Efficiencies don’t Rule the Waves

The Dark Prince whispered in The Butchers ear, as they listened to the rhythmic creaking of the oars in the galleon, his warm management accent sing songing into the first mate’s brain, alerting it to potential savings deep inside the ship.

“There, hear it? The slap of an extra blade in the water, I reckon we can do without that oar, third back from the left, unnecessary I’d say, what do you think?”

The Butcher tilted his head to one side, his shining bald palette glistening in the full sun high overhead. He concentrated hard, the furrows on his brow crinkled together, his left eye squeezed shut as he pushed his nose forward to sniff the air.

“You might be right there, maybe we can double up on two and four, although we need to take car: we’ve been running regularly on 24 hour rotating work patterns for months now, so the guys will be tired, mistakes happen.”

The Dark Prince ran his fingers through his beautifully brylcreamed moustache, expertly twitching up the two ends into elegant points.

“You’re right, of course, but the Admiral will have our guts for garters (and he loves his garters they both knew) when we next come into harbour. He said we were over crewed, wouldn’t listen when we talked about the size of the jobs we were doing; always available to head out anytime; needing a full crew ready to go”.

The Butcher nodded, glancing at the map then easing the tiller slightly to the west. His mind slipped back over their years of their working together, coming into the service as apprentices; believing back then in the purpose of what they were doing; transporting messages across the empire; feeling they were part of something important. Those were great times: the great voyages; the different people they’d encountered, friendly and unfriendly; the open cheque book; fun times on expense accounts. Now those good times were all a distant memory. Although it was difficult to pinpoint a moment of change, it just seemed to have somehow sneaked up on them bit by bit without them knowing. Now the old camaraderie had gone, the crew were with them just about, but there were mutterings, complaints being passed up, nothing extra given when the shifts changed over, none of the old bantering. Certainly no fun across the ranks.

“Decision taken, bring up Oarsman 3,” snapped The Dark Prince, as he flicked dust from his uniform jacket, buttoned up his shirt and straightened his tie, ready to deliver the bad news.

Oarsman 3 down in the belly of the ship was exhausted, he knew his timing was out, all down the line he could hear grumbling as others tried to keep a regular rhythm. No one wanted to blame him, they tried to cover but when the normal steady beat stammered, they knew they lost power and each time it took more energy to recover.

“Go and get 3B out of bed he’ll have to take over early today,” shouted Oarsman 6, always the natural leader of the rowers on this shift. The cabin boy grabbed back his water can that he’d been passing along the line of sweating rowers and turned to head down the stairs to the ranks of sleeping men, tossing and turning on hammocks on the floor below. He crashed straight into the stomach of The Butcher coming along the narrow passageway and was tossed lightly aside, into the ranks of the rowers, as he struggled down the dark enclosed deck toward the front of the boat.

The Butcher grabbed Oarsman 3 and attempted to haul him out of his seat, but he just shrieked with pain as his feet still under the straining bar refused to follow his body.

“Out you, out!” Screamed the Butcher, whacking 3 around the head as he struggled to free himself, and together they crashed back down the narrow gap between the rowers to the hatchway and upwards to the sunlight.

On deck, the boat had almost come to a halt; the oars on the left side of the ship now out of line with some pointing skywards where The Butcher had knocked into the rowers. Those on the right hand side were still moving but slower now, keeping a rhythm, the combined movement making the boat move slowly in a wide circle. Stumbling up through the hatches came the off-duty crew, complaining, swearing, yawning as they marshaled in ragged lines on the deck. Then came the on-duty crew, sweaty, blinking in the fierce sunlight, shaking stiffened legs and stretching arms and backs.

“Attention!” shouted The Butcher, attempting to bring them all into disciplined lines ready to witness the yet another efficiency saving. The Black Prince snapped his feet together, put his arms behind his back and smiled his slightly masochistic smile as Oarsman 3 was brought in front of him. They all knew the routine – a quiet word from management then over the side you went, an old oar followed, you were given a little help after all, company policy. Some made it back to shore, some didn’t, but they all knew the routine and the management speech: “it was necessary for the benefit of the whole ship, for the whole crew, for the rest of us to keep our jobs; it’s nothing personal, men.”

Except this time, the plan didn’t work. Just as The Black Prince lent forward to begin his well rehearsed speech, pulling his jacket sleeves up to reveal his new gold cufflinks bought with a recent quarterly efficiency bonus, a murmur began to swell across the massed lines of the crew. The Butcher screwed his face up, shutting an eye in his usual style, sweeping the decks to see who was talking. It seemed to be somewhere at the back. No the front. Or was it the new recruits? The women? (Who accepted them on board anyway, he’d never agreed with that policy although they could pull an oar as good as any of the men and better technically too. So, he kept his mouth shut), the section heads? The freelancers? Where was the ring leader? Now all the lips were moving, all softly chanting together, “No, No, No”, and then, as The Dark Prince raised his hand to silence them, (and of course with every expectation of beginning his own management speech) the chant rose to a thunderous roar, now accompanied by stamping feet (all in time of course, the whole crew had learnt the skill of efficiency and good use of effort).

