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Maria's Web
By Mark W. Sheffert
March 2005

The backyard at my vacation home in Paradise Valley, Arizona, is not very large, but it's a comfortable place in the evening, when the desert cools and the stars begin to twinkle around Camelback Mountain. I usually finish the day's work there, accompanied by Clyde, a 150-pound, clumsy black dog of a curious mixed breed.

Recently, I was stretched out on my favorite porch recliner and he was lying by my feet. We were chatting about ways for businesses to survive in the current chaotic environment. I was worried about what changes businesses should make to adapt, about who would survive and who would not.

Actually, I'm the only person who knows Clyde can talk. That bums him out, because he considers himself a keen observer of human behavior and a budding philosopher. But there I was, gazing at the beautiful Arizona sunset and so intent on my own worries that I gradually tuned him out. "Nobody cares about my opinions," I barely heard him grumble. "I guess I should just go back to my meaningless existence as a dog," he said, scratching at his collar. Then, over the jangle of tags, he heard a small voice.

"¿Qué pasa?!"

Clyde scrambled to his feet. "Qué what?" he asked warily, sniffing into the twilight.

"¿Qué pasa?!" the tiny voice repeated.

"Where are you?" Clyde growled, "and what is qué pasa?"

"'¿Qué pasa?' is a greeting," the voice explained patiently. "It's just my way of saying 'What's happening?' As for my whereabouts, look over here under the big rock. Here I am. Look! I'm waving!"

Clyde could dimly make out a set of small fingers scratching the air, and just beyond them a black face covered in scales and a pair of beady eyes.

"What is your name and what are you?" Clyde demanded.

"My name is Maria, and I am a Gila monster," she replied briskly. "And let me set the record straight right away. I don't like being called a monster. I am venomous, but I only eat small mammals, birds, and whatever eggs I can find in the desert. I only bite humans in self-defense, and even then it's rarely fatal."

"D-d-do you eat d-dogs?" Clyde backed away, tail between his legs.

"No, no, never ate a dog," said Maria quickly, "especially one as big as you. My second cousin ate a small puppy once, though."

"Eating small mammals and birds? That's not a very nice way to make a living," Clyde said, regaining his composure and walking closer to Maria's rock.

"At least I make my own way," she huffed. "I live by my wits. I have to be clever or else it's adiós for me. I have to think things out, catch what I can, and take it as it comes."

"Oh. You've got a point," Clyde conceded, gazing at his empty dish near the back door and licking his lips.

He turned back to Maria. "I guess that's how most humans make their way, too," he offered. "You know, living by their wits, thinking things out, and catching what they can. I know that because I'm what you call a philosopher." He held up his big head proudly.

Maria nodded. "I've been watching you and I like you. I think we could be amigos buenos, and that's why I'm going to help you out. You've got it right about humans, but some do it better than others. I've seen a lot of things while I've lived around these rocks. It seems that humans are living through tough times – war, natural disasters, globalization, economic ups and downs, fierce competition. It's a time of uncertainty and insecurity. Most humans are afraid."

"When I'm afraid of thunder, I hide under my owner's bed," Clyde said thoughtfully.

"Lizards don't have that convenience," Maria replied sharply. "And neither do humans, especially the ones fortunate enough to be business leaders. The smart ones turn their fear into passions that motivate them and prepare them for the future."

"I know what you mean," Clyde said. "It's like when I'm hungry and afraid I won't get fed. Then I'm motivated to beg for dinner."

Maria rolled her dark, little eyes. "You're starting to get it, mi amigo. Some humans are motivated to take action, some do nothing. No one has a choice about whether change comes, but everyone can choose to be proactive about it."

"Proactive?" said Clyde, perking up his ears and eyebrows. "I heard about that from the older dogs at the pound," he said, nodding his head knowingly.

"That's 'procreative,' estúpido!" Maria scoffed. "I said 'proactive'! I mean preparing a business for the what-ifs!"

"You mean like, what if my owner forgot to let me out to do my business before he left and I really, really had to go, what would I do?"

"Something like that," sighed Maria. "But more like, what if interest rates rise again? What if commodity prices change? What if inflation grows out of control? What if China and India have stronger control over the world's economy? What if labor and health care costs continue to rise? What if the competition introduces a new product that makes existing ones obsolete? How do these factors impact the business?"

