‘Work’ Versus ‘Real Work’

I spent decades at a law firm.

Now, I’ve spent a decade in-house.

I’m still occasionally startled.

Some experts were recently discussing corporate structures, and they mentioned that the typical executive has eight to 10 direct reports.  This was no surprise; it’s how corporations operate.

But the experts then mentioned that executives who are “player/coaches” should have only four to six direct reports.  “Player/coaches” are those who, like lawyers, are expected both to manage other people and also to advise a business or otherwise — how should I put this? — actually do work.

That’s just my old “law firm lawyer” showing through, I guess.

In a law firm, there’s “work” — getting stuff done on behalf of a paying client — and there’s “wasting time” — everything else.  That’s silly, of course, because law firms must do many things beyond billable work.  Firms must recruit new lawyers, train junior lawyers, develop business, handle pro bono cases, and the like.  But law firms often pay only lip service — and not money — to those who deign to handle non-billable tasks.  At the end of the year, when firms are deciding who gets paid how much, the person who wasted time doing non-billable stuff will generally be punished, and everyone knows it.

I’m thus still astonished that corporations would think that typical executives could manage 10 people, but lawyers could manage only six because of the “distraction” of the only thing that law firms would consider to be “work.”  It’s a distraction — a distraction — to give advice, negotiate contracts, revise briefs, and do that other stuff.  A manager should spend his time managing, not doing that other stuff.

I mentioned this to a friend at another company, and the friend scoffed at my ignorance:  “You should hear the people at my joint,” the friend said.  “They have no respect for ‘ditch-diggers’ — employees who spend their time doing productive tasks.  Management is king.”

Maybe I’m surprised because of the nature of being a lawyer.  If you’re a trial lawyer, then eventually you — you personally — must know the case.  You’re going to argue it, and put on witnesses, and cross-examine people.  Beyond a certain point, you can’t delegate that to a team; it’s up to you.

So, too, for appellate advocates.  Appellate lawyers can delegate a lot of brief-writing and research and preparation.  But eventually you — you personally — must know the case.  It’s the essence of what you do, and it’s non-delegable.  Eventually, you have to dig a ditch.

The question is whether, at a corporation, most executives have to really know anything.  Can you honestly just manage a gang and then give a speech that the gang wrote for you?  Can you rely on the PowerPoint deck and the speaking notes that the gang prepared for you?  Can you bluff your way through the client meeting based on the bullet points the gang handed you a half-hour before the meeting?

That point struck home again when our annual “engagement survey” — essentially measuring job satisfaction — asked whether “your manager takes time to get to know you personally.”

At a law firm, you’d be punished for getting to know folks personally:  “All that clown does is stand around the office chatting with people.  Doesn’t he have any work to do?”

At a corporation, you’re evaluated in part based on whether you took the time to get to know folks personally.  You’re supposed to do this, for heaven’s sake, and it’s held against you if you don’t.

O brave new world that has such creatures in ‘t.

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Mark Herrmann spent 17 years as a partner at a leading international law firm and is now deputy general counsel at a large international company. He is the author of The Curmudgeon’s Guide to Practicing Law and Inside Straight: Advice About Lawyering, In-House And Out, That Only The Internet Could Provide (affiliate links). You can reach him by email at [email protected].