She has strong, (hopefully) well thought out opinions, but lacks the wherewithal to share her thoughts with any sort of respectability.  Erstwhile host, Rosie O'Donnell, has strong, (hopefully) well thought out opinions, but comes across as such a jerk you don't even want to listen to her.  Granted, even if you are thoughtful and erudite, to a staunch political opponent, you will sound like a braying ass or someone to be pitied.

Be careful of assumptions.  Again, during the last election, a very Republican coworker of mine complained that people kept assuming she would be voting for a particular candidate based on her race.  Another executive was finding it hard to bite her tongue that people assumed she would be traveling to an Inaugural Ball because she and our President Elect shared a check box on the ethnicity questionnaire. Just because someone is old and white, doesn't mean they are voting old and white.  Assuming they are can be extremely insulting.

Here's the thing:  In the office, you don't want to alienate anyone.  That Democrat/Republican/Libertarian/Anarchist down the hall might be just the guy to save your bacon the next time you need help.  You don't want to offend him with your outspoken views on Healthcare Reform.  That woman who is forced to read your emails might be the person who has to be sure you are picked up at the airport on time.  You don't want to offend her by inadvertently calling her a moron.

In the office, your group is a team.  National politics don't matter, and they shouldn't.  There are plenty of office politics to go around as it is.

Lane Buckman has been in love with fashion since she realized that her first Easter dress came with matching gloves, shoes, and purse. Growing up in the entertainment industry this former beauty queen, model and actress turned corporate career woman understands that dressing for success is just another form of costuming. And, since she has run the size gamut from 2 to 18, Lane understands dressing a variety of shapes. She has written dress codes and conducted Business Style and How to Dress seminars for Fortune 500 and finance companies, boutique agencies, and an international non-profit organization. She gives her stylish Southern mother credit for teaching her everything she knows.

Theatrical Thursday: Campaign Managers

There are lots of Washington movies out there, and there are even more great historical biopics based on real-life Executive Branch events.

I'm not keen on using movies based on real events for management lessons. Odds are the actual situations were handled somewhat differently, and that's what history books are for.  Here, then, are five quick lessons from five classic fictional politics flicks. 

1: Don't pick fights in public. 

We've gone over this before, but this scene from the Kevin Kline vehicle Dave offers an effective strategy to shut down a fight before it begins in a crowd: Ask a question that even  the most ignorant employee realizes must be answered a certain way.

This scene is also a good example of managing up. You'll notice that the Commerce Secretary just lets it go, rather than bother trying to argue his case and waste everyone's time. What this clip (and the movie) leaves out, of course, is the real-world scene that would absolutely follow, in which the Commerce Secretary goes to the Oval Office for a private meeting and very patiently explains that cutting a $47 million dollar program is impossible because Congress has already appropriated that money to his department, that at least some of it is probably already spent, and that killing the program will probably put a bunch of people into that homeless shelter Dave is so hot to preserve.

2: When you are seeking advice or information, make sure that you understand what the person is actually saying.

Being There is a one-note movie, in many respects. Chauncey Gardener is a simpleton, with "rice pudding between his ears" as another character colorfully explains. He's really just talking about plants in this scene; it's not an allegory. And yet, only one person in the whole movie ever figures this out. This is an especially important lesson to keep in mind if you are an executive talking to people who work more than one level down from you. Employees are hesitant to complain to the big boss, lest they be labeled troublemakers.  If you're the CEO and you ask the guy in the mailroom how things are going and he says "fine" listen to how he says the word. Does he sigh? Does he smile a little too broadly? Is his jaw clenched? Don't just hear the word "fine" and assume that's the whole story. Follow up with some open-ended questions to get him talking. (Note to you mailroom guys: If you've got five minutes with a honcho, don't waste them with pointless lies! Make your case and be a hero to your colleagues in the trenches!)

3: Know the fundamentals of your fricking job before you show up.

Mr. Smith apparently went to Washington by way of the lobotomy lab.

Now, yes, I realize that this whole scene is a device to help the audience understand what Fresh-Faced Jeff is up against, but ... seriously? I know Mr. Smith predated Schoolhouse Rock (and the statehood of Alaska and Hawaii, for a charmingly dated reference to 96 men) and all, but I'm betting high school civics classes covered the basics even way back in the era of black and white. If this guy really knows this little about how government operates, he shouldn't be offering a bill at all; he should shut his trap and get an education before he starts messing around with the process. On the other hand, Smith does get points for enthusiasm. And for eating at his desk.

