What’s He Done Now?

Alex, our exhausted Chief Executive, was trying to keep everything quiet and rolling along at St. Angela’s and its children’s hospital, Reggie’s, so that the forthcoming inspection would go smoothly. There was a rumour that a hostile takeover dressed up as a merger was in the wings. His nerves were shredded by the local press’s constant attention to with the “Nappy Scandal” – the ongoing story of new computer muck ups, no orders, too many orders, and management with “no grip”. And then there was the ever-present car parking problem – too many cars and not enough spaces. It was particularly bad at Reggie’s.

Reggie’s had its fair share of Prima Donnas. The one I recall with a wry smile was Dr. Rudi Van Der Loo. He was a pathologist – not a speciality noted for having Prima Donnas, but Reggie’s conducted bone marrow transplants and pathology was central to the programme’s success. Rudi, known as Rudey to most, exhibited a form of Prima Donna Syndrome known as the “playboy”. Such individuals were loveable rogues, naughty in the extreme, but charming, utterly charming, and they exhausted the patience of bureaucrats.

Rudi had had numerous run-ins with Alex and Reggie’s higher-ups. He had a canary yellow sports car and would often turn up in it to the children’s parties and fetes, much to the delight of the parents and patients. He was much more exciting than a Punch and Judy show, and he often brought presents and balloons with him. He was a real showman, a star. The problem was, it was always unannounced, unplanned and rather disruptive; but Rudi didn’t care.

Rudi’s usual trick was to park his canary yellow roadster in the hospital’s loading bay. It had nice wide berths and it was close to his labs. This mattered as he did not like getting his hand-made Italian shoes wet on rainy days. And he liked to make the point that it was Alex’s job to find him an earmarked space next to his labs so that he did not have to join the tedious scrum for parking each morning. He felt he was too important for all that; Alex disagreed.

On this occasion, it was the College’s Anniversary Dinner where Rudi excelled himself in his naughtiness. The College’s baronial dining room was laid out in “high table” style. Three long rows of tables intersected with the transverse top table to form an “E” formation. The guest speakers and VIPs sat along the row looking down on the rest as the top table had been slightly raised. There was much food and drink consumed, speeches made, jokes told, congratulations given and received, and old friendships and rivalries renewed. Rudi, full of drink and bravado, relaxed and put his feet up on the table and fell asleep for all to see.

“‘MBO’ – What’s ‘MBO’”?

Alex called an emergency meeting in response to the complaints received. It was a crisis in his view as the hostile papers would report it just as the Inspectors were about to start their review. Sue, his trusted Director of Human Resources and Development, was called upon to fix the problem of Rudey Rudi. Alex had been sent a government directive to introduce a new-fangled management technique from America called ‘MBO’. “What’s ‘MBO’?” asked Sue, “and will it work for doctors?” “Who knows” said Alex, “but give it a try, OK?”

In my time at the Western Theatre I had seen ‘MBO’ – Management by Objectives – introduced in an attempt to manage the musicians’ performance. It was a crackers proposition as they are creative artists and such bureaucratic devices do not sit well with their culture. Nonetheless, it was tried for a similar Prima Donna problem with the orchestra’s drummer. Even now, after all these years, I still remember him and the ham-fisted way the Western Theatre attempted to manage his behaviour problems. Maybe this experience would be helpful to Alex and Sue in dealing with Rudey Rudi?

The Western’s drummer was a bit of a chancer, but, by all accounts, a marvellous percussionist. Night after night, when the orchestra was performing, he would stand behind his big kettle drums and add dramatic depth with its well-timed booms.

The problem was he was a bit unreliable. He liked his drink, and his playboy behaviours meant he scanned the front row of the audience, and other players, for anyone worthy of his smiling attention. A lucky few got a flirty wink too.

The conductor and his orchestra colleagues existed on tenterhooks each night in case he missed his cue. The conductor in desperation asked the Western’s general manager and artistic director for help. “Should we sack him?” he asked. They feared the repercussions so they asked Debs, their Director of Human Resources and Development, to get a specialist in to implement ‘MBO’ – the general manager had received a government directive to upgrade the theatre’s performance management system. The Western, being in receipt of a government subsidy, felt it should comply.

“What’s ‘MBO’?” I asked when Debs briefed me to set up an MBO workshop for the musicians. “I’m not sure” she said, “but we’ll find out as the government has given us access to an MBO consultant to set it up in the theatre”. Well, in advance of the workshop, the boxes of paperwork arrived. There were forms for the managers, forms for the individuals being reviewed, and forms for synthesising both sets of views and integrating them with other opinions, as requested. Was this the right vehicle to sort out our errant drummer? We were about to find out.

An ‘MBO’ Workshop for the Bewildered

The Western’s musicians obeyed their call-ups for the MBO workshop and filed into the theatre’s rehearsal room. The chairs had been laid out in a semi-circle facing the front where an intimidating flipchart and a table had been set up. An enthusiastic facilitator bounced in and introduced himself and the MBO concept. The musicians sat there, bewildered, taking it all in, trying to work out how the spoken words related to them, and the paperwork they had been handed in their “Welcome Packs”. The Music Director rather nervously introduced the workshop, and left after wishing them a good day.

Debs and I helped the facilitator as he gave his well-rehearsed introductory talk and briefing for the group work and role play. Group work? Role play? What’s all this, and how does it affect playing the violin, or the drums? “Are we in the right meeting?” some inquired. It was not going well.

It got worse, but the musicians politely suppressed their annoyance and carried on role playing. They fell about in laughter when the facilitator asked the viola lead to practise reviewing the performance of a violin player in front of everyone. They got completely lost in the paperwork and what had to go where when they concluded the performance reviews. The flip chart pens ran dry so no-one could read the facilitator’s summary notes of what to do, and not to do. The room was too hot, the lunch was meagre, and by teatime, everyone had had enough. 

