O Captain My Captain: Lessons in Leadership from Derek Jeter

It’s official. After 20 years on the diamond, Yankee captain Derek Jeter has officially played his last Major League game. (Note that I didn’t say, “his last game in pinstripes,” as he’ll surely be back on the field for Old Timers’ Day one of these days.) We can all ask that he “say it ain’t so,” but it’s so.

That all being said, there’s a lot to learn about leadership from diving just a little bit into this one man’s career. It should go without saying, I guess…I mean, his nickname is The Captain, after all. And it must be true if Forbes has beaten me to the punch. I’ll leave a few of the easy ones alone for right now (e.g. Dive in head first, Be in the right place at the right time even if it’s not the right place to be, etc.) and focus on a couple that have jumped out at me over the last few weeks/months:

Sometimes you’re born with it: Joe Torre has told some great stories over the last few months about Derek Jeter, in particular his ever-present leadership skills as noted over the course of his career:

• What will the Yankees miss most when Jeter is gone? “Leadership is [generally] something that has to be nurtured. It doesn’t happen right away. Derek was very unusual. Someone like Derek doesn’t come down the pike very often. To be at a young age very responsible and very comfortable in your own skin doesn’t happen very often.”
• Joe Torre on Derek Jeter’s legacy: “He was a lot more mature at 21 than I was. That’s the one thing that hits me first. He had great parenting…he’s a remarkable human being. I used the one word, which is ‘trustworthy’ to describe him, based on the fact that everybody around him was better because of him and he’d always be there for them.”
• During an interview during today’s game: “When did we start looking to Jeter for his leadership? Guys like Paul O’Neill, Tino Martinez, everyone- we started looking to him during the 1996 season – his rookie season.”

All of these stories remind me: each of us has to be the type of leader that we are. As much as leadership practices can be learned, it’s also something that’s a part of you- and so much of that success is just about being comfortable in your own skin.

My dad and me nerding out at a NYY@BAL game this year. Yes, we’re wearing the same Jeter shirt. No, it wasn’t planned.

Every team member matters: On my own family’s visit to see Jeter’s “Farewell Tour,” my father shot this video capturing Jeter’s pre-game dugout ritual. In it, you see Jeter walk from one end of the dugout to the other, giving a fist-bump to each and every one of the players, coaches, and batboys prepping for the game. No one gets left out- I even see him try to “dap” the security guard at one point, though my guess is they’re generally supposed to avoid that kind of contact with the players (especially the visiting team).

What it shows me: it’s important to this leader that every member of the team get that show of support, that reminder that they’re all part of something bigger. Their captain is the one who connects them together.

“Hate the Yankees, love the Captain.” –Trevor Przyuski (photo credit Jude Przyuski)

You might be The Captain, but it’s really about everybody else: A good friend of mine went on a baseball trip with his son in 2012 to see the Nationals play the Yankees. During the game, his son was able to take this photo to the right. According to my friend, Jeter “noticed [the young boy] with the camera, stopped, took off his helmet, and smiled – in the middle of the game.” Life is full of these little moments- I had one of my own with my childhood hero Michael Jordan at a pre-season Bulls’ game- and it’s incredible when these larger-than-life figures notice that you’re there, and that you’re connected.

That’s a huge lesson for leaders: Notice people. Stay connected. No matter how busy the world gets in your specific sphere, recognize that ultimately it’s not all about you and your experience- it’s about everyone else. These seemingly small connections on your own part may last a lifetime for all of those with whom you are connected.

Note: Published just a few weeks ago, this Gatorade ad pretty much summed up that same idea:

Find out what people are thinking: I ran across a series on MLB.com called “One Word For 2”, where they shared what amounts to a 360 evaluation on Jeter just by asking a simple question of players in the league: “What’s one word that comes to mind when you think of Derek Jeter?” I love that you can disaggregate responses from his teammates, from his opponents, and from alumni of the game. Their variety of responses tells you all you need to know about who this leader is and what he’s about.

This little post reminds me to consider how you’re known in the eyes of those around you, not just how you think you are. However you’re remembered in those people’s eyes, that’s ultimately how you’ll live on. I wrote a post once before about that concept called Gone, But Not Forgotten that might be an appropriately interesting reflective piece in the same vein.