4: Don't lose sight of your overall mission in pursuit of short-term goals.

Where Being There punches its one thought repeatedly, The Candidate slowly builds to this one line at the end that sums up the whole issue. You go to all this trouble, you struggle to get through each day, each pay period, each quarter .... and find yourself staring down the barrel of the next short-term goal. Bill McKay willingly abandons his hard-left platform and values in pursuit of a seat in the Senate, and then has no idea what he's supposed to do with it, given all the false promises and loss of self.  It reminds me of a quote from Heathers (another favorite movie of mine): "Now that you're dead, what are you gonna do with your life?"

5: Think very carefully before you agree to join your family's business.

Working for Mom poses a seriously dangerous risk. (If The Manchurian Candidate doesn't convince you, I present Exhibit B: Norman Bates.)  On the positive side, brainwashing sleeper agents is a highly effective method of getting things done the way you want. But I cannot really recommend it in good conscience, even as a last resort.

Winging It

It doesn't get much more political than The West Wing, does it? Set during the fictional Democratic administration of Josiah Bartlet, it focuses on the somewhat nerdy yet personable Prez Bartlet and on his whipsmart staff who roam the administrative offices working spin cycles, damage control and getting in front of the breaking political issues.

(And here's a quick Six Degrees of Separation for you: Michael J. Fox as deputy mayor flips to Fox as press secretary to Martin Sheen's chief of staff in the American president -- also an Aaron Sorkin special -- which flips to Sheen as president. For added confusion, consider that Sheen's son Charlie -- now with more jail time! -- replaced Fox on Spin City.)

In many ways, Bartlet is an "ideal" president. Good-looking, moral, senses of humor and integrity, intellectual and tough yet compassionate. check, check, check.

He's also a Democrat, and of course being a show about the presidency and politics means huge chunks of airtime focused more on ideology than policy; more on the personal than the persona. But if you can cut through all that, examples of remarkably healthy working relationships are there for the studying.

The most interesting, based on an extremely informal poll I took, seemed to be the relations between Bartlet, his chief of staff, Leo McGarry, and press secretary-turned-chief of staff C.J. Cregg.

Bartlet and McGarry both embody the Benevolent Boss -- one of my favorite TV Tropes, I must admit. Of course, it is easier to be a benevolent boss if your employees are greater risks for burnout than they are for burning down the building. Having a team like that makes it easier to be confrontational -- and confronted -- with less risk of embarrassment on either side. 

A group has to be highly functional and closely knit for this sort of conversation to happen in front of a crowd: An operation running one whit less smoothly would require such a discussion to be held privately -- and probably with more tact and less banter. But if you've got a group of people who can work together 24-7 for weeks and months on end and they can all still stand to be in the same room without vitriol, you've got a safe environment where practically anything can be accomplished. Thus, the relationship between Bartlet and Cregg appears to be everything such a relationship should be. They can tell each other the truth, they know when to bite, when to bark and when to roll over.

He knows when he's wrong, and backs down accordingly.

And she knows when she's wrong, and backs down accordingly.

Likewise, McGarry and Cregg have a good working relationship. He trusts her instincts, precisely because she knows how and when to take a risk.

And when he steps down and recommends her to take his place, McGarry is the epitome of mentor and emeritus. He doesn't begrudge her anything; there is no resentment. He helps; he coaches.

Ultimately, if you've got good people working for you, the management part is easy because they manage themselves. The leadership part is easy because they know where you're going and have already packed and are on their way there. The hardest part in these situations is to manage yourself and living up to the expectations of -- and examples set -- by those who work for you.

Management Spin

Editor's Note: A new month, a new format. I'm incorporating some changes: clips instead of quotes where possible (though you'll have to scroll ahead to the time indicated above the clip -- and I'm not sure how well I'll do on clips, since I don't have a video editor and I'll be relying on outside sources), plus a new e-mail address and a new Twitter feed.  I also have a new Facebook Page where I'll post discussion topics and assorted other stuff. Drop me a line, let me know what you think!

