By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Robert Dudley has a once-in-a-career chance to be a hero.  And I’m here to help him get there.

As the new CEO of BP, Mr. Dudley must take the reins of what to date has been not only an ecological and economic disaster, but as important to his company’s shareholders, a near-complete collapse in reputation, goodwill, and basic belief in the competence of its people.  The effect on BP employees must be every bit as demoralizing.

Yet all of this can and must be fixed as quickly as possible.  Mr. Dudley’s appointment represents a fresh start, and the fact that he is an American probably helps.  But those sorts of superficial facts will mean little in the long run.  To bring BP back to its pre-spill standing with investors, shareholders, regulators, and customers, Mr. Dudley needs to act boldly and decisively. And the place to start is with his own people. 

If I were sitting across from him today, here’s how I would advise Mr. Dudley on using leadership communications to restore BP’s reputation:

1) Form new teams in charge of: capping the well permanently; coordinating cleanup activities and liaison interaction with Gulf residents and businesses; and daily updates to employees.

2) Hold a global teleconference for all employees and franchise operators involving every BP location around the world.  Devote 10 minutes to a detailed explanation of what happened, introduction of the new teams being deployed, and most important, his personal pledge to devote regular attention, all needed resources, and a visible on-the-ground presence in the Gulf.  The remainder of the teleconference would be turned over to an open Q&A, accepting unfiltered questions from any employee or franchisee.

3) This internal teleconference would be followed immediately – and I mean the same day, right afterward – by an open news conference to make the same announcements and field questions from the global media.  No hedging or evading the tough questions.  His personal credibility and that of the company – perhaps forever – depend on complete openness and integrity at this event.

4) Request the opportunity to make a major address at a key venue – the United Nations, perhaps, or before Congress again – where the entire story could be told, from the cause of the spill to the lessons learned.  But more than offering a mea culpa to the nation and the world, Mr. Dudley could also use this as a platform to chart a new vision for BP – one that actively seeks to become the world’s leading source of research, development, and implementation for the full spectrum of energy options needed for the 21^st Century and beyond.  Talk about a turnaround!  To go from ecological villain to hero over the next decade would echo John Kennedy’s challenge in 1961 to land a man on the moon within 10 years.  New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman has been championing this idea for some time, and if Mr. Dudley seized this moment to claim the challenge as BP’s own, it could become a sustained rallying cry – and a positive one – for his company.

5) Righting the BP ship in the short-term is only the beginning of the leadership communications opportunity before Mr. Dudley, however.  This needs to be a sustained effort, replete with regular and consistently credible updates to employees, shareholders, regulators, and customers. 

6) He should insist on bringing the highest-ranking retired U.S. Coast Guard officers and the president of at least one credible and responsible environmental organization onto the BP Board of Directors – and leverage those appointments into positive communications opportunities.

7) Officials from appropriate federal agencies, Congressional committees, and the White House should be hosted at BP recovery and production facilities on a recurring schedule, with joint news conferences and announcements immediately following each visit.

Mr. Dudley, this is the moment.  The ideas presented here only begin to scratch the surface of what should be done to bring your company back to prominence.  And if you’re up for it, I’m happy to help.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting and Transverse Park Productions LLC

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Across the shiny conference table with the lovely floral arrangement tastefully set to one side, sat my boss’ boss, who used to be my direct boss. 

This colorful, polished, highly intelligent woman had brought the organization’s Corporate Communications group into crack fighting shape through her insight, her unerring eye for talent, and her alternatingly charming, fearsome, and inspiring form of leadership.

I loved working for her.  Think “Margaret Thatcher” at her mid-1980s peak of power, poise, and personality with just the right touch of thrilling hair-trigger righteous anger ready to be unleashed.  Wow, what a rush!  Those were some of the best, most motivationally rich years of my professional life.

Yet there was one habit this amazing iron lady had that made me absolutely crazy.

