grand ambitions
The Men
Our team leader had grand designs for our team overnight last May of 2010, and he tapped me as the man to help make it happen. The team was The Men, that man was Dylan Stewart, and his vision was a sweeping swashbuckling epic that required logistical fortitude and the entire team treasury. Our previous team leader, Clint Arthur, had planted the image in Stewart's mind of an ocean voyage to a remote island where the men could hunt down a wild beast and eat it around a roaring fire. Very ballsy. Stewart harbored this vision from the time he first stepped into his team leader boots. It drove him. Creating this experience for the men would be his swan song before completing as team leader, and it was imperative that none of them knew the plan. The element of surprise was essential.
Stewart and I met at the local coffee emporium nearly every workday for 3 weeks preceding the event, soaking up java and putting his iPad through its paces. We had secured a boat through Arthur's buddy, who was excited to be involved and donated his services just to get out of the house and onto the open sea for the weekend. Our target was Parson's Landing, a remote camping beach on the northwest point of Catalina Island. The men would ferry their gear to shore in a dinghy, and set up camp looking out on the vast Pacific. We dropped the hunting idea, since Catalina's wild bison are protected, and wild boar have long disappeared from the island. But we still planned to serve up big slabs of red meat grilled on an open fire. Mighty ballsy.
Just a couple of weeks till launch, the excitement escalated when we learned that a brand new zip-line had just opened on the island. Stewart and I immediately decided to seize this date with destiny. Extremely ballsy. We rerouted our agenda through Avalon to be on the first zip-line tour in the morning, and then head for Parson's Landing before lunch. All of the cards seemed to be falling in our favor. We had a straight flush and were betting the entire bank.
We reserved the campsite and purchased zip-line tickets for every man on the team. All systems go. Section managers were given instructions and context regarding their jobs, but never details that would spoil the surprise. We wanted the men to be completely unclouded by expectations. They would experience every moment with fresh eyes and hearts. Stewart and I were standing 10 feet tall, reveling in our accomplishment, and congratulating ourselves for our cleverness.
Then the boat fell through. Just days before our overnight, the captain decided that our team was too big to safely transport to Catalina, and withdrew his offer. The zip-line tickets had passed the refund date, and the purchase had locked in. The credit card had been charged. Stewart and I scrambled to find another captain, and quickly realized how unlikely the original offer truly was. Marine fuel is very expensive, and finding a boat and captain at the last minute proved impossible. Our bridge had collapsed behind us, and the only way forward was deeper into the mire. We had to get the men to Catalina, and the only way left was on the Express Ferry. With nothing left in the treasury, Stewart and I together decided to bankroll these additional expenses. Without water transport from Avalon to Parson's Landing, we changed our final destination to Little Harbor, which could be reached via shuttle van. Two shuttles, to be exact.
Stewart and I saw no other possibility. We quietly spent our own money and pushed forward with the mission, preserving secrecy and resigning ourselves to being paid back by the team slowly over an extended period of time. In our eyes, we were throwing ourselves on the tracks in service to the men, willing to carry the financial burden until we could create a sensible reimbursement plan.
The overnight was deeply memorable. I was rewarded by watching the men's eyes as they boarded the high speed ferry, as the chilly ocean air streamed over their faces, as they landed in Avalon, and as they flew hundreds of feet over the island canyons in a parachute harness. Ultra ballsy. We crossed the interior of the island, witnessing the ravishing beauty of the mountains, spotting wild bison grazing, and descending into the rugged rocky cliffs of Little Harbor. We pitched camp, competed in the tall grass of the hills, grilled meat and vegetables, we ate and laughed, took a silent ritual night walk, and went deep around the fire late into the evening. Every star was visible in that amazing night sky. The vans arrived early the next morning to take us back to Avalon, and before we knew it, we were setting foot back in Long Beach.
Afterward, the team discovered that we had overspent by $125 per man, and they didn't see our actions as noble or selfless. Justifiably, they chose to focus on our financial responsibility and accountability to the team. Regardless that Stewart and I were carrying the deficit, we had taken the team deep into debt behind a curtain of secrecy, and the team did their best to inspect every aspect of our actions. We were compared to Bernie Madoff at one point, stealing money from his investors and betraying their trust. This was an arduous process that took many weeks to settle. In the end, the team required a complete audit of the treasury and overnight expenses before finally requesting a voluntary contribution from each participant to offset the overage.
The biggest lesson is that even in dire circumstances, leadership should not spend more money than is in the treasury without consulting the team. Our challenge would have been to enroll each man to contribute the additional funds in advance. I'm not sure we could have successfully done it without blowing the surprise. I don't even know if we would have redeemed or completely forfeited our zip-line tickets. I will always ponder over the greater risk: sacrificing the trust of the men by keeping them in the dark, or bringing everything to light and having all the hard work crash down around our shoulders.