Spin City focused on the office of New York City Mayor Randall Winston, as run by Deputy Mayor Mike Flaherty and as populated by assorted government underlings. Each staffer has to help run City Hall, improving the mayor's image and covering for his frequent gaffes. It is a tougher job than one might think: Winston is more accident-prone than most politicians, and relies on his deputy to save him -- who in turn relies on the staff to help. Therein lies the other part of the problem. Fiercely loyal to Mike and the administration, they are nonetheless a group of employees who range from hypercompetent to hyperneurotic.

Deputy Mayor Mike is the main focus of the show, and he did a lot of managing throughout the series. He's high-energy, competent, rational, all the things a good manager should be. Early in the show's run, he contends with the assistant deputy mayor, Stuart Bondek. Stuart is an underling who not only covets Mike's job, he is essentially less than motivated to do his own. But when Mike gives him a chance to shine, Stuart doesn't simply do the job as it needs doing, he tries to overstep. This works about as well as one might expect. The show does a charming job of pulling Mike in to demonstrate leadership in the same scene.

(Start viewing at 7:42.)

The inevitable sitcom screwup comes only minutes later in TV time.

(Watch from 1:23-2:20)

Mike rubs it in further with even more public humiliation when the gaffe can't be fixed and disaster ensues. You'll notice, however, that Mike also realizes when he screws up. And watch Stuart's reaction. This is exactly the way to react when your boss has lost it and done the wrong thing to you in front of a crowd. Do not engage, do not make excuses, just make the acknowledgment and remove yourself as quickly as possible.

(Watch 5:50-7:22)

And, given a chance, Mike ultimately makes it up to him.

(Watch 9:05-end)

Mike demonstrates plenty of good management strategies over the course of the series. Morning staff meetings are daily, but short and useful. He delegates, but he doesn't hover. He expects excellence from pretty much everyone except his boss, and they all deliver. And, perhaps most important, he is as good a deputy as he is an administrator, serving as a friend to his boss in a time of need.

(Watch 00:32-2:10)

On Holiday

Even managers need a holiday. Taking this opportunity to revamp some aspects of the blog. Happy Memorial Day, everyone. We'll be back tomorrow.

Fashion Friday: I'm Too Sexy for This Office

When I was starting out in my career, I had a penchant for skirts so short Ally McBeal would blush.  I was standing in the ladies room one day fussing with the hem of my shirt, which when tucked in, was longer than the hem of my skirt, when an HR rep walked in.  She mentioned my predicament and in my twenty-year-old glory, I bemoaned how hard it was to be cute.  She must have wanted to make life easier for me, since two days later there was a freshly xeroxed copy of a brand new dress code awaiting us all.  Amending the policy on women's wear was a dress and skirt length, and when our manager went over the new code with us, she addressed me specifically in that regard.

I would like to tell you that I started dressing professionally that day.  I didn't.  I found a different job.  That office rewrote their dress code for me, too.  Maybe I should update my resume to say that I have written codes for four companies and inspired two others?  Two and a half.  One manager lobbied HR to rewrite the dress code to restrict the types of shoes I was wearing and they refused.  Her complaint?  My shoes were too sexy.  (The same manager later complained that I was dressing too prudishly.  This may be why HR ignored her.)

Here's the thing:  You want to be known for your work, not your outfit.  I knew a wonderful, creative manager, whose staff adored her, whose work was unparalleled, and whose entire reputation within the company was eclipsed by her wardrobe.  If you mentioned her name, the first thing anyone had to say was about her look.  And trust me, her look was amazing.  It just wasn't right for the office.

So what is too sexy for the office?  After all, sexy is in the eye of the beholder.  These are some good rules of thumb:

-- Visible cleavage for women, visible chest hair for men
-- Clothing so tight or sheer that undergarment outlines are visible
-- Visible undergarments period
-- Hemlines higher than two inches above the knee
-- Front slits in skirts, or back vents that are higher than two inches above the knee
-- Fishnet stockings, or visible thigh highs
-- Shoes with heels higher than 3.5 inches
-- Nipples.  That's right, I said nipples.

But you still want to look good.  You don't want to show up to work looking like Maude:

Or Nicolette Henrickson:

Say you're built like Julie Bowen, and you would look sexy wearing footed pajamas and a shower cap.  What then? Then this -- or this:

Or this:

What if you are Angelina Jolie?  Check her out in these St. John's ads.  Still every inch Angelina, nothing is going to change that, but you cannot say that she's trying to distract you from her presentation in these ensembles.

