Unleashing the power of encouragement

By Dave McLurg

Third base side. Second deck. Home ofthe Detroit Tigers Baseball Club. Tiger Stadium. 

As we entered the front gates, thenoise and activity of the crowd sent chills through my body. I clutched thepaper program in my hand as we started the long climb to our seats, thensuddenly there it was: a spectacular green pasture of manicured grass, perfectin every way, from the bright white lines to the scoreboard. My eyes dartedeverywhere, as I had never experienced a professional baseball field. Therewere more people than I had ever seen.

On that picture-perfect Saturday inJuly, in 1971, with bright sunshine and a cloudless blue sky, I had entered abrand-new world. After a four-hour drive with my friend Dalton and his dad, Bart,and one of Bart’s buddies [their names have been changed to protect theirprivacy], I crossed the US/Canada border for the first time. Dalton was mybuddy from birth and we did everything together. Dalton knew my passion forsports, all sports of every kind, but especially baseball. I was his choice tobring to the game. The stern directions from Dalton’s dad to keep my eyesstraight ahead as we entered the U.S. could not take away the joy of adream coming true.

As the silky voice of the announcercame on and asked that we rise and take off our hats for the playing of thenational anthem, I saw the people around me proudly place their right hand ontheir heart and sing the star-spangled banner. Below us, I could see the Tigersin their bright white jerseys withnavy blue piping down the front and an Old English "D" on the leftchest. There were my heroes Kaline, Freehan,Cash, Horton, Stanley…and the list goes on. Almost five decades later, Ican still remember the starting lineup.

It was at that moment, back when I was10 years old, that I felt I was home. I’d spent much of my childhood feelingexcluded. In our small city in Canada, I lived miles away from all the kidsthat I went to school with. Because of the distance, it was hard to make anyfriends except one. Surrounded by people who shared my passion for baseball, I feltI belonged. I decided during that moment in Detroit, Michigan that the U.S. waswhere I wanted to be.

Michigan and Trumbull. That’swhere we were now, I kept telling myself. They were the cross streets to thesports shrine for the former automotive capital of the world: The major leaguebaseball home to the Detroit Tigers. For a sports-crazy 10-year-old from acrossthe northern border, this was the center of the world.

First baseball game, minus dad

If you surveyed most boys in North America, and asked, “Do you remember your first baseball game?” many would recall how truly special that moment was with their dad. My dad was a good man, but he never liked sports and, though he’d immigrated from the U.K. to Canada, wasn’t inclined to make this international trek into what he saw as a foreign and dangerous land. The thought probably would have sent him to bed. And so it was another child’s father, Bart, who was sharing this special moment with me.

Bart was not a storybook dad. Tall,thick chested, with coal-black hair that was slicked back, he always seemed tohave a scowl on his face and had a set of piercing eyes that told you to nevercross him.

Still, he was the dad who had broughtme here, and I was grateful for that.

As the game began, he sat on the aislewith a beer in his hand, about three seats away from me. Leaning toward his buddy,he said, “Watch this”  and then nodded inmy direction.

“Hey McLurg,” Bart asked me, “How isWillie Horton doing this year?” The alcohol had raised his decibel level, so itwas easy to hear him above the crowd.

I quickly rattled off the battingaverage, home runs and RBI’s of the outfielder.

“How about Norm Cash?” he asked.

I quickly delivered the first baseman’soffense numbers.

The names kept coming at a rapid paceand I returned serve each time, rifling off the statistics.

They both laughed. “How f-ing amazingis that?” Bart said. “The kid is a f-ing encyclopedia.”

It made me smile. My parents had met inSussex, England, started their marriage and raised my sister there and thenimmigrated to Ontario, Canada. Proper, tea-drinking people, they had verystrict expectations when it came to appropriate language. I had never heard aswear word in our house. I thought it was cool to hear Bart swearing. It seemedto fit his tough-guy persona.

But what really caught my attention wassomething much more powerful. He’d just called me amazing, an encyclopedia.

Encyclopedias were for smart people.Did that mean I was smart, that I could learn and be great at something?

His words left me stunned. I’dstruggled with a vision problem when I was a boy, and school was a dailychallenge for me. I had never looked at myself as smart or capable, until thatmoment. What he did at that moment was to shift my identity.

The back story

More than 40 years later, afterbecoming an American citizen, I reunited with Dalton after a 30-year gap. Ishared with him how spectacular and life-enhancing that day was for me. 

He told me how terrified he had been.

Terrified. How could that be? A day ofdiscovery and joy for me was filled with fear and trepidation for Dalton. For Dalton,it meant that Bart would be bringing a buddy with him. And not just a baseballbuddy but a drinking buddy. That would mean they’d have drinks before jumpingin the car and more on the trip and then a fistful of beers during thegame. Would this be the day that he woulddie on the ride home?  he’d askedhimself, as he had so many times before. 

I had no idea, and I can guarantee youthat my parents had no realization of the danger, though, in retrospect, Ifinally realized what the unknown stench I smelled on Bart’s breath had been. Daltontold me Bart had eventually divorced Dalton’s mom and split the family. Daltonhad moved away, and I hadn’t seen him anymore.

After reconnecting with Dalton, I had achance to send an email to Bart. He is now in his late eighties, and just asgruff as ever. He has no memory of that day or what he said. Even if he could remember,my guess is he had no intention to encourage me the way he did.

Closing the encouragement gap

None of this mattered at the time Bart encouragedme. Because he was the adult in that situation, he played the role of leader.That gave him power over me. And, despite his human imperfections, he had theability to shape how I felt about myself—and he did, changing the course of mylife.

Today, I am an entrepreneur andinvestor. Thanks to Bart, I’ve never forgotten how powerful encouragement canbe. As a leader, I’ve made encouragement a daily habit. My research has underlinedhow powerful it is. In doing interviews with more than 10,000 people around theworld, I learned that when someone receives sincere and meaningfulencouragement, there is a “moment of identity shift” that occurs, sometimeswithin seconds, that causes the person who is encouraged to look at themselvesdifferently. It gives them an incredible boost of confidence—a new and improvedvision of themselves—and a sense of direction, motivation, joy, passion,creativity and commitment. I’d rather be surrounded by people who have beenenergized in that way than the many people who sadly find encouragement missingfrom their lives.

Many leaders tell me they arefrustrated their team seems disengaged, unfulfilled, uninspired and unhappy,despite all they do to create a great place to work. The solution isn’t planninganother offsite. It comes down to knowing your team and caring enough aboutthem to encourage them. It costs nothing and takes only minutes, sometimesseconds. There is no better way to get the people around you inspired andcreate lifetime loyalty. And as Bart showed me, none of us has to be perfect toget started.

Dave McLurg is co-founder and chairman of Griffin Phoenix Capital, an international private investment firm, and chairman of The Board International, an executive leadership and brand accelerator. Follow him on LinkedIn at https://www.linkedin.com/in/davemclurg/.