"Oh," said Clyde, shaking his head. "Thinking about the what-ifs is too much. Did you see where I buried my bone?"

"Focus!" Maria screamed. "You'll get nada if you're distracted. The key to surviving is to be aware of the what-ifs while focusing on the basics, whether you're a Gila monster, a dog/philosopher, or a business leader."

"I am focusing, dadgumit!" Clyde argued. "I'm focusing on finding my bone. I have a strategy to keep it hidden and safe," he said, suddenly remembering his secret spot in the corner of the yard. He trotted over to it, dug up his bone, and laid it in front of Maria.

She laughed sweetly. "I suppose that could be an example of focusing on a strategy," she said. "And that is one of the primary management practices that I've observed is essential. Now listen carefully, Clyde, because what I'm about to say is muy importante."

Maria waggled a tiny finger, motioning Clyde to come closer. He laid down, putting his head next to hers.

Her scaly finger drew a square in the sand, then drew lines through the middle, dividing the big square into four small ones. "Some business experts have fancy names for their theories, but I'm just a talking desert reptile, so I like to keep it simple, ?" Maria confided, peering into Clyde's face.

"After leaders are aware of the what-ifs for their companies," she continued, "they need to prepare for them by having a firm grasp on these four basics of their businesses: strategic direction, focused execution, shared values, and structured organization." As she said each phrase, she drew its initials in the outermost corner of each square.

"Go on," Clyde whispered.

"But that is not enough," the lizard said. She drew a small circle around the point where the four squares met. "In order to outperform their competitors, businesses must also master these four secondary practices: human capital, disruptive innovation, committed leadership, and acquired growth." She added initials to represent those ideas in the four wedges of the circle. "There," she murmured, smiling at her diagram.

"I never knew lizards could spell," Clyde said, shaking his head. He didn't want to admit to Maria that, while he can talk, he can't read or write. Her diagram looked just like a spider's web to him. "But anyway, can you explain it in more detail?" he asked.

"Sî, señor. Let's start again at the beginning. Strategic direction – whether it is to have the lowest-priced products or the most innovative-only works if the strategy is driven by customers and markets. The direction must be defined clearly and communicated well. And it's best if the strategy is focused on the core business," Maria added. "Again, keep it simple."

"Keep it simple," Clyde repeated, head between his paws.

"Focused execution means doing what you do with flawless operational ability and never disappointing the customer. Don't boggle up the system with unnecessary bureaucracy. Let people at the front lines, closest to the customer, react quickly to changing market conditions. To really outperform others, the goal should be a productivity rate that is twice the industry average," Maria said intently.

Clyde gave a slight nod and a yawn.

"Having shared values means setting high expectations for performance," Maria went on. "It's fun to work at a place where people are inspired to do their best every day, and where they are empowered to make independent decisions,

where achievements are rewarded with pay-based incentives, and the company's core values are clearly established and followed without exception."

"I'm listening," Clyde said sleepily, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Finally, it doesn't really matter how the organization is structured, whether it's by geography, market, or product. What's essential is that the structure simplifies work. The organization must operate without waste, be easy to work in and understand, and encourage cooperation and the sharing of knowledge," Maria said, more to herself than to Clyde, whose eyes were now closed.

She kept talking as she crept away, slipping under the adobe wall through a hole she had dug in the sand. "And businesses must be competent in the secondary management practices as well! They need to develop their employees and hold on to the talented ones; be agile and proactively innovative, making their own earlier innovations obsolete; have a strong board of directors and management team who are engaged and committed; and be able to add to internal growth through mergers, acquisitions, and partnerships . . . ." Her voice faded in the dusk that surrounded the mountains.

I suddenly woke, surprised that I'd slept and with the unsettling feeling that something strange had been going on. But there was Clyde, snoring softly. The moon was high and everything was quiet and peaceful.

Maybe the world isn't so chaotic after all, and everything will be okay. And maybe I shouldn't eat Mexican food so late in the day, I thought as I stood up to go inside. As I walked across the yard, I spied a curious drawing in the sand. A spider's web? It was too dark to tell. Probably just Clyde, scratching for a bone.

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