Organizational Doom and Resurrection

Herewith, I invite you to picture this: a medium-sized hospital just outside a Dutch provincial capital in the late 1980s. The hospital's architecture is terrifying and so are the symptoms of a number of the patients. However, the organization's structures and routines are not in the least repulsive. They are neutral, clean. The bureaucratic and, where required, organic liturgy is reeled off in a smooth and absent-minded way -- by doctors, nurses and support staff, alike.

Things went on like that -- until the day, or the hour, that the board of directors was given an idea. The idea resulted in a discussion and the discussion in a decision: to close down the hospital's public relations department. Anticipating broad dissent, the board of directors engaged an external consultant -- on the assumption that such an outside expert would share the management's opinion that the department was indeed dysfunctional. The external consultant's name was Irene van Daalen. This cheerful Amsterdam girl, with her open face devoid of make-up, and her smart pastel-coloured suit, is the heroine of this story of organizational doom and resurrection.

The public relations department was accommodated in a portable cabin, on the south side of the hospital building, opposite the mortuary. Having a mortuary as a direct neighbour offered the department a welcome distraction. Nearly all staff members commented eagerly on the coffins and the people that passed the morgue's door.

Imagine, then, the head of department, Joop Postma, exclaiming during the Monday morning meeting:

'The Grim Reaper must have had a good weekend! Look, that's the second dead person, already!'

Joop Postma held the slats of the Venetian blind aside to allow his people to see. Across the parking space, a grey hearse was moving towards them, with a silver cross behind the side window. The chauffeur was reversing and obviously he was not used to that, because he had to adjust his direction again and again.

'Not a regular customer', the editor of the hospital magazine commented.

'Can we go on?' asked the secretary, slapping the minutes of the previous morning meeting on the rim of the table.

Joop shook his head. 'Wait a second. Let's see who this new customer picks up.'

After a short conservation, the driver and the mortuary man went inside. A few minutes later, the double doors of the morgue suddenly swung open and blew back against the table on rollers That carried the coffin.

'There's another trolley from the haunted house', Joop remarked, putting on his Groucho Marx face. 'Life is a carnival.'

'The work meeting has now started', said the secretary. 'Has anyone got any comments on Page 1 of the minutes? Textual? Other remarks?' Joop Postma let The slats drop again. 'A gold-handled coffin, no ... not for me', he said.

The arrival of the external consultant was announced during another such morning meeting. Postma stood by the window of the portable cabin and called out: 'Finally we will make the acquaintance of someone with a different perspective on our hospital and its supportive departments!' Postma described Irene van Daalen as a leading figure in her field. Lately, she had published an inspiring plea for allowing emotionality in rendering professional services. 'Consultants, too, should benefit from the fact that they are human. That is Irene van Daalen's message', Postma summarized. 'So ... she will arrive today. In fact, I expect her any moment. She starts her tour of the supportive departments here, with us, in our cabin'.

The day after her arrival, Irene van Daalen caught Postma saying to someone that the hospital management had decided to shut down his department as of 1 January. 'No, no', Irene said to herself, sneaking away from the entrance hall where Postma was still gesticulating wildly to his colleague.

'No, I recognize this. Announcing bad news is a common strategy in crisis management. This is not a fait accompli, but a challenge. This is the moment for the department to prove its indispensability.'

'Did you say something?' asked one of the occupants of the portable cabin, who coincidentally caught up with her in the long corridor.

Irene recounted what she had heard.

'That's a joke! Our boss is a joker! Time and again he announces the end of the world or at least The end of our department -- only to stir us up.'

Indeed, later That morning, Postma entered The portable cabin and said, in reply to a rather superfluous question: 'You're asking me? Think for yourself! That is exactly what I would like my department to do: to think! I empower you, my dear friend, to use your own brains instead of mine.'

However, it was not Postma's statements that stirred up his subordinates, but a real, physical blow, which shook The whole portable cabin, shortly after noon. A hearse had bumped into the short side of The department's accommodation. The man from The undertaker's had to laugh about it. How could it have happened? There was enough space between the morgue and this show, here. He rubbed with his silk glove over the crushed headlamp and estimated the damage at two thousand guilders. No big deal.