Lessons from his last at-bat: Jeter’s last at-bats (both home and away) are tough acts to follow, but I’ll try:

• It ain’t over ’til it’s over. You have to come through in the clutch. Over the course of Jeter’s career, he has come through when it counted for his team, and his last home at-bat was no exception.
• It doesn’t have to be pretty. In his last home at-bat, Jeets hit a standard, run-of-the-mill single to right field. His last at-bat in Boston was even less picturesque: a real Baltimore chop that bounced off of home plate and stayed in play just long enough to allow him to reach first (and drive in a run). Neither were especially pretty, and both got the job done for the team.
• It’s not about the accolades. Jeter took himself out of the game after that infield single, accepting the cheers that would follow his last moment on the field. What’s unique: exiting the game at that time left him with 149 hits for the year, which with one more hit would have tied him with Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker, and Pete Rose for the most all-time seasons with 150 or more base hits. His response? “I’ve never played this game for numbers, so why start now?”
• Everything ends, and everything begins anew. One of the most moving parts of the last home at-bat is the sight of the rest of the Core Four waiting alongside former manager Joe Torre for Jeter to join the fold. It moved me on a variety of levels, but I hadn’t landed on the full extent of why. I read that this Core Four had played together for 17 seasons. Through good times and bad. Through championships and early exits. Through it all, they are family. And seeing Jeter walk off that field into their arms meant that the days of that family on the field have officially come to an end, so that a new era can officially begin.

Those shared moments during the last at-bats reminded me of something a mentor of mine once said (and I’m paraphrasing): “Every once in a while, these special moments in time happen when everything and everyone just fits together. You get this level of collaboration and synergy that is so infectious and energizing, and you never want it to stop. And eventually, like everything, there comes a time when that moment passes. What’s powerful about it is, once you’ve experienced it, you’ll look for it everywhere you go, no matter where it is that you end up.”

What sticks with me is ultimately that’s a leader’s job: to shape the spaces for these potential moments of seeming perfection, and help people realize that moment and “seize the day” while it’s there. Here’s to hoping we can learn from Jeter’s example.

#RE2PECT.

Gone, But Not Forgotten

Since taking a position outside of the classroom three years ago, I always get a little antsy as the school year approaches. No matter how much I enjoy my current role (and I enjoy it very much), I can’t help but miss the buzz of the year’s beginning in a school. Wide eyes of incoming students starting a brand new year of physics classes, smiles and high-fives from colleagues in the hallway, energizing exhaustion from organizing and re-organizing the classroom space: few experiences match the energy of those moments in the year.

In that vein, I was driving home this afternoon reflecting on an old adage: “Gone, but not forgotten.” It’s a sentiment often saved for retirements and funerals, but it could be applied for any of us that have moved to a new role, a new school, a new profession. I started hoping that while I may be gone from the classroom I “lived in” for 7 years, I am not forgotten in the eyes of those former students and co-workers. 

I ruminated on that sentiment for a few minutes…and then I considered its opposite:

“Here, but not remembered.”

I’m guessing it goes without saying that the former would easily trump the latter. But how many of us have considered whether or not we will be remembered for what we do right now?

Another adage comes to mind, one which was debatably coined by either Confucius, the Buddha, or my Uncle Jim: “No matter where you go…once you get there, you look around, and there you are.” And just like the mall directory always points out for us:

What will you do today, while you are wherever “here” is for you, to ensure that you are remembered? That one day, you will be gone, but not forgotten?

I’m hopeful that every day, each of us can drive home thinking, “If I’m remembered for that, I have lived a good life.” The question is, how did today stack up against that vision?

Inspiration Ratio: How Do We Sustain the Love of Learning?

Going through the pictures on my phone, I ran across one photo that deserves a little blogging:

About a year ago, I entered my office area’s common space to see the words above written on a piece of chart paper.  Distinguishing the handwriting, I could tell it was a note from our superintendent.  While the statement caught my attention, any more specificity in detail escaped me at the time.  Thankfully, she was able to clarify her note to my teammates and me later that day.

What is an Inspiration Ratio?

