This article is written by Lyle R. Hill, who is the managing director of Keytech North America, a company providing research and technical services for the glass and metal industry. He also serves as president of Glass.com, an information portal and job generation company for the glass industry. Hill has more than 40 years’ experience in the glass and metal industry and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. We read this in USGlass Magazine and thought we’d share.
I was running late. It was my own fault, of course, because I had left later than planned and now I had run into heavier than expected traffic. I didn’t want to arrive late to the event or miss even a minute of the action.
I was driving north on Route 83 where it passes thru Elmhurst, Illinois, and what is usually a fast-flowing four lane highway had been reduced to two lanes … one northbound and the other southbound with road repair crews and equipment clogging up everything. What should have been a 20 minute drive at most was already past the 30 minute mark and I was less than half the way there. I was as upset with myself, as much as I was the traffic.
It seemed like a 10-hour trek, but I arrived at the designated location and sprinted to the front entrance … okay, maybe not an actual sprint but I did jog … kinda. And to my complete and pleasant surprise, I was right on time. A few minutes early even. I had written the starting time down wrong so, for once, my stupidity had paid off.
I didn’t want to be seen. At least not yet, so I slinked my way around and found an inconspicuous place to sit. I was sure that no one recognized me and the only people I actually recognized were my son Patrick and his adorable wife Renee. Some 20 years after it happened, I’m still not sure how my son talked her into marrying him.
The big Zamboni that scrapes and recoats the surface of an ice rink finished its work and then the two teams that would soon be tearing up that perfect surface came out for their pregame warm-up period. I got my camera ready. Took a couple of practice shots and waited.
Then, without fanfare or any formal announcement, the referees skated out on to the ice. The air horn blasted and the teams sent their starting lineups out to begin the game. The referee dropped the puck at the center ice faceoff circle and the action began.
It wasn’t long before I started snapping pictures. Not of the game exactly, but of one of the referees. It was my grandson Ryan’s first-ever game as a referee. I’m sure he was nervous, although he certainly didn’t show it. He’s been skating and playing hockey almost as long as he’s been able to walk. He’s a solid player and now, he’s joined the ranks of the hockey referees. He took the classes, learned the rules and methods to be followed and after showing that he could handle it, received the opportunity to showcase his skills. I was proud of him.
He may have been a bit tentative about making calls at the beginning of the game but it didn’t take long for him to get into it and the first time he used the whistle was for an “offside” call about four minutes into the first period. There was some grumbling from a few fans, but if he heard it, he ignored it. I was quite proud of him.
In business, managers often have to perform as referees. They have to learn, interpret and enforce the rules. Not all of the decisions they make will be popular and at times they’ll hear the grumbling. But not making the call … not blowing the whistle … only leads to more incorrect behavior. Not whistling the transgression encourages the offender to repeat the offense. Too many managers look the other way when they should be blowing the whistle … loudly. New or younger employees in particular need to know when they have broken a rule or failed to follow procedure. The rules should be applied and enforced equally, no matter the offender. There is no place for favoritism in sport or business.
It was a good game between two teams that played their hearts out. At the end, the coaches came over to Ryan and as they shook his hand, he was complimented for calling a clean, fair game.
I tracked my 16 year old grandson down to let him know I had been there from the beginning and had gotten some good pictures. After I complimented him on his performance, I asked what he liked most about his new part-time job.
“Well, Grandpa,” he said, “my favorite part is that they pay me $25 a game and I got another one in about 15 minutes.”
And at that moment … I was VERY proud of him!
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