“I don’t think it’s such a big thing,” Jim said. “Craig is making much too much out of this. It’s not a matter of trust. Hell, nobody out there’s going to know anything about it. It’s between us, right here, as Board members. Who’s going to leak it from our hallowed halls? Besides, even so, it’s all money going for the stated cause. No one was robbed. The money’s going for what it’s meant to be used for. I don’t see the harm in it. And I think this trust thing has been blown all out of proportion. We need to take more of a business attitude around here anyway, and I just thought this would be one way to help in that direction. But if you guys want to do it differently, why ask me? I just offered what I thought would be a good way to do it. Obviously, I was wrong. Just do it the way you want to. Leave me out of it.”
Taking a more calm and fatherly approach, Craig said, “Besides our human service product, our most important asset, and the most important ingredient of our cause and our mission, with either service recipients or donors, and with the community at large, is the trust they have in this institution. We all work hard every day in a thousand ways to earn that trust. It’s sacred, because it means our continued effectiveness; because it means our continued existence. Nothing is as sacred as that trust.
"In this case, that means we should simply tear up those leftover lottery tickets into little bitsy pieces and throw them in the trash. It will be giving those who bought their tickets a better chance at winning. And it will keep our hands squeaky clean. Think about the fact that if we did happen to win the lottery and just one little word of this got out to the street, we’d be blasted in all the papers and our name would by synonymous with….. with…. Golan Industries, whatever you call it, or any other common business firm. Our credibility with the community and the donors would be lost. And how long, Jim, Mendel and everyone on this Board, how long do you think it would take to recover from that?”
As the room went silent again, and with deadly calm and practiced precision, Jim stood up, reached back to the coat rack for his cashmere coat, draped it carefully over his left arm and exited the room, as all eyes followed him in thoughtful, fearful deliberation. It had happened: Craig had blown it. He has said the truth. What would happen now?
Two days later, Mendel Adams was relieved as he opened the envelope from Golan Mills to find Jim’s resignation. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t long. “Dear Mendel, Having spent the last six years on the Board of Directors of Reach for the Stars, I think it’s time I stepped aside and made way for others who might wish to serve this fine charity. Sincerely, James P. Morgan.” In the letter was a check for $5000 made out to Reach for the Stars.
Later that afternoon, as Mendel and Craig Johnson talked by phone about the whole scene, the resignation and the principles involved, Mendel reflected on some previous experiences he and others had had over the years with Mr. Morgan. He never argued; he never got angry, he never pressed his point of view outside his own company. He went where there was opportunity to do business and to do it his way. He was of the old school. Soon, Mendel didn’t know how soon, but he knew it had to happen sooner or later, Jim’s company would start to fail in the marketplace. Its practices would drive its customers away to other products. It would be sold to a better manager who would either turn it around or sell off its parts for cash. And Jim would take his golden parachute, retire and move away and hold his views and business ways to himself. He was not a leader, because he truly was not a generous man.
What, dear reader, do you think about this situation? Was Craig right? Was Jim on target or off the mark? How would you have handled the lottery suggestion? Let us hear from you; feel free to comment.
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