Pat Summitt: The Anatomy of a Winner

I knew one reality—for sure—as I was growing up: I wanted to be a winner. That word—winner—probably stood out as the captivating and driving desire, the fundamental “value” of my life, above all other words. It didn’t much matter whether it was a big-deal athletic event, grades in school, or a board game being played on a rainy day. I wanted to win. Later on, and probably using tamer words, whether it was making a classroom presentation, writing a book, or establishing a business, I wanted to manifest “quality” and “excellent,” I wanted to have a good reputation, and I wanted to “make a difference.” Actually, all of this—in my own interpretations—was simply and profoundly about winning, being the “best” (a strong value word) that I could be.

The people who have attracted my attention the most have been winners. I grew up on Vince Lombardi, the iconic coach of the Green Bay Packers. I had a chance to see Peyton Manning play 40-50 times in person and countless times on television; that was better than seeing Elvis or The Beatles. I came to know Dan and Ned Wilford, hospital executives by trade, but leaders in the finest sense of that word. They were the finest “winners” I ever knew in business. I watched my Mother, when I was a pre-teen, fight valiantly against cancer for half a decade. I guess the cancer finally “won,” but she was a winner to me to the very end because of her dignity, her willpower, and her continued joy of living even in the face of death. These kinds of people made me want to be a winner, too. Even as a coach of my kids’ ball teams; even more as a Father.  Maybe that’s what true leaders do for us—make us want to be winners too. The best of those leaders show us directly how the process of winning works and guide us through it.

But, I’m not sure I have ever seen anyone who was any more of a winner than Pat Summitt. I watched, along with an entire State and nation—and even the world in two Olympics—as she transformed women's basketball and left an indelible standard for women in the last generation.  Pat Summitt was a coach—maybe one of the highest callings of life, a leader, and a winner of winners. She defines the very meaning of the word icon.

The question remains—especially if you believe in cause and effect—what made Pat Summitt a leader and—even more—a winner? I’ve been considering that question a long time now, and if it could begin to be answered, even in part, we might be on our way to understanding something of the “anatomy” of a winner, the power behind leadership at its best. In fact—to follow Robert S. Hartman—if we could see something of Pat Summitt’s values, we could better understand the driving forces that moved her life. Here’s what I’ve seen in my own analysis:

1.  Pat Summitt grew up in a tough, small-farming community environment where life had pretty stark and unrelenting demands. Her role-model father had no allusions about the relationship of hard work to survival, and he made no apologies to Pat or her siblings about the work that simply had to be done. Cows, he famously said, never took a day off, and they would not milk themselves. She never feared hard work and long hours. She expected them as part of a direct relationship with success. She never missed a day of school as a child and young person. There were no short cuts on the road to excellence, and she was willing to work harder than anyone else. She saw that attribute as the key to her success.

2.  In 1974, as a rookie coach of the University of Tennessee women’s basketball team—and at age 22—she lost her first collegiate game by one point. She called her father in despair. His direct and unemotional response to her dismay was simple: “You don’t take donkeys to the Kentucky Derby.” She knew that the best leaders and the most successful work demanded the best people. She became a tireless recruiter of the best talent available. In writing a personal note to Candace Parker, one of her greatest players, she unabashedly stated: “I want to be your Coach!  I can help you on the floor and off the floor, as a basketball player and in your personal life. I want to be your Coach!” She knew that the best required the best. She looked for, not just good athletes, but young women who had learned that they would have to fight for a better life; she would always meet them half-way in that fight and show them a way to be victorious.

3.  Pat Summitt had a kind of odd relationship with competition. Unlike so many people who avoid or fear competition, she actually—really and truly—embraced it and actively sought it out.  She saw the highest competition as the only way to continue to improve. Ironically, the competition that could beat her actually inspired her to greater mountaintops of success. She learned from her competition. She studied what the competition was doing to beat her, and that made her better. We saw growth and development—getting better—as a life-long pursuit. Even when she lost, the losses were simply “setbacks.” She hated losing, but would be back for another day with even greater passion. Across her tenure as Coach at UT, 47% of her games were purposely scheduled against ranked opponents. She never took any easy road.

