paul has worked beside some leaders that sure were unique.

Jon.

Possibly the funniest guy I have ever worked with was Jon; a  6′ 2″, bearded and brash Scotsman. Proud of his non-comformity to most social and work-place norms he bounced through life at breakneck speed. An accomplished photographer, men’s counsellor, and all-round good bloke, Jon saved me numerous times from shooting myself in the foot at work. In the mid 2000s I had been “relocated” from the homelessness program team and embedded in the counselling program team. This was a decent fit for a homelessness prevention program that at its core sought to prevent families from losing their homes, but did this through practical support and lots of ‘talking therapy’. When my line manager moved on, Jon became my Coordinator – a role he didn’t really want, but accepted as the ‘old man’ of the group to support his younger team. Jon was always the larrikin at work, and this was not tempered when he moved into the leadership role. You see, Jon used black humour – well, any type of humour – to unite people in laughter and make people feel good. He had next to zero filter. Storming into my office one afternoon, rubbing his arms as if he’d emerged from a blizzard he announces, “Gezus, I’m cold. I just took the biggest dump of my life and I think my body temperature has dropped 3 degrees”.

Jon treated his team as adults and supported autonomy. He was also keen on rewarding the team with ‘down time’. Extended meetings, walking meetings, and the annual team retreat were all welcomed by the team. In fact, one year our team of eight travelled to Swansea and sat in the annexe of a holiday cabin waiting to commence our ‘professional development’. Long before YouTube made clips readily available, Jon had copied two clips onto a DVD and played it on the small screen in the cabin. The first clip was taken from the classic movie, The Sound of Music. It featured Sister Sophia turning to Maria to say, “What is it you can’t face?”. It was over in five seconds, and the team were confused. Jon played the clip again, this time pointing at the television, and laughing to himself. Still nothing from his pupils. I reckon he played it five times before we were all palms up confused. Jon asked, “Did you hear that?”. The team offered nothing. He gave up on the video, and in his thick Scottish accent acted the scene himself, “Maria, what is it you cunt face?”. The team laughed, and although his acting skills were stiff, when we watched it again he had a point.

The second video clip was Jon’s much favoured Monty Python’s, “Always look on the bright side of life”. He played the clip, and we watched attentively. When it concluded, there was no discussion, no analysis. Jon declared ‘professional development’ time was over, and cracked open a beer. That was Jon.  That said, you never quite know what is going on for someone else. Nor quite what they have experienced across their life journey. To Jon mateship and camaraderie was key. He was fiercely loyal, and backed his team members to get the training and support they needed. You see, I was to learn much later (when I became his Manager) that early in Jon’s career he was a sailor. He played a role in the recovery effort following the bombing of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie in December 1988. Sadly, Jon died of cancer.

Wayne.

Wayne was the most unlikely of community service workers. As a successful Financial Planner (focused on wealth), he joined my Financial Counselling team (focused on debt options), after he sold his business. For two years, Wayne worked diligently to help countless clients address their debts and reduce their financial stress. Wayne was always prepared. He did his research always seeking to understand an issue before presenting options to a client. He was meticulous in the organisation of his desk and client files, he had efficient systems to ensure he got through the work, and  he maintained the upmost professionalism in his client interactions. He was always measured his speech, never being verbose, and he never said a bad word about anyone. He had a propensity to respond to you with the word ‘correct’ when he agreed with you, and this idiosyncratic behaviour is now one of the things I miss the most. Wayne died at age 59.

Mike.

