THE SELF-MADE MAN WHO WORSHIPS HIS MAKER.
June 5, 1904.
My Dear Boy:--I once heard General Sheridan, my old commander, say
that when he was a lieutenant he made up his mind to be the best
lieutenant in his regiment; that in every grade to which promotion
brought him he strove to be the best; that he attributed his high rank
to this consistent effort. Right here is a moral that many a railroad
man should apply to himself. Although Sheridan's comrades at West
Point and in the service knew his efficiency, the powers that were in
1861 found no higher position for him than that of captain and
assistant quartermaster. During the first year of the civil war, while
politicians were called colonels and lawyers tried to be generals,
this trained soldier was inspecting horses and mules in the Southwest,
a veterinary's work. Some men, disheartened by such apparent
inappreciation, would have lost interest, would have let the
contractor palm off inferior animals on the government. Not so with
the future commander of the army. He tried all the harder and his work
was efficient, clean and honest. In the spring of 1862 a Michigan
cavalry regiment needed a colonel and the officer hailing from Ohio,
who had bought horses so well, had a chance to drill both horses and
men. A year and a half later he was commanding a division of infantry,
and six months after that as major general a corps of cavalry. Popular
opinion pictures Sheridan as a dashing fighter, executing the plans of
some one else. Never was there a more incomplete conception. No matter
how hard had been the fighting, how wearing the march, it was Sheridan
who rose in the night to see that the sleeping camp or bivouac did not
suffer from laxity in guard duty, that all was ready for the plans of
the morrow. The general manager did not have to tell him that the
switch lamps on his division were not burning. The general
superintendent did not have to wire him that his water cranes were out
of order. The superintendent of motive power did not have to complain
that his enginemen were not kept in line. The traffic manager did not
lose freight because his night terminals became congested.
There is many a railroad man who has lost heart and lessened his
usefulness because an honest but inappreciative management has
promoted the wrong man. Then is the time to come out strong, to try
harder than before to be appreciated. The world has little use for
soreheads. The more strenuous the conditions the less sympathy for the
sulker in the tent. Be game and do not kick for rest. The sleeve is no
place to wear a wounded heart. Do not put up a squeal about nepotism.
As long as man loves woman and that woman's children the relatives of
the management will always be the easiest for the promotion call-boy
to find. Remember that though they be marked up first out, there are
other runs to be filled; that sooner or later there are chances for
more crews to get out. If you find flaws in the reasons announced for
certain appointments, forget them in the thought that honesty of
purpose is a distinguishing characteristic of operating management.
Not only look pleasant but head off the efforts of foolish friends to
form a volunteer grievance committee in your behalf.
Assuming that you are trying to be the best division superintendent,
remember that in the final roundup it is not your own ideas of success
that must prevail. You may know that you are stronger and better than
the official who gets the preferred run. You may know that it would be
best for the company to have you run around him. All the men on the
division may unconsciously feel your superior ability. They may all
swear by you and make your name almost sacred around the lunch counter
and the caboose track. All this will not count for full value if you
do not please your superiors. When the general manager comes on your
division you must be ready for any kind of a statistical run. He has
not time to wait for you to oil around. His every hour is valuable and
like all busy men he forms his opinions in a hurry. Remember that
until we know men intimately we judge them by standards more or less
artificial, but usually pretty accurate in the aggregate. Thus a man
who is careless and untidy in his dress is apt to overlook little
essentials in the management of men and affairs. The dandy is almost
never a coward; for, if physical courage be lacking, his pride
supplies its place. The superintendent whose desk is in confusion
probably has untidy stations and dirty coaches. The man who slouches
coatless into his superior's office and sprawls into a chair before
being invited to sit down is likely to be equally inconsiderate of the
public his company serves. The tobacco lover who cannot refrain from
smoking or chewing the few minutes he is close to the throne will
probably not inherit much of the kingdom of advancement. The man who
clings to the George Washington habit of eating with his knife and the
Thomas Jefferson custom of drinking from his saucer has the burden of
proof on him to show that he is not unobservant of progress in other
things and is not generally behind the times. The self-made man in so
many cases worships his maker that he forgets the divinity that doth
hedge a king. The man above may be no better, perhaps not as good,
morally, mentally, physically and socially, but officially he is the
superior in fact as well as in name. Familiarity breeds contempt and
the more respect you show your superior the more dignity you are
conferring upon yourself, the less likely are your own subordinates to
forget the respect that is due your position. Self-restraint and
mental poise cultivate an unconscious dignity of character that is of
immeasurable value in the handling of men. Abraham Lincoln and Robert
E. Lee, men of radically different types but alike in being idolized
by their people, were popular heroes, although neither was addressed,
even by his intimates, by his first name. The highest compliment you
can pay an associate or a subordinate is to address him in private by
his first name. It shows either that you have known him a long time or
that you think enough of him to separate him from his payroll
designation.
