THE GREAT STREET CAR RACE

On a recent trip back to Colorado, we stayed with our son and his beautiful little family. The trip's purpose was generally to attend grandchildren's birthday celebrations, and to allow Ingrid to visit her mom in the nursing home. It was also 118 degrees here in AZ.

The trip provided several memories I hope to blog about, but the choice for today is the street car race we witnessed. I guess you could say the thing was our fault in the first place, since we got the grandkids these little electric cars over the last couple Christmases. I say "little" but that is a bit of a misnomer. Two of these things fill up one bay of PJ's garage. This is the first year that both of them have been in full use, as Colt was a little young to really handle one by himself until this year.

Chloe got hers first, an adorable pink Cadillac Escalade complete with working radio, four wheel drive, and a horn. I remember Karin and Jenn helped assemble it in my shop. This was a several hour process that involved about 400 decals that had to be precisely placed. Colt's came at Christmas last year: a blue pickup with mag wheels, working doors, and also all kinds of car racing decals. Oh, I almost forgot the "four on the floor" gear shift. 

Anyway, the kids live on one of those idyllic cul de sacs with great neighbors, many of whom have kids of similar ages, most of whom also possess some kind of electric vehicle. It was one of those perfect summer eves; you know, when the routine rain shower has cooled everything down and moved on and all the moms have declared it safe to play outside. Either that or they just can't stand having all the kids stuck inside any longer. 

We went out and sat in lawn chairs to witness the proceedings. It was almost dusk, and Suki, the 87 year old grandmother of the kids across the street pulled up in her car and parked what seemed to be a safe distance down the street. She got out and slowly ambled up the walk to take her normal seat in a lawn chair inside their garage. I've never heard her say anything but she seems to control her grandkids by mind waves or something. Meanwhile, traffic cones were being placed, ice teas refilled, garage doors opening to allow all the dads to drag out their respective vehicles. 

As usual, Karen was working in her yard while Jeff supervised from a seat on the front porch. Their kid, Alex, was the oldest of the neighborhood and functioned as a kind of referee and master of ceremonies. He really is a great kid, and looks out after all the little ones. 

The warmup laps started. Each of these little cars has hard plastic wheels that are hollow to make them sound loud like a drum. The effect of driving them on asphalt is a roar that must surely rival any NASCAR event. The warmup was a little disorganized at first, since several drivers were traveling in opposite directions around the cul de sac, hollering at each other as they passed that the other guy was going in the wrong direction. At some considerable personal risk, Alex somehow got in the middle and got them all going in the same direction, and the race was on, although there was no official starting flag or anything like that. 

The fireworks started on the first turn when Carter decided to run Brock into the wall (curb), having achieved an inside position.
The collision forced him to lose just a little speed and Chloe leapt into the lead by deftly avoiding the crash and whizzing by on the infield. Colt was closely following his big sister about 12 inches off her rear bumper. They made a couple more laps and by then Brock was back in the field, bound for vengeance! By now, there was lots of screaming (from both kids and grown ups) on top of the thunderous noise of the wheels. 

It was getting a little darker, and the one thing all the racers lacked was headlights. However, each racer was wearing a glow-in-the-dark device cleverly supplied by Kelly, who explained to me that she routinely made the kids wear them so she could see where they were in the dark around the neighborhood. The effect was pretty surreal.   

On about the 93rd lap, Colt suddenly turned into the infield, nearly taking Alex out by surprise. In an effort to recover from the skid, he whipped the wheel too far the other way and stuck his foot in the carburetor to get back on the track. Low and behold, now he was going the wrong way! This did not seem to faze the other racers at all....in fact, they deftly got out of the way as he whizzed in between them. Then, however, they all decided he needed to know he was going the wrong way, so they simultaneously slid into U-turns and began chasing Colt! It was so smooth, it reminded me of some of those internet videos where all the fish in a school suddenly turn in the same direction at once. Of course, this was much more noisy.

So there they all were, Colt in the lead, and all the rest bearing down on him, screaming at the top of their lungs to be heard over the roar of the wheels. Perhaps never having been in this position of leading before, Colt seemed interested in watching what everybody else was doing behind him, craning his head around to better hear what they were all yelling.

