Chapter 3

Jodell Speaks

Time after time, I heard people say that work in places like the dish room was “menial” and that the people were incapable of being motivated. Strict oversight was the recipe for performance. As the son of a construction worker, who began life among people like those in the dish room, I knew this was pure, unadulterated bunk. Everyone wants to be proud of the work they do. My grandfather always said, “Whatever you do, whether you’re the garbage man or the president, work hard and be the very best you can possibly be.” It was clear to me that my job as a leader was not to instruct but to help these people, who were defeated by unforgiving conditions.

As I tried to figure out what on earth to do, I could not escape the mental picture of piles of cutlery in the trash and the thought of what the rather disagreeable man from Eastern Airlines might’ve done if he had happened upon that sight. The inescapable fact was that, as crazy as it seems now, flights would be delayed for lack of adequate catering if enough clean cutlery wasn’t available on time. So, in a strange way, the smooth functioning of the airline all came down to the dish room, but more importantly the people in blue uniforms who toiled there.

Jodell was a supervisor who managed fifty or so people who assembled the little entrées for their destination on trays to the scores of flights we catered. Diligently, workers assembled row upon row of the customary chicken, peas, and potatoes by the thousands under Jodell’s watchful eye. She was old enough to be my grandmother and it was abundantly clear to everyone, including the toughest of men, that she was in charge. I liked her the moment I met her, even though she scared me to death.

Jodell was a wise woman who regularly dispensed advice in an exquisite southern accent. She took me aside. “Kevin, now don’t take this the wrong way, but you and I both know you don’t know your a** from your elbow but (subtly pointing to the people beavering away at the little aluminum dishes), they believe in you. It’s because they know you and you’ve shown you care about them. Just tell them you’re on their side, you know they can solve it. Keep giving them your encouragement. But for goodness’ sake don’t meddle, you’ll mess it up for sure. They’ll solve it for you, not because they’ve been told to, not for Marriott, or for that nasty man from Eastern; they want to solve it for you.”

Flushed by her description of my management prowess, I knew she was right. Rather than attempting to assert a solution or to ensure that I was the unrivaled authority, I did as instructed, offering my support and belief in them, and watched as events unfolded.

Mr. Fuentes decided to enlist the help of the truck mechanics, and together they were taking a hard look at the gearing of the conveyer belts. Some of the mechanics felt that if they could slow down the conveyor, the silverware might have more time in the wash cycle. In addition, one of the staff, a plumber, was looking at the apertures to see how the chemicals fed into the hot water mix. More soap, slower conveyor . . . all very promising.

I realized something as I was sitting together with the workers at their breaks. We did, in fact, have a common cause. Together and individually, we had a lot to prove.

We were all striving to achieve a sense of worth, accomplishment, and recognition for our day’s work. Simple as that.