Salma Hayek?

The important thing to note about Salma is that she understands how to wear a tailored blouse.  She's got a gorgeous figure and really knows how to show it off whether her cleavage is on display or not.  When Salma buttons it up, the fit is as perfect as she is.  Her blouses are not too tight, with gaping buttons, or too loose, looking like tents.  She wears what fits, then plays up her eyes and face, making sure her statements and platforms are noticed over her body.

And that's the key, really.  Where do you want the focus?  Either you can make your body the focal point, or you can make your work the focal point.  Unfortunately, it is very difficult to do both.

One other thing I would mention as being too sexy for the office:  Your libido.  Leave it at home.  If you've got a Lane, Jr. swanning about in her mini-skirt, don't leer, stare, or make an ass of yourself just because you can almost see hers.  No matter what your coworkers are wearing, they deserve your respect.  Whether or not someone is dressed like a professional, you should still be acting like one.

Lane Buckman has been in love with fashion since she realized that her first Easter dress came with matching gloves, shoes, and purse. Growing up in the entertainment industry this former beauty queen, model and actress turned corporate career woman understands that dressing for success is just another form of costuming. And, since she has run the size gamut from 2 to 18, Lane understands dressing a variety of shapes. She has written dress codes and conducted Business Style and How to Dress seminars for Fortune 500 and finance companies, boutique agencies, and an international non-profit organization. She gives her stylish Southern mother credit for teaching her everything she knows.

Theatrical Thursday: Managing Editors

Every time I watch The Paper, I thank God that real life isn't like that, even on the worst days, even in modern times where the Internet makes every story's arrival a deadline.

So it is a lovely little escapist frolic. It is also a lovely study of three managers and their priorities, and of how their styles work, don't work, clash and complement.

Henry Hackett is the metro editor of the New York Sun, a fictional New York City tabloid. A workaholic who loves his job, Henry starts his day with a job offer at the Sentinel, a fictional version of the New York Times, on the line and a very pregnant wife (who is also a reporter on leave) anxious for him to accept. Once he gets to work a hot story confronts him with tough decisions, deadlines and personal crises and reluctant help from his star columnist, McDougal.

Part of the reason my life isn't like this movie is because I'm a very different manager from Henry. Or at least, I like to think I am.

Henry: What's the matter with Phil? It looks like he sat on something sharp.
Henry's Secretary: Well, you told him he could have Richard's old desk, right?
Henry: Right.
Secretary: And now you promised it to Carmen. Are you completely psychotic?
Henry: I have episodes. Nothing serious.
Secretary: Phil is still pissed you wouldn't approve his $600 orthopedic chair. And now with this desk thing, he's convinced it's a conspiracy to prevent him from sitting down.

Henry is frantic and disorganized. He's the only metro editor I've ever seen who has a secretary -- and an unflappable one, at that -- yet he still loses things, misses deadlines and can't keep his desk organized. 

Wilder: I struck out with the cops. There's something definitely going on. None of those sons of bitches are talking.
Henry: Where did you go?
Wilder: Police headquarters.
Henry: You gotta go to the precinct for this! Of course nobody's talking at headquarters!

Henry also spends a lot of time reacting when he could simply strategize better and do a better job prepping his staff to do their jobs. Presumably Henry knows Wilder is a stiff who will do the obvious yet incorrect thing. How hard would it have been for Henry to direct the guy to the precinct in the first place rather than wasting precious hours getting the runaround? Ultimately, Henry runs off to the precinct to get the quote himself with McDougal, who might benefit some from the experience, but if we accept that McDougal is operating at 80 or 90 percent, it should be Henry's job to bring the 30-percenters up to at least 50.

On the other hand, Henry does love his job and the industry, and he is beloved by most of his staff. He lets people try, and then, in his finer moments, helps them improve.

Ray: (for the fifteenth time in as many minutes) You got another word for ...
Henry: I got another word for all of them. Get out of the chair.
Ray: No, don't change that! (Reads over Henry's shoulder.) Oh. That's pretty good.

In the middle of all this, he steals the lead off the desk of his potential new employer. Needless to say, the job offer is rescinded, and the exchange turns toxic.