At that instant, 

time.....seemed......to......slow...................downnnnnn......

Every grownup in the area started screaming at once: "COLT! COLT! TURN AROUND!!! LOOK OUT!!!" Alex started sprinting after him, but it was too late. KAWHOOMP!!!! He ran square into the front left tire of Suki's car at full speed. He hit it so hard the rear wheels lifted up into the air!

Everybody raced to the scene of the accident to see if everything was ok. PJ naturally won the race, with Kelly close behind. Yeah, he was shook up and a little sore from the steering wheel smashing his chest, but all right apart from being scared everybody was mad at him. (It's apparent to me those things need seat belts). 

At that point, it was mutually decided the evening's activity was over, and we all put things away, went back inside, and had some ice cream to make Colt's chest feel better. I finished the night all the richer for the memories I had gained. What a wonderful life!

LEADERSHIP

Awhile back, my son asked me if I had any "leadership books" left over in my retirement, as he is studying for a promotional exam at work and thought they might be helpful. I happen to believe my son is one of those "natural" leaders; he just hasn't had the need to think about or explain what he does in the context of being a leader. Having recently moved to Arizona and downsizing considerably in the process-if I have any such books, I can't find them.

This is not to say I never had any; I probably read a couple hundred over the span of my career, as well as working with many of the best leadership consultants in the business. I remember when I took my first job and had a hand-me-down desk with a broken leg--a couple of leadership books held up that corner of the desk just fine. As I was trying think how to be of some assistance, it occurred to me that it might be useful to just summarize the philosophy I came to be comfortable with. It's kind of a collection of things I found from one source or another:mostly just observations of different kinds of leaders over the years. I will leave it to others to judge whether I was a successful leader, but I think we were able to do some good things where I worked.

The single most important factor is a positive organizational culture. Leaders create the culture. Employees that feel good about where they work are more committed and creative, they work harder, they provide better customer service, they attract better employees and they stay longer. What does it take to make employees feel good about where they work? The organization has to have a sense of credibility, competence, and compassion. Everybody should display these traits in a consistent fashion. Even if one's higher-ups don't model the best behaviors, one can still instill a good culture in his/her part of the place.

An organization’s credibility flows from the actions of its leaders. People in those positions simply must do what they say they will do, and there must be no hint of unnecessary secrecy,unfairness, or dishonesty. Rules, procedures, etc. are established and well known.  People know what the consequences of an action are supposed to be, and it is reliably carried out. There are no surprises. Something that begets a slap on the wrist in one case should not result in termination in another case, given similar circumstances. Otherwise, people immediately suspect ulterior motives, personal vendettas, etc. and never trust what those leaders have to say again. 

Decisions and policies are explained. Questions are answered in a consistent, respectful fashion. People are willing to accept an autocratic approach in some obviously time sensitive situations, but generally they want to know that their leaders considered options and chose a direction for a set of specific, logical reasons. They may not agree with the various value judgements involved, but at least they will know the process was not arbitrary or aimed at some personal agenda. Never make promises you aren't positive you can keep.

Competence is more than just knowledge and experience of a job. It is the ability to get things done, by communicating well and often. Leadership competence also encompasses a willingness to learn and a sense of judgment. It includes the ability to make a mistake, learn from it, and continually get better. 

It is a very rare person who can be promoted and immediately know exactly what should be done in every situation that might arise in their new position. However, a person will quickly be considered competent if they know when to ask a question and demonstrate willingness to learn. When there isn't time to ask a question, there is an element of "judgement" that obviously varies from place to place. In some places and situations, good judgement calls for weighing potential actions against things like safety or cost. In others, it might be customer satisfaction or political reality. A competent person instinctively knows which factors should be considered in most situations.

Last, but not least, is the trait of compassion. Far too many organizations in the world today obviously value profits or performance statistics over people. Those few places that do demonstrate that they care about their employees are overwhelmed by job applications from the very best and brightest. Sure, pay is a factor, but much more important is the ability to work with someone to help them get better. To be able to make a mistake, learn from it, and go on. An organization that gives people the benefit of the doubt will ultimately get more from its people than it could possibly hope for otherwise.