4.  Her won-loss record speaks for itself, as does the fact that at the time of her death, she had won more games than any collegiate basketball coach—man or woman—1,098. Yet, when she talked about records, she most quickly talked about her “100%”—the record established across the years reflecting the way in which every player who finished her program in basketball also graduated with at least a Bachelor’s Degree from UT. She didn’t “win” if her players didn’t “win” with victories that would follow them across the entirety of their lives, with victories that were even bigger than basketball.

5.  Pat Summitt’s presence filled the room. When her teams took the floor, every eye was on her.  She could have the steeliest “eye of the tiger,” and then wrap people in warmth and love.  My Mother-in-law, not much for traveling away from home, would drive over an hour when she was in her eighties to see “Pat’s” teams play. She always felt comfortable enough to call her “Pat,” even though they never met. The intangible of “authenticity” was her signature calling card. There have been only a bare few people whose character has infused work like hers did.

So, if you want to talk about winning “leadership,” the whole concept is role modeled with Pat Summitt: the value of hard work, finding the very best people, seeking the toughest competition, helping others achieve the goal of highest potential, and exuding character. Put these kinds of assets together, and you will have a Winner!! You see, Pat’s values drove her to achieve the level of success that she did.

My two favorite Pat Summitt stories describe perfectly to me what kind of person she was and why she transcended mere coaching greatness. The first story involves a party held in her honor when she retired from active coaching. A social time and then a meal were followed by a time when she was to be celebrated by several important people at the gathering. She could not be found. Then, after a few minutes of searching, she was discovered in the kitchen with the sleeves of her finest eveningwear dress rolled up—washing dishes.

The second story is pretty famous, but rings a note of awe and wonder for me. She was in Pennsylvania on a recruiting visit, and began to experience the birth contractions that preceded her son, Tyler, being born. She rushed everyone in her group quickly back to the UT airplane, and insisted that the pilot fly immediately back to Knoxville. Over everyone’s objections, she would have it no other way—her son would be born in Tennessee!! 

Once in a lifetime, we have a chance to see a Peyton Manning or a Bear Bryant. They stand far beyond simply being players and coaches. We may never see another person quite like Pat Summitt. All of us should be better at what we do because she was so good at what she did. The meaning of the word winner is exponentially fulfilled by its having any association with her name.

            

Being Human IS a Choice

Flanders Field, 1914

            In Jeremy Rifkin’s important new book, The Empathic Civilization, he recalls an event from 1914 he believes still has great potential meaning and insight for our lives. At Christmas in 1914, great armies of Germany and France were engaged in some of the most awful battle experiences ever known to mankind. This was the time of trench warfare, no-man’s lands, and poison gas warfare. Never had pure horror on this level ever existed.

            Yet, Rifkin recalls how on Christmas morning of that year, white flags of truce began to appear on the edges of the trenches, and fighting men began to tentatively edge their way toward each other’s battle lines. This time however, there were no weapons—only various items of food and drink, and a few soccer balls. Throughout the day, archenemies sang, ate, and played games together. They shared pictures of loved ones, and talked about plans for war’s end. It was a remarkable and exceptional moment in time. 

            Rifkin says this glorious moment took place because these heroic soldiers—in spite of what their commanders were ordering—chose to be human! I believe Rifkin is seeing a distinctly important and vital element of our existence. Being human is a choice, a consequence of judgment. Being human is not something that simply occurs because we are homo sapiens. We enter into a situation, see the dynamics of the situation, determine what is the best we can do in the situation, and then make judgments. The virtue of these soldiers is seen in the goodness of their judgments. True heroism appears when they defy commanders, and step out onto battlefields with entirely new and different intent.

            In Rifkin’s concepts, he makes a distinction between “sympathy” and “empathy.” When we are “sympathetic,” we are having a conceptual engagement with other people where we rationally attempt to understand what is going on in their lives. Then, when we are “empathetic,” we actualize in reality what we have conceived in our minds. Many people are capable of conceptualization, but moving to actualization is where the real differences of life are made.  Within the context of the Judgment Index, we can actually measure a person’s capacity for both conceptualization and actualization regarding three important areas of judgement – people/relationships, tasks, and the big picture. A study of the people/relationship component will show a precise measure of the movement from “sympathy” to “empathy” that Rifkin is describing. The soldiers moved from “sympathy” to “empathy” and created a moment of true humanity in the midst of an awful battlefield. We find that many people are much better at conceptualization than they are actualization.