Sentinel editor: Well, I hope you're satisfied, asshole! You just blew your chance to cover the world!
Henry: Really? Well guess fucking what? I don't really fucking care. You wanna know fucking why? Because I don't fucking live in the fucking world! I live in fucking New York City! So go fuck yourself! (Henry slams down telephone back on the receiver.)
Henry's Secretary: You handled that well.
Henry: Thank you.

I rather get the feeling that Henry's secretary might be better at Henry's job than he is.

As the above exchange indicates, one of Henry's biggest problems is that he can't manage up at all. His issues with authority and inability to respond to the needs of others are sprinkled through the movie. Most detrimental to the current situation, he can't handle his boss, managing editor Alicia Clark, at all. Alicia is very good at a thankless job, but she hates her position and she resents Henry for making it harder on her.

Alicia: You son of a bitch. You promised me.
Henry: For God's sakes, Alicia. We're not gonna ask some news reporter to wait until after 5 to make out-of-state phone calls. It's ridiculous. I'm not gonna do it.
Alicia: Oh, fine! Let's let them make free phone sex calls too.
Henry: You mean as a kind of bonus? That's not a bad idea. Why don't you start with Phil?
Phil: Start what with Phil?
Alicia: You think my job's easy? You think it's fun firing people?
Phil: "Firing people"? Is that what you're gonna start with me?

Editor in Chief Bernie White does his best to give Alicia a pep talk when she comes in sniffing after a raise, but she is intractable.

Bernie: I know you loved running Features. I know Keighley shoved you into this administrative job you didn't want.
Alicia: I never knew how isolating it was gonna be. There are not exactly a lot of laughs around my office these days.
Bernie: You're in management. If everybody loved you, you'd be doing something wrong. But the fact is, I think you're working miracles with the job . . .  Thank you. But there's no more money for you. There's a ceiling in this business, and you're hitting your head on it.
Alicia: Okay. Fine. My contract's up in 8 months. I'd like permission to start interviewing now. You leave me no choice. That contract leaves me no choice.
Bernie: Pardon me saying this, and I know I'm no one to talk ... but the problem isn't with your contract.  ... Talk to Bruno about the decoration, renovation, whatever. Ask him to be reasonable. Your husband's a reasonable guy. Or give up the nights in town Bruno doesn't know about.
Alicia: What?
Bernie: It won't lead anywhere good. I know what I'm talking about.
Alicia: I'm gonna see Keighley tonight at the benefit. It's obvious that I'm gonna have to take this up with him directly.
Bernie: If you go over my head on this, you'll only make it worse for yourself.

Alicia, predictably, ignores Bernie's completely on-point advice and winds up confronting the publisher, Graham Keighley, at a social event and subsequently embarrassing herself when he brushes her off. She then goes on to round out her evening by firing Henry. Her priority: keeping down publishing costs. His priority: Getting the story right. 

Alicia: Given the information we had, it's right.
Henry: Yeah, but it's not right. I got a cop. I got a quote. It's wrong.
Alicia: Not today. Tomorrow it's wrong. We only have to be right for a day.
Henry: This shouldn't be semantics or money. People will read this, and they'll believe us.
Alicia: People take the "Sun" with a grain of salt. We'll run yours tomorrow.
Henry: No! Not tomorrow! Right fucking now today!
Alicia: I bet you thought it would never catch up with you-- that I don't know the shit you guys say about me. You think I don't get the bean counter jokes or understand your snide shit? You don't even have a college degree. You couldn't take the shit I put up with! You assholes think I don't know that you wait until I leave before you sneak off to the Bear's Head? Can't invite me for a lousy drink.
Henry: You jerk, it's not about you or me!
Alicia: Never thought it'd catch up with you. Well, fuck you. It catches up today. We run what we've got.

So many things wrong here.  Alicia's been in news long enough to know this merits blowing the budget. Henry's been in news long enough to know that union pressmen and truck drivers are fricking expensive. If there were any sort of reasonable employee-boss relationship here all this would have been figured out much earlier.  Newspapers push deadlines for big stories. If Alicia is as good at her job as is implied, she'd have budgeted for this sort of thing -- and she probably has, but she's pissed off at Henry not doing what he was told. Her resentment takes over, she has the upper hand and she uses it. Later, however, in trying to defend herself to McDougal, she realizes she's gotten it wrong.

