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Great Teams Hold Themselves and Others Accountable

Some favorite expressions of small children: “It's not my fault. They made me do it. … I forgot.” Some favorite expressions of adults: “It's not my job. No one told me. It couldn't be helped.” True freedom begins and ends with personal accountability.

—DAN ZADRA

Do you recognize the name Gary Smith? Probably not. But if you are any sort of sports fan, you have seen the image of Gary Smith over and over.

Gary Smith was an important member of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team. “Smitty” wasn't a player; he wasn't a coach. He was the athletic trainer for the team. And like every member of the team, he did his job. If he didn't do his job, we may not have won at Lake Placid. That's the truth.

So when did you see Smitty? Think of Mike Eruzione scoring the go-ahead, and eventual winning, goal against the Soviet Union. Think of the next few moments of footage, of the bedlam and celebrating. You remember that guy on the U.S. bench, the guy pumping his fists, a white towel in his hand; he had the eyeglasses with the big lenses and dark rims; he had on that blue pullover with USA stitched on it. That is Smitty.

Gary Smith was the trainer of the University of Minnesota hockey team when Herb Brooks was its coach. The two men worked well together. When Herb was named coach of the 1980 U.S. team, the USOC let him know that it had assigned him a trainer. Herb said thanks but let the USOC know that the team already had a trainer. Like everyone else on the team, Herb picked Smitty for a reason.

As I said, Smitty did his job. He actually did multiple jobs.

Smitty was accountable—and he held others accountable. His smart thinking, and accountability, may have saved the Soviet game.

During that game, we were a few seconds away from killing a penalty. With those few seconds remaining, Neil Broten jumped the gun, so to speak, and was on his way over the boards, and a referee was watching him. If Neil had made it on to the ice, we almost certainly would have been called for too many men on the ice—and the Soviet power play would have been extended for two more minutes. Not good: the most potent and highest scoring power play on earth, given more time. But Neil didn't make it on to the ice, and that's because Smitty saw what was happening and he pulled him back on to the bench. Herb was watching, and he walked down to Smitty and said, “Way to stay in the game, Smitty.”

Every member of the team is a component of success.

Every member of the team needs to be accountable—and to hold others accountable.

Then again, in Smitty's case, being accountable and doing his job didn't always solicit a figurative pat on the back from Herb.

There was that episode following the pre-Olympic game in Norway against the Norwegian national team, a team that did not nearly have the talent that we had. We had played without enthusiasm and drive, and we tied the Norwegians, 2-2. Herb was furious. He assembled the team on the ice after the game, and had it do sprints up and back on the ice, over and over and over. Doing a few minutes of this is exhausting, but he kept it going for 20 minutes. At this point, the manager of the rink, who did not speak English, gestured to Smitty, who did not speak Norwegian, that he needed to lock up. Smitty had the unhappy task of having to tell this to Herb. Herb, still vibrating with anger, fixed his stare of daggers on Smitty and said, “Get me the f-ing keys and I'll lock up.” Smitty went back to the rink manager and, through gestures, asked for the manager's keys, but the manager wouldn't give them up. He did, though, turn off the lights in the rink and left.

Smitty rejoined the rest of us—in the dark.

There were those final minutes in the Soviet game, and the emotion and energy were already over the top and continuing to build and grow. We were on the precipice of history. One of the biggest upsets in the annals of athletics was within our grasp. How were we to hold on and get it done and bring it home? The answer was to hold ourselves accountable.

“Play your game … play your game,” Herb Brooks kept reminding us as the seconds ticked away.

Holding yourself accountable is about doing your job, not looking for an out, and getting things done no matter how hard you have to work or sacrifice. How about holding others accountable? What does that mean? Is that a nice way for describing a career advancing strategy of deflecting blame or responsibility, or dumping it on someone else? Not at all.

Everyone in an organization needs to have a vested interest in the total output and total product. You can be the hardest working, best-prepared, and smartest employee in the world, but if you can't speak up and let others know that you observe things are going well, then the organization is not operating effectively. As well, you need to be open to others holding you accountable.

And to hold others accountable, you had better be prepared to help them be accountable.

Accountable, Yes. But for What?

First you need to have a game plan in place and figure out who is accountable for what. Back in 1980, each and every player's role was clearly defined. We all knew what was expected of us. We knew where we were supposed to be at what point in a play; we understood the options available to us; we recognized what was expected and were accountable.