I recall sitting in her office across the conference table one particularly late evening.  Some major announcement was coming up, and my job was to develop a key component of the overall communications plan, probably a speech for one of the executives.  She was giving me some direction and background information, as I diligently took notes.

But then, because her day was far from over – even though it was after 7 p.m. by this time and she probably had four more meetings after mine – she stood up mid-thought, sort of shooed me out, and said the words that no writer wants to hear:

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Uh, not really.  That’s why I’m here, to find out precisely what you mean.  But the meeting was over, so what’s a staff writer to do but to go back to his office and try to reason out what she meant and hope for the best.

Now, keep in mind that this episode happened some 15 years ago, when I was young and foolish and easily intimidated.  I didn’t have the professional bones back then to hold my ground and insist that she complete her thought, as I would – and do – today. 

So the next draft went upstairs and it was closer to the mark, but still not “what she meant.”  Which required another meeting across the conference table, shoe-horned into her impossibly crowded calendar.

What’s the lesson here? 

For those imparting information to communicators entrusted with creating the messages to carry your plans forward – take the time or make the time required to convey that information fully and sufficiently. 

For writers and those receiving this information – have the guts and the confidence to stay put until all of your questions have been answered and you have the complete picture needed to do your job properly.

Oh, you know what I mean…right?

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting and Transverse Park Productions LLC

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Playing word association, I think it’s fair to assume that one would be shocked if, in response to the term “Apple,” the response came back, “Alfred E. Newman.”

You know, the grinning, gap-toothed goober from Mad magazine, whose catch phrase is, “What, me worry?”  Yet somehow, almost inexplicably, that’s the stance being taken by Apple in the nasty backwash from its iPhone 4 rollout.

In the interest of transparency, let me say that I have never owned an iPhone.  I’ve seen them, I know they’re cool, and I am as guilty as anyone of some unresolved iPhone envy.  But I also know you’re supposed to be able to use the doggone thing to place phone calls, and that’s where the trouble seems to be starting with the latest iteration.

From what I’ve read, the iPhone 4’s antenna can drop calls if the user holds it in the wrong spot or if some other techie-type variable gets violated.  Okay, so what’s the big deal?  New tech products often have bugs that can’t be evaluated until regular users get a hold of them.  Just ask Microsoft after any of its new operating system launches, right?  If there’s a hardware or software problem, the manufacturer should acknowledge it, figure out how to fix it, then help consumers access that resolution.

Yet Apple has been alarmingly reluctant to admit it may have made a mistake here.  Could it be that things have been going so swimmingly for so long, and that the company has been reveling in its glory to such a degree, that it can’t even accept the notion that it may have screwed up?

Self-admiration and self-esteem can morph into self-delusion and self-destruction if you’re not careful.  Nobody’s saying Apple is close to crossing that line.  Not yet, anyway.  But the line is there, and it can be crossed, and Apple may be edging toward it.

Want proof?  How about the company’s apparent decision to delete discussion threads from its message boards regarding the results of a Consumer Reports article detailing the iPhone 4’s failures to hold phone call connections.  A communications strategy of, “If we don’t let people talk about bad stuff, they’ll stop doing so,” is nonsensical, irrational, and insulting – especially to the tech-savvy purchasers and longtime admirers of Apple products.

The tech blog “Appolicious Advisor” had this to say about the situation:  “Apple’s products have reached beyond the fanboys who tolerate the company’s flaws and into the mainstream, where grandparents and in-laws are mad because when they finally buy a smartphone, they expect the phone portion to work properly. Apple needs to address this problem head on, not blame software oddities. And the sooner it does so, the sooner it can move away from what has become a legitimate crisis for the company.”

Come on, Apple.  You’re smarter than this.  Yes, you sold a device that has flaws.  Guess what, you’re human after all.  So what?  By not owning up to the mistake, you’re throwing mud all over your good name.  Be honest, take your lumps, fix the problem, and move on.  Denying it only delays the inevitable.  You have enough goodwill stored up to ride this out, but there’s a limited supply.