McDougal: What do you want me to say? "Good job. You struck a blow for journalistic integrity today"? I can't do it. You abused your position to settle a personal score. It is what it is. Live with it. Henry was right.
Alicia: Henry was glib, that's all. I've become "everything I used to hate." What does that even mean? Henry wouldn't have a newspaper to work on if I hadn't saved it.
McDougal; Henry doesn't have a newspaper to work on. You fired him, remember?
Alicia: Oh, please! I'm ODing on righteous indignation tonight. We're not exactly the Washington Post, okay?
McDougal: No, we're not. We run stupid headlines because we think they're funny. We run maimings on the front page because we got good art. And I spend three weeks bitching about my car because it sells papers. But at least it's the truth. As far as I can remember we never, ever, ever knowingly got a story wrong. Until tonight.

Of course, while Alicia is on the phone trying to get Henry's story back on the press, she gets shot. So no good deed goes unpunished, I guess.

(And what about that press run? The presses are running with the wrong story plated when Henry shows up. They keep running through the fight, through the aftermath, through the time it takes to get to a bar and sit down and have a conversation, plus they run through the time it takes Alicia to be shot, get in an ambulance, get to a hospital - IN NEW YORK! -- and fight with a bunch of doctors over getting a phone. Surely the press run would be nearly over by the time she finally made the call, wouldn't it?)

The pater familias of the picture, of course, is Bernie, though he denies it. He is at a point in his career where he can take the long view. He acknowledges his screwups, he accepts his place, and he refuses to be pushed into roles he doesn't want. 

Henry: Look, Bernie. I know you know about the Sentinel interview. It's an assistant managing editor thing. It's really more sideways than up. You can jump in here anytime.
Bernie: What are you looking for? You want me to make it easy for you to go to another paper? You want a ride uptown? You want me to wait outside and think positive thoughts? That's not my job. My job is to keep your ass downstairs.
Henry: What am I supposed to do?
Bernie: I don't know.
Henry: It's nine to five. It's more money. It's less hours. Martha-- We're having the baby, and she gave up her job. So it's for her. That's ... OK. Not just for her. It's for me too. Bernie, you've got kids. How'd you keep doing the job?
Bernie: Don't ask marital advice from a guy with two ex-wives  and a daughter that won't speak to him. The problem with being my age is everybody thinks you're a father figure. But you're really just the same asshole you always were. You do have a problem, Henry, but it's your problem.
Henry: Thanks, Bernie. You've been a big help.

Bernie is old, he's tired, he's sick, he's a sage. He uses stories to make his points, though Alicia won't listen.

Bernie: Let me tell you a story. Sit down. Sit down. It won't take long. Very interesting. You'll like it. In '68, a bunch of us were covering the Olympics in Grenoble decided to go to the best restaurant in town. Now, the menu didn't have any prices but we were on expense account, so we figured, "Fuck it," got drunk. Somehow there ended up being a bunch of us at the table and when the cheque came. it was $5,000.
Alicia: Jesus!
Bernie: Exactly. So now we're all starting to point fingers. We're trying to remember who invited who. We're talking about going to Western Union to get money cabled. And just when it was getting really embarrassing, this funny-looking old guy at the next table called the maitre d' over. Old guy. He drew a couple of squiggly lines on a napkin signed his name, winked at us, and that was that. The old guy was Pablo Picasso, and that napkin paid our bill.
Alicia: So? I'm not sure I caught the segue here.
Bernie: The people we cover, we move in their world, but it is their world. You can't live like them. You'll never keep up. If you try to make this job about the money, you'll be nothing but miserable, because we don't get the money.Never have, never will.

On the other hand, he is still a boss.

Alicia: If we miss them, the subway is page one.
Henry: The subway is bullshit!
Bernie: You don't have it, you know it. You wanna run the story? You got five hours. Get the story. Do your job! Do your job! Don't just take a position because it's the opposite of what she says! It's like watching a bunch of sixth graders, for Christ's sake! You make damn sure Photo's at the perp walk. I mean damn sure.

But in the end, the story all comes back to Henry.  The right story hits newstands, he has a new baby, his wife forgives him, presumably he still has a job, he got his way on all of it -- and odds are he hasn't learned a damn thing. He is a journalist, after all, and we are stubborn creatures.

