Everyone Has a Newman
The People You Never Forget
Over more than two decades of leadership, I've worked with thousands of people.
Some stand out because of the impact they made.
Others because of the lessons they taught me.
And then...
There's Newman.
No, that's not his real name.
But every time I think about him, I can't help but hear Jerry Seinfeld's voice.
"Newman..."
If you've ever led a team, you've probably had your own version of Newman.
The employee who constantly leaves you wondering,
"How did we get here?"
Life With Newman
Newman had an extraordinary ability to make ordinary days unforgettable.
He'd strike up conversations about guitars while I was in the bathroom trying to enjoy a few moments of... let's call it quiet reflection.
One afternoon he decided to cook an entire salmon on the staff room sandwich press.
Not a fillet.
The whole fish.
After receiving some gentle feedback that perhaps a shared sandwich press wasn't designed for whole seafood, he adapted his approach.
He moved to the microwave.
Thirty minutes on high.
The microwave didn't survive.
Neither did the smell.
On another occasion I discovered he was flossing his teeth...
...with his own hair.
Creative?
Absolutely.
Recommended?
Not so much.
Then there was the day he genuinely asked whether he could move his caravan into the underground staff car park.
His reasoning was surprisingly logical.
"If I live at work, I'll never be late."
I admired the commitment.
I declined the request.
Mostly because of Work Health and Safety.
Partly because I suspected the other staff might have questions.
By this point, if you've never seen Seinfeld, you may think I'm exaggerating.
I assure you...
I'm editing for brevity.
Yet here's the strange thing.
Week after week...
Newman hit his targets.
Customers liked him.
His performance numbers were consistently solid.
He constantly reminded me that people don't always fit neatly into the boxes we create for them.
The Axe
Several years later, I had become the Operations Manager.
By now, Newman had built quite the collection of memorable stories.
Then one day he brought a fire axe to work.
His explanation was perfectly logical—in his mind.
"I've got firewood to chop after work and didn't have time to go home first."
In hindsight, perhaps approving the caravan would have solved the storage problem.
Needless to say, bringing a fire axe into a contact centre crossed a line that couldn't be ignored.
His employment came to an end.
Looking back now, I still believe we had to respond to the safety issue.
But I also wonder whether today I'd spend more time trying to understand the person behind the behaviour.
Years later, after working in mental health and becoming an executive coach, I've learnt that behaviour is often only the visible part of a much deeper story.
Six Years Later
Fast forward another six years.
By this stage, Florence—who many of you will remember from another story—was working alongside me again.
We were recruiting for a frontline contact centre role.
After conducting thousands of interviews over the years, I'd developed a habit of reading résumés just before candidates walked through the door.
There were simply too many to remember.
Except this time...
One name stopped me.
Newman.
Surely not.
I looked closer.
Same company.
Same timeline.
Same person.
Against every principle of good interviewing, I called Florence and told her all about my discovery.
I already knew too much.
So I made a conscious decision to let Florence lead most of the interview.
Newman confidently spoke about his previous role.
His achievements.
His successes.
The problem was...
Many of the stories simply weren't true.
About two-thirds of the way through the interview, I watched the look of recognition spread across his face.
"James..."
"Is that you from...?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
Six years had passed.
Apparently, the beard had delayed the recognition.
The interview continued.
Newman didn't get the job.
The Question That Stayed With Me
For a long time, I thought this story was about dishonesty.
Or poor recruitment.
Or bizarre workplace behaviour.
Today...
I think it's about something much harder.
Bias.
Not the kind we usually talk about.
The kind every leader carries from previous experiences.
I've often wondered whether I was interviewing the man sitting in front of me...
...or the man I'd worked with six years earlier.
Would another interviewer have seen potential that I couldn't?
Had Newman changed?
Had he grown?
Was I seeing him clearly...
Or through the lens of every strange memory I'd collected over the years?
I don't know.
What I do know is this.
As leaders, coaches and interviewers, every person we meet deserves to be seen as they are today—not only as they once were.
Past behaviour is often the best predictor of future behaviour.
But it isn't the only predictor.
People grow.
People mature.
People learn.
If I believe coaching can change lives...
Then I also need to believe people can change.
That doesn't mean we ignore evidence.
It doesn't mean we forget the past.
But it does mean we remain open to the possibility that the person sitting across from us may no longer be the person we once knew.
As coaches, one of our greatest responsibilities is to see people not only for who they have been, but for who they are becoming.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if the roles were reversed.
If I walked back into an interview with Bob after the infamous milk saga...
Would he see the stubborn Operations Manager who couldn't let go of being right?
Or would he see the executive coach I've become?
I'd like to think he'd see both.
He'd remember the mistakes.
But he'd also recognise the growth.
After all, isn't that what we hope every leader would do for us?
Perhaps that's the real challenge.
Not whether people can change.
But whether we're willing to believe they have.
These days, whenever I catch myself making quick assumptions about someone...
I smile.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind...
There's always Newman.
And yes...
Every single time I say his name...
I still hear Jerry Seinfeld's voice.
"Newman..."