What, you worry?  Yeah, Apple.  But get beyond worrying.  Act like a grown up and do the right thing.  Honest humility is just as attractive as earned swagger, but there’s a time and place for each.  After all, a phone can be fixed quickly.  A reputation takes a lot longer.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Lorne Michaels, legendary producer of “Saturday Night Live” was once asked at what point does he know a show is ready for broadcast.

His response went something like, “It’s not that we’ve polished every sketch and rehearsed it to perfection.  It’s when the clock says 11:30 p.m. in New York and the network gives us the feed.”

In other words, you can’t always wait until everything is just so.  Sometimes you just have to go with what you’ve got and do your best.  Deadlines can be funny things.  They force us to focus, which is good, but they also can ramp up the pressure, which can be good or bad, depending on the situation.

One of the best things about being a speechwriter is knowing that, come hell or high water, at a fixed point in time, the client will have to step to a microphone somewhere and deliver a speech. 

There have been moments along the way, however, where that fixed point in time has turned into the final reel of a James Bond movie, where a hidden bomb is counting down to looming annihilation.  Too many of these moments have occurred on a corporate jet flying to Teterboro, NJ, sitting next to a CEO who has finally taken a serious look at a speech, just prior to the limo ride into Manhattan where he is scheduled to speak to a group of industry analysts.

Let me tell you, this is not the optimum time to be learning that the boss has some misgivings about your script.

But ready or not, the show must go on.  I never realized I could type so fast while in a vehicle swerving between New York City traffic as a chief executive is swearing at me.  Quite the character building experience, and I still have the welts to prove it.  Of course, if one expects to be flying on corporate jets and riding limos into midtown Manhattan, one should be ready for such scenarios.

I will always be grateful that my career began in the newsroom of a daily newspaper.  The expectation of gathering information, listening carefully, organizing a story by finding the “lead,” and writing it quickly and accurately – and doing it again the next day, and the next day, and the day after that – has helped me work my way out of tight spots like the scene on the corporate jet innumerable times.

The day I grew up as a professional writer happened in that small town newsroom nearly 30 years ago.  Each morning the reporters would gather around a central desk as the managing editor would run down the stories pegged for that day’s editions.  One fateful day, he asked if I was ready to turn in a major feature story on the local water authority.  A cold shock of fear sizzled down my spine as I said, “Yes, but I’d like to polish a little before I give it to you.”  After I was given about 90 minutes to get the story to the editor, I tore back to my desk and started doing phone interviews.  I had completely forgotten that the article was due that day.

Yet, 90 minutes later, the editor had a 2,000-word feature in front of him to review, and it ran in that day’s paper.  That’s the day I knew beyond any doubt that I was meant to be a writer.

So whether waiting for the red light to go on at 11:30 inside a studio in Rockefeller Center every Saturday night, or on a plane next to an irate executive, or working in a blind panic to compile and compose a newspaper article, or in any other situation that may arise – if you’ve done the proper professional preparation ahead of time, you can feel confident in just going with the best you’ve got.  Because sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Paul was a trip.

He served as one of the higher-ups in the Corporate Communications Department where I worked in the late 1980s, and there were moments when neither I nor my peers in the group could figure out why.

A nice enough gentleman, certainly.  Loved his little car and drove it like an absolute maniac.  He had been with the company a long while, I believe, yet any strong grounding in writing or communications in general seemed pretty tough to discern.  But he was one of the bosses, so that was that. 

It’s hard to remember anything of lasting impact, import, or imprinting from Paul’s direction – with one blazing, brilliant exception.

Back in those prehistoric days before e-mail, you had to compose things on a “word processor,” pop out the “floppy disk,” walk it over to a shared printer and insert it there, and tell the computer dedicated to the printer to actually print out the document.  Then you had to grab your club, leave the cave, and go kill that evening’s dinner.  Mastodon was always good, but it didn’t keep long.  But I digress.

