Conversations in Management
Before
there was a Mayberry with an Opie, Barney, Aunt Bee and Andy,
there was a Carvel with an Andy, Marion, Mother and Judge Hardy.
For over a decade, the trials and tribulations of American
teenager Andy Hardy delighted movie audiences seeking relief
from the harsh realities of the Great Depression and the terrors
of world war. The series included fourteen films purportedly set
in the idyllic Carvel, Idaho; although at various times the town
seemed to be in New England, the Midwest and points unknown.
That indeterminate location added to the series’ charm because
Carvel and the Hardys represented a wistful glimpse of what
many people believed to be an ideal life. The town was populated
by friendly folks who were kind, tolerant, patriotic and endowed
with the kind of wisdom rooted in common sense. Problems could
all be reasonably worked out. Everyone had what they needed to
get by and if they didn’t, help was always available. The Hardys
themselves represented an ideal that many parents still yearn
for today. Andy and Marion were bright, cheerful and largely
obedient kids. When they got into a minor scrape it seemed
catastrophic only because of its rarity. Modern kids might find
Mother and the Judge appealing parental figures as well. Mother
was a doting advocate for Andy and Marion and her occasional
goofiness only underscored her abundance of love. The Judge was
rock-steady reliable. He had a Solomon-like wisdom, a way of
holding his kids accountable without being a scold and a gentle
sense of humor that made him always approachable. After Andy
wound up in some terrible (but not really terrible) fix, his
man-to-man talks with the Judge always put things in the right
moral perspective and provided the means of setting them
straight. Often times, getting things straight involved eating a
generous helping of crow.
While it’s
certainly the mark of a simpler age when the taste of chicken is
held out as a gastronomic delight, there’s no mistaking the fact
that the taste of crow hasn’t improved over time. It’s as
disagreeable for us moderns as it was for the Hardys. Since
entering the language in 1850, this distinctly American
expression has meant one thing—swallowing one’s pride and
admitting a mistake. Never an easy task. The magnitude of the
mistake and the degree of vigor with which it was pursued,
dictates the serving size. If the mistake included a bit of
arrogance and self-righteousness, that serving might end up
looking like an all-you-can-eat buffet!
Fortunately for those of us who have known the taste of crow,
there does seem to be a medicinal benefit. It’s a curative for
the kind of pridefulness that can cause us so much trouble. That
false pride blinds us to the contributions of others, dupes us
into misreading situations and into taking offense where none
was intended. It also helps inflame problems that could have
otherwise been resolved with a simple, “I’m sorry,” or, “I
misunderstood.” Make no mistake, pridefulness can also keep the
offended party from accepting a sincere apology and “moving on.”
Even at its best, however, pride needs to be tempered by
humility and modesty. It’s possible to be right without
gloating. It’s possible to win without creating losers. And—it
should come as no surprise—it’s possible to admit a mistake
without losing your self-respect. As he was in so many other
things, Judge Hardy was right about crow. Eat a little as
necessary and everything else tastes better!
—Ebert
Read More CM in the Archives! |
Find More In The Archives!
|
