It almost seems like the last time a man did a superior job, and enjoyed good mental health, while being succeeded in power, was when Moses publicly anointed Joshua in the wilderness. “Look, I can no longer come and go like I once did,” said the retiring executive. “You will lead now. Be strong and of good courage.” Men are often not able to let go as well as women. Perhaps women comprehend things with more character because women potentially give birth.
It happened that I was to succeed Saul, a senior leader, a man well-known in his region of the country, as he struggled with terminal cancer. I really liked Saul, which is why his pain and fear especially troubled me. He had assumed the reigns from his father, who had been somebody larger than life, but he made his own mark and was admired in his own right. The only problem for Saul was that his attainment of power had been without strain or the edification of failure. It was a family business, there had never been any doubt that he’d get the senior job, and there was also never any issue of having plenty of money in my friend’s experience. He never applied for a position of any kind, let alone knew a rejection. He never in his lifetime prepared a curriculum vitae. He never went on an interview. He never had to think about his future. Happily, he was blessed with a wonderful marriage and splendid children—all well-deserved. He was a good man, his only “fault” being that he never had a problem.
Saul had always been uneasy with sentimentality and, though I knew him to be kind and even shy, he tended to bark at people a lot. He generally maintained a practiced aloofness from staff that tried to be helpful. When he realized that he was dying, however, his tone changed. He was humbled and grateful for the many small gestures of compassion and support that always came his way in the first place. When his infirmity cost him his driver’s license, he learned how to appreciate a lift rather than presume being chauffeured. He began to invoke his faith regularly and sought comfort in quiet and personal conversation. He looked at me once over lunch and bravely said, “I don’t know how much life I have left, but I will make the best of it. I do need other people to help me and am glad to have realized that, finally.”
The stricken leader didn’t know anything about the limits of power until his own mortality drew a line across his life. So, as brilliant as he was, Saul was untested and unprepared for his situation and, therefore, so was his business. Until he understood—and taught—that a few trusted comrades can facilitate, and that the institution is larger than any individual. God rest his soul; he died a real man.
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