I was in the middle of a frantic day, and I needed one of the secretaries to send a news release over the business and general news wires.  The cover memo containing all of the instructions had been written and was printing out, when I was called away by a ringing phone (yes, with an actual bell inside…you might have something that sounds like this on your cell phone…God, I’m old) or some other distraction. 

Enter Paul and his One Great Teachable Moment.

He happened to be passing by the printer, read my cover memo to the secretary, ripped the sheet out of the machine and presented himself in my partitioned cubbyhole doorway, memo waving and eyes glaring.  I hung up the phone and looked at him, awaiting further instructions.  And here’s what he said.

“This memo is clearly unacceptable.”

Hey, what did I tell you?  Can you believe the emotional impact that had on me?  What…you can’t?  You’re kidding.  Oh, wait – here’s the rest of what he said.

“You didn’t say ‘please.’  We treat each other with respect around here, Tim.  Please rewrite this memo and make your request respectfully and graciously.”

Such a little thing.  But not really.  Treating others with respect, even when they’re below your little box on the organizational chart, even when you’re in a hurry, even when you’re not having the greatest day – is the mark not only of a true professional, but more important, of a person worthy of respect in return.

I heard through old friends at that now-faraway company that Paul passed on a few years ago.  All I can say is, with all of the respect and grace in me, “Paul, in appreciation of one of the best lessons anyone ever taught me – thank you.”

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

My beloved hometown baseball club, the Pittsburgh Pirates, has not had a winning season in 17 years.  The Buccos are 20 games under .500 right now, so we’re looking at chalking up another losing campaign. 

They have broken my 15-year-old son’s heart his entire life, and have nearly driven me into the once-unthinkable position of either cheering for another team or – gasp! – not even following baseball any longer.

So naturally, with all of this happy, positive karma as backdrop, the Pirates have extended the contracts of the general manager and on-field manager.  News flash! City of Pittsburgh Baseball Fans Held Hostage: Year 19 in the on-deck circle.

And as though that decision weren’t enough to send fans into an uproar, it was discovered that the president of the club – a former attorney for Major League Baseball, which may explain his tin ear for PR – had actually made the contract extensions last October and has either covered them up or outright misrepresented the facts since then.

Then, in this weekend’s newspaper, we read that the Pirates fired a twenty-something guy who worked for a whopping $100-a-month paycheck by donning a “pierogi” mascot costume (don’t ask) and running around the outfield once a game.  His offense?  Posting a statement on Facebook criticizing the contract extensions mentioned above.  Raise the Jolly Roger!

To quote out of context the immortal Casey Stengel: “Can’t anybody here play this game?”

The same could easily be applied to the hapless Tony Hayward, still (we think) CEO of BP, whose tin ear for PR carries a little more significance than that of a wretched baseball team and its wretched management.  Hayward has been relieved of his day-to-day oversight of the massive oil release into the Gulf of Mexico – based in no small measure, I suspect, on his unfortunate, unwise, unprepared, and occasionally unbelievable statements as the ecological and economic disaster continued.

Now stepping up to the plate, as it were, is BP’s Chairman of the Board, Carl-Henric Svanberg.  Which may or may not be an improvement in the public statement department following Hayward, based on Svanberg’s utterances so far.  To wit:

In a May 25 interview in the Financial Times, Svanberg said, “The U.S. is a big and important market for BP, and BP is also a big and important company for the U.S., with its contribution to drilling and oil and gas production.  So the position goes both ways.”

A few folks may think that globs of crude oil washing up on shore and washing out entire generational industries is pretty “big and important” too, but not a lot said about that by the Chairman.

This past week, following a face-to-face meeting with President Obama at the White House, Svanberg said, “I care about the small people.  I hear comments sometimes that large oil companies are greedy companies or don’t care, but that is not the case at BP.  We care about the small people.”

The kinder, gentler part of me wants (hopes?) to attribute this borderline insulting reference to “the small people” to a contextual language issue with the Danish Svanberg.  But even so, for heaven’s sake, get a consultant who can help this guy with American English.  Sounds like he may need it.  BP, you know how to reach me.

