Start With Why (15 page)

“Rambo 2,” said the voice over Brigadier General Jumper’s radio, referring to him by his call sign. “Your group 180, twenty-five miles, closing fast.”

“Barnyard radar contact,” replied Rambo 2, reporting that he had picked up the enemy group on his own radar. A one-star general, John Jumper was an experienced F-15 pilot with thousands of hours of flight time and over a thousand combat hours. By all measures, he was one of the best. Born in Paris, Texas, he had enjoyed a distinguished career. He’d flown just about everything the U.S. Air Force had, from cargo planes to fighter jets. Decorated and distinguished, the commander of his own combat wing, he was the embodiment of what it meant to be a fighter pilot. Smart and confident.

But on that day, Jumper’s reaction didn’t match the situation he faced. By twenty-five miles, he would have been expected to fire his weapons or take some other offensive movement. Fearing that Jumper was locked onto the wrong contact on his radar, Captain Lori Robinson calmly repeated what she could see from miles away: “Rambo 2 confirm radar contact YOUR group now 190 twenty miles.”

As the air weapons controller who was watching the action on her radar screen from a nearby command-and-control center, it was Lori Robinson’s job to direct the pilot toward enemy aircraft so that he could use his weapons to intercept and destroy them. Unlike an air traffic controller, whose job it is to keep air traffic apart, the weapons controller has to bring the planes closer together. From the vantage point of the radar screen, only the weapons controller has the big picture, as the pilot’s onboard navigation system shows only what’s directly in front of the aircraft.

Captain Robinson saw her job as something bigger, however, than just staring at radar, something more profound than just being the eyes and ears for the pilots who were hurtling into harm’s way at 1,500 mph. Captain Robinson knew WHY her job was important. She saw herself as responsible for clearing a path for the pilots in her care so that they could do what they needed to do, so they could push themselves and their aircraft further with greater confidence. And for this reason, she was unusually good at her job. Robinson couldn’t make mistakes. If she did, she would lose the trust of her pilots and, worse, they would lose trust in themselves. You see, it’s confidence that makes fighter pilots so good at their jobs.

And then it happened. Captain Robinson could tell from the calm of Jumper’s voice over the radio that he was unaware of the threat coming at him. On a cloudless day, 20,000 feet over the desert, the alarm screeched in Rambo 2’s $25 million, state-of-the-art fighter jet. He looked up from his radar screen and saw the enemy engaging him. “BREAK RIGHT! BREAK RIGHT!” he screamed into his radio. On October 9, 1988, Brigadier General John P. Jumper was killed.

Captain Robinson waited. There was an eerie calm. Before too long, Jumper stormed into the debriefing room at Nellis Air Force Base. “You got me killed!” he barked at Captain Robinson. Situated in the Nevada desert, Nellis is home to the Air Force Fighter Weapons School, and on that day, General John Jumper took a direct hit from a simulated missile from another U.S. Air Force jet playing the part of an enemy combatant.

“Sir, it was not my fault,” Captain Robinson replied calmly. “Check the video. You’ll see.” General Jumper, then the 57th Wing commander, a graduate of the USAF Fighter Weapons School, and a former instructor at Nellis, routinely evaluated every detail of every training mission he flew. Pilots often relied on the video to learn from their exercises. The video didn’t lie. And it didn’t on that day either. It revealed that the error was indeed his, not Captain Robinson’s. It was a classic blunder. He had forgotten he was part of a team. He had forgotten that what made him so good at his job was not just his ability. Jumper was one of the best because there were others who were looking out for him. A massive infrastructure of people he couldn’t see.

Without question General Jumper had been given the best equipment, the best technology and the best training that money could buy. But it was the mechanics, the teachers, his fellow pilots, the culture of the Air Force and Captain Robinson who ensured that he could trust himself to get the job done. General Jumper forgot WHY he was so good and made a split-second decision that cost him his life. But this is what training is for, to learn these lessons.