You need to understand what is expected of you—and then prepare to meet expectations. If you skate on to ice or walk in to the office wondering what you are accountable for, then your team has problems.

Early in 2010, Milprint, a division of The Bemis Company, the biggest flexible food-packaging manufacturer in the Americas, was still trying to get its arms around accountability issues. A major reason for this uncertainty and instability was that it really was not just one team but rather two teams.

In March of 2010, Bemis acquired Alcan, a competitor. For Milprint, this basically doubled its size overnight. Forty-five days after they closed on the acquisition, Milprint scheduled a “One Team—One Mission” event in Naples, Florida. The meeting was a component of the process of melding Milprint and Alcan together and to get what were once two organizations operating as one under the Milprint name.

Indeed, the process was not yet on firm footing. Roles were not yet established, and important responsibilities had not yet been assigned or assumed.

Bemis hired me to speak at the “One Team—One Mission” event.

Bryan Brandt, VP of Sales for Milprint, told me, “We want you to help inspire everyone to let down their guard and to stop being so territorial. We need open and honest communication among all our employees if we are to eliminate the old ways of doing things and take the best of each company and create a great new team. I also want your speech to throw strong support behind Don Nimis (the President of Milprint) as he takes charge and leads this process.”

Bryan also said he wanted me to challenge the group, to inspire and charge them with the task of coming together and sharing a goal of becoming one team. I was scheduled to speak early in the afternoon, and that night I would have dinner with Bryan and Don Nimis; this dinner was another important element in getting Milprint on track. During the dinner, Bryan wanted me to challenge Don to take the lead, provide a vision and build a team. These up-close and in-person opportunities with management enable me to emphasize poignantly and intensely what needs to be done to get members of a team sharing an objective—and oftentimes what I coach and emphasize is the urgency of what needs to be done. In my preparation and research for my appearance for Milprint, it was obvious to me that a sense of urgency was needed.

Jim in his element, the teacher and coach, addressing a corporate meeting.

Credit: Jim Craig

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If I accomplished nothing else in Naples but to jump-start everyone—and to make sure everyone knew that every second they weren't coming together was a second wasted and a second lost to the competition—then I delivered, and then some.

My speech to Milprint was a bit more “rah-rah” than normal and full of language that challenged—and maybe even confronted. But I could tell I was getting through. If people were uneasy, well, that was all right—as long as their minds remained open. To be uneasy and to shut your mind down, that is a prescription for failure.

At dinner with Don and Bryan, I stayed after the importance of starting now to make sure that everyone knew what was expected of them—and that expectations needed to be met.

A few days after the event in Naples, I received a note from Bryan Brandt—here are excerpts:

… You set the stage for the balance of the meeting. I basically scripted out the rest of the meeting minute by minute. It all focused around on what you did Sunday, continuing to build a team, educating people on the new company, and then learn about the direction of our company (our vision/mission)—this was the unknown going into the meeting.

I had a number of people throughout the meeting saying, “I can't wait to get back and get going … We are going to kick the crap out of our enemy.”

You definitely rattled Don's cage on Sunday. He said he has never been so impacted by a presentation like that before. But then you got in his face at dinner (you gave him an out, which was nice of you), but you shook his world that night. After dinner, he went back to his room early and worked on a vision for his company. The next day (Monday) he presented with more energy than I have ever seen. Monday night, he pulled me aside and said how amazed he was with what was being accomplished right in front of his eyes. He told me how impressed he was that I knew this is what we needed, for sticking my neck out, and putting every little detail together. He apologized for not seeing it and thanked me for pushing for this.

What was confirmed in Bryan's note was that some cage rattling and table pounding (light table pounding) was in order. Milprint is going to do great things—and it is going to be a great team. There is much to be impressed about with the people at Milprint, among them that so many were open to coaching and to being challenged.

What Milprint also has going for it is smart and well-intentioned leadership. Don Nimis giving Bryan Brandt so much responsibility and so much deference in the all-important chore of getting the ship righted and on course speaks volumes for the qualities of both men. Of course, it helps that Bryan was right about so much in his strategizing and planning. As well, it is tremendously admirable that Don Nimis, the President, has the humility and character to admit when he may not have recognized what needed to be done—and then when what needed to be done was presented to him, he gave credit where credit was due, and immediately took over and led.