News Anchor: Because your whole world can change in 24 hours. 

Or, you know, not.

We Hear the Playback and It Seems So Long Ago

Newspapers, broadcast newsmagazines ... all that can be left is Newsradio.

Set at WNYX, a fictional AM news radio station in New York City, audiences met the madcap station owner and staff the same time as the station's new news director, level-headed Dave Nelson (played by Dave Foley). While Dave turns out to be less naive than his youthful appearance suggests, he never fully gains control of his co-workers. Unlike Miles Silverberg, however, he is experienced enough to recognize it and mature enough to just roll with it.

Beth: Fire him as soon as he walks out that door.
Dave: Excuse me?
Beth: Fire him right here, right now, in front of everyone. Trust me, it will help you down the line. You're not exactly establishing yourself as an authority figure with the staff.
Bill: She's right, you know.
Beth: It's like, you know how they say when it's your first day in prison, you should act crazy and beat someone with a chair so nobody will mess with you?
Dave: I've never actually heard that before, Beth.

As news director, Dave is in an unenviable middle manager sandwich slot,  snugly layered between two huge pieces of ham.  Subordinate to Dave is the egocentric, eccentric anchorman Evelyn William "Bill" McNeal, played by the brilliant (and late and sorely lamented) Phil Hartman, while Dave is answerable to  the egocentric, eccentric Jimmy James, played by the brilliant Stephen Root. The bigger exasperation for Dave is Bill, who takes great delight in showing the Midwestern rookie how it's done.

Bill: You're not in Wisconsin, Dave. The big story isn't about a cow wandering into the town square.
Dave: Bill, I worked in Milwaukee, you know. It's a city with a population of a million people.
Bill: So that must have been quite a hubbub when that cow got loose!

Clearly, Dave knows how to run a newsroom, but he has to work hard to earn any chance to do so.

Dave: Listen up, everybody, this is what we're going to do.
Bill: Standard subway crisis. We know what to do, Dave.
Dave: I didn't know there was a standard procedure for this.
Bill: Oh, sure. We send a reporter to the scene. He asks the transit police if he can go in the tunnel. They say no. He says okay. I go on the air every eight minutes and say "Still no news on that disabled train." Business as usual. Let's do it, people!
Dave: Actually, Bill, if I might, I'd like to try something a little different this time, okay?
Bill: Okay, how about this? Send reporter, transit police, tunnel-no-okay, me on air every seven minutes, blah, blah, blah. Let's do it, people!

Bill never gives an inch, but unlike Murphy Brown's almost malicious pranksterism, Bill's motivation is entirely selfish and absurdist to the point of being childish.

Dave: Have you thought about how this will make you co-workers feel?
Bill: Actually, one of the great things about the cubicle is not having to think about my co-workers at all.

Dave does put his good-boss hat on to help Bill, though -- going so far on one occasion as to kick a coffee addiction while Bill tries to quit smoking.

Dave: I just had no idea that the Patch could have side effects.
Bill: And I had no idea you're only supposed to wear one at a time.
Dave: How many were you wearing?
Bill: Fifteen, sixteen. I sort of stuck them all around my waist like a belt.

The Dave-Jimmy relationship is no less fraught with exasperation for Dave. Jimmy James is a billionaire, yet seems to enjoy micromanaging WNYX and keeping a close eye on Dave.

Jimmy: Dave, you're the boss. You're supposed to be thick-skinned.
Dave: I'm plenty thick-skinned
Jimmy: Oh yeah, I've seen thicker skin on a bowl of pudding. Here, check this out. (Puts his hand above a lit candle.)
Dave: Sir, you really don't have to do that to impress me.
Jimmy: You wanna know the secret?
Dave: Wild guess... thick skin?
Jimmy: Well, metaphysically, yes. Technically speaking, you do it 15, 16 times it kills all the nerve endings in your hand.

Further, Jimmy is seen as a loving father figure by everyone in the office, and often helps his employees learn life lessons.

Jimmy: You're sleeping with the boss now, Lisa. What do you think the staff's gonna feel about that? You know what people think about Yoko Ono.
Lisa: Yes, I do sir.
Jimmy: What about you Dave, you know what they think about Paul McCartney.
Dave: You mean John Lennon.
Jimmy: No, people liked him.

