Nobody likes to be fired or to fire someone, and many leaders perceive firing as doing something “bad” to another person.
My philosophy about terminating an employee is that I am supporting a person to find a better fit for their skills, which improves their job satisfaction which enriches their lives. I didn’t start with that outlook: I’ve grown into it. And I am grateful for the experiences that created it. Here’s a story of one of the most important of those experiences.
I was hired to lead / turn around a non-performing division. In the first six weeks, I fired five people, and I was suffering for it. As I was leaving the office late one evening – having just fired a woman who begged for her job – I saw a light under the President’s office door and realized he was also working late. I walked back to my office and called his private line, which he answered.
“David, I need help. I’m floundering over here. Say something nice to me so I think I should keep this job.”
He got right to the core issue – my doubt about firing people, triggered by the woman saying I was ruining her life. She was a single parent. I was a single parent. She needed her job. I needed my job. I was literally feeling her pain!
In a quiet firm fatherly voice, David responded, “When you feel good about firing someone, I’ll fire you”. And he gave me a performance-based pep talk about my unique ability to navigate the jungle of bureaucracy, challenge the status quo, and reorganize and revitalize processes and people. He assured me not many people had the courage or skill to transform a workplace. Thanks, David. But I still had flashbacks about that woman begging for her job. Here’s the “rest of the story”.
I was working at the Dean’s level in a community college, managing 150 part time instructors plus office staff. Somehow, I was assigned a “problem case” counselor to oversee, though she was outside my area. I met with her to get acquainted and learn her schedule and work load. Then I told her our mission was to support student success. She was known for missing counseling appointments with students, which was unacceptable, as it affected that mission. She promised it would never happen again, and I pledged her my support.
The next week, she missed a student appointment. I met with her, gave her the appropriate performance feedback, and documented it. She was contrite and promised it would never happen again.
The next week, she missed another student appointment. I met with her, gave her the appropriate performance feedback, and documented it. I put her on probation with pending termination if it happened again within 90 days without fore-warning to me personally. She was contrite and promised it would never happen again.
Three days later, she missed another student appointment. I walked to her office and terminated her. She begged and cried, embarrassing us both. She got down on her knees saying, “I never thought I’d be begging a white woman for anything (she was African American), but I am. I have to have this job. I’m a single parent. And I’m going to school. You’ve got to give me another chance…”
I told her the termination was final and effective immediately. I wished her the best possible outcomes in her professional and personal life.
About a year later, as I was in deep concentration at my desk, I glanced up to see a woman in the doorway, staring fixedly at me, holding a handbag in front of her in both hands.
“Can I help you?”, I asked, wondering how she got past the staff in the outer offices and penetrated my inner sanctum.
You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“You fired me a year ago, even after I begged for my job. Got down on my knees and begged you.”
Different scenarios played in my mind while I stalled for time – one being wondering if she had a gun in that purse.
“I remember you now. You look well. How are you? How’s your daughter? How’s school?
Ignoring my questions, she walked in, took a seat in front of me, and continued to stare for a long silent time.
“When you fired me, I thought my world had ended. I was a single parent. My daughter was 13. I was working on my PhD in counseling, commuting to school. Then I went to a counselor at the college who helped me. She arranged a grant and student loan for me to finish my degree. I just graduated.”
“That’s fantastic. I’m so pleased for you. What will you do now?”
“That’s not what I came to tell you. I hated you for a long time. But when I got to stay home and watch my daughter, it came out that she was in with a bad crowd: drugs, sex, all of it. I got her into counseling and she has turned her life around. If it weren’t for you firing me, I would have lost my daughter. And I wouldn’t have finished my degree. So I came to thank you. Thank you for having the courage to do the right thing. I deserved to be fired. I wasn’t being a good counselor. I wasn’t being a good mother. I wasn’t being a good student. And I knew it. But you made me face it. And I got help and turned it around. You saved me. And you saved my daughter. As a counselor, I will try to have as much courage as you do.”
At that point, we were both crying. I got up from behind my desk and walked around to give her a hug and told her she already did. It took courage to tell me her story and to thank me. And I thanked her for doing it.
For years after that, I would see her image in my mind’s eye before I went into a termination meeting. Now I see it when I am recording a failing grade for one of my graduate students. And I hope they turn it around like she did. And I try to live up to her opinion of me.
