So, I’m thirty years old and a newly appointed director of a department of six people.  I’ve been to college and even graduate school, but I’ve never had a leadership class in my life. I was a history major in college and studied theology in seminary but little of that was going to help me now.

There were people in my department who were looking to me to actually lead them!  But lead them where? And lead them how? I was hearing words like, “delegate” and “motivate” and phrases like, “there is no I in TEAM.”  I had a department to lead, but did I have a team?  And what is it that’s supposed to happen in departmental meetings? I had absolutely no clue.  And, to make matters worse, my team knew it too!

And then there was the very uncomfortable fact that almost everyone in my department was so much older than me and had worked for the company for several years. I agonized over the question, “What do I have to offer them?”

Enter Jim.

He was in his mid-fifties when I first met him.  He was the Vice President under which my department operated and my direct supervisor.  He was old enough to be my dad, but he really wasn’t much of a father-figure.  More like a quirky uncle it seemed. He had thinning, Grecian Formula hair swept back in an almost comb-over way, a wiry frame, and eyeglasses that looked like those my grandfather wore.  He was always wearing light grey suits and rather bland broad-striped ties. He seemed to be a little rumpled, like his jacket had spent the night laying over a chair in his study.

He had an office down the hall and always left his door open.  So, whenever I’d stop by, he’d just wave me in and point to a chair.  If it was close to lunchtime he’d stand up and say, “Let’s get out of here.”  Putting on his afore-mentioned jacket, he’d motion toward his office doorway, and we’d make our way through the hallways and cubicles intending to head downstairs and out to his car in the parking lot.

Walking with Jim was always an adventure.  He couldn’t pass through another department without someone stopping him to chat.  Trying to exit the building had its own challenges as people from companies on the first floor would come out of their offices when they saw Jim so they could swap stories from days long ago. It seemed like everybody knew Jim and he always had a quip and a smile for them and promise to have lunch soon.

After we made our escape, I always felt like I was the one getting to go to lunch with the guy everybody liked and wanted to be with.  It made me feel special.  I usually drove and so he would flick his finger and say, “Let’s head over to ‘the hole.’” He’d been in the Navy during World War II, so every restaurant had a nickname, and “the hole” was his slang for The Hamburger Hamlet, which was, in reality, a very respectable, white-table-cloth restaurant.

We’d settle into our seats in our favorite booth in the corner and almost immediately our waitress would appear, dressed in the standard black and white uniform. Snapping her gum and holding her order pad and pencil in expectation, she’d look at Jim quizzically and ask, “You want your usual hon?” Jim couldn’t just give her a straight answer; he’d have to say something in his best Irish accent like, “Ah darlin’ where’ve ya been?  I’ve been sitting here waiting for ya on a kidney bean and a cracker!”  I never did understand that line, but what I did understand was that I was in the presence of a real character.

Jim had a “Barnacle Bill the Sailor” way about him that belied the fact that he made me feel like he was really listening and always taking me seriously.  He seemed to exhale stories, usually from his early days of living in Upper Peninsula Michigan. And every story had relevance to the conversation at hand. It was Jim that helped me to begin to feel comfortable with being who I was at the time, a 30-year-old, new leader, with many mistakes yet to be made, and they were inevitable, because none of us comes to leadership unscathed.

It wasn’t until 40 years after his passing, in my 73^rd year, that I opened a copy of a book written in Jim’s honor.  I don’t know why it took me so long to crack its cover.  But it was in reading the collected writings Servant of Words: A Tribute to James L. Johnson/ Mentor to Writers and Communicators, edited by his good friend Bob Reekie, that I fully realized Jim had written 16 books, been a clergyman, served as a missionary in Africa, helped establish the communications department at Wheaton College, founded several international organizations, and served as an executive in a Christian organization.

You see Jim didn’t need to tell people about his accomplishments to get people to listen to him.  He just had to be available, be actively listening, tell relevant stories, and be himself — the self-avowed, imperfect man that he was.  I guess you could say he was a servant-leader, though I never heard him use that phrase.

It was Jim who helped me understand that leaders are human beings first, with all the flaws that the human condition carries.  He helped me see that leaders may carry many of the same responsibilities, but they come in many forms and are not all cut from the same material.  I’d love to hear about some of the characters who’ve mentored you along the way.