HOW TO

HOW TO CRITICISE - AND NOT BE HATED FOR IT

CHARLES SCHWAB WAS passing through one of his steel mills one day at

noon when he came across some of his employees smoking. Immediately

above their heads was a sign that said ‘No Smoking.’ Did Schwab point to

the sign and say, ‘Can’t you read?’ Oh no, not Schwab. He walked over to

the men, handed each one a cigar, and said, ‘I’ll appreciate it, boys, if you

will smoke these on the outside.’ They knew that he knew that they had

broken a rule – and they admired him because he said nothing about it and

gave them a little present and made them feel important. Couldn’t keep

from loving a man like that, could you?

John Wanamaker used the same technique. Wanamaker used to make a

tour of his great store in Philadelphia every day. Once he saw a customer

waiting at a counter. No one was paying the slightest attention to her. The

salespeople? Oh, they were in a huddle at the far end of the counter

laughing and talking among themselves. Wanamaker didn’t say a word.

Quietly slipping behind the counter, he waited on the woman himself and

then handed the purchase to the salespeople to be wrapped as he went on

his way.

Public officials are often criticised for not being accessible to their

constituents. They are busy people, and the fault sometimes lies in

overprotective assistants who don’t want to overburden their bosses with

too many visitors. Carl Langford, who has been mayor of Orlando, Florida,

the home of Disney World, for many years, frequently admonished his staff

to allow people to see him. He claimed he had an ‘open-door’ policy; yet

the citizens of his community were blocked by secretaries and

administrators when they called.

Finally the mayor found the solution. He removed the door from his

office! His aides got the message, and the mayor has had a truly open

administration since the day his door was symbolically thrown away.

Simply changing one three-letter word can often spell the difference

between failure and success in changing people without giving offence or

arousing resentment.

Many people begin their criticism with sincere praise followed by the

word ‘but’ and ending with a critical statement. For example, in trying to

change a child’s careless attitude toward studies, we might say, ‘We’re

really proud of you, Johnnie, for raising your grades this term. But if you

had worked harder on your algebra, the results would have been better.’

In this case, Johnnie might feel encouraged until he heard the word

‘but.’ He might then question the sincerity of the original praise. To him,

the praise seemed only to be a contrived lead-in to a critical inference of

failure. Credibility would be strained, and we probably would not achieve

our objectives of changing Johnnie’s attitude toward his studies.

This could be easily overcome by changing the word ‘but’ to ‘and.’

‘We’re really proud of you, Johnnie, for raising your grades this term, and

by continuing the same conscientious efforts next term, your algebra grade

can be up with all the others.’

Now, Johnnie would accept the praise because there was no follow-up

of an inference of failure. We have called his attention to the behaviour we

wished to change indirectly, and the chances are he will try to live up to our

expectations.

Calling attention to one’s mistakes indirectly works wonders with

sensitive people who may resent bitterly any direct criticism. Marge Jacob

of Woonsocket, Rhode Island, told one of our classes how she convinced

some sloppy construction workers to clean up after themselves when they

were building additions to her house.

For the first few days of the work, when Mrs. Jacob returned from her

job, she noticed that the yard was strewn with the cut ends of lumber. She

didn’t want to antagonise the builders, because they did excellent work. So

after the workers had gone home, she and her children picked up and neatly

piled all the lumber debris in a corner. The following morning she called the

foreman to one side and said, ‘I’m really pleased with the way the front

lawn was left last night; it is nice and clean and does not offend the

neighbours.’ From that day forward the workers picked up and piled the

debris to one side, and the foreman came in each day seeking approval of

the condition the lawn was left in after a day’s work.

One of the major areas of controversy between members of the army

reserves and their regular army trainers is haircuts. The reservists consider

themselves civilians (which they are most of the time) and resent having to

cut their hair short.

Master Sergeant Harley Kaiser of the 542nd USAR School addressed

himself to this problem when he was working with a group of reserve

noncommissioned officers. As an old-time regular-army master sergeant, he

might have been expected to yell at his troops and threaten them. Instead he

chose to make his point indirectly.

‘Gentlemen,’ he started, ‘you are leaders. You will be most effective

when you lead by example. You must be the example for your men to

follow. You know what the army regulations say about haircuts. I am going

to get my hair cut today, although it is still much shorter than some of

yours. You look at yourself in the mirror, and if you feel you need a haircut

to be a good example, we’ll arrange time for you to visit the post

barbership.’

The result was predictable. Several of the candidates did look in the

mirror and went to the barbershop that afternoon and received ‘regulation’

haircuts. Sergeant Kaiser commented the next morning that he already

could see the development of leadership qualities in some of the members

of the squad.

On March 8, 1887, the eloquent Henry Ward Beecher died. The

following Sunday, Lyman Abbott was invited to speak in the pulpit left

silent by Beecher’s passing. Eager to do his best, he wrote, rewrote and

polished his sermon with the meticulous care of a Flaubert. Then he read it

to his wife. It was poor – as most written speeches are. She might have said,

if she had had less judgement, ‘Lyman, that is terrible. That’ll never do.

You’ll put people to sleep. It reads like an encyclopedia. You ought to know

better than that after all the years you have been preaching. For heaven’s

sake, why don’t you talk like a human being? Why don’t you act natural?

You’ll disgrace yourself if you ever read that stuff.’

That’s what she might have said. And, if she had, you know what

would have happened. And she knew too. So, she merely remarked that it

would make an excellent article for the North American Review. In other

words, she praised it and at the same time subtly suggested that it wouldn’t

do as a speech. Lyman Abbott saw the point, tore up his carefully prepared

manuscript and preached without even using notes.