Many people have mastered a unique specialty:

•French cooking: Julia Child

•Tennis: Roger Federer

•Magic: David Copperfield

•Talking Straight: Joan Rivers (and me)

That’s how practiced I am at this. To quote our CEO, “You don’t need an interpreter to understand what Scott is thinking.” I’m guessing that wasn’t entirely a compliment, but at the same time, this leadership challenge is a bit messy for me. Sometimes an overdone strength can be just as damaging as one that’s absent altogether.

It was 2004, and I was halfway into my six-year “reign of terror” (as my then-associates now refer to it) in Chicago. Business was growing and recovering nicely from the 2001 recession. I was still on the left side of my leadership learning curve, and typically taking the proverbial two steps forward and one back. Tensions in the office were palpable. I didn’t see it then, but I’m now told I was a classic micromanager and know-it-all jerk—likable at times, but increasingly feared by many. It was a tough role to be in: transforming a division that had been leaderless for nearly two years, with associates either aimless or outright taking advantage of the company. That reality aside, it all came to a surprising head one day.

Although the broader division had about forty associates, the actual office was smaller, about fifteen people, and we worked closely together. I hired nearly every one of them, a very talented group of professionals, and they all liked each other (key words there are they and each other). Paul Walker was then a junior salesperson but becoming a culture leader on the team. I suspect there must have been a team meeting and Paul was nominated to take on the straight-talk task.

Paul walked into my office one morning and, with flawless delivery, lowered the boom: “Everyone here hates you, and if something doesn’t change, we’re all going to quit.”

These are the types of statements that don’t leave much open to interpretation. This was uncharacteristic of Paul, as this level of courage and talking straight wasn’t (yet) his brand. He was confident but respectful of my position. Paul was more the quiet type who would endure jerks like me and then announce one day he was leaving for another opportunity. He closed the door and we sat for over two hours and talked—transparently and with no limits. We talked about what was happening and why, and we listened to each other. I worked to understand the gravity of my behavior, and Paul worked to understand all of the pressures I was facing from above me.

Not every culture values straight talk. As a leader, it's your judgment to understand your latitude. Straight talk can be delivered in respectful and honorable ways without ever diminishing someone's reputation.

We both cried. I will never forget it: likely one of the most selfless and generous gifts ever given to me. Paul called out exactly what it was like to work with me, drawing upon specific encounters and conversations. He clearly boxed me in, so I understood the magnitude of the pain I was causing. He also afforded me the chance to share my own challenges—what it was like sitting on my side of the desk each day; the pressures I was under; some of the issues I was facing. It was a very healing and introspective conversation.

I think things got incrementally better. I remained the leader for about three more years, mentoring Paul as my eventual successor. I believe that the straight talk I have consistently used and modeled for others, while not always pleasant to hear, has been a catalyst for really helping them become better. I know the straight talk I received from Paul that day certainly did it for me.

Not every culture values straight talk. As a leader, it’s your judgment to understand your latitude. Straight talk can be delivered in respectful and honorable ways without ever diminishing someone’s reputation.

So, what’s the opposite of straight talk? Posturing, positioning, spinning, or technically telling the truth but leaving the wrong impression.

Failing to talk straight is a leadership slippery slope, as the real truth is bound to show up sooner or later. Then a leader is forced to either out-and-out lie, or admit they were deliberately leaving a false impression. Either way, that leader’s credibility is about to get flushed down a porcelain slippery slope of its own.

But what about well-intentioned spinning? You know, the little lies that spare the feelings of others or save them from psychological harm? Researchers have found that lying to “help” another person is almost always perceived to be good, while lying that had no effect on the other person or that harmed someone is perceived to be wrong.

So, what does the skillful leader do? Is it okay to live in the nebulous region between lies and truth so long as your intentions are good? I’m guessing not so much.

Thankfully, Stephen M. R. Covey tackled this philosophically heavy topic in his book The Speed of Trust. He characterized talking straight as “honesty in action,” expressed as telling the truth and leaving the right impression. He wrote that effective leaders use straight talk that is “tempered by skill, tact, and good judgment.”

Organizational culture typically flows from the top. Do you and your peer leaders communicate clearly? Do you call things by their right names? It turns out that words matter. Like, really, really matter. As leaders, our ability to talk straight comes down to using clear, accurate, and simple language to ensure that what is said is what is heard and, perhaps most important, what is being heard is being understood. Leaders who talk straight:

•Call things by their right names using common, plain language.

•Don’t spin or position for the sake of posturing.

•Tell the truth in diplomatic yet clear language.

•Don’t try to sound more intelligent than they are.

Leaders who talk straight leave their listeners clear about the intended message because there was nothing added to distract or confuse. No extra slides. No long effusive speeches. No multisyllable words to impress or intimidate. They don’t leave room for misinterpretation or guessing. They stay as far from spin as possible.