In last month’s “Arthurism” blog, I highlighted how little rituals can contribute to organizational culture in powerful ways. I’ve been reflecting on how every group, family, business, really any collection of human beings who have something special, all have rituals. Perhaps it’s a special language, inside jokes, or just silly little things that happen with some regularity. There are always stories that get told over and over again. These rituals bind the members of the group together. They reinforce the group’s unique identity. It reminds group members of the lessons learned along the way and reinforces what’s important.
As I pondered these thoughts, it hit me – I almost forgot about the Oy Vey! Jar.
Arthur’s Office
Arthur’s office was the place you went to work things out, to kick around half-formed ideas, and sometimes just to blow off steam. His door was almost always open. Many of us took full advantage of that. I have a clear recollection of one of our guys, Lenard Goldbaum, storming into the office one Monday morning when Arthur and I were having our weekly meeting. He apologized for the interruption and said, “I’m putting a five into the jar right now!” He then expressed his exasperation over a recent event. I do not remember exactly what the issue was. I do remember that Arthur asked a couple of questions, that a short conversation followed, and that Len left the office a smiling, far calmer man than when he first darkened Arthur’s office doorway.
The “Jar”
It wasn’t actually a jar; it was a large coffee mug with the words “Oy Vey!” (Yiddish for OMG) on it. The mug sat on a bookshelf just a few steps from the office door. It became known as a “jar” in reference to a swear jar. For those unfamiliar, a swear jar is traditionally used to discourage swearing. If someone curses, they must put money into the jar. These jars were usually old Mason jars or similar containers. Given how common profanity is now, the concept may not be as widely known.
The Ritual and Its Value
I don’t doubt Arthur used the Oy Vey! mug as a swear jar at first; I just can’t say for sure. But over time, it became something else—subtle, and worth much more than the ten bucks Arthur probably paid.
He used to liken it to the fines paid as a result of the Baltimore Orioles Kangaroo Court of the late 60s and early 70s, presided over by “Da Judge” Frank Robinson. The ritual of conducting “cases” before the court was credited with keeping the O’s loose and contributing to their culture and dynasty. Arthur’s office was our Kangaroo Courtroom.
Second Baseman Davey Johnson pleading his case before Judge Robinson in 1969.
The cool thing was that, after a while, we were self-policing. We put a buck in the jar without Arthur having to tell us. Arthur created a space for us to be honest about our frustrations, conflicts, and failures. It was a safe place and a learning place. And we always walked out with a little more peace, a little more grounded, and frequently, with a little laughter.
Arthur told you to deposit a dollar in the Oy Vey! jar anytime we lost our cool or said something when we should have known better. We’d complain about this or that, and then Arthur would always turn it around to help us gain perspective. Sometimes he asked a question to help us reason. Other times, it was brutally obvious that we should not have been surprised by the wrong done to us, like complaining about a famously difficult client, workmate…or a boss… Sometimes he would turn us around with his typical refrain: “Hey, he did you a favor…now you are smarter!” Those words still ring in my mind every time I feel like I’ve been done dirty somehow. They completely flip the script. It was a great way to remind us that others only control us when we let them. It reminded us to take ownership of our situation and our emotions.
The Jar provided Arthur with opportunities to walk the talk. His contributions to the fund reinforced the bonds between himself and team members. Arnie Litman related: “Once Arthur and I had a disagreement. We went back and forth, seeing eye to eye but not in agreement. It got testy for us. We each put in a dollar. And laughed.”
As Len recently reminded me, he dropped a five into the jar more than once. He had some whoppers. Arthur always fined a dollar, but most of us adjusted the fine depending on the severity of the issue. There was a lot of money in the kitty when it was all said and done. It was an investment. We are all richer for it.