A former school principal, and regional head of child protection, Mike was a tough, ‘old school’ character. You had to earn his respect. And it wasn’t earned quickly nor cheaply. I recall, upon taking on the Anglicare State Manager role, a meeting with Mike, where he, not giving me any latitude to settle in the role, set about reading me the “riot act”. The program had had a poor start, and I was five minutes in, and there was no mistaken the need to improve what we were doing. So I set about listening to his concerns. He told it as it was and I accepted the challenge. I worked in this manner with Mike for several years. He was effectively acting on behalf of the funding body, and I was the representative of the agency seeking to implement the service. Overtime he warmed up. He attended a couple of our Communities for Children Conferences and communicated clearly his delight at the content and format. I recall one afternoon several weeks later running into Mike in the street and him relaying his favourite parts from the plenary session. Mike in full replay mode, complete with full belly laughs. I learned much by watching Mike. He maintained meticulously accurate records of all his meetings. In his office you could see all his note books lined up in date order on his shelf. I also admired how Mike commanded attention and maintained eye contact will all in the room when he spoke – presumably a legacy of him being a teacher and later a Principal where effective communication is paramount. I was saddened the day I heard he had fallen ill, and rushed to hospital. Tragically, Mike died just weeks away from his scheduled retirement. Vale Mike.

Gaylene.

Although we only overlapped for a couple of years, Gaylene was a quiet and highly effective leader. In the intense environment of ‘front desk’ at a busy multi-service community agency, Gaylene led her team with care, and was attuned to their training needs. Always seeking to improve the public facing service, Gaylene sought to remove ‘single person dependancies’ by training all of her team to complete all of the roles in the administration unit. This was, so obvious in retrospect, but role specialisation under previous team leaders had led to chaos when anyone of the team were away. Gaylene was alway responsive to my requests as a leader. She was literally the first to arrive and the last to leave. I remember waving good bye to Gaylene one Friday evening, and arriving the following Monday to hear that she had passed away suddenly at home. Vale Gaylene.

Emma.

I recruited Emma to my leadership team for a role in North West Tasmania, and she delivered. An outsider to the agency, and the state, she arrived with a humble, good natured approached. As a dedicated youth worker she new her stuff, and, being a few years into her leadership journey, she treated her team well. Emma received news that she had cancer while pregnant and she approached her treatment bravely. Her calming influence, her practice wisdom, and her kind nature were lost to the world when she died before her 32nd birthday.

Nikki.

I recruited the softly spoken and quietly confident, Nikki to a Youth Worker role in Northern Tasmania a couple of years before I left Anglicare. Nikki, a recent graduate, was a deeply authentic early career professional, with an almost unrivaled capacity to build rapport quickly with young people. Her refined skill (or simple natural ability) to work beside and advocate with/for her clients mirrored those with decades more experience. I was “happy sad” when Nikki asked me to be a referee for a role she aspired to in the State Service. That is, I was tremendously happy to support her career growth, while sad the “community sector” would lose her contribution. Almost a decade later I joined her in the State Service. Nikki was a stalwart within her team by the time I arrived to address workforce shortages in another area of the same Department. Based in the same office complex, but on different floors, we chatted in 30 second bursts at the lift or while passing in the corridor. Nikki was gentle, positive, and unassuming. She moved between meetings with purpose, while always stopping to chat briefly and “check in”.  Her life cut short by a tragic accident, I will forever miss Nikki’s authenticity and her kind presence around the office.

M.

“M” was a long serving Financial Counsellor who reported to me early in my leadership career. M did not have a formal leadership title nor formal delegated authority, however she was a practice expert and a mentor to her younger peers – including me. Being at least 30 years her junior I was conscious of respecting the age, life and work experience, and practice knowledge differences between us, and she was gracious in affording me the time and opportunity to learn the financial counselling craft. I listened more than I spoke when in the presence of M, and this served me well as it accelerated my growth. In return, I used my formal leadership authority to influence changes that M had long recommended with respect to rosters, reporting, records and representation. Aside from her deep knowledge, M had a level of eccentricity that fascinated me. Unassuming and intensely private, M guarded her name (hence me using an abbreviation here), contact details, background and back story extremely closely. In more than 4 years of working together, M never shared anything non-work related with me, and I respected that. When she fell ill, I was stumped how to support her best without understanding who she had caring for her outside of work. Upon hearing of her being diagnosed with a terminal illness I was buoyed by the fact that a colleague of hers (also a direct report of mine) had been “let in” and supported her with end of life matters and estate planning. M never forgotten.

Jeremy.

I have dedicated another post to Jeremy (click here), and this website is in memory of Jeremy. He taught me not to seek to be the best in the world, but to seek to be the best for the world.