We had been working for the entire morning on building consulting skills—over 100 internal compensation experts from the organization’s global locations—and were about to hear the executive vice president of HR address us after lunch, preparatory to a full afternoon of more tough work.
About 20 minutes late, in walked the EVP, resplendent in what had to be a $2,000 suit. He wore a blue shirt with white collar and French cuffs, a handkerchief in his pocket, and his full, white hair was frighteningly disciplined. As I looked at his highly shined Johnson and Murphy shoes, they began to dance.
It was the HR tap dance.
He told us he had just come from a meeting with the CEO’s top team, discussing some upcoming changes which he couldn’t share, but which would be “exciting.” He told us some lame jokes about the company and about some guys at a bar, and waited for the room to dutifully laugh. He handled questions with the aplomb of a Nixon press secretary—many words, nothing said.
When asked about a new merit increase system, he said, “It was always a priority.” When queried about the company’s poor contributions to the pension plan, he said, “We’ve got to improve that, when circumstances permit.” When one person asked if it were true that his office was slated for closing, our friend sidestepped with “You know we value our people and try to never let anyone go without proper treatment.”
He then reviewed the “incredibly important” organizational value, bromides such as “respecting employees,” “valuing diversity,” and “pleasing the customer every time.” He invited people to call him at any time, since his door was “figuratively always open.” He regretted that he couldn’t get to all of the operations represented in the room due to “pressing duties” in headquarters. But he strongly implied that he was the champion of the employees, always representing them, always listening, always looking for better policies.
He left us with a final joke, a hackneyed “thanks for your efforts” and waltzed out the door, all this in 12 minutes, because he was “needed by the CFO.”
When I inquired later I found that most people in the room had never actually seen him in person before, and that his most notable achievement was the sickeningly efficient downsizing of the staff on two separate occasions.
Tap dancers are loud, and they spin a lot. You tend to watch their feet and miss their overall movements. And they almost always perform alone on stage.



© 2004 Alan Weiss

Alan Weiss, Ph.D.is a regular contributor to HR.com and the author of 23 books appearing in six languages, including the 12-year best-seller, Million Dollar Consulting. Contact him at http://www.summitconsulting.com. You can join his international destination for professionals and entrepreneurs at http://www.AlansForums.com.