How to Hammer a Nail With a Salami
Wait. What?
The worst nonprofit arts administrator in the world got fired after two theatre companies he ran went belly-up. The second one closed $29 million in debt. In case you believe that’s a typo… twenty-nine million dollars in the red. After that, a university hired him. To teach arts administration.
Yeah, so that happened.
His greatest “talent” involved over-promising, under-delivering, and deflecting blame onto the lenders and vendors — much like a carnival barker. Like a certain former bankrupt (both morally and financially) twice-impeached president, he delighted in maliciously bullying his people into accepting impossible challenges (again, like a carnival barker). For example, before that last season, he presented a season budget to the board — without any input from anyone — that called for a 33% increase in ticket revenues and a 40% increase on donated revenue. The plays were mostly new, untested works, just like the previous year. There were no stars or any other special feature to them. When the marketing director (egged on by the overly competitive development director, who didn’t want to appear adversarial for his own political reasons) simply asked, “Based on…?”, he gleefully snapped that the cost was the cost. Revenues were intended to cover that cost. No matter what. Duh.
The marketing director quit a few weeks later and we hear that he checked into what Napoleon Bonaparte XIV referred to as “The Funny Farm.”
The second worst arts administrator in the world chose to blow up the budget on a certain title in his season because he had been so adamant about scheduling it. On the marketing and special marketing events budget alone, he spent 150% of the ticket revenue. In other words, it would have been much cheaper and more efficient to select certain audiences and given the tickets away. While the production was okay, the show was a fiasco on many levels.
The company ended the season in a surplus, amazingly, because of 2 separate million-dollar gifts that the marketing and development team were able to muster in a hurry. And, with 3 months to go in the fiscal year, the arts administrator unceremoniously fired everyone around him, including the marketing and development director, to keep expenses down while retaining his $200,000+ salary, benefits, and car.
Yeah, so that happened.
Decent leaders set financial goals with the input of their best people. Then they meet, don’t meet, or exceed them. Good leaders go into the trenches of budgeting with them, serving as their report’s lead assistant in gathering revenue data.
It’s tricky to set revenue goals for nonprofit arts organizations. Each production is new and untested, is either good or bad on its surface (mostly a mix). It’s analogous to a company introducing a new cola for sale, removing it from the shelves entirely after 6 weeks, and then introducing an airplane for sale.
Popularity is only so predictable. A good marketing person forecasts based on similar titles, similar reputation, time of year, place in season, and myriad other factors. Then, a mediocre executive director (usually not a marketing mind) hammerlocks the group that forecast the revenues into increasing their projections, sometimes by a little (but most times by a lot). Backfilling, the marketing team goes back and tries to find a way to hit a new goal (higher prices, more sales, etc.), which placates the executive until the end of the FY, when the board comes down on the ED about why productions didn’t hit their forecasting goals. At this point, many EDs fire their marketing teams.
Have you ever been a leader who looked at a hard problem and demanded someone else solve it — because you can’t? Then became angrily inconsolable when it couldn’t be solved using your parameters?
Have you ever been that someone else designated to solve a problem, but the problem was unsolvable without radically changing the parameters of the problem (by lying about it)?
Regardless of your position, you have probably asked, or have been asked, to solve an unsolvable problem.
- Make 2+2=Newark.
- Sell 125% of your product’s inventory without making or buying more of it.
- Without any dangerous procedures, make my 17-year-old kid 7 feet tall so that she can play in the NBA by the time she’s 19. I hear they pay a lot of money and she’s currently only 5 foot 3.
- Hammer this nail into the board using that salami I gave you. If it doesn’t go in, just hit it harder. If that still doesn’t work, hit it even harder. If that still doesn’t work, you’re incompetent, not me.
Here’s how to hammer a nail with a salami.
- Put salami aside. Get a hammer.
- Using hammer (not salami), tap nail into wood, increasing strength of tap as the nail sinks in, until nail is fully in wood. Then stop hammering.
- Cut salami into nice thin slices; add Swiss cheese, mustard, and sauerkraut; put between two slices of fresh carraway rye with a corn meal crust; cut in half; and enjoy on a nice plate with a potato salad, a half-sour pickle, and a glass of Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray Tonic. If you’re from California, add lettuce, tomato, and avocado to the sandwich.
The point is, while you should never present a problem without a solution in mind, sometimes there is no real solution. At which point, a good leader will find a way to support the people who deal with the consequences of a bad decision or a bad leader will get rid of those people (or watch them resign).
And if you keep equipping your people with the wrong tools to succeed — including support — you’ll never understand why you can’t find good people to work for you. If good people don’t like working with you, it’s not about them.
Don’t let that happen.
Maybe you should resign right now and save everyone the trouble.
Based in Kirkland, Washington, Alan Harrison is a writer and speaker specializing in nonprofit organizations, strategy, and life politics. His columns appear regularly in major publications. Contact him directly at alan@501c3.guru.
Alan is always looking for good opportunities to write and consult for nonprofits that need a hand. And, of course, that elusive Perfect Opportunity™.
