that he was constructing a navy against the menace of
Japan; that he, and he alone, had saved England from
being humbled in the dust by Russia and France; that it
had been his campaign plan that enabled England’s
Lord Roberts to defeat the Boers in South Africa; and so
on and on.
No other such amazing words had ever fallen from the
lips of a European king in peacetime within a hundred
years. The entire continent buzzed with the fury of a
hornet’s nest. England was incensed. German statesmen
were aghast. And in the midst of all this consternation,
the Kaiser became panicky and suggested to Prince von
Bülow, the Imperial Chancellor, that he take the blame.
Yes, he wanted von Bülow to announce that it was all
his responsibility, that he had advised his monarch to
say these incredible things.
“But Your Majesty,” von Bülow protested, “it seems
to me utterly impossible that anybody either in Germany
or England could suppose me capable of having advised
Your Majesty to say any such thing.”
The moment those words were out of von Bülow’s
mouth, he realized he had made a grave mistake. The
Kaiser blew up.
“You consider me a donkey,” he shouted, “capable of
blunders you yourself could never have committed!”
Von Bülow’s knew that he ought to have praised before
he condemned; but since that was too late, he did the
next best thing. He praised after he had criticized. And
it worked a miracle.
“I’m far from suggesting that,” he answered respectfully.
“Your Majesty surpasses me in manv respects; not
only of course, in naval and military knowledge but
above all, in natural science. I have often listened in
admiration when Your Majesty explained the barometer,
or wireless telegraphy, or the Roentgen rays. I am
shamefully ignorant of all branches of natural science,
have no notion of chemistry or physics, and am quite
incapable of explaining the simplest of natural phenomena.
But,” von Büllow continued, “in compensation, I
possess some historical knowledge and perhaps certain
qualities useful in politics, especially in diplomacy.”
The Kaiser beamed. Von Bulow had praised him. Von
Bülow had exalted him and humbled himself. The Kaiser
could forgive anything after that. “Haven’t I always
told you,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, “that we complete
one another famously? We should stick together,
and we will!”
He shook hands with von Bülow, not once, but several
times. And later in the day he waxed so enthusiastic that
he exclaimed with doubled fists, “If anyone says anything
to me against Prince von Bülow, I shall punch him
in the nose.”
Von Bülow saved himself in time – but, canny diplomat
that he was, he nevertheless had made one error: he
should have begun by talking about his own shortcomings
and Wilhelm’s superiority – not by intimating that
the Kaiser was a half-wit in need of a guardian.
If a few sentences humbling oneself and praising the
other party can turn a haughty, insulted Kaiser into a
staunch friend, imagine what humility and praise can do
for you and me in our daily contacts. Rightfully used,
they will work veritable miracles in human relations.
Admitting one’s own mistakes – even when one hasn’t
corrected them – can help convince somebody to change
his behavior. This was illustrated more recently by Clarence
Zerhusen of Timonium, Maryland, when he discovered
his fifteen-year-old son was experimenting with
cigarettes.
“Naturally, I didn’t want David to smoke,” Mr. Zerhusen
told us, “but his mother and I smoked cigarettes;
we were giving him a bad example all the time. I explained
to Dave how I started smoking at about his age
and how the nicotine had gotten the best of me and now
it was nearly impossible for me to stop. I reminded him
how irritating my cough was and how he had been after
me to give up cigarettes not many years before.
“I didn’t exhort him to stop or make threats or warn
him about their dangers. All I did was point out how I
was hooked on cigarettes and what it had meant to me.
“He thought about it for a while and decided he
wouldn’t smoke until he had graduated from high
school. As the years went by David never did start smoking
and has no intention of ever doing so.
“As a result of that conversation I made the decision
to stop smoking cigarettes myself, and with the support
of my family, I have succeeded.”
A good leader follows this principle:
PRINCIPLE 3
Talk about your own mistakes before
criticizing the other person.
4
NO ONE LIKES TO TAKE ORDERS
I once had the pleasure of dining with Miss Ida Tarbell,
the dean of American biographers. When I told her I was
writing this book, we began discussing this all-important
subject of getting along with people, and she told me
that while she was writing her biography of Owen D.
Young, she interviewed a man who had sat for three
years in the same office with Mr. Young. This man declared
that during all that time he had never heard Owen
D. Young give a direct order to anyone. He always gave
suggestions, not orders. Owen D. Young never said, for
example, “Do this or do that,” or “Don’t do this or don’t
do that.” He would say, “You might consider this,” or
“Do you think that would work?” Frequently he would
say, after he had dictated a letter, “What do you think of
this?” In looking over a letter of one of his assistants, he
would say, “Maybe if we were to phrase it this way it
would be better.” He always gave people the opportunity
to do things themselves; he never told his assistants
to do things; he let them do them, let them learn from
their mistakes.
A technique like that makes it easy for a person to
correct errors. A technique like that saves a person’s
pride and gives him or her a feeling of importance. It
encourages cooperation instead of rebellion.
Resentment caused by a brash order may last a long
time -even if the order was given to correct an obviously
bad situation. Dan Santarelli, a teacher at a vocational
school in Wyoming, Pennsylvania, told one of
our classes how one of his students had blocked the entrance
way to one of the school’s shops by illegally parking
his car in it. One of the other instructors stormed into
the classroom and asked in an arrogant tone, “Whose car
is blocking the driveway?” When the student who
owned the car responded, the instructor screamed:
“Move that car and move it right now, or I’ll wrap a
chain around it and drag it out of there.”
Now that student was wrong. The car should not have
been parked there. But from that day on, not only did
that student resent the instructor’s action, but all the
students in the class did everything they could to give
the instructor a hard time and make his job unpleasant.
How could he have handled it differently? If he had
asked in a friendly way, “Whose car is in the driveway?”
and then suggested that if it were moved, other cars
could get in and out, the student would have gladly
moved it and neither he nor his classmates would have
been upset and resentful.