One of the amiable failings of human nature is to be self-satisfied, a
condition that in our profession is probably intensified. We railroad
men have to think and act in such a hurry that we become very cocksure
of ourselves. We have so little time for introspection that we often
regard the science of railroading as putting it on the other fellow.
When disaster occurs, no matter how defective may have been our
equipment, how parsimonious our policy, how lax our discipline, we cry
out long and loud at the untrustworthiness of employes, at the
decadence of company spirit, at the growing evils of the labor unions.
An intelligent public usually gets on to us, however, and we pay for
such mental and vocal pyrotechnics with compound interest. It will
profit us to do a little more self-examination, to copy the publican
rather than the pharisee. The conductor who burns off journals will
assure us of his distinguished concern and of his constant injunctions
to his brakemen to watch for hot boxes. The superintendent who
rawhides his men will tell you with tears in his voice how necessary
it is to be considerate of the boys on the road. The general
superintendent who sends long and unnecessary telegrams will deplore
with you the tendency of the traffic department to burden the wires.
All these are good men and true, but they have not formed the habit of
healthy, honest self-criticism. Strong, indeed, is the man who can
stand up and say, like Lee at Gettysburg, "I was in command and
responsible. If anyone is to blame I am the man."
The greatest of executives are those who can make men think for
themselves, who can work men and have them believe they are playing,
who can suggest a new thought to a man and leave him with the idea
that he originated it himself. A great deal of effort is lost, a vast
amount of mental force is wasted in trying to convince people that you
alone originated an idea or a movement. Bury such a thought in the
results produced, for it is results we are after. Get your
satisfaction in said results and your amusement in the honest
self-glorification of some unconscious borrower who has utilized your
idea. It doesn't pay to be too much of an originator. If you have
advanced ideas, keep yourself in the background or you may kill the
ideas. Men find the old alignment so familiar that they are slow to
want curves replaced by tangents. If you are too ubiquitous with
suggestions they will become leery of your good judgment and will
unconsciously set the fish tail when you whistle into town. If you
will run past the distant signal and find your superior at the home,
some of the best stops for the suggestion derail are: "You doubtless
have considered the advisability of thus and so;" or, "I assume you
are not quite ready to decide the question of hit or miss;" or, "As
you were saying the other day, we are losing money by deadheading
crews;" or, "I hope you will be able to carry out your idea of
introducing train staffs;" or, "On further consideration, do you care
to recommend adopting lap sidings for the new extension?" etc. Of
course this kind of a sand valve must not be opened too wide or too
often or some of the soft soap will get on the detector bar and
violate the interlocking rules.
Affectionately, your own
D. A. D.
LETTER XIII.
THE FRIEND-MILE AS A UNIT OF MEASURE.
June 12, 1904.
My Dear Boy:--Your chief dispatcher blew through here the other day on
his vacation and dropped in to pay his respects. He rather apologized
for so doing, as he seemed to think it might be considered an
intrusion to call on a stranger. I took it as a compliment to myself
and as a mark of his loyalty to you. It is so easy for us old fellows
to forget that we were once junior officials ourselves that I rather
like to keep in touch with those who are to come after and maintain
the time-honored standards of the profession. I never like to say very
much about my desire to acquire information from everyone I meet, for
experience has made me a little leery of the man who whistles too long
for that station. He is apt to toot his own horn so much that he
doesn't hear the other fellow's signals. So I tried not to do all the
talking, and did not tell my guest of the great improvements I had
made since I came to this position. I preferred to let him hear that
from someone else. If one should take too literally the talk of the
officials on whom he calls he would wonder how the road ever ran
before each held down his particular job; how there can possibly be
any improvement made by those who come after. No, I do not advocate
hiding one's light under a bucket in the cab all the time--only when
running.
The world is getting to place more and more confidence in the man who
thinks out loud. It trusts him because he is not doubtful of himself.