When I returned home, I signed a replica of the jersey I wore in the Soviet game, and I sent it to Don Nimis along with a handwritten note in which I delivered a bit more inspiration and guidance, and also a call to action.

Bet on Bemis, Milprint.

Pull Potential Out of People

When people are trying to skirt an issue or are considering themselves slick and able to fool others, even if what they are doing and their motives are easily understandable, I like to remind them that, “Even if your head is in the sand, that doesn't mean that your butt isn't showing.’

I like to help get people's head out of the sand and make them confront what needs to be confronted. I like them to face what needs to be faced in order that they may fulfill and reach their potential.

A lot has been made about the psychology test that Herb Brooks administered to our team—and that I was the only one on the team that didn't take the test.

In the media, and more broadly in our culture, the tale is told that I protested taking the test and the reason I did so was because I felt the questions and whatever answers I provided were not important or relevant to how I would perform in the net. That is only part of the story. I was doubtful that answering those questions was going to help coaches evaluate my ability and worth to the team, but I had a bigger and more overriding reason for not taking the test: I wanted Herb to cut me so that I could sign an NHL contract and make some money and help my family and myself out.

You see, maybe a week or so prior to Herb assigning the test, my dad had lost his job. He was still mourning the loss of my mother, and he had my two younger brothers still at home. I was worried about my family, and I was not confident at all that playing in the Olympics was going to be a winning experience or one that would result in a medal of any type. So, if I got booted I could ink a contract with the team that had drafted me, the Atlanta Flames. Even if I got sent to the minors I would still have a steady paycheck and my room and board paid for, and I could send money home.

As well, in that I had played internationally for the U.S., even if not in the Olympics, I would have fulfilled a pledge I made to my mother that if I ever had an opportunity to represent my country I would seize and take advantage of that opportunity.

Not taking the test was my chance to get out of Dodge.

But I wasn't going anywhere because Herb knew what I was up to. He wasn't going to cut me. I was going to Lake Placid.

Potential was pulled out of me. I was held accountable.

Not long after I had retired from hockey, I was fortunate to land a job at Valassis Inserts, a major producer of the consumer coupon inserts that you find in newspapers. My job was to sell insert space to consumer product companies. It is a highly competitive business—and I enjoyed the job.

In 1986, about a year after I started at Valassis, the company was bought by an Australian media magnate, Kerry Packer, and his company Consolidated Holdings. Among Packer's early decisions was to promote a senior manager named Dave Brandon to CEO. Brandon, a former football player at the University of Michigan, had started at Valassis at a junior level in 1979, quickly become a star, and in only a few years he was a senior executive playing a leading role in the rapid growth of the company.

Dave was a highly personable, warm, results-oriented—and accountable—executive. He introduced himself to and met with every hire, from the junior to senior level. People enjoyed working for Dave; they performed better and the company benefited as a result. It soon became apparent that making Dave the CEO was the right move. Indeed, Kerry Packer, one of the most astute business people on the planet, and very hands-on as an owner, was not like that at all in his relationship with Dave. Packer didn't need to hold Dave Brandon accountable because Dave Brandon held himself accountable.

Valassis had winning ownership and leadership. All was possible.

However, I was up against it. You see, Consolidated Holdings had a hiring policy for sales people and management that all but required a hire to have a college degree. I had left BU one semester short of graduating to chase international hockey glory, and I had not gone back to earn my degree. As well, Dave Brandon thought I was doing a good job, but he thought I could do much, much better.

It seemed my job was in jeopardy.

So this is what happened. Dave Brandon stepped in to become my mentor. He also made me accountable.

Dave told me that I had a job but it would be on a probationary basis. He was going to work closely with me to make me a better salesperson. He would help me—and I needed to work hard and help myself. It would be accountability back and forth.

When this arrangement was first presented to me, I was ticked off. No way. This was like Herb Brooks coming up to me following the blowout at Madison Square Garden and telling me I was being sat down. It was unfair.

But Herb had a plan. So did Dave Brandon.

I became better because of both men.

There were so many lessons I learned from Dave while he mentored me at Valassis. One lesson I learned early on was that telling “Jim Craig and gold medal and Olympic and NHL” stories were no substitute for smart and strategic selling. Yeah, you could do all right with those, but relying on them would not make you a great salesperson. I needed to practice and become an expert at the selling skills that would win business and take care of clients, whether I had ever played any sport or laced up a pair of skates.

