Book Companion:

Library and Information Center Management,
Seventh Edition

The Perfect Little Mousy Employees

If there was anything that was guaranteed to put Frank Cervanka in an unpleasant mood it was when he sensed, rightly or wrongly, that one of his employees was about to make a suggestion or a request of some sort. No matter how gently worded and tactfully presented, a suggestion was interpreted as a criticism and a request as a complaint. So touchy and quick-tempered was Cervanka that everyone on his staff took an immense amount of trouble to make themselves agreeable, and in discussions with him (which they seldom initiated) they always proceeded with caution in order to avoid giving the impression that they were finding fault with him or any of his procedures or decisions.

The members of the staff always knew when they were nearing dangerous ground. A hard and unyielding look would come into Cervanka's eyes, the lines of his mouth would become firm and determined, the veins of his temples would stand out, his face would flush an angry red, and his body would become ramrod stiff. This sequence was well known by everyone on the staff, but they were powerless to stop it once it had begun. They would sit there feeling like small and helpless sparrows in the tightening coils of a mighty python, and all they could ever do was stammer their way to a feeble and clumsy ending. In this way the "discussions" would terminate. It was always thus. But how often they wanted to say," Why do you have to pounce on us in this way?" or, "Why can't you let us relax when we talk to you?" They never did any such things for the reason that Cervanka was known to be vindictive. One challenged him at one's peril.

Just why Cervanka would react in this manner is a question for psychologists. But perhaps deep down he was manifesting a secret fear of being taken advantage of, or reacting to some past defeat of his own, or working off some unconscious rage at life. Who knows? Whatever it was his subordinates had learned to accept him and his peculiarities as one accepts an unfavorable climate - with resignation and determination to make the best of it.

A sensitive man himself, Cervanka was strangely insensitive to the needs of others. From what the staff could gather he seemed to think that a smile and a friendly greeting were all it took to maintain good morale. Whenever he encountered them - in the corridors, in the workrooms - he would say:

"How's everything?"

And they would respond: "Not bad. How about with you?"

"Pretty good."

This exchange varied slightly from time to time, but generally it followed on those lines. He never asked about their interests, families, achievements, health, vacations, or whatever. And he never made any comments on their work - good or bad. The so-called "evaluations" he was forced by the administration to give annually consisted of meaningless little chats about nothing in particular.

This touchiness, this defensiveness, was concealed like a foreign substance in a rather suave exterior. No one else - his supervisor, his peers, his professional colleagues, people outside the library - had any inkling of this aspect of his personality. To others he was very friendly. He went about with a good-natured expression on his face, and his manner was easy and cordial. Hence it required the exercise of every scrap of self-control on the part of his subordinates to prevent the truth from bursting forth when people would remark that Frank must be wonderful to work for - so friendly, so nice, so out-going. True to their professional code of ethics they would nod politely - and then quickly change the subject.

Now there was one person on the staff of the Office of Computing and Information Services at the University of Woodcliff, of which Frank Cervanka was director (he reported to the University Librarian), who was able to avoid these nerve-exhausting encounters. That person was Marian Morath, Cervanka's secretary. For reasons no one could explain, Morath could say whatever came into her head, regardless of point or decorum, and get away with it - and, more importantly, she would usually get what she wanted when she made requests. There seemed to be a mysterious bond of understanding between these two that made this possible. And for some equally inexplicable reason the staff did not resent Morath. As a matter of fact, they took advantage of her unique relationship with Cerenka and would often ask her to present their requests for them. This sometimes worked, but not always - as Teng-Zeng Wang can attest.

Teng-Zeng Wang was one of seven information and library professionals on the staff of eighteen in the Office of Computing and Information Services. The Office serves the res3earch staff, faculty, and graduate students at Woodcliff by providing computerized searches for publicly-available data bases. Wang had been on the staff for four years - Cervanka had been there three - and is an energetic and competent information professional. Like everyone else she has found that in order to have any peace of mind at work it is necessary to hold her tongue, keep her own counsel, and say what is expected of her. Naturally, she was ashamed of herself for capitulating in this manner, but found it preferable to living on pins and needles lest she say something wrong. The staff marveled at how easy they were to supervise - so docile, so uncomplaining, so accepting. The perfect little mousy employees they called themselves.

But Teng-Zeng Wang was having trouble accepting one turned-down request that the secretary had presented to her.

In the past few years, Wang had been experiencing pains in her lower back. So acute were they at times that she sought the services of an orthopedic surgeon, who told her she should have an operation to realign her vertebrae and discs. Wang wanted to avoid the risky operation so friends advised her to consult a chiropractor, which she did. The chiropractor prescribed a series of treatments involving adjustments and massage, and told her the chair she was sitting on at work might be contributing to her problem. He suggested she ask her employer to buy her a special chair designed for people with back problems. This Wand did - Via Marian Morath.

Two days later the secretary came back with Cervanka's response. If Wang was hoping, as she was, for a positive response, she was doomed to disappointment. She was stunned by what the secretary told her. "We all could use new chairs," Cervanka apparently had said. "And chiropractors are quacks." That was it. No expression of sympathy. No concern. And, no new chair.

The information professional did not speak. She sat staring at Morath as though she could not believe her ears. "I'm really sorry," the secretary felt obliged to add. "I tried my best." She dropped her hand lightly on the other's shoulder. It was a gesture of good comradeship made by one who was genuinely bothered by having to convey the disappointing news. With an eloquent shrug of her shoulders she returned to her desk outside Cevanka's office.

Teng-Zeng Wang sat silent for a long time, thinking, and her thoughts were not pleasant. "How could a person be so insensitive?" she asked herself. "The saddest thing of all is that Frank doesn't even ask how I am, or express any interest in my problem. I'm expected to smile graciously when I see him and wear a face that says everything is just wonderful. And I'm expected to be motivated - to be able to concentrate fully on my work without being distracted. Hah! I wonder how a good boss would respond to my situation. To think that I haven't ever had what one of my professors called the 'luxury' of knowing what it's like to work for a good boss. I do a good job in spite of my boss. Isn't that incredible? To do good work in spite of being ignored, never thanked, and without any recognition. How do you deal with a boss like Frank? Incredible! But what do I do now?"

A. J. Anderson (Professor Emeritus, GSLIS, Simmons College)