Commercial success and human decency
Andrew Bluett-Duncan
Director
I owe you an apology. Last week's email was so full of mistakes and things left out that I’m surprised I’ve got the gall to write to you again this week. I was away last weekend and was meant to phone Andi from the motorway services to go over the final copy, but forgot to do so. When I got to reading it Saturday morning I realised I’d forgotten to put captions on the photo of Jayne holding the cake she brought me the week before (because I’d forgotten it then). I then realised I’d forgotten to supply Paul (our 1st stage editor) with the photo of Nick and I swooning over his BMW X5, forgot various links in the text, and in fact almost forgot to include this apology. There’s a theme running here…. If you were puzzled by its lack of logic, I’m sorry…it may happen again
Shortly I’ll get to product but before then I want to impart some sad news, or to be more precise, news that is very sad for me. One of the business leaders who I hold in very high regard, Bob Chapman, died in March at the age of 80. Quite honestly I’ve been surprised that a man that I read about, and watch YouTube videos of and yet never met, could have affected me so deeply, but in point of fact I cried when I read this news.
Bob was the chairman of an American Mid-West engineering firm, Barry-Wehmiller.
Over the years I’ve mentioned him on a few occasions and you may know the name through Simon Sinek, who spoke and wrote about him often, but Chapman’s significance, I think, runs rather deeper than the usual “great businessman” story.
When Bob inherited Barry-Wehmiller in the mid-1970s it was a struggling industrial manufacturer worth around $20 million. Under his leadership it became an international engineering group employing roughly 12,000 people with revenues in the billions. Impressive enough, you might think. But what made him unusual was not simply the scale of the commercial success, but the philosophy that underpinned it.
Chapman came to believe that the purpose of business was not principally profit, but people. He argued that those who walk through the factory or office doors each morning are not “functions”, not “headcount” nor “just a human resource”. He realised that his people were somebody’s son or daughter, husband or wife, someone’s child. He believed that when people feel genuinely listened to, safe, valued and trusted, something remarkable happens. Not only do businesses improve, but people themselves flourish.
One of the most striking things Chapman spoke about was how workplace culture affected home life. He recounted an employee telling him, “My wife is talking to me again,” because for the first time in decades he felt valued at work and carried that sense of dignity home with him. Chapman even suggested that one meaningful measure of good leadership might be a reduction in divorce rates amongst employees, because how people are treated at work shapes how they treat their families.
It seems to me he understood something rather important and quite rare.
That commercial success and human decency are not opposing ideas. In fact, over the long term, they may depend upon one another.
Jim Collin's 'Good to Great' first brought this to my awareness and then reading about Bob Chapman in Simon's Sinek's 'Leaders Eat Last' inspired us to integrate this approach into our company ethos.
And waxing philosophical for just a moment I wonder quietly if that’s partly why I have a soft spot for well-made cookware. Good pans, rather like good people, tend to respond best when treated with a little understanding. Some require patience. Some are tougher than they first appear. Others will tolerate astonishing abuse right up until the moment they quietly give up on you altogether. Over the years I’ve learnt, usually the hard way, that most cookware failures are not usually manufacturing failures at all, but relationship failures. A breakdown in communication between pan and owner, often involving excessive heat, inappropriate tools and unrealistic expectations.
To Product (Advice)
One of the things I’ve learned over the years, both from using pans badly myself and from conversations with customers, who’ve unknowingly abused perfectly innocent cookware, is that different materials behave rather differently and need treating accordingly. In other words, pans are rather like people. Some are robust but slow to warm up (Cast Iron), some react instantly and sulk if mishandled (Stainless Steel), whilst others appear forgiving right up until the moment you quietly destroy them (Nonsticks).
So, this week I thought I’d say a few words about how to look after the various types of Le Creuset cookware we sell, because although they all say Le Creuset on the side, they do not all behave remotely, the same.
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