Dave believed in consultative selling—that is working with a client or potential client and forging a relationship in which you listened as much as you talked. You asked probing questions. Dave said that the more you listened and the more fruitful the dialogue with a business, the more able you are to offer products and services and solutions from which it can benefit. And when you provide business a benefit, you are doing more than making a sale, you are building trust and a relationship.

I had not been doing much consultative selling. I would walk in to a company and talk about what I had to sell and why the company should buy what I was selling. I would throw in an anecdote or two about the Soviet game or the thrill of making it to the pros, and then I would basically want people to purchase. I had been making a living that way, but I wasn't doing nearly as well for Valassis, or myself, as I could.

Dave became my coach. He also had me take courses in selling and marketing given by outside organizations that Valassis paid for. Dave did his job and I did mine. And, you know, I became better and more effective. Soon I was one of the top producing salespeople in the company. I took over the Northeast U.S. region for Valassis. I won Salesman of the Year for Valassis. In the 10 years I headed up its Northeast sector, its annual sales grew from $300,000 to $50 million and it became the top producing region for the company.

Dave Brandon left Valassis in 1989 to become the CEO of Domino’s. He succeeded in selling pizza just like he did in selling coupons. At the center of this success were teamwork and accountability. Dave made strategic changes that strengthened the company, including starting a recruiting program (you always need to pick the right players), instituting a profit sharing system in which everyone in the company would be rewarded when Domino's did well, and adding classroom instruction to the in-store training that was already in place for employees.

Dave continued his winning ways as a person as well. He always gave a lot of himself to philanthropic events. He and his wife Jan are also generous with their money in supporting worthy causes. In 2006, they gave $4 million to the University of Michigan, with half of that money dedicated to a neonatal intensive care center named for their twin sons Nick and Chris. Doctors at the university saved the boys from a rare and life-threatening blood disease they were born with in 1980.

In the spring of 2010, Dave Brandon was named athletic director at the University of Michigan (he remains on the board of directors at Domino's as chairman). The university's athletic program and the Wolverines are in good hands.

In late winter of 2009, I went back to BU, after almost 30 years away, and I finished up that coursework over the next few months and earned my bachelor's degree. One of the first people I contacted to tell the news was Dave Brandon.

Accountability Is a Two-Way Street

The 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team did not have high PDI—and this enabled both the coaches to hold the athletes, and the athletes to hold the coaches, accountable.

First off, in the event you are not familiar with PDI, I will explain it. PDI is short for Power Distance Index—a measurement developed by a Dutch organizational sociologist named Geert Hofstede. In cultures with high PDI, such as South Korea (more on this later in the chapter), Morocco, Mexico, and the Philippines, people who hold junior positions in organizations are inhibited and not inclined to question authority. In countries with low PDI, such as the United States, Australia, and Ireland, people are far more inclined and less hesitant to question authority.

Successful organizations need to have low PDI.

The 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey—from top to bottom—had attitude and powerful personalities, and people could speak up and be counted. Sometimes, for sure, we would use Craig Patrick as a filter to communicate with Herb, but we knew we could get the message to him. We would also go to Herb directly. And the reverse was obviously true.

At the beginning of our journey together, members of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team were primarily accountable to themselves, not each other. Almost every one of us had a dream—an “endgame”—to play in the NHL. The endgame was not to win an Olympic gold medal; heck, a medal of any type was a fantasy.

We became accountable to one another and that enabled history to be made.

The environment and working conditions of our team were conducive for accountability. We may have called our coach the “Ayatollah,” but in truth, while our organization had a “supreme leader,” conversation and suggestions from everyone were encouraged and heeded. There was not a rigid hierarchy. If someone thought he had a better way to do something, then “let's hear it.” If someone wasn't doing his job, you would let him know. Of course he would let you know if you weren't doing yours.

I'll refer to and reflect on a couple of well-known exercises of accountability that took place on our team, both of which are dramatized in the Disney movie Miracle.

It was only a couple of weeks prior to our first game in the Olympics, and Herb was still bringing in players for consideration. Here we had 20 players who had been together for six months, and Herb was keeping it open that some of us might lose our positions. Now, here, you might say that this is good, not allowing anyone to get comfortable, and using this discomfort to keep us fine-tuned and giving maximum effort. But at that point in our journey together, the disruption and negative energy outweighed positives. Something had to be done. Having a system in place, in which holding each other accountable was expected, made that something possible.

