Credit: http://www.garufilaw.com
When I was leading an office I had a rule that everyone had to speak at our staff meetings which took place around a table in our office law library.
I implemented this when I noticed that the lawyers and paralegals always spoke up in our meetings as we were deciding whether to accept new cases, or when considering new office procedures, but the office manager, secretary, and receptionist often would sit through the entire meeting without making a peep. So, I instituted a new procedure. Before the meeting ended, I went around and had each person tell me one thing that that had happened that week that they enjoyed, or something that had made their work better and easier, or more difficult and frustrating.
And oh boy, did they speak up then! One of the first people with her hand in the air was our receptionist who, in the vernacular of the Midwest, wouldn’t say ‘crap’ if she stepped in it. But she had something to say this day.
“Well, if you are going to make me talk, I’m happy to get something off my chest. Your clients call when you are out of the office, and I take the message and write it down, and I put the message slip in your little slot on my desk, and you come by and pick it up and read it and walk in your office. Then you can’t be bothered to call the client back and the client gets mad and calls and yells at me, and it’s very upsetting because I did my job and you didn’t do yours! And it’s not fair, gosh darn it!”
Well, the lawyers and paralegals were mortified, we had not realized the pain our failure to promptly return calls was creating for someone we cared about. Her use of ‘gosh darn it’ shook us all. We promised to return their calls more promptly and it did make it easier on the receptionist.
At every meeting after that there was at least one issue raised which could either be solved quickly, or if not, the person got to express their frustration and at least they felt heard.
General James Mattis, who commanded the 1st Marine Division during the 2003 invasion of Iraq, used to meet with his troops and end a listening session with, “Give me a problem I can solve right away.” You might want to consider using a similar question.
Unfortunately, I only have a few pictures of my coworkers from those days, but there were some of the stars.
Office Managers:
Cathy Reynolds, Des Moines; Nancy Thompson, Ottumwa; Stephanie, Sioux City
In Des Moines, Kim, secretary; Lori, receptionist.
ProBAR, Harlingen, Texas with Jennifer Bailey, co-founder
With Jennifer in 1989, and then at my retirement party in 2019
American Bar Association, Commission on Immigration, Washington, DC 2010-2019
With Karen Castillo, Intern Coach
With Nicole Gasmen, Intern Coach
And another thing, I have a bone to pick with the minimization of the importance of ‘support staff.’
When I worked for Iowa Legal Services in the 70s and 80s our office had an office manager, secretary, and a receptionist. Those three categories had their specific duties and I don’t think anyone felt belittled by being called a secretary. But for reasons which are unclear to me, those three jobs are now lumped together as ‘support staff.’
With the old system, each job had its skill set, the receptionist answered the phone, and did intake interviews. and if the receptionist wanted to become a secretary, they were mentored in developing the skills necessary so that when an opening occurred, they would be promoted to secretary. There was nothing demeaning about your position, you simply had room to move up.
It’s like the military, there is nothing embarrassing with whatever your rank was. In the army, everyone starts as a private in the army and moves up. (Well, I was embarrassed about my army rank when my Vietnam vet brother mocked me in front of his vet friends by calling me ‘a real rank grabber’ after I wasn’t promoted three years in a row, but I digress.)
When I worked at the American Bar Association there were no receptionists or secretaries, everyone was ‘support staff,’ and lumped together as ‘program assistants.’ Hell, I was a program assistant for nine years with the Standing Committee on Substance Abuse at the ABA and I am still not clear on what program assistant meant. But I noticed something unsettling when I moved from my position as a lawyer with the Commission on Immigration, to the position of program assistant with Standing Committee on Substance Abuse. People asked me how I could accept the ignominy of being demoted to ‘support staff.’ I always replied with this story.
“One day when I was working in the Ottumwa office of Iowa Legal Services, I was emotionally exhausted as I headed out for a domestic violence hearing with yet another frightened survivor client at my side, I walked past Office Manager Nancy Thompson’s office and she was preparing the mail, licking envelopes and singing along with country western music, and I thought, ‘I want that job!’ And by golly, my wish has come true! I now have that job!” So I consider I have been promoted to support staff.
The issue of substance abuse I was working on in my new role as program assistant was important to me, I believe I made an important contribution to the committee, and my title was irrelevant. Like Dad used to say, “Call me what you want, just don’t call me late for dinner.”
But I am still concerned about minimizing the importance of our team members. Can you imagine if we lumped together everyone but the people at the top as ‘support staff’ in other situations?
“Here they are folks, the Super Bowl Champion Kansas City Chiefs, Patrick Mahomes and his support staff!”
Who is really important in the office?
Here is my point. I noticed an interesting thing when I worked for legal services. When the lawyers and paralegals would all leave the office for an off-site training, the office hummed along nicely. The telephones got answered, messages were taken and distributed. The incoming mail was logged and passed out. Any outgoing mail was logged, postage affixed, and sent out at the end of the day. Any walk-ins were interviewed to see if they might be potential clients.
But when the situation was reversed, when the office manager, secretary, and receptionist left the office for a training and only lawyers and paralegals remained, the wheels came off the place. Nobody answered the phone, we locked the front door to keep pesky potential clients out, which meant the mail didn’t get delivered. Nobody knew how to use the postage meter, so no mail went out. In short, we crumbled under pressure.
And I could not have survived without my team. At the ABA in DC there was an annual self-evaluation we had to fill out and one of the questions was, ‘How would you rate your computer skills?’ My answer was always the same. ‘My performance on the computer appears to be excellent. I don’t know how to do anything myself, but whenever I am called upon to use a program I don’t understand, I ask Karen or Nicole to do it, and then reward them by buying them a smoothie. It is an excellent system.’
Other days I would just would come into the office with the blues. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong, it was just one of those days when my get up and go, got up and left, I needed some quiet time. I would tell the interns that I would be available to answer any questions Nicole or Karen couldn’t answer, but otherwise, my door would be closed. I joked that it wasn’t their fault, but I would be in my office, listening to country western music and weeping quietly. And they always left me in peace on those days. But every time I left my office for something, going to lunch, or the bathroom, or the printer, I would come back and find someone had dashed in and left me a token of kind compassion. A happy face sticker on my computer or a note on my keyboard that said ‘We love you’ with a Hershey’s kiss in the center of a heart. Who deserves to be surrounded by such great people?
So are they ‘just support staff?’ Perhaps a more accurate title would be ‘The Heart and Soul of The Team.’ Unfortunately, that doesn’t fit on a cubicle name tag.
Out for Justice 