The best thing about Dave as a manager is that he has a keen sense of what he can change about his environment and a keener sense of when he needs to change his own outlook on that environment to keep some level of sanity. This is an invaluable skill to develop, especially in middle management.

Dave: Any inappropriate expenditures will be deducted from your salary in the future.
Beth: That is going too far.
Dave: No, taking a cab to New Jersey and back is going too far.
Beth: That was radio-related business.
Dave: There are plenty of places in Manhattan to buy a radio.
Beth: Dave, it was a 43% off sale. Apparently, the guy who owned the place went crazy and was slashing prices.
Dave: Well I may go crazy and slash paychecks if I see another receipt like that.

To wrap up -- do your best to stay sane and if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And now, here are two examples why you don't use cliches like that one to motivate your staff:

Dave: Bill, haven't you ever heard the expression, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?"
Bill: Dave, haven't you ever heard the expression, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and then toss it in the face of the person who gave you the lemons until they give you the oranges you asked for in the first place?"

Dave: Have you ever heard the expression that you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar?
Bill: Have you ever heard the expression that only a hillbilly sits around figuring out the best way to catch flies?

Murphy's Law

Eleven years after Mary Tyler Moore went off the air, a different kind of career gal showed up. Murphy Brown, it is safe to say, is the anti-Mary Richards, and Miles Silverberg is the anti-Lou Grant.

The show in and of itself is an interesting sociological study.  More political than journalistic, more preachy than perky, it was a Diane English vehicle for a largely liberal agenda set in a newsroom that riffed hard off Linda Bloodworth Thomason's Designing Women.

Murphy to Miles: I just can't help thinking about the fact that while I was getting maced at the Democratic Convention in 1968, you were wondering if you'd ever meet Adam West.

The show started with Murphy back from a stint at Betty Ford and meeting her new producer. Suddenly, Murphy is a 40-year-old woman with a 25-year-old boss. And while Miles might be a whiz kid hired to bring in younger viewers and bigger ratings, he's also fresh from work in public television, has no experience with hardbitten news types and is in no wise any sort of authority figure to Murphy. He is out of his depth and easy prey.

Murphy: Stop looking at me like that!
Miles: Like what?
Murphy: Like Bambi caught in my headlights!

Basically, Miles is one long management don't. He's hyper. He's tense. He's indecisive and lives in constant fear of being fired, and he telegraphs that across entire continents. He keeps Tums in business singlehandedly.

Miles: Yes, God forbid you focus your energy on this show. The show that made you, the show that pays you six times what I make.
Murphy: Six? I thought it was eight!

I've talked before about how to deal with being in charge when you aren't the best or most experienced candidate. Be honest, be deferential, make good decisions and then follow them through.  Of course, that's assuming you've got a confident and assertive personality, and you've got a staff composed mostly of grown-ups who keep their exasperation to themselves.

It's tougher, of course, when you aren't an assertive personality, and when you've got a Murphy Brown rock star harassing you every second because she knows that's the best way to get you to fold. But as the series progressed, Miles evolved into a competent producer and manager who -- if not capable of shutting Murphy down --  at least managed to hold his own.

Miles: A retreat? No, no, no. This is just a little perk from your network, a network who appreciates your efforts and feels there's no reason we can't relax ... and get a little work done!
Murphy: Oh, god, it's a retreat!
Miles: Look, if I'd told you, you wouldn't have come. now we're here, we're gonna do this, and that's the last I want to hear of it. 

When Miles finally left the show, he was sent out on a high note. Standing up to top management and cutting a deal for his people left him in high esteem with his staff -- and left his bosses so impressed they sent him to New York for a shot at a big time CNN-style news service.

Miles: When I first got here, I really didn't know what I was doing.
Murphy: I know.
Miles: And you let me know you knew. You could have had me fired. But you didn't. Instead you subjected me to your endless reign of terror, but you were also teaching me, and even though your lessons were sometimes difficult and occasionally gratuitously painful, I never had a better teacher... you made me what I am today.  A nervous wreck who's getting in way, way,way over his head.

I suppose the moral of the story is that every experience is a learning experience, if you can stick it out long enough. It seems unlikely Miles would have been able to stick it out with Murphy that long in real life, but this is what TV lessons are for, right?