Mike Eruzione and Jack O’Callahan were appointed to let Herb and Craig Patrick know our views. They explained our concerns. They let our coaches know enough was enough, and the team should be set. Twenty guys had worked and sacrificed together, we were in synch, we were committed to one another—and we were a family.

Herb and Craig agreed. Our roster was final for Lake Placid.

Let's now go to that episode in the locker room during the first intermission of the United States—Sweden game, our first game of the Olympics. Rob McClanahan had sustained a deep thigh bruise in the first period and he, in consultation with our team physician, Dr. Nagobads, had decided that he was through for that game. Rob was a great competitor, but he also had a future to think about; he had signed a contract with the Buffalo Sabres. Rob was thinking, “Why put my NHL career in jeopardy?

We needed Rob though—and Herb knew it. The players were already in the locker room. Herb had not joined us yet. In the hallway outside the locker room, Herb talked with Dr. Nagobads. Herb learned that it would be extremely painful for Rob to play with the bruise, but that he would not further injure it.

That made up Herb's mind: Rob was playing.

And Herb was going to hold Rob accountable.

Herb was none too happy with our performance in the first period—and he wasn't happy that Rob was bowing out. Herb got into the locker room and he was seething. He tossed a few choice and well-considered comments this way and that way—and then he zoned in on Rob, who was sitting on a trainer's table in his underwear, his equipment off, and an ice pack on his thigh. (Disney did a good job portraying this event—but since the movie was intended for a family audience, some of the conversation had to be, let's see, translated into Rated PG language.)

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Herb said to Rob.

“Doc says I'm injured; I can't play,” Rob replied.

“Put your gear on!!” Herb said in a steady and firm tone.

“Doc says I can't play.”

“LISTEN—I HAVE NO TIME FOR QUITTERS!” Herb yelled. “YOU CAKE EATER! GET ON YOUR GEAR!”

What happened next is instructive. You see, for sure, what was going on, was that Herb was holding Rob accountable. But an element of us holding Herb accountable was about to stir—and quickly explode. This wouldn't have happened if our team had high PDI.

Many of us starting protesting, yelling back at Herb, letting him know that he was out of line. Rob defended himself, bellowing, “I'M NOT A QUITTER!”

If we were not able to hold Herb accountable—or at least try to hold Herb accountable—for the way he addressed us, it would have been too easy for his criticism and abusive language to foment dissent among ourselves, and to weaken our team because we would feel powerless. We did not feel powerless. Jumping back at Herb strengthened the bond of our unit.

“I WANT YOU TO BE A HOCKEY PLAYER!” screamed Herb.

At the same decibel level as Herb was yelling, Rob yelled, “I AM A HOCKEY PLAYER!”

All hell was breaking loose. We were yelling at Herb, and Herb was yelling at Rob. Finally, Rob shouted, “DAMN IT!! YOU WANT ME TO PLAY!! I'LL PLAY!!”

Herb, amid the bedlam, turned for the door. I had a seat near the door. Just prior to opening the door, Herb gave me a wink. Then he said to Craig Patrick, who was standing near me, “That oughta get ’em.”

It sure did. Rob put his gear on and returned to the ice for the second period.

So who scored the game-winning goal in the gold medal-clinching game against Finland? Why, that would be Rob McClanahan.

Beyond the Ice—Other Mentors and Coaches

Let's get back to low PDI.

PDI particularly interests me, and I think it is of particular value to discuss, because culture is fundamental to success and failure in almost all areas of life. You can be Einstein brilliant, as innovative as Washington Carver, and have a work ethic like Thomas Edison, but if you don't mesh with a culture then you are bound to fail.

I had never heard of PDI before I started reading Malcolm Gladwell, a brilliant writer, observer, and social commentator. Gladwell has written bestselling books, including Outliers: The Story of Success. In Outliers, Gladwell takes a more insightful look at why people succeed and don't succeed; he peels back the layers of the onion. The first chapter of Outliers focuses on, interestingly enough, a factor that connects almost all of the best Junior League hockey players in Canada.

But it was the seventh chapter of the book, the one titled “The Ethnic Theory of Plane Crashes,” in which PDI is discussed, that caught my attention in terms of how it relates to culture and accountability. Some cultures are tough to crack, and there are cultures that don't make it easy to open and keep open a two-way street of accountability.

“The Ethnic Theory of Plane Crashes” is about how culture undermined accountability in the cockpit of passenger planes and led to disaster, over and over.