You know, folks, this PR stuff isn’t hard.  It always comes back to what I believe are the three bedrock fundamentals: 1) promote the good, 2) admit the bad, and 3) explain improvements.  When you do these consistently, it shows respect for your employees, constituents, customers, voters, regulators, you name it.  When people know you’re being up front with them, they have a way of cutting you some slack, whether it’s about bad baseball or balls of oily glop.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Sportswriters love to make hay out of “there’s a cancer in the clubhouse” stories.  You know, the ones where, say, the offensive line of a football team starts sniping at the quarterback, or when a wide receiver mouths off against the coaches because he’s not getting the ball enough.

Sometimes those stories reflect genuine dissatisfaction and dissent within the team, disrupting what should be a cohesive collection of athletes striving toward a shared goal – the championship.  Other times, it’s much ado about nothing, or at least not enough of something to really matter.

Yet to the team’s fan base, those stories – however titillating they may be – also create doubt and unease.  If the guys on your favorite team can’t hang together without airing their dirty laundry in public, then they may not be able to carry themselves (and, by extension, you as a diehard fan) to the promised land and the title.

What’s the corollary in the world of business communication?  Unfortunately, it’s something that happens every day in too many instances to count.

During my time at a major financial services provider (pre-online banking, so I’m dating myself a bit), I oversaw communications for the retail side of the enterprise, which at that point included the branch network, ATMs, and customer telephone center.  All of those operations obviously were critical extensions of the bank and its brand, and all relied on back-office support from the corporation.

One of the continuous battles fought from a communications perspective, though, was trying to convince all employees in each of those customer-facing units to not throw blame on the other units or the central corporate support staff. 

We’d look at customer satisfaction data, direct correspondence from customers, phone center transcripts, and reports from anonymous “shoppers” paid to stealthily observe employee interaction with customers.  The results showed with spectacular, dispiriting consistency, a seeming “default” position among employees that told customers things like, “Oh, those guys Downtown, they never get stuff right.  Here, I’ll take that charge off your checking account,” or “Well, you know, the person we had managing this branch before was really good – now we have to do things ‘by the book,’ so you know how that goes.  But don’t worry, I’ll still take care of you the right way.”

Say, here’s a question.  Think of the place where you bank.  Do you make a distinction between your branch office and the corporate headquarters?  Between the ATM and the phone center or the online website?  Between Department A and Department D, whatever those departments may be?  Do you care what happens inside the walls of that institution to take care of your accounts, or do you just want your damn accounts taken care of properly?

Internal communications can be tough.  People inside large structures see where the walls are between internal functions, but customer’s don’t – until or unless an employee points them out and complains about them, that is.  Maybe employees say such things as a ploy to show empathy with a customer’s problem.  Maybe it’s a way to blow off steam.  Maybe it’s a way to puff up one’s own feathers over another person.  But regardless of why it happens, the bottom line is that it shouldn’t. 

Finding ways to communicate that message among employees remains an ongoing and uphill fight, yet ultimately a key factor in building a successful, growth-oriented organization.  Customers think of your enterprise as a single entity.  That’s your brand.  Protect it, don’t spit on it.  Because in the end, that’s really all you have to stand on. 

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

We were going for our first mortgage many years ago, when our bank called and asked to see yet another set of documents.  I took them to work with me the next day and left the office building mid-morning to walk the three blocks or so to meet with the banker.

At that point in time, we lived in a town where the central business district was a little seedy and potentially dangerous.  The time I was able to walk to the bank coincided with the time when the only other people out on the street were the homeless, jobless, and fearless.  As a result, I was mugged by a young punk who pulled a knife on me.  Fortunately, I got away after giving him five bucks.

Never made it to the bank that day, but we got the mortgage later anyway.

When I returned to my office, the adrenaline still coursing, I composed a letter to my company’s CEO.  I explained what happened to me that morning, my concern for other employees facing the same hazards, and my willingness to volunteer to serve on a company committee to address this problem on behalf of all downtown workers.  After that, I felt a little better, having made my CEO aware of an issue affecting his employees and offering to be a part of the solution.

