Bill Fallon, joyfully sorting Santa's mail.
In the late 1990s, I held my last job in the corporate world. I was the Vice President, Document Technology and Delivery, at State Street in Boston. My group included print, mail, centralized receiving, couriers, output control and the parking garage. I was younger then, and thought it was important to manage with a serious outlook. Unfortunately, sometimes I took myself too seriously.
Thank goodness, I had three amazing direct reports – Audrey, Paul and Bob. Thay had all been with the company for decades. In fact, Audrey started before I was born. They were all old enough to be my parents. Paul’s son and I were born on the exact same date.
After a few months of me working there, the four of us went bowling. Audrey thought it would be fun to have a little wager. Whoever had the lowest score would pay for dinner. Of course, I accepted. After all, I was more than 20 years younger than any of them.
None of them had told me that they were past members of a bowling league. While I struggled to keep out of the gutter, they were making spares and strikes. Seemingly at will. I was losing – by a wide margin.
Then the laughs started. Not just at their young, overconfident boss, but at each other. And with each other. Stories about past matches and friends who had passed. One of my favorite memories.
It also changed the dynamic of the group.
Our time together was marked by a complete transformation of the departments. We introduced innovative technology, redesigned the workspaces, and changed almost every process. It required educating employees at all levels, and helping many progress in their careers. It was a lot of hard work. There were many uncomfortable moments, long nights and challenging projects.
Yet, whenever there was a break – or there needed to be a break – we would find a way to laugh. We would celebrate successes. And sometimes, celebrate failures.
At one of our staff meetings in a conference room, the team was having a few laughs – at my expense. I forget what I had done wrong, but it was a simple thing. It was caught by one of them – I’m not sure who – before it caused any real damage. The conversation then turned into a series of questions about my ability to walk and chew gum at the same time, find my way to the office alone, and so on.
The executive vice president of corporate real estate – my boss’s boss – was walking by. He stuck his head in and said it sounded like we were having too much fun (and added a wink). Audrey explained, “We were just teaching the young genius how to tie his shoes.” More laughter.
Joy was our secret weapon. Joy provided us the energy and cohesion needed to take the next step. And the next step. And the one after that.