I don't agree with everything that Malcolm Gladwell presents and argues for in Outliers, but I surely agree with some of it. And in Outliers, he doesn't just show you success to back up his theories, but he shows failure as well—and then shows what was done to turn failure into success.

An example of “failure to success” that he writes about is the history of Seoul-based Korean Airlines (Korean Air) from its launch in 1972 until the late 1990s. During that period, the airline had seven deadly plane crashes, a crash frequency that far exceeded any other airline. It is compelling reading—and is of tremendous value for anyone who cares and wants to know more about how culture can affect a company or any type of organization.

I read more on the crashes, in addition to what was in Outliers. One story that I got my hands on, an August 26, 2009, USA Today article, called the crashes “a national embarrassment and prompted the Korean government to push for management and operational changes …”

Gladwell explains other consequences and reactions:

In April 1999, Delta Air Lines and Air France suspended their flying partnerships with Korean Air. In short order the U.S. Army, which maintains thousands of troops in South Korea, forbade its personnel from flying with the airline. South Korea's safety rating was downgraded by the U.S. Federal Aviation Authority, and Canadian officials informed Korean Air's management that they were considering revoking the company's overflight and landing privileges in Canadian airspace.

What was going on? How come Korean Air had such a scary “loss” rate? It seemed that the planes were in good shape and properly maintained. Pilots were healthy and had the necessary hundreds of hours of flight training. What was the problem?

A main problem was—and Gladwell breaks it all down and lays it out—that there was an aspect of the South Korean culture that interfered with pilots being accountable to one another, and this, of course, meant they were not accountable to the passengers either. It had nothing to do with work ethic or doing the job a pilot felt was his job. And, really, it had very little to do with pilots being responsible. They were being as responsible as they understood they should be.

Again, it had to do with culture. You can never overestimate the importance and consequences of culture on any type of group or organization. Gladwell noted that the most common airline accident “involves seven consecutive human errors,” and that the “kinds of errors that cause plane crashes are invariably errors of teamwork and communication.” In the case of Korean Airlines, culture increased the chance for error, and it disrupted teamwork and communication—and accountability.

There were a lot of studies and reviews and evaluations of the Korean Air plane crashes. Flight patterns were pored over and weather conditions analyzed. Events in the lives of the pilots prior to the crash were considered. The mechanics of the planes and maintenance records were looked at. And, of course, the cockpit voice recordings—those preserved in the “Black Boxes”—were listened to, studied, and analyzed.

When everything was evaluated, listened to, and pondered, what seemed to be a primary reason that Korean Airlines’ planes were crashing so frequently was a culture of subordinates not being able to challenge and hold superiors accountable. Planes were crashing because captains, the senior pilots, were making mistakes, and co-pilots were hesitant to speak up and explain a mistake was being made. A co-pilot was restrained from holding a captain accountable.

On the two-way street of accountability, subordinates and junior staffers need to be able to speak up and not feel they are going to take a hit for doing so. One Korean Air co-pilot, who did speak up to a captain, literally took a hit: the pilot smacked the offending co-pilot in the nose.

As I noted earlier, and Gladwell details this in the chapter, South Korea, Morocco, Mexico, and the Philippines are countries that have a high PDI. Gladwell writes, “Power distance is concerned with attitudes toward hierarchy, specifically with how much a particular culture values and respects authority.” In a high PDI country, such as South Korea, employees are far more likely to be afraid to voice their opinion or view to a superior if that opinion or view might correct or contradict the position or decision of the superior.

A postscript here. Korean Airlines took care of its problems. Beginning in 1999, with Cho Yang-Ho (who received his MBA from the University of Southern California) at the helm as chairman, it aggressively instituted changes. As reported in the USA Today story, “Korean Air voluntarily chose to comply with some U.S. standards in addition to Korean aviation regulations, including cockpit crew work-and-rest guidelines. It hired Boeing and Airbus for full-flight simulator training. Young pilots are ‘now trained to speak up when it's time to speak up,’ Cho says.”

Korean Air is growing fast—and it is safe. As of the summer of 2010 it has not had a crash in more than 10 years. It continues to invest in safety, and it is upgrading its fleet and buying new planes. It is now the world's largest commercial cargo airline carrier and flies from more cities in the United States to Asia than any other airline.

Great Teams Hold Themselves and Others Accountable—Chapter Recap