Some sixteen years after his lesson over the Nevada desert, General Jumper went on to big things. Now a retired four-star general, he served as chief of staff of the U.S. Air Force from 2001 to 2005, the highest-ranking uniformed office in the entire Air Force, responsible for the organization, training and equipping of nearly 700,000 active-duty, guard, reserve and civilian forces serving in the United States and overseas. As a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he, along with the other service chiefs, advised the secretary of defense, the National Security Council and the president.

This is not, however, a story about General Jumper. It is a story about Lori Robinson. Now herself a brigadier general in the Air Force, she no longer has her face down a scope. There are no more bogeys and bandits, the Air Force’s nicknames for the good guys and the bad guys, in her life. Even though her job has changed, General Robinson still starts every day by reminding herself WHY she came to work.

As much as she misses “her kids,” as she called those who served under her command, General Robinson is still looking for ways she can clear a path for others so that they can push themselves and the organization further. “The time to think of yourself is done, it is not about you, it is about the lieutenants behind you,” she’d remind her students when she was an instructor at the Fighter Weapons School. “If enough of us do this,” she goes on, referring to WHY she does what she does, “then we leave this military and this country in better shape than we found it. And isn’t that the point?” And it is that sense of purpose, a clear idea of WHY she comes to work, that has been the cornerstone of General Robinson’s success. And that, incidentally, has been remarkable.

Working hard to clear a path for others so that they can confidently go on to do bigger and better things has in turn inspired others to clear a path for General Robinson to do exactly the same thing. As a woman in the very masculine world of the military, she sets an example for how to lead. Great leadership is not about flexing and intimidation; great leaders, as General Robinson proves, lead with WHY. They embody a sense of purpose that inspires those around them.

General Robinson was so trusted as a weapons controller that it was not unusual for pilots in training to request that she be assigned to them. “The greatest compliment I ever got was when people would say, ‘When I go to war, I want Lori on the radio,’” she says. She is the first woman in the history of the Air Force to command the 552nd Air Control Wing out of Tinker Air Force Base, one of the largest wings in Air Combat Command (the wing that flies the AWACS airborne control aircraft—the fleet of Boeing 707s with the huge rotating radar dishes on top). She is the first commander of a combat wing ever who didn’t come up through the pilot ranks. She was the first female Weapons School instructor to teach at the Air Force Fighter Weapons School, where the Air Force trains all its top guns. There, she became the most celebrated teacher in the ranks—winning best teacher seven classes in a row. She is the first female director of the Secretary of the Air Force and Chief of Staff of the Air Force Executive Action Group. In 2000, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said of General Robinson, at the time still a captain, that she singularly influenced his ideas on airpower. And the list goes on.

By any measure, General Lori Robinson is a remarkable leader. Some in management positions operate as if they are in a tree of monkeys. They make sure that everyone at the top of the tree looking down sees only smiles. But all too often, those at the bottom looking up see only asses. Great leaders like General Robinson are respected by those both above and below. Those in her command trust her implicitly because they know she’s committed to looking after them. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t fix,” she was often heard telling students at Fighter Weapons School. And those to whom she reports show remarkable deference to her. “I don’t know how she gets away with half the stuff she does,” say those who know her. More importantly, it is said with a grin and with respect. General Robinson’s ability to lead developed not because she’s the smartest or the nicest. She’s a great leader because she understands that earning the trust of an organization doesn’t come from setting out to impress everyone, it comes from setting out to serve those who serve her. It is the invisible trust that gives a leader the following they need to get things done. And in Lori Robinson’s case, things get done.

I use the military because it exaggerates the point. Trust matters. Trust comes from being a part of a culture or organization with a common set of values and beliefs. Trust is maintained when the values and beliefs are actively managed. If companies do not actively work to keep their Golden Circle in balance—clarity, discipline and consistency—then trust starts to break down. A company, indeed any organization, must work actively to remind everyone WHY the company exists. WHY it was founded in the first place. What it believes. They need to hold everyone in the company accountable to the values and guiding principles. It’s not enough to just write them on the wall—that’s passive. Bonuses and incentives must revolve around them. The company must serve those whom they wish to serve it.