In the end, all but a few of the men contributed their share to balance the treasury. A couple were under financial strain, and one chose not to contribute altogether. The treasury was again restored. But sometimes the win isn't just a tangible accomplishment - sometimes it's a pitched battle to restore trust.
Stewart and I met at the local coffee emporium nearly every workday for 3 weeks preceding the event, soaking up java and putting his iPad through its paces. We had secured a boat through Arthur's buddy, who was excited to be involved and donated his services just to get out of the house and onto the open sea for the weekend. Our target was Parson's Landing, a remote camping beach on the northwest point of Catalina Island. The men would ferry their gear to shore in a dinghy, and set up camp looking out on the vast Pacific. We dropped the hunting idea, since Catalina's wild bison are protected, and wild boar have long disappeared from the island. But we still planned to serve up big slabs of red meat grilled on an open fire. Mighty ballsy.
Just a couple of weeks till launch, the excitement escalated when we learned that a brand new zip-line had just opened on the island. Stewart and I immediately decided to seize this date with destiny. Extremely ballsy. We rerouted our agenda through Avalon to be on the first zip-line tour in the morning, and then head for Parson's Landing before lunch. All of the cards seemed to be falling in our favor. We had a straight flush and were betting the entire bank.
We reserved the campsite and purchased zip-line tickets for every man on the team. All systems go. Section managers were given instructions and context regarding their jobs, but never details that would spoil the surprise. We wanted the men to be completely unclouded by expectations. They would experience every moment with fresh eyes and hearts. Stewart and I were standing 10 feet tall, reveling in our accomplishment, and congratulating ourselves for our cleverness.
Then the boat fell through. Just days before our overnight, the captain decided that our team was too big to safely transport to Catalina, and withdrew his offer. The zip-line tickets had passed the refund date, and the purchase had locked in. The credit card had been charged. Stewart and I scrambled to find another captain, and quickly realized how unlikely the original offer truly was. Marine fuel is very expensive, and finding a boat and captain at the last minute proved impossible. Our bridge had collapsed behind us, and the only way forward was deeper into the mire. We had to get the men to Catalina, and the only way left was on the Express Ferry. With nothing left in the treasury, Stewart and I together decided to bankroll these additional expenses. Without water transport from Avalon to Parson's Landing, we changed our final destination to Little Harbor, which could be reached via shuttle van. Two shuttles, to be exact.
Stewart and I saw no other possibility. We quietly spent our own money and pushed forward with the mission, preserving secrecy and resigning ourselves to being paid back by the team slowly over an extended period of time. In our eyes, we were throwing ourselves on the tracks in service to the men, willing to carry the financial burden until we could create a sensible reimbursement plan.
The overnight was deeply memorable. I was rewarded by watching the men's eyes as they boarded the high speed ferry, as the chilly ocean air streamed over their faces, as they landed in Avalon, and as they flew hundreds of feet over the island canyons in a parachute harness. Ultra ballsy. We crossed the interior of the island, witnessing the ravishing beauty of the mountains, spotting wild bison grazing, and descending into the rugged rocky cliffs of Little Harbor. We pitched camp, competed in the tall grass of the hills, grilled meat and vegetables, we ate and laughed, took a silent ritual night walk, and went deep around the fire late into the evening. Every star was visible in that amazing night sky. The vans arrived early the next morning to take us back to Avalon, and before we knew it, we were setting foot back in Long Beach.
Afterward, the team discovered that we had overspent by $125 per man, and they didn't see our actions as noble or selfless. Justifiably, they chose to focus on our financial responsibility and accountability to the team. Regardless that Stewart and I were carrying the deficit, we had taken the team deep into debt behind a curtain of secrecy, and the team did their best to inspect every aspect of our actions. We were compared to Bernie Madoff at one point, stealing money from his investors and betraying their trust. This was an arduous process that took many weeks to settle. In the end, the team required a complete audit of the treasury and overnight expenses before finally requesting a voluntary contribution from each participant to offset the overage.
The biggest lesson is that even in dire circumstances, leadership should not spend more money than is in the treasury without consulting the team. Our challenge would have been to enroll each man to contribute the additional funds in advance. I'm not sure we could have successfully done it without blowing the surprise. I don't even know if we would have redeemed or completely forfeited our zip-line tickets. I will always ponder over the greater risk: sacrificing the trust of the men by keeping them in the dark, or bringing everything to light and having all the hard work crash down around our shoulders.
In the end, all but a few of the men contributed their share to balance the treasury. A couple were under financial strain, and one chose not to contribute altogether. The treasury was again restored. But sometimes the win isn't just a tangible accomplishment - sometimes it's a pitched battle to restore trust.