About three days later, my immediate supervisor called me into his office, and he didn’t look very happy.  He asked if I had sent a letter to the CEO about being mugged, which I acknowledged.  Then he said he just got off the phone with the CEO, who reamed him out something fierce.  Dumbfounded, I asked what was the problem?  And my boss said that the CEO had told him, “Your employee should have known better, especially coming from Corporate Communications!”

The real issue came down to the CEO not feeling as though he needed to interact with – or even hear directly from – someone like me so far down the totem pole.  He thought I should have pushed the message up through channels, and not started at the top.

That kind of thinking sounded like nonsense to me then, and it still does.  What’s worse, too many CEOs still think that way.  Take the recent case of an AT&T Wireless customer sending two e-mails directly to CEO Randall Stephenson, the first asking if his eligibility date for a discounted phone upgrade could moved up in time for the expected next-generation iPhone, and the second registering a complaint about the phase-out of unlimited data plans.  Nothing threatening or untoward – just a customer going straight to the top for answers.

AT&T Wireless’ immediate reaction?  A voicemail message from the company’s Orwellian-sounding “executive response team” thanking him “for the feedback” then following up with a warning:  “If you continue to send e-mails to Randall Stephenson, a cease-and-desist letter may be sent to you.”

Reach out and squash someone.  Beautiful, AT&T Wireless.  Just beautiful.

The company later apologized, saying the incident does not reflect on how it wants to treat its customers, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I think old Randall has been sniffing the rarefied air on the C-Suite a little too long, and forgets who pays his salary – the little schlub nobodies like me and you and this e-mailing customer who got swatted like a pesky mosquito.

When Dorothy and her Yellow Brick Road pals tried to get in to see the Wizard of Oz, the guard’s hysterical response was, “Nobody gets to see the Great Oz, not nobody, not no how!”  It sounded dumb in the movies, and it sounds even dumber in real life. 

CEOs of the world, get over yourselves.  Take a page from Apple’s CEO Steve Jobs, who somehow responds to every e-mail he receives.  There are many reasons his company is admired, and that’s got to be a big one.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

Bad stuff happens.  Some of it’s foreseeable, but most of the lousy breaks come at us unannounced, and before you know it the boat’s been swamped and you’re flailing in the water looking for dry land.

The BP oil rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico caught the giant corporation off guard, and it’s been nearly two months with no clear end in sight to the gusher that’s despoiling aquatic life and soon much of the U.S. southern coastlands.

Having worked at companies that create environmental impacts, I believe BP when it says the last thing they wanted was to have this disaster happen – and that they are trying everything they can to stop it and clean it up.  Huge companies like that do care about their impact on the environment because it’s important to their ability to remain in business, to generate profits for their shareholders, to provide ongoing employment to their people, to pay taxes to local, state, and federal governments, and to supply products to their customers.  It has become sadly apparent, though, that BP has been plagued by good intentions and poor execution.

That’s why the messages being crafted and delivered by BP leaders has become so vital.  With each day the deep sea oil continues to pollute the Gulf, BP’s credibility becomes more strained.  If the company has any hope of holding on to its investors and its customers, we need to have some shred of faith in what it says – because we’re rapidly losing faith in what it does.

So when BP’s CEO Tony Hayward said on NBC last Sunday, as he began to offer an apology to residents of the Gulf region, “There’s no one who wants this thing over more than I do…I’d like my life back.” – the firestorm erupted.  Talk about the exact wrong message.  There has been loss of life, millions of gallons of crude oil washing up on previously pristine and highly valued resort destinations, promises and pledges and a deepening sense of disappointment and disaster.  And the CEO just wants his life back?

Hayward has since apologized, acknowledging the insensitivity and insulting tone of his verbal slip-up.  But the truest qualities of people come out most when the heat is on.  We may have gotten a glimpse into the heart of BP’s top man the other day, and it’s not the most reassuring view.