With balance, those who are good fits can trust that everyone is on board for the same reasons. It’s also the only way that each individual in the system can trust that others are acting to “leave the organization in a better way than we found it,” to quote General Robinson again. This is the root of passion. Passion comes from feeling like you are a part of something that you believe in, something bigger than yourself. If people do not trust that a company is organized to advance the WHY, then the passion is diluted. Without managed trust, people will show up to do their jobs and they will worry primarily about themselves. This is the root of office politics—people acting within the system for self-gain often at the expense of others, even the company. If a company doesn’t manage trust, then those working for it will not trust the company, and self-interest becomes the overwhelming motivation. This may be good for the short term, but over time the organization will get weaker and weaker.

Herb Kelleher, the visionary behind Southwest Airlines, understood this better than most. He recognized that to get the best out his employees he needed to create an environment in which they felt like the company cared about them. He knew that they would naturally excel if they felt the work they did made a difference. When a journalist asked Kelleher who comes first to him, his shareholders or his employees, his response was heresy at the time (and to a large degree still is). “Well, that’s easy,” he said, “employees come first and if employees are treated right, they treat the outside world right, the outside world uses the company’s product again, and that makes the shareholders happy. That really is the way that it works and it’s not a conundrum at all.”

Whom do you trust more, someone you know or someone you don’t know? What do you trust more, a claim made in a piece of advertising or a recommendation from a friend? Whom do you trust more, the waiter who tells you, “Everything on the menu is great,” or the waiter who tells you to avoid the chicken casserole? Are these questions too easy? Then how about this one: why should anyone trust you?

Personal recommendations go a long way. We trust the judgment of others. It’s part of the fabric of strong cultures. But we don’t trust the judgment of just anyone. We are more likely to trust those who share our values and beliefs. When we believe someone has our best interest in mind because it is in their benefit to do so, the whole group benefits. The advancements of societies were based a great deal on the trust between those with a common set of values and beliefs.

The feeling of trust is lodged squarely in the same place as the WHY—the limbic brain—and it’s often powerful enough to trump empirical research, or at least seed doubt. This is the reason why so many manipulations are effective; we believe that, for better or worse, others know more than we do. Clearly, four out of five dentists know more than us when choosing chewing gum (but what about the one holdout . . . what did he know that the others didn’t?). Of course we trust the celebrity endorsement. Those celebs are rich and can use any product they want. It must be good if they are putting their reputation on the line to promote it, right?

You probably answered that question in your head already. Clearly they are endorsing the product because they are getting paid to. But if celebrity endorsements didn’t work, companies wouldn’t use them. Or perhaps it’s the fear that they “might” work that fuels the million-dollar wink and a smile that encourages us to choose one car over another or one lipstick over another. The fact is, none of us is immune to the effect of someone we know or
feel
like we trust influencing our decisions.

Celebrity endorsements are used with this concept in mind. By using a recognizable face or name, so the assumption goes, people will more likely trust the claims being made. The flaw in this assumption is that celebrity status alone may work to influence behavior, but at this level it’s just peer pressure. For it to work, the celebrity needs to represent some clear cause or belief. An athlete known for her work ethic may have some value to a company with the same belief, for example. Or an actor known for his charitable work would be good fit for a company known for doing good. In these cases, it is clear that both the company and the celebrity are working together to advance the same cause. I recently saw an ad for TD Ameritrade that featured morning show hosts Regis Philbin and Kelly Ripa. I’m still trying to figure out the cause that two talk show hosts represent and how that matters when it comes to choosing one bank over another. When a company says that a celebrity represents “the kind of qualities we want our customers to associate with us,” they miss the point. The celebrity is another WHAT to the company’s WHY. The celebrity must embody the qualities that already exist at the company. Without clarity of WHY first, any benefit will amount to simply increasing recognition.