Another aspect of compassion is simply that of building a bit of a relationship with others. Recognizing what someone else does well, or asking about the family once in a while makes it easier to occasionally deliver bad news. In any event, people want to think their leaders care enough about them to occasionally listen to what they think, and then to respond with a sense of respect and consideration.

I could probably write about this stuff for quite a while longer, but I think it would just be embellishing the basics I've laid out above. Out of all the books I've read, and all the courses I've taken, it pretty much boils down to these three things. In any event, I know a person who has these traits will be thought a much better leader that someone who is missing one of them.

THE WALDO CANYON FIRE

As I begin to write this, the event is not yet over. Still, it seems I should begin to put down some thoughts on this historic, yet all too predictable occasion. You see, I have lived here for about 30 years, and have been subject to innumerable warnings about the “urban/wildland interface” or something like that. A good friend of mine (former fire chief) once had to live through a similar event in Oakland, CA. He came here after that experience, and readily recognized the potential for a repeat here. Alas, there is not really much one can do in the face of the human desire to live up on a mountainside with a pretty view of the city.

           
            It began quietly, as many big deals do. It was a warm Saturday. We had gone out to Falcon to do a little babysitting while our son and his wife went out to lunch and a movie. I had gone down to Culver’s to get some hamburgers, fries, ice cream and other forbidden treats for the kids. On the way back, I happened to look over to the west and noticed a small plume of smoke on the Front Range. It was small as these things go; just a little puff of white against the background of green foothills and clear, blue sky.

 In my career with Springs Utilities, we were used to such things on or near our watersheds. We even had a special unit of volunteers who trained and qualified to become wildland firefighters. Every year, we have a handful of occasions where there is a lightning strike, a thrown cigarette butt, a poorly tended campfire, etc. On every occasion, somebody gets it put out.  One big exception was the Hayman fire in 2002, but even that was so far away from the City that it may as well have been in Texas.

Somehow, this felt different. It had been a terribly dry winter and spring. Frankly, it felt a lot like 2001 and 2002. There had already been some terrible fires up by Ft. Collins and out by Lake George. We had spent the last few days worrying about Ingrid’s sister and husband up near Florissant. The “Springer Fire” had threatened them enough to require evacuation of the horse, and discussion of whether they would come stay with us. Little did we know, we would soon be talking about whether we could stay with them.

The Saturday afternoon progressed. We fiddled with the kids and kept one eye on the news. First they closed Highway 24, then they announced the evacuation of the southern part of Mountain Shadows, a subdivision on the west side of the city. Things kept sounding worse and we were glad when PJ and Kelly finally got home. Our thoughts were for our two pugs, who might be approaching their biological limits. We headed home, with a continual view of the growing cloud of smoke on the western horizon. There were a few flashes of orange here and there, accompanied by dark black plumes. Even then, it seemed like one of those things “they” should be able to control, yet somehow I knew in my gut that it was not one of those other occasions where everybody would get to feel good after a little bit of effort.

We checked the Channel 5 website on our iPhone while driving home. There was already a crazy warning about evacuation of a huge swath of the northwest side, just north of our home. We got home and turned on the news to find a rather panicky set of weekend reporters shrieking something about the need to evacuate “the ENTIRE west side of town”. Several different people repeated this several times, and it was clear they were not thinking about the meaning of their statements. This would involve some roughly 100,000 people and was plainly ridiculous at this stage of a fire. Another channel brought some calmer reporting and even an attempt at a map showing the areas of the City affected. The authorities had, of course, not ordered mass evacuations beyond a reasonable area right up against the foothills. The people at Channel 11 were at least trying to avoid unnecessary panic.

Sunday morning brought news of a midnight decision to evacuate Manitou Springs when winds shifted and the fire began moving south. Another section of the City west of us had been notified of pre-evacuation status. I considered this a typical conservative step, taken by authorities who were justifiably thinking of the worst case. I went to the gym, and spent a little time out by the pool. Ingrid visited her mom, who was in a nearby rehab center after suffering a stroke a few weeks ago. After lunch, we went down to the Broadmoor area to visit an in-home art show. One of the artists represented was a lady Ingrid had met last fall in Santa Fe, so of course we had to go and show our support. At the show, we even joked a bit about the fact that we were under “pre-evacuation notice”. When we got home, our attention was basically consumed by the U.S. Open Golf Championship on TV. The fire continued to burn heavily and the night was aglow with the reflections of flames to the west. Most of the news discussion now focused on the threat to Cedar Heights, another subdivision up on the mountainside.