On the other hand, we saw the heart of another man who made a monumental mistake this week, but who shouldered the blame, expressed sincere remorse, and offered an example of accountability, fortitude, and gratitude for the forgiveness he received.  Major League Baseball umpire Jim Joyce called a runner safe at first base when he clearly was out on the replay.  That doesn’t sound so bad until you realize that the play would have been the final out of a perfect game as pitched by Detroit Tiger pitcher Armondo Galarraga – only the 21^st perfect game in baseball history.

Joyce was inconsolable after the game, realizing what his blown call meant to the pitcher and to the game.  He said, “I missed it, I missed it…I took a perfect game away from that kid over there who worked his ass off all night…This wasn’t just any call, this was a history call, and I kicked the s*** out of it…If I had been Galarraga I would have been the first one out there, but he didn’t say a word, not a word.”

Joyce still felt bad the next night, when he worked home plate.  In a classy moment, Galarraga brought the team’s starting lineup card out to the teary-eyed Joyce at home plate and shook his hand, showing there were no hard feelings. 

Grace or selfishness?  Class or self-pity?  Don’t tell me that messages delivered during bad moments don’t matter or can’t be helped.  The severity of the two instances couldn’t be farther apart, of course.  But if adversity brings out character, we saw two terrific examples this week.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting

By Tim Hayes [www.timhayesconsulting.com]

I don’t believe in coincidence.  I think everything happens for a reason, even though we may not realize it as it’s happening.  Instead, I believe in luck – as defined by that first century Roman gadfly Seneca, who said, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”

Using Seneca’s definition, I would have to say that the luckiest man on the face of the earth – with apologies to Lou Gehrig in “Pride of the Yankees” – has to be one Richard Starkey of Liverpool, England.  You may know him by his stage name, Ringo Starr.

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison had been playing rock-and-roll music together as the Quarrymen and eventually the Beatles for a couple of years since meeting as high schoolers.  They’d had a handful of drummers, the most recent a nice-enough chap by the name of Pete Best, whose Mum had helped book gigs for the boys.  But going into their first recording sessions, the lads heard that they’d have to use a studio-employed drummer.  Pete’s beats were lacking.  He had to go.

And then, just weeks before their first major live performance in September 1962 – the one that rocketed them to stardom – the Beatles poached Ringo from a band led by Rory Storm, whoever that was.  Instantly, the serendipitous Mr. Starkey punched a ticket to ride the gravy train to musical, cultural, and financial heights few have experienced.

But was it luck alone?  No, it was preparation (Ringo was clearly a better, more experienced drummer who could come up with unusual and distinct rhythmic approaches) coupled with opportunity (the boys needed a replacement in a hurry).

What does all this have to do with leadership communication?  Plenty.  In fact, it has everything to do with it.

Identifying and articulating a vision provides the foundation for leadership communication.  But what happens when challenges, competitors, disasters, distractions, detractors, and various other forms of negative influencers converge?  Leaders need to be prepared in these instances, too. 

For example, is BP simply having a run of bad luck?  What about Toyota a few months ago?  No, they were not properly prepared to react when the opportunity arose to openly, honestly, and courageously address their respective crises.  Just ask their CEOs whether they’re feeling lucky lately.

Handling crises may be the most visible and tangible example of preparation meeting opportunity in leadership communications, but it’s hardly the only one.  How about seizing the imagination of the marketplace to elevate a product or image?  Think of Lady Gaga’s musical training at Julliard (yes, it’s true) meeting her avant-garde sense of fashion and performance art.  Or how about demonstrating patience and competence that outlasts less well-seasoned competitors?  Think of IBM still standing, still growing, still relevant after Commodore, Compaq, Atari and so many other computing companies wilted in the competitive heat.

I believe in luck.  Maybe more accurately, I believe in making your own luck through preparation that can capitalize on opportunities as they arise.  Hey, if nothing else, it sure worked for Ringo – the luckiest man on earth.

Copyright 2010 Tim Hayes Consulting