Number 3 oarsman squashed between the roar of his buddies behind him and the ever increasing irritation and concern of management in front of him, stared at The Dark Prince as his eyes bulged, his face went bright red with rage and he roared his anger at the crew. His spittle rained over Number 3 who was frozen to the spot, stunned by the deafening noise bounding in on him from all sides. The Butcher, meanwhile, sensing the situation was spiraling out of control pulled his dog whip from its holster. This was largely ceremonial and he hadn’t used it professionally in years but its appearance enraged the crew, who at seeing it surged forward causing the Dark Prince, The Butcher and the other managers to back up against the foredeck then onto the rear gunwale. The angry “no, no, no” now turned to a gleeful “jump, jump, jump” and to add insult to injury the crew began a well rehearsed dance throwing their hands in the air and pointing at their leaders. Now old oars were passed forward out of the storage lockers, hand over hand over the heads of the crew and tossed one after another into the sea.

Without a command the crew pressed forward. Oarsman 3 found himself pressed up against the shiny buttons on the jacket of the Dark Prince and he smelt the mixture of expensive after shave lotion mixed with brylcream. The Dark Prince in return was the closest he’d ever been to a crew member and he didn’t like the sweat and slightly unpleasant smell tickling his nose.

All this was a side issue though, because the crew had the momentum and still shouting “jump, jump, jump” pushed forward. The junior managers went first, tipped over the side, more oars following them into the water. Oarsman 3 felt a hand grasp the back of his tunic, pulling him back as the pressure from the crowd behind grew. The Dark Prince teetered on the edge of the deck alarm now showing on his face, along with a thin trickle of perspiration running down his left cheek. Oarsman 3 reached out, getting hold of one shiny brass button on the Captains blazer, and for a moment this held them together. They both watched, eyes transfixed, as the cotton stretched out between them seeming to hold for an instance and then, with a pop, the button and jacket parted. Accompanied by one last roar and a manic swiveling of his arms, the Dark Prince toppled from the deck, spiraling through the air, his dark blue uniform and brylcreamed moustache appearing and disappearing in the sunlight, before he hit the sea with a splash.

The Butcher, smarter by far, had leapt for the mast and now dangled mid ship above the stamping crew. Oarsman 6 held up his hand and the crowd went silent. The anger had gone out of them and now their eyes moved between the Butcher on his perch, looking rather like a giant parrot, bull whip hanging loosely in his hand, and the Dark Prince and the management team in the sea below, splashing and swimming as they organised the oars into a raft.

“Hey Butcher, what’s up, not about to take flight are you?” the crew laughed and jeered. Again, Number 6 held his hand aloft, and the crew softened.

“Tell you what, we’ll do you a deal Butcher boy, how about you become the Captain, we reckon we could work with you. But you go back to how you used to be, using all our skills, involve us in the decision making. And, you face up to the Admiral and sort this efficiency nonsense out. Do that and we won’t make you swim for it. What do you think?”

“Yea come on!” shouted some of the crew, mostly the older ones who knew Butcher from other times, and had been part of some great offshore and onshore exploits with him in his younger days. “We know you’re a good guy really, come on, step up and show us.”

The Butcher looking down at them felt a sense of relief waft over him, and then, a second later a feeling of hope, which was helped by seeing the Dark Prince who was shaking his fist up at them and cursing up at them all. Maybe, he thought, they could do it differently, he’d always wanted to captain his own boat. They’d have to concoct a good story, but it might just work. Ultimately he knew the Admiral believed in the right things, even if he went about them in completely the wrong way. He’d listen he felt sure. He wanted smart bright things at the top running the boats now and he craved success that was for sure. And, perhaps Number 6 would make a good first mate, the crew would respect that decision and he’d seen his leadership skills at work often enough. He drew the old bull whip up, curling it into loops, and flung it out to sea, just missing the Dark Prince who let out an expletive toward the Butcher which completely confirmed his decision. Seconds later he was on the deck, ready to negotiate a new way forward, although he knew there was a lot of listening to do first.

Later, in years to come at the officer training school, they would talk about this moment and how it changed the style of the navy forever. How crews were motivated and developed and led differently from that moment on. They would also talk in the bar at night of how successful the boat had been and how the brutal Butcher returned to being a great leader, leading endless campaigns and delivering the Admiral great success (and a top navy award at the end of his career). They also mentioned that Oarsman 6 got his own boat two years later and men and women queued up to work with him. Oarsman 3, who never was much good at rowing, became a galley cook, eventually retiring and setting up a fish restaurant. Occasionally he was visited by a man who looked remarkably like the Dark Prince, or may it was just a similar blue jacket with a missing button that stirred a memory for ex-Oarsman 3.

Grahame Pitts

December 2014

After writing this story and while still reflecting on a question of ‘efficiency savings only take us so far and sometimes nowhere’, I picked up two classic Harvard Business Review articles both of which resonated with this question – ‘Leadership in a Permanent Crisis’ and ‘Discovering Your Authentic Leadership’. These put this fable into a more practical context, with good case studies and sound research. I hope you enjoy these articles too.

 

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