Downsizings, Plant closings, and a variety of other disasters in the workplace, have almost become a way of life. While nobody likes such things, it is reasonable to predict that given the volatility of the global economy, to say nothing of the advance of technology, what we experience at the moment is not some aberrant phenomenon, but the way things are, and are likely to be. It may be that the only way to deal with all of this is to move the process along as quickly as Possible, while offering comfort and support to those caught in the crunch. Then again, it may be possible to do infinitely more, and in effect, make virtue out of necessity, an opportunity out of a mess.

I was privileged to work with an organization which did "infinitely more. " I found their efforts to be not only instructive, but truly inspiring. They effectively created the conditions under which an inevitable ending became, in fact, a new beginning for the majority of their people. There are many possible conclusions to be drawn and principles to be enunciated, but for the moment, I think their story speaks for itself. (Note - Meadowland is a completely fictitious name, but the events described were quite real, as were the heroes. I am hopeful that someday the corporation involved will accept due credit, but for the moment, it seems that corporate modesty prevails.)

After 57 years producing products that the world has grown to know and love, and providing jobs for three generations of local residents, the Meadowland Plant closed. Nobody was really at fault. The neighborhood had changed for the better, and no longer was it possible to run a heavy industrial operation on land now heavily taxed, while meeting stringent (costly) environmental requirements. No alchemy or wishful thinking could change the bottom line. Sooner or later, the plant had to close.

It is to the credit of the Plant Management Team that they chose "sooner" rather than "later". The folks on-site could read the numbers as well as anyone. While they understood that efficiencies were always possible, there was an absolute limit to what you could do without massive infusions of capital for new facilities. And it didn't look as if Corporate was about to make such an investment. Of course, nobody at the Home Office would come out and say that, for who would want to be tabbed as the one who "closed down the plant." It looked as if the business could drag on for years until the inevitable became catastrophic, at which point heads would roll and the pain would be infinitely greater.

The Plant Management decided to bite the bullet, and take responsibility for their own destiny. That sounds rather grandiose, but it is precisely what they did. Obviously they couldn't close the plant by themselves, but they could bring the whole matter to the point of decision, and then be prepared to live with the results. To do this they arranged a simple test, which involved putting together their best estimate of the capital costs to bring the plant up to efficient operation, presented that plan to senior management, and then if, as expected, their requests were denied or deferred, make the unthinkable recommendation that operations be halted.
 

The plan was created and presented, the expected occurred, and the unthinkable was recommended. That is what happened, but those dry words effectively strip the drama and agony from an enormously courageous act. Given the background in American Industry, where plant closings are always seen as failure, and the poor manager, who happens to be in charge at the moment, almost inevitably becomes the scapegoat, taking this particular bull by the horns is all the more remarkable.

The Management Team recommended closure, but with some conditions. First, they wanted the closure announced as far in advance as possible. And secondly, they wanted the freedom and support to attempt some rather different approaches to plant shutdowns. The Plant Manager himself held a vision of what it might be like, and what success, under the circumstance, would be. In an early meeting he presented the alternatives as he saw them.

"We may either simply erase this facility, not only from the physical map, but also from the consciousness of the Corporqtion, and pretend that it never was, and we know how to do that. Or, the people from this facility, and their experience, can become a proud and positive contribution to the life of the Corporation. When it is all over, I, personally, want to feel proud for having been at Meadowland, and I want the people here, no matter where they end up, to feel the same way."

The recommendation for closure was accepted, as were the conditions. Thereupon began a most remarkable effort. Not only did those involved at a management level intend to do "right" by the employees, as in providing outplacement services, job counseling, severance packages, and transfers - they intended to do infinitely more. 7hey hoped to convert end into beginning, dissolution into opportunity, disaster into a positive experience. Their expectation was surprising, but even more surprising was their level of achievement.

With the decision made, the process started a full 15 months before the final date. Some felt at the time that 15 months was too long, rather like delaying a funeral past a decent interval, but for business reasons relating to the orderly transfer of Meadowland's functions to other facilities that time period seemed to be the shortest one possible.

On the day of the announcement, the whole plant was shut down, and the folks from Meadowland assembled in the warehouse, the only place large enough to hold them all. The announcement itself came in two parts. First were the basic facts of the case: the decision to close, and the time frame. Next came a statement of the expectations and an outline of the steps that had been, or would be, taken to reach them. Even though virtually everybody in the room had more that a vague premonition why the meeting had been called, and what the topic would be, the reaction, both during and after, was stunned, almost reverent silence. it would be very hard to say goodbye after 57 years.

