Despite their place in history, some of the defense contractor people I later consulted had been on the job for 20 years or more and the thrill was gone. They had lost perspective on what they were part of. The bloom was off the rose. The rocket had lost its luster - literally. The cone-shaped rocket engine in front of the corporate headquarters building was nearly 20 feet tall and covered with bird droppings. Not one or two, here and there. The rocket had been a unisex toilet for our fine-feathered friends for a long time. They must have thought it was an enormous automobile. I started dropping hints about how proud the space program people must be of the role they played in making history. The bird poop stayed. Finally I said, "If I was on the team that put a man on the moon and sends space shuttles around the earth on a regular basis, that rocket out front would be a symbol of my career accomplishments." About a week later, the rocket had a gleaming new paint job and looked like it could be launched into orbit. It had a visible effect on the scientists. Everyone's spirits seemed to be lifted. The director of training was as pleased as punch that he had thought to initiate the rocket refurbishment. When he described how he had come up with the notion and gone "upstairs" to sell the idea of giving corporate pride a shot in the arm, I congratulated him. It was important to make him feel good. I needed my paycheck more than I needed credit for the idea or the popular approval of the rocket scientists. That's who those people were, the Cal Tech crowd that hacks into the Rose Bowl scoreboard every New Year's Day. The Livermore Labs bunch. When people use the euphemism rocket scientist, they're talking about those guys. I knew, as did my father, what it was like to be part of something bigger than any individual. He worked nearly 40 years in the public relations department at the Maytag Company. Everywhere he went and everyone he talked to mentioned their positive experiences with Maytag's legendary quality. After the character of Old Lonely was created in the mid-1960s, everyone Dad encountered talked about the loneliest repairman.

What Costume Do You Wear?

Do you wear the costume of Old Lonely, the Maytag Repairman? Real Maytag repair people across the United States are proud to wear the same uniform as Old Lonely. They're part of a legacy. For decades, the Maytag factories in Newton, Iowa, called Plant I and Plant II, shut down for two weeks every summer. That was vacation time for all of the plant workers who scattered to the four corners of the continent in their station wagons and camper-trailers. And nearly every station wagon and camper had a bumper sticker that read: "We're from Newton, Iowa - Home of Maytag - The Dependability People." How many employees today would apply a bumper sticker to their vehicles as they head out of town on vacation proudly proclaiming where they're from and the company they work for? Maytag would have never achieved its remarkable reputation for quality if it wasn't for a dedicated and proud organizational population. Maytag pride and quality were part of them and they were part of every Maytag product. If you're not from the northeastern part of the country and have never experienced shopping at a Stew Leonard's Dairy Store, do it the first chance you get. Stew Jr., Jill, Beth, and Tom are carrying on the inspired customer service culture their still active father started decades ago. More important than the world-class customer service and unique shopping environment at Stew Leonard's is the commitment to their employees; a commitment that earned them a spot as one of Fortune Magazine's top 30 companies to work for. In Stew Sr.'s own words, "You can't have a great place to shop without first making it a great place to work." Visit i,vww.stewleonards.com and you'll start feeling the energy. Request a copy of Stew's News, their bimonthly newsletter and you'll be amazed. It's an incredible effort for Jill Leonard Tavello and her staff; usually around 60 pages of news and stories about employees and their families, featuring hundreds of employee photographs are in each issue. But it's just one part of how the leadership at Stew Leonard's constantly recognizes and celebrates their employees. The net result is tremendous dedication and unsurpassed performance.

