Good advice often comes in the form of deeds, not words. The best advice I ever got came not by listening, but by observing one of my colleagues—by watching his behavior, coming to understand his philosophy, and then adapting it to my own style.
When I joined BCG as a consultant in 1981, Tom Lewis was a principal, and quickly became one of my role models, though he was only about five years my senior. On one of our earliest projects together, we worked for a high-technology client evaluating potential entry into new businesses. Tom was responsible for a remarkably mixed team: We had one person who was strong on organizational issues but incredibly weak with numbers, another who was a computer on legs—superb with analytics, much less so with anything else—and so on. At that time, I assumed it was better (or certainly easier) to build a team from people with similar strengths that were ideally suited to the task, so I didn’t envy Tom the job of leading such a disparate group, nor did I anticipate a positive outcome with the client.
But Tom, who’s a very modest man, didn’t have the same philosophy. He simply went about the task of turning that diverse set of individuals into a high-performing team—methodically, gradually, and quietly. Every week or so, he would engage us one-on-one to discuss how we perceived our performance, what we liked to do, what we thought would help the project go well, all in a nonthreatening way. Rather than saying to the person weak at numbers, “You want to do economic modeling? Are you kidding?” Tom helped steer him toward tasks he excelled at, letting him use and—more important—show off his abilities to the best advantage. As a result, team members developed a deep appreciation of each individual’s skills, and that increased our investment in the group effort. The client implemented our recommendations, and that project became the basis of a very long relationship with BCG.
Tom never articulated this team-building philosophy directly, but I watched him act on it many times, and it is central to how I now think about leading individuals, teams, and this firm. When we’re faced with what looks at first like an unsolvable problem, a team with what I call “spikes” of different talents will come up with a better solution than a team whose members have similar strengths. One person makes an oddball suggestion, the next person misunderstands it but in a fruitful way, and together they end up devising a novel solution. The process can be slow and uncomfortable; spikiness often hurts. But it can yield spectacular results—as long as the firm or the project leader ensures that team members appreciate one another’s talents.
Building teams is not about being nice. Tom is unusual; he’s a natural diplomat, and people like to work with him. Yet however graceful and nonthreatening, his talks went to the heart of a subject most people would rather avoid: what they’re good at and what they’re not. While I’ve adopted Tom’s philosophy, I apply it differently. Tom was subtle; I’m more direct. When putting together a team, I make sure it’s spiky. And when people complain that their differences will cause problems, I’ll bluntly disagree. I’ll tell an unhappy manager, “It doesn’t matter that he’s weak in finance. Find out what he’s best at, and show his strength to the team.” Tom’s subtlety was effective for him, but directness comes naturally to me. Acting on advice works best when you do it your way.