“How many teachers does it take,” she asked, “to sustain the passion, the joy, the love of learning for a student, PK-12?”  She went on to define the concept of an “Inspiration Ratio,” a personal “valuation” of one’s educational path.  To find it, each of us must first remember our own PK-12 academic career, and put ourselves back into the role of student.  Then, by using the total number of teachers that worked with each of us as the denominator, and the “inspirational teachers” that stoked our passion for learning as a numerator, each learner can calculate his or her own Inspiration Ratio.  The “1/27” was not a date or a location, she explained, but a sample Inspiration Ratio: of her 27 teachers over her PK-12 student career, she distinctly remembered one who inspired her to see true joy in learning.  What’s interesting, she noted, is that while only one of these 27 teachers had spurred on this excitement for lifelong learning, for her, it only took one (thereby displaying the power of just one teacher).  She then challenged each of us to consider our own Inspiration Ratios, the impact that our teachers had on our current path, and the students for whom we may be that one teacher.

My own Inspiration Ratio

Since that afternoon, I have done several different back of the envelope calculations of my own Inspiration Ratio, as I am sure you are thinking about doing right now.  While I find a slightly different value each time, the level of engagement I feel while walking through the footsteps of my own learning path is the same.  In an instant, I am back in those hallways, seeing every assignment and hearing every verbal exchange anew.  I furrow my brow with the design challenge of a real-world experiment that has dozens of “right” answers.  I pour my soul onto the practice floor to earn back the spot in the basketball team’s starting five.  I panic as I stand before a room full of underclassmen I have never met, preparing to recite the first words of Phillip Larkin’s “A Study of Reading Habits.”  Back in those adolescent shoes- but through these adult eyes- I start a list of all of those teachers that have ever worked with me in school, and consider the impact that they have had on my life.  (P.S. If it strikes you to move away from your browser or RSS reader and make your own list now, please do so by all means.  This is a static text, after all – it will still be here when you return. Just promise to come back!)

In calculating my own Inspiration Ratio, I’m struck by how in minutes, I can remember the name of 71 teachers that I worked with over my PK-12 academic career.  Without too much challenge, I even recall those high school days right down to each year’s 7-period class schedule!  Within this 13-year timeframe, I count 17 distinct teachers who I remember as having a direct impact on my passion for lifelong learning, giving me an Inspiration Ratio of 17/71.  In other words, of all of the teachers that worked with me as a student, I consider 25% of them as having directly inspired me to sustain a love of learning.

Of my 71 teachers, what do I remember most about those 17?  They did not give me a voice- they allowed me to find my own.  They did not push me- they presented me with opportunities for growth that were both challenging and attainable, and just as I thought I had reached as far as I could, they encouraged me to reach farther.  They did not tell me that I did a “good job” in my learning- they instead celebrated my desire, as one teacher put it, “to learn just because the world is there, waiting to be understood.”  In short, even in the shortest of conversations, I felt that they built a relationship with me, and engaged me as a learner.  Each of those moments live on forever as I carry these teachers with me- long after they have “finished the job” of teaching my class, they continue to help me grow toward continuous improvement.

I wonder often which, if any, of my former students would have listed me as one of the teachers in their Inspiration Ratio’s numerator.  Even as I consider the question of how I might have inspired them, however, I am reminded of how they are the ones who inspire me.  My students and my teammates give me the drive to put in the necessary time and energy to keep growing, and they make it feel as natural as breathing.  Without that inspiration, I know I would have been driven from this profession long ago.  It dawns on me that this process of sustaining a love of learning is a cyclical system, a reinforcing feedback loop that Senge would label as having a snowball effect.  So long as each of us seeks to inspire the love of learning in those around us, we will continue to be inspired by the passion of those around us.

Organizational connection

In Good to Great, Jim Collins writes about the importance of identifying “what drives [our] resource engine.”  He challenges organizations to seek out those ratios have the greatest impact on economic growth.  (For example, in the business world, finding the “unit-x” that best fits a “profit-per-unit-x” ratio can help greatly to clarify their mission with pinpoint precision.)  In the social sectors, however, finding the right resources to consider within the ratio is more important then finding the right “unit x” for the denominator (since it’s a given that profit isn’t exactly something educators seek).  Since teachers have such a profound effect on student learning, and the “ultimate goal” for our profession is to inspire lifelong learning, could the Inspiration Ratio somehow fit as a step in defining our resource engine?  In other words, do we ask ourselves this question enough: “What effect will this decision have on our abilities and opportunities to inspire lifelong learning?”

Just imagine the concept using the love of learning as a guide for each of our decisions as educators, with the ultimate purpose of getting every student’s Inspiration Ratio closer to 100%…is it possible that the answer could be that simple?