The stunt of looking wise and not expressing an opinion when a
suggestion is made is no longer popular. A non-committal promise to
look into the matter may be construed as a mask for ignorance or
timidity. The more a man knows the more frankly he acknowledges that a
certain idea is new to him. Men to whom talking and writing do not
come easy sometimes say beware of the windy man, but there are some
mighty efficient railroaders who act and perform all the better for
being able to handle words. Hot air is all right if properly
compressed. The idle breeze dries the ground and runs windmills. Sand
bites the rail in more economical quantities when fed down by the
pneumatic attachment. Every division has its Windy Bill, its
Chattering Charlie, its Gasbag George; but some way, when they are on
the road you always feel safe. They may work a con game on some of the
agents and dispatchers, but they get over the road with the local. You
feel good when you meet them. The man you want to run from is Calamity
Jake, who always has a tale of woe as long as a gravel train. His
caboose rides rough; its stove smokes; the caller doesn't give him
time enough for his wife to cook breakfast; the yardmaster saves all
the shop cripples for his train; he can't trust the ignorant
engineers; the brakemen are all farmers, and the signal oil won't
burn. If you tell him that's all right, that you will try and correct
all these things when the car accountant's office stops kicking on his
wheel reports, he will look at you in sympathetic sadness and bewail
the modern tendency to make clerks of conductors.
Your chief dispatcher is a fine fellow and understands the art of
getting away. He didn't wear out his welcome but broke away while
making a good impression. You have to unlock the switch for some men
before they can couple their crossings and get out of town. The
dispatcher has to send the operator outside with a clearance.
Acquaintance is one of a young man's most valuable assets, and a two
minutes' interview may grade the way for a lifelong run. Before the
world was as good as it is now, men rather prided themselves on the
number of enemies they had made. Nowadays the friend mile is a more
desirable unit of measure.
Washington Irving puts it very prettily where he says, "for who is
there among us who does not like now and then to play the sage?" So I
felt rather flattered when your chief dispatcher asked me for advice
as to what to study in order to get on in the railway world. I told
him first of all to read every bit of company literature that he could
get hold of; not to skim through a part of the pamphlet on
refrigerator cars and guess at the rest. A table of freight rates may
become interesting if properly approached. Do not try to memorize data
and statistics, but rather plod through them at least once with a view
to trying to master the principles that govern. Life is very full in
this twentieth century, but, broadly speaking, it is still possible to
know something of everything as well as everything of something. The
day is coming when we will not entrust a man with the important duties
and the great responsibilities of a division superintendent until we
have given him a brief course in every department. We examine a man
before we let him run an engine, but how about the man who runs him? A
superintendent should know enough about an engine to handle the
enginemen just as he does the trainmen. When we have men successfully
running engines who can barely read and write, it is a mistake to
claim that a locomotive is such a sacred mystery that only the
mechanical department can judge whether or not it is properly handled.
Enginemen are transportation men, and the time that master mechanics
put in assigning crews, keeping an age book, and otherwise duplicating
the superintendent's work might a great deal better be given to the
back shop. The yardmaster has one caller and the roundhouse foreman
another. The two callers go up the same street, sometimes together,
and call men in adjoining houses, an expensive duplication of work.
The trainmaster rides in the caboose and the traveling engineer--road
foreman is the modern term--in the engine, but neither dares presume
to know the business of the other. Every trainmaster should be a
traveling engineer and every traveling engineer should be a
trainmaster. That will be the case when we train officials along more
definite lines. Honey bees feed their future queen a special food. No,
I would not decrease the number of officials, if anything I would
increase it. I would not, however, let every official created have a
chief clerk and a stenographer. I would make it impossible for him to
yield to the temptation to add a bureau of records to the amount of
useless information already on file. I wouldn't lose my nerve if now
and then a set of ancient papers got lost, for with less red tape
quicker action would result and little would get away. The first time
the trainmaster had to wait an hour or two before he could dictate a
letter in the superintendent's office, or could use a stenographer in
his own office, he would beef for a separate establishment. If more
help should be needed, which would be very doubtful, put it on, but do
not limit its usefulness to any one official. With a proper,
responsible head it is entirely feasible to carry the community of
interest idea into office organization. If the division engineer is
under the superintendent, why, in sending papers into the next room to
him, write a letter and burden your files with the carbon of the
stereotyped, "Kindly note next attached and take necessary action?" Is
not his office a part of the superintendent's? Have you not the same
right to papers there that you have to those in the office of the
chief dispatcher? Why not go even further and have one chief clerk and
one set of records for the whole outfit, just as an assistant
superintendent can handle a part of the work without having a separate
force? If you ever rearrange an office building, fix it so that the
casual visitor waiting to see the boss will not learn state secrets by
hearing the chief clerk dictate letters.