Monday came and with it were continual reports of fire growth, the need for other areas to prepare for evacuation, etc. Rick called and asked if he could stay the night, as it was a long trip around to his home near Florrisant because of the closure of Highway 24. Of course we said yes. The big deal of the day was a lunch Ingrid had arranged with her Santa Fe artist friend Ellen, after which they were coming to our home to see some of Ingrid’s work. Ellen came and we had a wonderful time. She had some work in a Manitou Springs gallery, and we chatted a bit about the fact that she could not get in to get her stuff, wished her well, and agreed we would get together again sometime.

Smoke over our home

With the sunset, the sky glowed orange behind thick clouds of black smoke; a little bit of ash was falling. Rick came over after work and I grilled some kielbasa, we ate, then watched the news, which by now had become continual round the clock coverage. It was not good, yet it still seemed to be some safe distance away. The order to evacuate Manitou Springs was even lifted as the winds shifted back around to coming from the south. I figured the fire would have to burn through about four miles of developed land to get to us, and began to get a little complacent. After all, that would involve at least four thousand homes. There had never been such a fire in history; even the 1991 Oakland disaster wasn’t that big.

Tuesday morning, I went to the gym, then lay by the pool for a bit. Everyone seemed a bit off center, continually looking off to the west, noting the latest plumes of smoke. Ingrid got home from visiting her mom, Rick got off a little early. We were sitting around watching the news when they said the fire had moved into Queens Canyon which runs kind of north/south along the west side. The eastern ridge of this canyon is the last barrier; once it gets over that ridge, it’s in the City. Just after that, PJ called. He had been called to serve in the Emergency Operations Center and was privy to all the internal emergency services radio calls, etc.

“Dad, you guys really need to pack some stuff and come out to our house in Falcon.”

“Why? Our neighborhood isn’t even under pre-evacuation notice yet.”

“The fire is eating the Westside. They haven’t had time to tell the media yet. I gotta go.”

Ingrid was ready to pop, she had been growing more and more anxious for a couple of days, and now had a reason to fly into high speed action. I admit, I was reluctant to move too quickly; I don’t exactly know why I was dragging my feet-maybe I was struggling to accept the reality of PJ’s call. Still, I trusted PJ’s judgment that it was probably a good idea and it couldn’t hurt.

Despite having known of the fire for several days, we had not yet been officially on pre-evacuation notice and had not really done anything serious to get ready except think about it a little bit. We started out in an orderly fashion, packing a bag with three days’ clothing and some personal hygiene stuff. Ingrid ran to the office and gathered a few financial records. We went around the house, looking at artwork and pictures; decisions were made quickly-yes, that should come, that one could be replaced, oh, that was such a good trip, remember when-wait, we need to move. Ingrid had to have her “happy box”; I wanted the laptop and my Kindle. We gathered the dogs’ stuff, which frankly turned into a bigger pile than our own stuff. Rick was helping carry stuff out and also loading his stuff into his truck. The golf clubs, etc. were already in my truck, so we didn’t have to load those. The news was starting to sound more frantic, and we began rushing. We could see our neighbors running back and forth from their houses to their cars. I went next door to check on an elderly single man; no answer to the door. The smoke was choking and black chunks of ash were falling from the sky; it was time to go.

Here it comes.

It seems a strong southerly wind had pushed the fire up Queens Canyon and it was really roaring right up to the ridge. Then just at the perfect moment, a large thunderstorm to the northwest pushed an “outflow” gust down into the City. The wind had been blowing from the south at 15 to 25 mph, really puffing up the fire. Within a minute, the wind shifted around from the west and blew 50 to 60 mph right down the mountainside. The effect was similar to lighting a blowtorch and aiming it at the City. The firefighters holding the line at the bottom of the slope had no chance; the only option was to get out, and get out quick, as a wall of flame some 100 feet tall came down on them at 50 mph. The neighborhood of houses behind the firefighters had no chance either.

