Escape from the Red Zone

What sounds mechanical, however, in fact has an esoteric intellectual and philosophical heritage. In part the program draws from Douglas McGregor's 1960 book "The Human Side of Enterprise," which first identified two schools of thought about human motivation: Theory X and Theory Y. Theory X assumes people are inherently lazy or incompetent and need to be motivated through incentives and threats, the stick and the carrot. Theory Y assumes people will show initiative if given the chance and are motivated by the desire for achievement and self-actualization. Self-actualization is another clue to the program's roots. It also draws from the human potential movement of the 1960s, with its emphasis on personal growth, self-realization, and the untapped capabilities inherent in all people -- suggesting a spiritual dimension that people seek in their work.

To unblock this human potential, Naylor and Crittenden seek to short-circuit the Red Box by changing the focus of management: they look at the product of behavior, not the action itself. The trick is to convert behavior into tangible, physical "products." For example, it could be a chart of the number of times a worker does virtually anything -- clean an air vent, calibrate a tool, install a memory card, write a word -- that gets posted in a prominent place. The chart becomes a product that the person can build on and then take pride in.

Crittenden tells the story of a public employee who, in the '70s, was assigned to paint fire hydrants every day in Elmira, New York. The man's supervisor came to Crittenden complaining that the man took an entire day to paint one fire hydrant. Crittenden told the supervisor: "Here's what you do. At the end of the day ask him to submit a three-by-five inch index card to you with nothing on it but the number of fire hydrants he painted. And no matter how many hydrants he paints, even if it's only half a hydrant, always say the same thing: 'That's fantastic. See you tomorrow.' And post the cards where he can see them."

Within a week the number on the index card went up to 5, then 7, then 12, then 14. Eventually the worker was taking a truck and buckets of paint home at night so he could head straight from his driveway to the nearest unpainted fire hydrant.

"No criticism. No advice. No telling him how to do it. Just paying attention and validation."

It's a searingly hot, humid Texas day outside, but it's comfortable in the upper deck at the Houston Astrodome. In a suite of box seats reserved for the Naylor seminar group, William Daigneau, associate vice president and chief facilities officer at the University of Texas M.D. Anderson, is talking about his work. At 50, with thinning blond hair, Daigneau resembles Bob Newhart, amiable and at ease, but without the stammer.

Daigneau glances down at the game without really paying attention to it -- it's a slow one -- as he explains why he brought Naylor and Crittenden to Houston: "It's a way to get excellent output and yet not go through the trauma of coldcocking people all the time. I'm getting equal or better results with less trauma and discord. I don't have to be mean. The quality of life is much better. In my two years here, I've gotten every vice-president and the president himself to look upon the facilities organization as a well-run, high-producing operation."

For Daigneau, Naylor's message is intensely personal. He first got started in the program when he worked in Rochester -- and for all intents and purposes, it saved his life.

"I decided I wasn't going to do what I was doing anymore. I've gotten outstanding reviews at every job I've ever had. My office is full of stuff: plaques, every award you can imagine. But there was always this feeling in the pit of my stomach when I conducted a performance review. I never knew when I'd have to fire another person. The way to avoid the pain of that was to stay away from the people who worked for me -- to keep them at a distance. I thought it was the right thing to do. So living with Bill became the problem: for me and everyone else. I didn't want to go into work. You do something mean and nasty and somebody would say, 'Good job, Bill.' Good job, feel bad. I said, 'I'm not going to use this system anymore. I want to make hard choices but not have to look at the bones behind me.' This system has showed me a way to do that."

Even before bringing Naylor down to spread the word Daigneau has been waging his own guerrilla war within M.D. Anderson. The performance evaluations at the medical center are supposed to award each person up to 300 points. Daigneau prefers not to use the point system at all. "The award of points is totally subjective and not tied to the measure of any sort of product," he explains. "You're rated on productivity, but there's no definition of what your product actually is. When we tried to change the word 'service' to 'product', they said, 'It's too commercial-sounding. This is a state-funded institution.'" If pressed, Daigneau simply awards everyone a perfect score of 300 points -- and then relies on his own design and validation sheets.