“As you can gather,” Lou continued, “she called. I was given a second chance. And the Zagrum you’ve been admiring over these many years has been the result of that second chance.

“We made a lot of mistakes as we got restarted together. The only thing we did really well to begin with was cover with our people the ideas you’ve now learned over these last two days. We didn’t necessarily know all the implications in the workplace, so at first we stayed at the level of the general ideas. And you know something? It made a big difference. Just what Bud’s done for you for these two days, that alone, when learned by people in a common enterprise, has a powerful, lasting effect. We know because we’ve measured the results over time.

“But over these twenty or so years, we’ve become much more sophisticated in the specific application of the material to business. As we became more out of the box as a company, we were able to identify and develop a specific plan of action that minimizes the basic workplace self-betrayal that we’ve been talking about. Right out of the chute, when people generally are still out of the box toward their coworkers and the company, we introduce our people to this way of working together.”

Lou paused, and Bud jumped in. “Our effort now is in three phases,” he said. “Yesterday and today, you’ve begun what we call our Phase 1 curriculum. It’s all we had in the beginning, and it alone has tremendous impact. It’s the foundation for everything that comes later. It’s what makes our results here possible. Our work in Phases 2 and 3 will build on what we’ve covered by plugging you in to a concrete and systematic way of focusing on and accomplishing results—a ‘results system’ that minimizes self-betrayal at work and maximizes the company’s bottom line. And it does this in a way that greatly reduces common organizational people problems. But you’re not quite ready for Phase 2 yet.”

“I’m not?”

“No. Because although you now understand what the foundational self-betrayal at work is, you don’t yet understand the extent to which you are in it. You don’t yet understand the extent to which you’ve been failing to focus on results.”

I felt my face begin to slacken again, and I realized in that moment that I hadn’t felt that defensive sensation since the morning before. The thought seemed to rescue me, and I returned again to openness.

“But you’re no different from anyone else on that score,” Bud continued, with a warm smile. “You’ll see it soon enough. In fact, I have some material for you to read, and then I’d like to meet with you again in about a week. We’ll need about an hour.”

“Okay. I’ll look forward to it,” I said.

“And then the work will begin,” Bud added. “You’ll need to rethink your work, learn to measure things you never knew needed measuring, and help and report to people in ways you’ve never thought of. As your manager, I’ll help you do all this. And you, as a manager, will learn how to help your people do the same.”

Bud stood up. “All of this together makes Zagrum what it is, Tom. We’re glad you’re a part of it. By the way, in addition to your reading, I have some homework for you.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering what it might be.

“I want you to think of your time working with Chuck Staehli.”

“Staehli?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. I want you to think about how and whether you really focused on results during the time you worked with him. I want you to consider whether you were open or closed to correction, whether you actively sought to learn and enthusiastically taught when you could have. Whether you held yourself fully accountable in your work, whether you took or shifted responsibility when things went wrong. Whether you moved quickly to solutions or instead found perverse value in problems. Whether you earned in those around you—including Chuck Staehli—their trust.

“And as you think about that, I want you to keep continually in your mind the ideas we’ve covered. But I want you to do it in a particular kind of way.” Bud pulled something from his briefcase. “A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, Tom. You can use this material to blame just as well as you can use anything else. Merely knowing the material doesn’t get you out of the box. Living it does. And we’re not living it if we’re using it to diagnose others. Rather, we’re living it when we’re using it to learn how we can be more helpful to others—even to others like Chuck Staehli.

“Here are some things to keep in mind while you’re trying to do just that,” he continued, handing me a card.

I looked at it, and this is what it said:

“Okay, Bud. This will be helpful. Thanks,” I said, slipping the card into my briefcase.

“Sure,” Bud said. “And I look forward to seeing you again next week.”

I nodded, then stood up and turned to thank Lou.

“Before you go, Tom,” said Lou, “I’d like to share one last thing with you.”

“Please,” I said.

“My boy—Cory—do you remember him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, three months after Carol and I watched him drive away, we rode in that same white Suburban to the remote wilderness that had been Cory’s home for those months. We were going out to meet him, to live with him for a few days, and then to bring him home. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous.

“I had written him frequently in the weeks he was gone. The program leaders delivered letters to the kids every Tuesday. I had poured my soul out to him in those letters, and slowly, like a young foal taking his first uncertain steps out into a stream, he began to open himself to me.

“I had discovered through those letters a boy I never knew I had. He was full of questions and insights. I marveled at the depth and feeling within his heart. But most especially, there was a peace that sung through his prose that had the effect of calming the heart of a father who feared that he’d driven away a son. Every letter sent, and every letter received, was a source of healing.

“As we covered the last few miles to the rendezvous point, I was overcome with the thought of what almost was—a bitterly divided father and son who almost never knew each other. At the brink of war—a war whose effects might have been felt for generations—we were saved by a miracle.

“Driving around the last dusty hill, I saw some quarter mile away the dirtiest, scraggliest-looking group of kids that I’d ever seen—clothes worn and torn, stringy beards, hair three months past due for clippers. But out of that pack flew a lone boy, a boy whose now lean figure I yet recognized through the dirt and grime. ‘Stop the car. Stop the car!’ I yelled at the driver. And out I flew to meet my son.

“He reached me in an instant and leapt into my arms, tears cutting paths through the dust on his face. And through the sobs I heard, ‘I’ll never let you down again, Dad. I’ll never let you down again.’”

Lou stopped, choking back the memory of the moment.

“That he should feel that for me,” he continued, more slowly, “the one who had let him down, melted my heart.

“‘And I won’t let you down again, either, Son,’ I said.”

Lou paused, separating himself from his memory, and looked at me with his kindly eyes.

“Tom,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “The thing that divides fathers from sons, husbands from wives, neighbors from neighbors—the same thing divides coworkers from coworkers as well. Companies fail for the same reason families do. And why should we be surprised to discover that it’s so? For those coworkers I’m resisting are themselves fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters.

“A family, a company—both are organizations of people. That’s what we know and live by at Zagrum.

“Just remember,” he added. “We won’t know who we work and live with—whether it be Bud, Kate, your wife, your son, even someone like Chuck Staehli—until we leave the box and join them.”