            In one of the most important statements in his book, Rifken states: “Without a well-developed concept of selfhood, however, mature empathic expression would be impossible.” Contemplate this statement for a few minutes. Its insight is remarkable. Here, we see the essential insight of Robert S. Hartman that the work-side of what we do always stands on the pedestal of the self-side of who we are. We will never be as good at what we do until the potential of who we are is realized at its highest level.

            Across decades of our work, we have consistently seen that the work-side tends to be stronger—even significantly stronger—than the self-side. Our greater work is not to build people who are stronger in the judgment needed to advance task performance, although advancing task performance is always important. Our greater work is to build people who are stronger in the judgment needed to advance personal understanding, self-awareness, and personal growth and development.

            The critical issue is that the relationship between work and self is often discounted in importance. Leaders in business and industry see a strong self-side as something nice to have, but that it is a “soft side” issue to be taken care of at home or in church. Truly enlightened leaders will see self-side development as both the right thing to do, and as a strategic endeavor that can do nothing but bring positive strength to any work agenda. 

            Work is always done by human beings. The best work will rise in the context of work cultures that advance human life. Fully human individuals will advance accomplishment and contribution at the highest levels. Even in the midst of awful battle, people can stop a war for a moment and celebrate each other. People can choose to be human, and a world can begin to show a potential for change. Yes, the soldiers would go back to battle, but their lives would never be the same. 

           

            

Leaders, Teachers, Bridge Builders

Leaders, Teachers, Bridge Builders

C. Stephen Byrum, PhD

         The greatest leaders are teachers. The greatest teachers are leaders.  Most people who have the chance to comment on difference makers in their lives will tend to recall a teacher who provided leadership and guidance for their lives, people of significant impact who transformed potential in ways that changed the horizon of the possible.

         When leaders lead, they almost always are conscious of teaching.  They mentor, and explain the internal dynamics of decision making. They seem to know exactly when to praise and when to goad. They seem to know that every individual and situation is unique and requires a different “touch.”   They take time to build the base of a relationship from which all other work follows. They know that the role model of their own personal character is as essential to what is taught as any piece of content, no matter how useful that content may be.

         In the Jain religion of Southeast Asia and India, there is not much of a traditional emphasis on gods and religious structures. The Jains believe in the importance of “Tirthamkaras.” These are special individuals who have shown up from time to time in human history and who have been focal points of great insight and wisdom. They are wise men or gurus in a way, but do not retain what in other religions might be a kind of divine status. In fact, they usually exhibit a great humility and want attention to be given to the truths they teach instead of to them as “holy” persons.

         The term “Tirthamkara” literally means, “bridge builder.” There is clearly some cultural precedent being used here, as the ancient Jains would have clearly understood, how transformational a bridge could be for a community. The whole process of “connection” is enhanced by bridges, and when a bridge is built, there is great potential that is unleashed that was not there before. Thus, a “Tirthamkara” is someone who creates connections, alignments, and synthesis. In the process of creating connection, they may also create synergy and serendipity, experiences that raise the bar of insight, opportunity, and innovation to levels that might not even have been imagined.

         I thought that the most important job I ever performed was that of a teacher. I was trying to lead, for sure, but—even more—I was trying to create a connection that would inform with essential information, but also give people a love of learning that would energize their own pursuits. I never saw education as a simple exchange of knowledge and an accumulation of data that people could be tested on. I saw education as a means of liberation and as a power that created opportunity that was not present. I knew that my main task was to build a relationship, and when that was accomplished I could lead. I saw myself in the classroom to be as much of a bridge builder as my father had been in the 1920s when he actually worked in the construction of bridges for the State of Tennessee. We were both, in our own ways, about creating connections. We were both “Tirthamkaras.” I always wanted to give people this “2” and that “2,” but I wanted to create an environment in which they made the connection and got “4” or whatever else they might get. Their own excitement in discovering would be a catapult and catalyst to who knows what.