The issues confronting the plant were two-fold. On the one hand there was work to be done, some of which had little tolerance for error, and no small amount of danger associated with mistakes. At the same time, there were 500 plus individuals who had to come to terms with the ending of an old, known, and largely comfortable, way of life, and prepare themselves for whatever it was that would be coming next. Either one of these issues could be worked well in isolation, but together they presented some major problems.

The transition, or better yet, transformation, of individual lives is never easy, but once the issue is joined, and the ending process begun, the stages will unroll, resulting in increased separation and detachment from the old way, as the end is acknowledged. The continued press of business, however, created a situation in which the end was not an end, not at the moment at least. The conflict is clear: how do you keep a group of folks safely and productively at work when both their heads and their hearts are (or should be) moving somewhere else?

The solution for Meadowland came in terms of framing. Framing is the way we conceptualize something, or think about it. In this situation, one might think about the task at hand as business as usual. That, of course, would take care of keeping the folks at work, but do very little about facilitating their transformation towards some new situation. When it is business as usual, it is difficult, if not impossible to consider some different business.

Alternatively, one might think about the present task as close down, which would get everybody involved with their next act, but also have a dampening effect on finishing up the business at hand. Given the frame of close down, doing well with the remaining business seems a little beside the point. After all, it will be gone soon.

The Plant Manager of Meadowland had an absolute stroke of genius. He framed their situation as a Learning Community. That may seem an odd way to think about shutting down a 57 year old plant, but it was perfect. Viewed as a learning community, the activities of Meadowland were neither business as usual or simply a shut down. Every activity was potentially a learning opportunity, in which one could not only accomplish the business at hand, but learn how to do it better. To do this effectively, there would have to be opportunities to reflect on the past as the basis for looking to the future, and how to do it better.

Looking to the past is not only essential for learning, but also constitutes a critical
element of the process of letting go, which must occur before any useful future can be imagined or entered into. The Learning Community gave permission to allow the memories to flow through, to remember, and let go of, all the ways "we used to do things." And then, with the intent of "doing better in the future," the possibility of a future is articulated, and the critical question asked --"what are you going to do for the rest of your life?"

Using the concept of the Learning Community, two critical objectives were met.
First, to analyze past performance as a basis for enhanced future effort. Secondly, and of special importance to the individuals involved, to create the opportunity for a supported and empowering transformation of their lives.

What do you do when you have resolved to create a learning community in a 57 year old plant during its final 15 months of operation? What follows is only a sample.

To set the tone, and also to provide the substance, a program of seminars and workshops for ALL employees was initiated from the start. Some of these offerings were pretty much what you would expect under the circumstances, including such things as resume writing and interviewing skills. But that was just the beginning. In addition, there were one day Seminars on Organizations in Transformation, a brief overview of what happens and how to deal with it. Programs in stress reduction, aimed not only at the present situation, but also how to deal with stress on an ongoing basis. Visioning your Future -- an exercise in personal vision creation utilizing some techniques from Zen. Summer Camp -- an opportunity to get your act together and play with friends. These programs were open to everybody, from folks on the line to senior management, and in most cases, representation from all levels was standard.

The fact that everybody was invited, and many chose to attend, contributed to a rather subtle change in the way that people looked at each other during this period. MeadowLands was a union shop, and the history of labor/management relations was not always smooth. And even when it was overtly calm, the distinction between hourly and salaried remained very much in evidence. The interesting thing about the final period was that chasm of separation seemed to become shallower and shallower, with some very positive effects.

One indication of the change in attitude appeared in a relaxation of a rigid approach to work rules. In the old days at Meadowlands, as with most other union shops, work rules were subject to tough negotiation and sometimes even tougher enforcement. At times, the rules would be upheld even when they made no sense in terms of the comfort of the workers, or the efficiency of the operation. When there was the presumption of an adversarial relationship between union and management, it was expected that management would strive to gain much, while giving little. The union, of course, would reciprocate. Doubtless there are, and have been, times when such adversarial proceeding were entirely justified by the reality of the situation. But there was also an enormous cost. When people don't trust each other, they can spend more time and energy on working their grievances than doing something more useful, like producing a product. As the folks at Meadowland gained the opportunity to experience each other, and come to an understanding that they were all pretty much in the same boat, many of the old struggles seemed much less important. The changed approach to work rules, and working relationships was manifest in many ways, and the following two examples are only that.