A number of roads have tried the experiment of putting the enginemen
and the roundhousemen solely under the superintendent, and of
confining the master mechanic to his proper function of running the
shops. It has usually failed; not on account of inherent weakness as a
system, but because the superintendent didn't superintend, and found
it too convenient to try to shift the responsibility to the mechanical
department. Reform has to begin at the top, and if the division is to
be the unit the superintendent must be something more than a
high-class chief dispatcher finding flaws in train sheets. It is not
enough for him to be a star division engineer, a boss yardmaster. He
must remember that his holding of any of these positions is ancient
history, not to be forgotten, because valuable and instructive, but
nevertheless a thing of the past. As the yardmaster and the dispatcher
must scatter their trains, so the superintendent must keep his staff
doing different things. He must avoid having two men doing the same
thing. If it is better to call the roundhouse foreman a master
mechanic and invent a title for the man behind the back shop, let us
do so; but by all means avoid working the master mechanic at present
as foreman, head caller, road timekeeper and roundhouse clerk. The
superintendent can boss all these jobs, and transportation, including
its operating attributes, must focus at his office. It is not the
superintendent who works the most hours who is the most successful. It
is he who puts in the best licks at the right time, night or day, and
with the right man or men.
I told your chief dispatcher that a knowledge of law is as important
to a real superintendent as a knowledge of telegraphy. I advised him
to give himself the pleasure of reading Cooky's edition of Blackstone,
which, if taken in homeopathic doses, is one of the clearest things in
the language. Every superintendent gets to be more or less of a
lawyer. It should not be necessary to refer every little fire or stock
claim to the legal department for some of its students to render a
profound opinion upon a matter of common sense. It is so easy to
follow the line of least resistance that we too often evade
responsibility by throwing up our hands and saying that such and such
is a legal question, a mechanical matter, or a traffic problem. We
gracefully pass it up to the other fellow, and think we are in to
clear when an investigation happens to come. By and by, oblivious of
the relation between cause and effect, we deplore the curtailment of
our authority and inveigh against centralization.
I had some other ideas to set out for you, but we have drifted so near
the switch that there is not room enough to make a drop of the
caboose. So I shall either pull the whole train into the yard or get
permission from the yardmaster to cut off on the main, and like an
orthodox conductor, leave them for the night men to switch out. We
conductors feel that, as a switch engine lies around the most of the
time, it can always do at least one more job, besides having time to
shove us out of the yard and over the hill.
Affectionately, your own
D. A. D.
LETTER XIV.
THE MANAGEMENT THAT BREEDS FROM ITS OWN HERD.
June 19, 1904.
My Dear Boy:--History repeats itself, and railroad history is made so
fast that we repeat ourselves very often. Mankind absorbs a certain
amount from the experience of others. In spite of the much good that
comes, the same old fallacies are followed, the same old blunders are
made. Within the last fifty years every road in the country, at some
time or other, has undergone at least one reorganization and a
corresponding radical change in personnel. Always, after several new
camels get their heads under the tent, comes a newspaper
pronunciamento that thereafter the management will breed from its own
herd. This inbreeding invariably leads ultimately to narrowness if not
to deterioration. The cousins intermarry too often and ere long the
road is breeding its own scrubs.
Within the last five years every road in the country has gone outside
its own ranks for official talent. The oldest roads have had only a
few Leonard Woods and Fred Funstons, a president here, a
vice-president there. Other roads have changed officials so fast that
one is reminded of the traveler sojourning in Paris during the French
Revolution. He instructed his servant to tell him every morning what
the weather was, that he might know how to dress himself, and what the
government was, that he might know how to conduct himself. What then
of our boasted civil service; of the wonderful administrative machines
we build up and find wanting? Is the principle wrong or is its
application faulty? The earnest efforts of able men, crowned by many
partial successes, are sufficient guarantee of honesty of purpose, of
the necessity for something of the sort that has been attempted. He
who criticises, be he ever so honest, must suggest a practical remedy
or he soon descends from the level of the critic to that of the
demagogue or the common scold.