Servant Leadership

Earlier this football season, I put up a post about Pete Carroll, USC's charismatic football coach, and how he kept his team loose before their big game against Ohio State.

Well, it appears he does some other things that many don't know about which also help him in his ability to be a great leader. He is a servant of others. Tim Moore from the Audience Development Group, wrote the following piece that I hope you find as interesting as I did:

It's eight at night. A reporter from LA Magazine is camped in Pete Carroll's office; the apex of Trojan football legacy on the USC campus. Suddenly Carroll ends the dialog and says, "I have to be somewhere." The writer asks if he can come along but is summarily refused.

"Absolutely not," says Carroll. The reporter asks again. With the critical eye of Joe Stalin, Carroll hesitates, acquiesces, and tells the writer he'd better change apparel. The USC coach rummages through a closet and flings a polo at the writer like a dished-off shovel pass. "Put this on," he says. The reporter asks, "How come?" Carroll tells the reporter that he might get shot wearing the bright blue. From there the writer struggles to keep up: an animated walk across campus to a waiting van, then to South Central Los Angeles. He tells J.R. Moehringer, now riding shotgun, to lose his notebook. There will be no quotations or formal written summary as it might make the people they'll be talking to anxious.

First stop, a group of guys on the street: maybe stoned, maybe drunk and possibly armed but to a person, stunned at who is approaching them. Carroll shakes hands, starts talking about football and the tension in the air falls away. They talk about their lives, the police, and other things...a car pulls up. Someone's mother, back from the store. Pete Carroll waves then helps her with groceries, carrying multiple bags. This can't be, she thinks; coach of the tightest, toughest, hippest college football team in the nation, a late night bag-boy? The scene is repeated with several other stops with similar reaction from stunned partisans of the night, until sometime after midnight they head for the obscure van and back to campus.

Carroll explains he feels this ritual is important, necessary in fact, to let these people know someone cares about them and has them in mind. He has found jobs for at least 40 men in these neighborhoods. On this night an emotional young man who thanks Carroll for coming out, places a bracelet on the coach's wrist; something he made and a symbol of solidarity.

Carroll admits few USC fans know of this routine. His wife, Glena, laughs and admits it worried her in earlier times, but not now. She tells LA Magazine writer J. R. Moehringer she's okay with it but drew the line on Baghdad.

If you're a UCLA or Cal fan, you've probably already made up your mind about Pete Carroll and the USC Trojans: arrogant, almost always a notch better, and so damn loose and cocky on the sidelines. If, however, you're ever invited on one of Carroll's after dark recon missions, you might just accept the premise that things are seldom as they appear. Pete Carroll defies the odds on and off the field, just as his boyish never-change-looks defy time. He keeps fun in the game and his players loose and unafraid. Once a card-carrying member of the NFL, he was only a number. Upon becoming the main man of Troy, Carroll became one the most prolific people in all of sports, and Trojan dominance of college football is evidence.

For those of us reaching for significance as leaders in a relatively short life, we'd do well to ask to ride shotgun in South Central Los Angeles with Carroll some night. If not, as an option spend 3 hours watching a Southern Cal game as Carroll strides the sideline in high animation, grinning ear-to-ear, patting players on the shoulders, having the time of his life. That's leadership. That's fun.