At Stew Leonard's, as with any culture of excellence, a uniform is more than thread and fabric. It's the way you feel about yourself and what you do. It's your cloak of connectedness. You might not wear an actual uniform the way UPS or Federal Express delivery people do. Police officers, firefighters, nurses, physicians, ball players, and soldiers wear clothing that is both functional and helps identify their trades. But that doesn't mean you can't feel similar pride. If you dress professionally, you're wearing the uniform of a professional. You can not only find something to be proud of in what you do, you can also find pride in how you do it. You might not take as much pride in the firm that employs you as you take in the profession you represent. Are you proud of being an accountant, an ad writer, an engineer, an attorney, an electrician, or a mailroom clerk? A true thespian will take a small part and make the most of it. Proud professionals make something special out of everything they do. Whether your costume is literally on your back or figuratively in your consciousness, it connects you to something bigger than you as an individual. You're never so unimportant that your job doesn't matter. Do your job poorly and you create a demand on others to compensate. Ask them if what you do matters. Do a fantastic job and it becomes more evident how much your contribution counts. The heartbreak comes when your best efforts are not recognized by idiots up the ladder. That's when you have a decision to make. Is your job worth doing because you are the one doing it? Do you do your job with passion and fervor, despite the absence of appreciation, because that's the kind of person you want to go home with after work? It's up to you, not your Idiot Boss, to decide how you feel about yourself as a professional.

Be Part of the Best

For most of my adult life, I've felt a need to be best at something. I've never found anything I'm best at except being me. And I can always improve. I've found great peace in giving up my fantasy of being the best and brightest. That decision has lifted a tremendous burden from my shoulders. You can kill yourself trying to be the best. If you no longer feel a Machiavellian-like drive to be the best at the exclusion of all others, then you won't feel a need to compete with your boss to see who's best. So many people these days are brighter, more talented, and more productive than their bosses. What does it matter? Your boss is still your boss, whether you're smarter and more talented or not. And bosses don't, as a rule, enjoy being shown up. Remind yourself your boss, like you, is only one component in the big picture. There is no need to compete. Depressurize your situation by putting your efforts into making the organization, cause, or project you're involved in "the best." If it is about the organization, cause, or project - and not about you - the need you once felt to compete with your boss, idiot or otherwise, will dissipate. Allowing others to receive praise and affirmation will ultimately relieve enormous pressure and make your life more pleasant.

Be Realistic

If you're still trying to decide if you should give credit to your I-Boss for the good work you do, consider this: He's going to take the credit anyway. That leaves you with two options: You can fight your I-Boss for the spotlight or just let go. If you fight your I-Boss, or any boss for that matter, you'll have at least one hand tied behind your back. You might think you have the horsepower to outsmart or outmuscle your boss and you might be right, but only if your boss is all you have to deal with. Focusing on the big picture and your role in it will put a new expression on your face. It's the kind of expression that makes highlevel executives comfortable. There will be no death in your eyes. You will walk a little lighter and move more fluidly. You might earn the title, "company person." This will make you less popular with the cynics, but that's the miserable crowd the new you wants to distance from. In reality, you have not given up who you are, unless being a resentful fist shaker is who you want to be. You've released the inner person to do your best work. What's changed most is why you're doing what you're doing. You're part of a grand scheme and can expand or contract your contributions (within reason) as your mood dictates. When you bring a proposal to your I-Boss, something he will attach his name or the department's name to, you give your ideas a better chance for adoption by getting your need for recognition out of the way. Recognition will come. Organizationally speaking, to challenge your I-Boss is to put his higher-ups into an uncomfortable and potentially untenable situation. If they are so smart, why do they have idiots in their organizations? If they are idiots, whom do you think they're going to side with, you or your Idiot Boss? Even if they think you're right, the paperwork to move somebody in the organization is prohibitive. As I've already mentioned, firing people these days is next to impossible. The more positive you feel about Idiot Bosses, the more comfortable they will feel around you. That's reality. Over time, you will no doubt have the opportunity to move up, not because of your talent and abilities, which your I-Boss wouldn't understand anyway, but because of how comfortable he feels around you. That, too, is reality. Once promoted, don't forget who promoted you. Be an effective servantleader to your team members. Sympathize and empathize with their complaints about your boss and ask them to help you avoid the same pitfalls of anger and resentment. Stop the cycle of idiocy.