When Quinn McDougall walked into Alex's hospital room, Alex was sitting propped up by pillows, blankly watching the monitor beside him. His right arm sported a blue cast. An exotic, octopus-like machine made by Beckley Medical was attached to his crushed left leg. A laptop was attached to the machine. Prototype, Quinn thought. “Alex Beckley?” Quinn said, taking Alex's good left hand and gently squeezing it. “I'm Quinn McDougall. How are you feeling?”
Alex studied his visitor. Quinn had wispy white hair and a ruddy face. A smile played at the corners of Quinn's mouth. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Better,” Alex said. “The painkillers help.”
Quinn settled into the chair next to Alex's bed. They talked about the accident and the hospital. Alex learned that when Quinn was young, he had also been confined to a bed, with both legs broken, for an entire summer—“My own close call,” Quinn said. He confided to Alex that while he was laid up he had read incessantly, even memorizing favorite passages, and discovered he had an abnormally proficient memory. “I used it to get myself into Oxford and a good business school here in the States.
“My first career was at McKinley Partners just as it was becoming the top strategy consulting firm globally. I'm still on the board of McKinley, but now I am in a ‘second half' role—as Bob Buford calls it in his book Halftime—as a consultant and advisor to a handful of executives and their companies.
“But what about you, Alex?”
“I've been thinking about your question, Quinn—about what I am going to do with this second chance.”
“Go on.”
“I need to change. I'm passionate about what I do. But I feel more and more uneasy, exhausted, and somehow isolated.” Alex felt uncomposed and awkward under Quinn's steady gaze, but he pressed on. “I'm just not getting the results I want at work or at home. I'm getting the message from my family that so far I've been more than a little self-centered. It's been a lot about me.”
“How's that been going?” Quinn asked.
“Not so good. Something has shifted with this accident. If I really do have a second chance, I'd like it to be less about me and more about my daughter, the company, employees, customers, and others. Still want to help me?” Alex looked up at Quinn, cringing a little.
Quinn had not diverted his eyes from Alex. Without hesitation, he said, “Oh yes, Alex, I do. I really do.” Then he leaned back into his chair. “Say more. What do you really want me to know?”
“I'm struggling. Like I said, my company, my relationship with my daughter…” He closed his eyes and remembered Rachel disappearing through the hospital door. She hadn't been back. “My father passed away and we never quite understood each other. My daughter is angry. I thought I knew how to be a father and an executive. But what I have been trying just doesn't work. The harder I press, the worse our results have been. My dad started the company and I want to keep it going. But our performance has been getting worse, not better. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yes,” Quinn said, leaning forward in his chair. “Can I tell you a story?”
“By all means.”
“It begins at my old firm. I had been noticing that many of the great strategies that we helped our clients develop never really went anywhere. So on a hunch, I started analyzing our files, making a stack of the reports from client engagements where our strategy work was never fully implemented or ultimately failed to achieve results. Soon I had to move the pile from my desk to the floor because it was growing too tall. On my desk I kept the small stack of reports of client companies whose performance improved steadily.”
Quinn stood up and paced the room. “I dug into the stacks,” he said, pointing to two invisible stacks, and Alex saw the gulf between them. “The high-performance clients were remarkable. Performance and achievement were evident throughout. All these companies were powerful combinations of high purpose and high performance. I had to see how these companies did it. So I asked the firm for a sabbatical to study these companies. My partners granted the time—provided I would report back on what I learned. For just over a year, I carefully researched these organizations. Well, more than researched. You might say that in a way I joined them … joined their adventure to do good and do great.”
“Adventure?” Alex asked.
“Yes.” Quinn smiled. “And by this time, I had met your father.”
“Was Beckley Industries one of the successful companies?” Alex asked.
“Not quite,” Quinn said. “Not that it was a bad company; Beckley just hadn't been able to get to the next level. The company was good—still is good—just not yet great. Your dad, Russ, and I became friends, and I shared with him the findings from my study of high-purpose–high-performance organizations. It was a good time for him to hear about my findings. The company had plateaued. Your dad was ready to try something different.”
Even through a drug-induced haze, Alex could tell that Quinn was suddenly struggling to maintain his composure.
“Your dad was a good man—and my friend. We never got to implement the full approach. When he got sick, he pushed his doctors for the most aggressive treatment, even though the odds were poor. He told me he hoped that you would come back to help. Russ had so much more that he wanted to do.”
“I know,” Alex said. “Truth be told, that's part of why I agreed to come back now. I wanted to grow the company from where he left off. But instead, I am apparently bringing it down. So if you really have a different way, I'm ready to hear it, Quinn.”
“I'm ready to help you do more than hear it, Alex. I'm ready to help you learn and implement this approach at Beckley.” While Quinn was talking, two nurses came into the room. They gently rolled Alex over onto his stomach. To Alex's surprise, Quinn got down on the floor to keep talking.
From this humbled position, Quinn continued, “In the high-purpose–high-performance files, I discovered five key practices for leading differently and implementing a strategy that creates an enduring competitive advantage. I found a way to depict them as the points of a star.”
Quinn got up and pulled the paper placemat from Alex's food tray and laid it on the floor. On it, he drew a star.
“Alex, as you recover, I'd like to show you how to put the five practices to work in your organization and, really, in your life.”
“I've probably taken the company backward with my top-down, ‘take no prisoners' approach,” Alex admitted reluctantly.
“From what I hear, that's true,” Quinn agreed.
Alex was quiet for a moment, mildly taken aback by Quinn's agreement. He gathered himself and went on. “Dad was a classic entrepreneur and a hard charger. I had no idea that he was up to something new. We didn't have many conversations after I left for Boston.” Alex cringed. “I guess I didn't stay in touch so well. I regret that now, of course, being the prodigal …” Alex paused and looked again at the star that Quinn had drawn. It triggered something in his memory. “He also drew a star once for me—told me he was learning about ‘meaning and purpose.' I didn't think much of it at the time. Quinn, I'm still not sure why you would be willing to help.”
Quinn replied, “This is my personal Greater Goal—what I live for.”
Alex looked away. “I don't know what I live for.”
“Well, fortunately, that's where we start.” Quinn picked up the star again. “The first practice is about your Greater Goal.”