         In my work with the axiology of Robert S. Hartman, I have come to understand that there are three, primary types of bridges that we can build:

1. Systemic bridges – where we are primarily engaged in the conveying of concepts and ideas—strong S/Systemic evaluative judgment sees patterns, integrations, and connecting points.
2. Extrinsic bridges – where we actually do concrete work with real tasks and processes—strong E/Extrinsic evaluative judgment sees connections, which enhance tactics with efficiency and effectiveness.
3. Intrinsic bridges – where we build relationships, the fundamental underpinning of any activity that is accomplished—strong I/Intrinsic evaluative judgment sees connections between people.

Hartman’s assessment instrument would always let me know whether that new student showing up in class was predominantly Systemic, Extrinsic, or Intrinsic, so I immediately had insights that would help me connect to the student and be a much better teacher. Students made good grades, passed tests, and didn’t drop out of class. The college was happy because it was being funded by the State on the basis of almost sacred FTEs (full time equivalent students). More importantly to me, many of the students discovered a surprising joy in learning they had not experienced. Once I “had” them, the assessment also let me know where I could improve their learning, and thus make any dominant style even stronger and much more highly complemented. By adding strengths from other styles I could also look at beginning and ending scores, arrived at through pre and post testing, and immediately know the impact the class had provided. Get the joy of learning and discovery right, and the accompanying discoveries being made about the Self, and FTEs had a way of taking care of themselves. I never found a dumb student who could not learn. I often found unengaged students that had never been shown what learning could be. Once they engaged—or, once they were led to the point of engagement, they could not believe the level of success they could achieve.

         Hartman had a hierarchy in his system in which the sophistication of the Systemic—the conceptual—was exceeded by the higher sophistication of the real-life Extrinsic, which was then exceeded by the highest sophistication of the Intrinsic—the personal and relational. Real life events have a greater density to agree with this hierarchy, believing that the personal and relational is the most important and the most complex to understand and navigate.  The proverbial “path of least resistance” causes undo attention to be paid to the easier Systemic ideas and Extrinsic tasks, but success in the Intrinsic will always be the most gratifying and most powerful in terms of enabling excellence and quality.

         However, Hartman was also very clear that competence and expertise was needed in all three areas in order to have a holistic encounter with reality.  Perhaps, one person could have strength in all areas.  In most instances, intentionally and consciously teaming people of differing, predominant styles together would be a more typical approach.  The team approach would require that team members understood differences and had an appreciation for differences. 

         In other words, bridge builders who can create Systemic connections are vital, as are bridge builders who can create Extrinsic and Intrinsic connections. The best bridges would then become like a three-strand cord that gains exponential strength because of the way the cords are consciously interwoven. The best teachers and leaders understand these dynamics, and use tools that make the dynamics clear in much the same way that a traditional bridge builder uses the tools of manual construction.

        

         My father was a strong, big man. In spite of little or no formal education, he had become the foreman of a farm implement company where he led the shop work of over 100 men. I think I liked the fact that he knew how to build and fix things. I have a suspicion that the proudest work of his life was as a young man in his twenties building roads and bridges for the State of Tennessee. My favorite picture of him shows him standing at the controls of a powerful caterpillar tractor pulling a road grader.

         When my younger brother and I were young and our mother had died, he would get us in the car early on Sunday mornings, put various tools in the trunk of our car, and head out—not to church—into the hills and backcountry of East Tennessee. We would “visit” bridges he had built to check on them and see how they were doing. Each structure had some kind of associated stories, and he told them as if they had happened yesterday.  He was not much of a story teller, except about his bridges. 

         If there were any state of disrepair that we could attend to with our tools, we would stop and work for a while. Mostly, my brother and I cleared invading brush. He took this work very seriously and wanted us to see its importance. Most stories included something about a family who lived nearby whose lives were made better by the bridges. This was his “church” in a way.  

         I never became a bridge builder exactly like my father, but when the teacher in my first comparative religion class in college began to teach us about the Jains of India and we heard the word “Tirthamkaras,” I believe it made more sense to me that anyone else in the class. I never travel without noticing and appreciating bridges. My father may have had more influence on my own Self-understanding than I have typically wanted to admit at times. He may have seen himself more than anything else as a bridge builder. Maybe I am more like him in that essential way than I might ever have imagined. My father and me were “Tirthamkaras” in our own respective ways; what an unsuspecting and strange bond we share. It is the bond of teachers, people who see the value of building bridges. In a world becoming increasingly disconnected in many essential ways, the role spans the ages.