One of the businesses at Meadowland was quite dirty and dangerous. It also happened to be the one business that had to continue on until the very end, because it was impossible for another plant to pick up the slack. So, while most other Meadowlanders watched their production and packing machinery disappear out the door in the hands of various contractors, a select few had to keep their nose to the grind stone. Needless-to-say there was some small amount of grumbling, but on balance the continuing duties was taken as a matter of pride. The folks who worked this business had always been a "different sort." The story was that they were tough, competent, and prior to the shut down, getting a job in that business was a major plum, not because it was easy, but because it carried respect.

But there were a few disaffected members, who seemed to spend the majority of their time complaining. If they had only done it quietly and to themselves, there probably would have been no problem. But that was not the case. Finally the complaints of the few became a source of major irritation. Fellow workers didn't want to ignore the disaffected, but the atmosphere was becoming increasingly unpleasant, and it was apparent that something had to be done.

A general meeting was called, and the following proposition was offered by a tall
woman manager. "We must make product well and carefully. The way things are at the moment, that is becoming increasingly difficult. So I make the following offer, anybody who would like to transfer out of here to some other part of the plant may do so with no prejudice. All of you who choose to remain must be prepared to work together and make product."

Interestingly enough, only a few chose to leave, but those who remained had to adjust the way they worked to make up for the loss. Further more, there was neither the time, nor the inclination, for management to do a functional analysis in order to re-design the working arrangements. Most of that had to be taken care of by those who were doing the job, and the experience was that the task was done, and done well.

Learning also took place. Prior to the close down, the plant, as part of a corporate initiative, had engaged in a massive program to "make workers more responsive and responsible for their work." The name of the game was efficiency, effectiveness and excellence, all under the heading of high performance. The key, as Corporate had seen it, was to involve the workers in the design of their jobs, on the grounds that they probably knew the actual tasks best, and that having designed the jobs, they would feel responsible to do them. That was the theory. In practice, it turned out that there was only one way to design the jobs, and that the "corporate way", with the net effect that not only was the program never implemented, but even after all effort ceased, a sour taste remained. However, when necessity proved, once again, to be the mother of invention, what had previously been given up as impossible and ill-conceived, became a reality almost instantaneously. Work was being done by a volunteer force, who collectively were designing and re-designing, assigning and re-assigning the tasks at hand. Amazing. Competent people will take responsibility for their work, if allowed to do so.

In a learning community a major tool is experiment, doing things that have never been done before, just to see if they will work. When it is "business as usual," and things don't seem to be broke, there is little reason, and less inclination, to do something different. But all that can change quite radically when the issue is learning, Some of the experiments are natural ones, ie the ordinary is contravened, and the different takes its place, not because anybody set out to do that, it just happened. That was the case with the story of the volunteers. But the learning potential is very real. Other experiments are much more intentional, and it is significant that at Meadowlands, both sorts were present. It became obvious to everyone that the Plant Managers commitment to the creation of a true learning community was real.

The MASH Team is a marvelous example of such an intentional experiment. The genesis of the team arose from the fact that somewhere along the line, somebody had made the promise to custom wrap some 10,000 cases of product. Given the press of business, and the confusion surrounding the closure, that promise had almost been forgotten, or at least it had been forestalled until all of the equipment necessary for the job had disappeared. A young woman manager saw opportunity in the potential mess. She proposed that the custom wrap job be undertaken as a sort of community project. She also envisioned some added benefits, apart from getting the actual job done.

The Manager had noticed, as had a number of others, that as the level of activity
went down, people had more and more time on their hands. Of course, people could have been terminated, but a basic promise had been made that everybody would be kept on until the actual closing date. The reasons for this promise were in part humanitarian, and in part, good business sense. If everybody left at once, the needed hands would not be there. So there were a number of idle hands, with little to do, and less to say to each other. The silence was becoming absolutely deafening.

As the process of saying goodbye after 57 years rolled out, people needed to talk to one another, and time and space had to be given over for that. The talk might be nostalgia trips, remembering the past and honoring the heroes, or future talk, about all the things that needed to be done, or could be done. There also needed to be some moments for simple consolation. Not everybody was able to get their life together immediately, and a sympathetic ear was more than nice. But nobody was talking.

