While that was personally satisfying, the big revelation arrived when I asked the group to stand as I polled their interactive style results.
Readers of my last two books, The Power of Understanding People and The Power of Understanding Yourself, know that I discuss four iconic ways of communicating:
The Expert: Detailed, fact‐based, thorough
The Romantic: Emotional, tactful, diplomatic
The Mastermind: Conceptual, systemic, unpredictable
The Warrior: Logical, direct, results oriented
I fully expected most of the room to rise when I introduced the Expert style. In fact, only a handful of attendees stood. Same for the Warrior and Mastermind styles. More than 75% of the room would score as a Romantic.
“What? How can this be?” I thought to myself. How is it that these incredibly knowledgeable chemists, technicians, and researchers would be so emotionally sensitive? It had not occurred to me that these professionals were not merely drawn to the science of health care, but also to the service of others.
It was at this moment that I knew that the organization had a core ideology that could differentiate it from its competitors. This corporate culture was unique, possessing not just the technical expertise to enhance the work of those clients whom they supported, but also a passion for helping others. We already knew they had a head for science, but we discovered that day that they also had a heart for service.
And so it was that the company's core ideology was discovered. “Heads for Science, Hearts for Service” became their brand – the basis for horizontal and vertical alignment. The entire organization – with locations in England, Scotland, Italy, and the United States – began the process of implementing an operational and marketing strategy around this ideology. And it all started with the realization that they had something special in their culture. Something that would resonate with the marketplace and produce successful fiscal results. It was just a starting point toward peak performance, but a necessary one.
This book is about just that: recognizing and leveraging your organization's “special sauce.” It is about creating an infrastructure that maximizes the strength of the institution, both employee facing and customer facing. It is about separating your operation from those of your competitors. It is about building an organization of peak performance, much like you would build a house: with a foundation, framework, and power sources to create something special for its inhabitants.
There is a lot of information in this book. One of my favorite attendees and loyal readers messaged me after my last book saying, “I am enjoying your new book, but it is much denser than your previous book. There is a lot to consider.” This book increases that density. In a way, it completes the trinity of my work involving of cognitive and organizational psychology spanning nearly a decade, a trifecta including understanding yourself, others, and the organization. We are going on a journey to every corner of the organization, from the proverbial 40,000‐foot view to the minutiae of policies. There are ideas, strategies, tactics, best practices, assessments, checklists, and examples to illustrate the full range of organizational development considerations – all designed to assist the reader in building a higher‐performing institution.
This book is about peak performance culture. It is about operational excellence. It is about finding and delivering – every single time, every single day – your own secret sauce.
Acknowledgments
This book is the product of interactions with countless leaders, specifiers, influencers, and team members of thousands of organizations with whom I am proud to have worked. Since founding the Leadership Difference, Inc. it has been my great fortune to travel the world – not just to educate, but more importantly to be educated. Thank you, all of you who have made the last 25 years so amazing.
As I am writing this book, the world is experiencing a generational event – the COVID‐19 pandemic. Great organizations will lead us out of this challenge and into a period of new progress, prosperity, and innovation, largely due to their own operational excellence and peak performance cultures. I look forward to watching it happen. We will persevere and transcend.
For the last 35 years, my lovely bride, Lori, is my reason for being. It bears repeating (as I mentioned in my previous book) that you never stop astounding me as a person, a spouse, a mother, and a friend. I love you more than I thought it possible to love. We quarantined together during the pandemic and didn't really notice anything different in our behaviors. Turns out, we have been self‐isolating with each other all along.
All my love to my daughter, Brooke; my son, Slade; my sister, Diana; Debby, Nancy, Russ, Tom, and Peggy.
A shout out to the best editors a writer could have, Vicki Adang and Christine Moore.
Those who know me best know that I have a special affinity for my dogs. Since my last book, we adopted Mingus. He is 130 pounds of Irish wolfhound and border collie. He taught me that small, smart dogs are good; big, dumb dogs are good; but big, smart dogs are a problem. We have locked our cabinets and refrigerator; duct taped our sectional, and reinforced all fences. And when I would get frustrated with the world, it was Mingus who would drop a ball at my feet and run in the direction he wanted it thrown. It was his reminder to me that when things get tough, grab the ball and start running with a purpose.
Introduction
By 1981, it had become clear that a debilitating lack of talent was likely to create a ceiling for my baseball career well below the major leagues. So it was, after my sophomore year of college, that I needed to choose a major. Since I had worked part‐time at a commercial radio station – shout out to WCRA/WCRC FM in Effingham, Illinois—and the closed‐circuit radio station on the college campus at Eastern Illinois University, I decided that Mass Communications would make the most sense. Heck, I might well become a sportscaster, the next best thing to nabbing the first baseman position for the New York Mets (my original occupational aspiration). My guidance counselor concurred but offered one suggestion. Given that I had a highgrade point average and appeared to arrive at my academic major largely based on convenience rather than aptitude, she encouraged me to augment my Mass Comm major with a business administration minor. You know, just in case my sportscasting career went the way of my baseball career.
When my broadcasting career fizzled – turns out the guidance counselor was on to something – I found myself without a clear idea about my professional future. I bounced around for a year – a very interesting year that you really should ask me about if we are having a glass of wine together. Eventually, I ended up in Chicago and working in retail. About six months into a job as a customer service representative – a job that essentially meant that you got yelled at by angry people for 8 hours and then went home to a frozen dinner alone in a roach‐infested apartment (but I don't want to romanticize it), a position as a trainer opened up. My first job in human resources development was teaching new hires how to use the point of sale system at Marshall Field's. I loved it.
The job was hard. I led eight‐hour training sessions on highly repetitive tasks. It wasn't sexy, or fun. At least it wasn't for most people, but it was for me. I still remember meetings with other store trainers during the holiday season hiring blitz. They all had the same look: dead eyes, expressionless face, shuffling gate, garbled muttering under their breath that sounded vaguely like a countdown until Thanksgiving—the unofficial end date of the seasonal hiring. Not me, however. I couldn't wait to get up in front of a new class, memorize their names, beguile them with stories of how to navigate a credit card sale to be shipped out of state as a gift to a third party
