The importance of being like Ernest
A few weeks ago I met up with an old friend who, like me had served as a medical officer in the Army many years ago.
We were colleagues then at the old Military Hospital in Galle Face – a lovely heritage building, built by the British in the latter part of the 19th century and still standing. Sadly, the other buildings of the old Army headquarters complex along Baladaksha Mawatha, situated on prime commercial land, had been conveniently sold by previous governments (at great profit to the sellers, I am sure) to foreign companies. Where those demolished buildings and the Army sports grounds once were, between the Galle Road and the Beira Lake, the monstrous Shangri-La and ITC hotel complexes now stand.
It was during my time as a young army doctor that I had the experience of working with a sergeant of the Army Medical Corps named Glenville Ernest.
By the time I was posted to the Medical Reception Station or MRS (Army-speak for a simple medical clinic) where he worked, Sergeant Ernest had a well-established reputation of being never known to rush for time. He had never been seen to hurry, he never seemed to worry – and he never, as far as I know, ever lost his temper.
During my long and varied medical career in various parts of the world, I have seen plenty of folk who were past masters in the art of doing nothing. Most of the time, however, they used to put on a grand show to create the impression that they were, in fact, busy doing something.
Sgt. Ernest, on the other hand, was perfectly content when he was doing nothing to look as if that is exactly what he was doing.
In the morning, when I turned up for duty and made my way to my consulting room, he would greet me with a smart salute and crisp “Good morning, Sir.” He would then arrange the files on my table (there were no computers those days!) and go outside, inform the waiting patients in what order they were to go in, and then retire to his desk to await further orders.
If the phone rang, he answered it. If someone came to him with a query, he dealt with it using the minimum number of words necessary. He never pretended to busy himself with files or letters or paper clips. He just sat impassively at his desk until he was called.
This was long before the days when the Japanese ‘Five S’ concept, now known as Seiri (Sort), Seiton (Systematise), Seiso (Shine), Seiketsu (Standardize), and Shitsuke (Sustain) had caught on in our country – but Sgt. Ernest had everything Sorted, Systematised, and Stored ‘Spic and Span’ in the correct place. Above all he maintained a Self-discipline and Silence that were exemplary.
One significant feature about his style of management was that he never went out of his way to do a job that he felt could be delegated to someone else. At the same time, he never tried to make a decision about a matter which he rightly felt should be decided by his superior officer. Those matters which he felt were his to tackle were attended to with minimum fuss and in minimum time – after which he reverted to his customary “standby mode.”
In short, he was the perfect administrator. He did his job, he let his boss and his subordinates get on with theirs – and our medical clinic functioned with supreme efficacy.
Following those good old days as the sole doctor in a small clinic, I have worked in a variety of civilian medical institutions, all staffed by managers eminently more qualified and better paid than my Army sergeant.
Most of these important individuals, I discovered, were so busy performing a plethora of tasks to justify their existence that I used to long for the days when Sgt. Ernest was content to do his allotted task and let those about him get on with theirs. Being a man who knew his job he didn’t feel it necessary to create a flurry of activity and a ream of paperwork to prove to the outside world that he was performing his duties.
Perhaps his technique of masterly inactivity was applicable only to the kind of small medical centres we had at the time. Perhaps it would not work in today’s world where numbers have multiplied and technology has advanced. Maybe medical establishments today need hyperactive managers to efficiently utilise the resources of the 21st century. I often reminisce about Sgt. Ernest – and I wonder.
Some years ago, the medical superintendent of the hospital in England where I used to work, who used to consume forests of paper and cartons of cigarettes with equal profligacy, suffered a heart attack at the age of 44. While I was working in Hong Kong, the administrator (by then dignified with the title of CEO) of my hospital had to undergo emergency surgery one day after vomiting blood and collapsing with a bleeding peptic ulcer.
Sgt. Ernest, in contrast, left the Army at the stipulated age of retirement and lived to a ripe old age, enjoying a well-earned life of grand-masterly inactivity.
I guess all this illustrates the importance of being like Ernest ….rather than being too earnest!
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