The "community project" was designed to accomplish both objectives: wrap the product and get folks talking. Obviously, the whole thing could not be "just work' -- it also had to be fun. And so the MASH Team was born.

The rules of the game were simple and provocative. To join the team, one had to come with a partner, and he prepared to wrap product. One could come at any time, with any one, and work as long as you liked.

Since the regular equipment was gone, the plant carpenters were enlisted to fabricate packing jigs, 4XS sheets of plywood with roller dispensers to hold the wrapping material. Nothing elegant or expensive, but quite functional.

When the MASH Team opened for business, there were 18 of these jigs set about in what used to be a warehouse area, just at the entry of the plant. Not content with the ordinary, a "Boom-Box" played solid Rock to set the pace (the Boom-Box was also the prize for wrapping the most cases), banners and streamers decorated the hall, with coffee and donuts for a treat. And, Oh yes, T shirts for all participants.

MASH worked. Not only did the product get wrapped, but people talked, and in fact they had fun. The true impact of this experiment became apparent not so much while it was going on, but when it was all over. The space devoted to the MASH effort became a special space, and the spirit engendered was remembered with pleasure. As other tasks, pleasant and unpleasant, came to hand, their accomplishment was assessed, good, bad, and indifferent, relative to the MASH experience. Learning had in fact taken place, and what could have been an odious task became an effective mechanism for bringing people through a difficult situation. But none of this would have been possible without the frame of a Learning Community, which gave permission for experiment.

If the conceptual frame for the closing of Meadowlands was a Learning Community, that frame took physical form in the production of The Book. From the beginning, the Plant Manager had been urged to capture the experience in some way. Writing a book seemed a reasonable possibility, unfortunately it was not one that the Plant Manager felt he could undertake by himself Frankly, there was much else to be done, and truth to tell, I suspect he felt too close to the situation, and personally pained by the effects, to allow serious consideration of the task. However, if the Plant Manager couldn't write the book by himself, why couldn't everybody who wanted to, join together to do just that. But how do you get a potentially large number of people with wildly different schedules, and increasingly separate geographies, together to write a book? The
answer appeared in the corporate computer conferencing system.

Everybody in the plant was invited to contribute their stories of the past, hopes for the future, learnings from the experience. The vehicle was NOI, a conferencing system which could be accessed from a number of places in the plant, and by phone from anywhere else. As NOI never slept (well almost) entries could be made whenever, and from wherever, anybody was.

Over a period of 6 months the items came in. There was no plan, in the ordinary sense of book structure and chapters, only the resolution to tell the story of the past, present, and future, any way that story would come out. The content would eventually dictate the structure.

Contributions ranged from short poems to long essays, and included some wonderful tales of how it was in the old days. Substantive items were in abundance. Essays from the plant psychologist tracking his work and the mood of the plant, a description of an employee attempt to buy out the plant boiler system and run it as a private business, descriptions of the many workshops and seminars, with an assessment of their impact and usefulness. And last but not least, a long and quite personal, reflection from the Plant Manager on what had happened, and what it could mean, not only for those involved, but for the future of the Corporation.

When all the material was in, the obvious question was how to make a book out of that, and the answer was startling simple. The coherence of the book was the coherence of the total effort, and it only required something less than 2 days, with three people, to pull it all together. Format and publication was another case where a potential problem became a real opportunity. The opportunity arose when a budding english scholar (previously the Plant accountant), discovered that desktop publishing was something that he was not only interested in, but needed for his future life as a professor. So it fell to him to re-format all die material, which had already been entered on the computer. From there it was a short trip to the printer, with the final product available as the plant closed.

When the final case rolled off the line it was greeted, not with silence by a few, but by a crowd, the Press, and a high school marching band. As the case passed from the plant itself, over the conveyors into the warehouse, now virtually empty of product, the space was filled with drum beats and bugle calls, affirmations and salutations. The end was at hand and the future was open. But the memories would remain, and for most they were good ones. The past had been honored, the present learned from, and the future was there to experienced. End had become beginning, a graduation from what was, to what may be. And, as with all good graduations, there had to be a Yearbook, and so there was, filled with the memorabilia of Meadowland. It was time to say goodbye after 57 years.

This Occasional Paper is intended for the use of friends and clients of H.H.Owen and Co. It may be reproduced in any useful way with acknowledgment.

 For additional Copies and/or information call or write

H.H.Owen and Co.
7808 River Falls Drive
Potomac, MD .20854
 301-469-9269

Or email "owen@tmn.com"