The facilitator closed up and thanked everyone, and ran away. The rest of us were left supping cold tea wondering what the day had been about.

Debs was very cross. We had to implement this silly bureaucratic paper chase and none of it would affect how musicians work. And as for sorting out our playboy drummer, this approach would be no help at all.

We thought about an alternative and it came to us while watching the Cossack dancers rehearsing their piece for the forthcoming Nutcracker ballet. In the Kingdom of Sweets, a team of Cossack dancers give a breathless performance of such precision, timing and coordination, you didn’t dare to blink for fear of missing something.

We learnt from the dance master and choreographer that each dancer was drilled in the steps and moves for months, and disciplined if they made repeated mistakes, failed to be on time for rehearsals or missed their cue calls. There were strict rules and, even though there were Prima Donnas, their errant behaviours were controlled and focused on each performance. They had constant reviews by their peers as well as the dance master and choreographer. Debs modelled her approach for the musicians on this review system and called it the Western’s ‘MBO’ approach. The music director, general manager and artistic director were happy enough, and they signed-off Debs’ report for the government on implementing MBO at the theatre. The drummer meanwhile submitted to the new process and tried to fall in line with the peer review procedure.

Rudey Rudi Gets his ‘MBO’

“Is there an offence called drunkenness at a dinner?” asked Rudi on being confronted with the complaints.

Sue, on behalf of Alex, explained it was a matter of disrepute and putting Reggie’s in a poor light. “Anyway,” she explained, “we’re going to pilot our new approach to managing clinicians’ performance with you and your behaviours.” Once again, I helped set up the prescribed MBO workshops and the paediatricians were called up for their training sessions. Like the Western’s musicians before them, the medics were bewildered – “what’s this got to do with us?” was the constant refrain. Performance management for medics in those days was unheard of.

The workshop, as I predicted (but no one listened) was a dull and dispiriting affair. The medics brought their post and any gadget they could find to distract themselves. The smart ones got their colleagues to bleep them so they could leave the room. They too were bewildered by this MBO thing and when the facilitator gave out the forms there were howls of pain and derision. The day was not a success.

Alex, in a panic, wanted the MBO thing sorted, and Rudi too, before the Inspectors turned up. Sue, in listening mode, heard me out as I proposed a peer review process. “Yes,” she said, “and we’ll call it Reggie’s Peer Review ‘MBO’ Process so the higher-ups get off our backs.” We set about the peer review process and appointed a peer review panel. In fact, this approach was adopted widely as the ‘three wise men’ approach, and the ‘MBO’ label was quietly dropped.

Rudi was allowed to appoint his three wise men in those early days. Reggie’s older Prima Donnas, Dr. St. Clair and Dr. Anderson, were delighted to be asked, especially as they regarded Rudi as one of their protégés. To try to balance the panel and bolster the management side, Alex asked the chairman, Lady Honoria, to lead the review. Charming as ever, she read the charge sheet to the panel and Rudi: parking incorrectly on many occasions against hospital policy; behaving badly at the College’s Anniversary Dinner so as to bring Reggie’s name into disrepute; and disrupting public events by doing unplanned stunts in contravention of the hospital’s insurance policy. Dr. St. Clair and Dr. Anderson looked completely bewildered; “what has all this got to do with Rudi’s ability to do his job as a senior specialised pathologist?” they inquired.

“It’s only a pilot” said Sue after receiving the chairman’s report that the panel’s decision was to give Rudi another chance. ‘LGB’ was the recommended course of action. “What’s ‘LGB’?” I enquired. “Low Grade Bollocking – a common course of no action in the medics’ world”, Sue explained. And so I learnt from my wise teachers that management wheezes are easier said than done in the world of experts and Prima Donnas where you are completely dependent on their skills.

He’s Done What?

The ‘LGB’ had little effect as Rudi, on hearing there was to be another children’s party, decided to make a surprise entrance. The children were tipped off but they had to keep everything a secret. Excited, they were given ice creams and lined up in the big side corridor used for deliveries. “Rudi’s coming” they yelled and cheered when they saw his canary yellow roadster. There he was waving at the children as he drove onto Reggie’s campus.

Zoom! Zoom! Zoom!, he revved-up and took the delivery ramp into the corridor and drove along it waving at the children. They couldn’t believe it. Neither could anyone else. Oh no – Crash, Bang, Wallop. Rudi skidded on a fallen ice cream.

The children loved it, especially when he crashed into a wall of nappy boxes.

Yes, those nappy boxes, thousands of them, were lining every spare corridor due to the new computer’s over orders. They served as a great cushion to stop the canary yellow roadster smashing into the wall. The boxes went flying everywhere as the children screamed in delight.

“‘LGB’ – it’s not very effective is it?” said Alex on hearing the news that the local press was on their way.

Rudi, suitably abashed, smacked his own hand and said he considered himself admonished. “Shall I fill in one of those ‘MBO’ forms?” he asked cheekily. Sue said she would work-up a revised version of Reggie’s Peer Review Process. “Put some muscle in it this time” advised Alex who could already see the press headlines: Crash, Bang, Wallop.

Life at Reggie’s rolled on and the three wise men approach got more muscle. But Prima Donnas exist because they are central to what you have to do. So, in the end, you put up with it. Rudi graduated to being a full-blown Prima Donna with the help of his seniors. He got invited to the College’s Anniversary Dinner the following year, having been forgiven as a “bad boy”. And Alex? He had to face the Inspectors who had the Crash, Bang, Wallop press briefings and pictures.

Come back next time for our final piece on Prima Donnas and how ‘LGB’ matured into something worthwhile…