On Topic: Knowing when to say no, and when to say maybe

A couple weeks ago I picked up at the Seattle airport a newly released paperback copy of 'The Road to Character,' New York Times columnist and longtime NPR pundit David Brooks's measured profiles in courage of people who've demonstrated moral fortitude and thereby made the world — or parts of it — a better place. They believed they were bound to give, rather than receive.

My hope in reading it, during a very long return flight, was to find management lessons I could take to heart and maybe tie into a future 'On Topic' column. And, frankly, if reading it made me a better person, that'd be good, too.

But, boy, do I feel unworthy. From Frances Perkins, whose work for others was stirred to life by the 1911 Triangle Fire in New York that killed 146 garment workers, and A. Philip Randolph (justice and dignity) to Dwight Eisenhower (humility and optimism) to Samuel Johnson ('It is always a writer's duty to make the world better') and, gee golly, St. Augustine (grace), Brooks's subjects set extraordinary examples.

Brooks starts by ruminating on the difference between what he calls resume virtues and eulogy virtues. The former are those we boast about, and most likely even exaggerate — set new standards for my department by reorganizing work flow, awarded top place for achieving annual sales goals by X percent. (These are my hypotheticals, not the author's.)

Eulogy virtues, on the other hand, are the qualities your family and friends will remember about you at your memorial service — 'whether you are kind, brave, honest of faithful; what kind of relationships you formed,' Brooks writes.

He believes he — and by implication, we — are too concerned about the first kind of virtues and not so much about the second kind. He wrote this book, he contends, 'not sure I could follow the road to character, but I wanted at least to know what the road looks like …

.'

Which is understandable because his examples are darned tough acts to follow. Moreover, it seemed the steeper the climb they more fervent in pushing their causes they became.

Hoo, boy.

So I looked for smaller things, lessons to take away from these lofty exemplars. When to push and when to negotiate, for example.

Brooks tells of when, in 1941, civil rights organizer Randolph, after calling for a march on Washington, D.C., to end hiring discrimination, met with Franklin Roosevelt. The president expressed sympathy and promised he would make some telephone calls to factory heads to urge them to hire blacks.

'We want you to do more than that,' Randolph politely but steadfastly pushed back on one of the most powerful people in the world. (I can imagine Randolph taking an internal deep breathe, calming his heart and planting his feet, then continuing.) 'We want you to issue an executive order making it mandatory that Negroes be permitted to work in these plants.'

FDR demurred. Randolph stood fast — and possibly was bluffing — when he replied the president could expect to see a hundred thousand marchers in the nation's capitol.

A half-dozen days before the march was to commence, FDR signed Executive Order 8802, which banned defense-industry discrimination. The march was canceled.

Or, as stated — directly and indirectly — in this past summer's 'Captain America' movie, compromise where you can. And where you cannot, don't.

All is not lost, though. Brooks reminds us it's OK to be flawed. Everyone is.

'We are all stumblers, and the beauty and meaning of life are in the stumbling — in recognizing the stumbling and trying to become more graceful as the years go by.'

Corny? You bet.

But maybe — and really, what do I know, I'm no St. Augustine — that is the leadership message here: A little old-fashioned virtue, on occasion, can go a long way.

Michael Chevy Castranova is Business editor of The Gazette.