The Evacuation

The mandatory evacuation area was instantly expanded (to include our home) and people were told to get out. The traffic jams were impressive, as black smoke billowed down over lines of cars sitting helplessly. Horns honked, reporters stationed at key intersections talked about how hard it was to see, etc. Thanks to PJ’s warning, we were a little ahead of the crowd and got to his house without incident. The rest of the night was spent in front of the TV, watching various homes blaze and hearing evacuee stories. So far, there had miraculously been no injuries.

It was a surreal feeling. Playing with the grandkids while watching houses burn, wondering how long we would be there. Chatting with Kelly about how to best keep our dogs apart from their dogs, what kind of pizza to get, etc. We went to sleep down in the kids’ playroom in the basement on a Murphy bed PJ and I had built some years ago. It was very comfortable, even with two pugs. However, nobody really got any sleep, as the TV news was on all night.

For the next couple of days, we just kind of wandered around, trying to decide what to do next. Ingrid’s mother, Brunhilde, had also been evacuated from the rehab center where she was recovering from a stroke suffered a month ago. She had not been doing really well, and when they told us they had to move her Tuesday night, the initial indication was she would go to one of the big hospitals. It did not turn out that way, and it took a bit of effort to figure out where she wound up. Once we found her, Ingrid visited to see how things were. She was scared and confused, as we all were.

In retrospect, it was amazing what we did not think to include in our mad dash of packing to evacuate. We forgot all of Ingrid’s prescription medicines. Our daughter’s wedding dress and veil were still in an upstairs closet; she was due to come into town in a few weeks for a fitting-the actual ceremony is scheduled for this fall. Ingrid packed the new pair of shoes she had gotten for the wedding, but forgot the dress she bought at the same time. I brought my electric razor, but not the charger. I also spent some time lamenting the fact that another upstairs closet held 35 years of photographs, as well as a box of stuff my parents had saved for me from my childhood. You know how it often goes: pictures get taken and developed, then put in a shoebox with the thought that someday, you will sort through them and put together albums. You just never get around to it. Once again, PJ came to the rescue. He had a chance to drop by the house while patrolling the area for looters, and brought home another load of stuff.

Hard to imagine a house surviving.

We worried about the status of friends’ homes. PJ brought back photos to show they were all right, even though one of them had a plastic “no soliciting” sign melted off the front door and every other house within 100 yards was burned to the foundation. Funny how fate works sometimes. That made us feel a little better.

I piddled around PJ and Kelly’s house, cleaned the garage, pulled a few weeds, watched the news, played with the kids. PJ worked, and worked, and worked. He would come in around midnight and get called out a couple hours later. Home again about 6 pm only to go back out at 9 pm when some motorcyclist bit the dust. We got to spend some time with all the wonderful neighbors, and watched all the kids roam from one yard to the next around their cul-de-sac. The American Dream was on display right in front of us, just a few miles east of a smoky hell.

We were starting to think it might be several more days, but the weather got a little bit more cooperative and all kinds of firefighting resources started coming in. Every day brought a little more progress. On the sixth night of the fire, a decision was made to allow our neighborhood to go back home. We joked that there would be huge traffic jams again, and decided to go back the next day. About three miles from our house, we ran into the back of a huge traffic jam on Garden of the Gods Road. They had two lanes blocked off, traffic cones everywhere. We theorized they must be checking identifications or something in order to allow people past a checkpoint. Only when we finally got home did we learn that the President and his entourage had been visiting the neighborhood fire station at that time, and thousands of people (who apparently knew more about what was going on than we did) had turned out to see him.

It's Over.

We are finally back in the house, but it still doesn’t feel like home. It is a really odd feeling: in some sense, it’s like we broke some kind of bond with most of our material things when we decided to leave them behind in the first frantic rush. Now that we are back together with them, it’s ok, but they no longer seem as important as they once were. We have been trying to sell the house for a couple of years, growing more dispirited as time has passed. We have been mentally ready to go for awhile, and this experience just kind of adds to it.

We are just grateful that we have not been forced to go by the fire, as many others have. Funny how something like this changes what you consider to be important.