(Business Education) Lessons from the Grand Canyon

Before Westminster decided to launch a campus in Mesa, all I knew about Arizona was that it was home to the Grand Canyon, one of the top destinations in my Bucket List. So last week, on my way to my new home in Mesa, I made a detour to spend three delightful days at the Canyon, and (along with only Venice in a life of blessed travel) it completely lived up to all of my expectations. Indeed, a blog entry on the Grand Canyon itself should consist of nothing but images and numbers, for the majesty, beauty, and history of the place defies description. I will, therefore, take a different track and post a few images (from Grand Canyon National Park’s flicker collection) with some impressions the Canyon can make on a business professor.

Horseshoe BendTwo sights take my breath away and make my heart skip several beats during an aerial tour of the Canyon. One is my first in-person glimpse of Horseshoe Bend, where the mighty Colorado executes a perfect U-turn and flows like an emerald ring around a giant’s finger, and the second is Glen Canyon Dam, where 400,000 buckets of concrete were masterfully arched across 1,560 feet and anchored safely to relatively weak rock,  to regulate the Colorado’s flow.

Glen Canyon DamThere is much debate these days centered around Man’s impact on the Earth, and the conversation is certainly welcome. These are large-scale issues of importance, of the sort that led Joubert to proclaim it “better to debate a question without settling it than to settle a question without debating it.” Yet folks tend to oversimplify, and it saddens me when we take our capacity to build structures like this dam – to channel the river around the site while it is built, to carve a two mile access tunnel starting on two sides of the east wall of the canyon and not be off more than a couple of inches where the two tunnels meet, to generate 4.5 billion kilowatt hours of electricity per annum – and present it as a threat, as a predilection to be deplored, instead of a magnificent gift to be continuously enhanced and carefully guided.

For America to stay competitive, for humanity to fulfill its potential, that type of thinking must be balanced, and it can most effectively be balanced by businessmen who unleash the power of scientists and engineers in ways that create value. We urgently need businessmen who can combine creativity with critical thinking, open mindedness with ethical decisions, analytical skills with wisdom, and who can collaborate with experts from every discipline. This is why I believe in business education, and liberal arts education. For eight years I’ve watched Westminster colleagues developing the sort of minds who can study the geology and the ecology and the human history of the Canyon, to design and manage and fund its projects, to create its public policies and multilingual multimedia documentaries.

Grand Canyon aerialAnd yet, another growing debate of our age involves the value of college education. Since no one can question our goals, the argument must be with our processes. For three days, while I collect stories around the Canyon that seem relevant to a business curriculum – about Fred Harvey’s entrepreneurship,  the tension between the tourism and mining industries, the birth of the FAA as a result of companies flying too low over the Canyon to treat their passengers to the great view, and even my personal reflections on the wisdom of investing in a rimside room where one will spend so little time in one’s hotel – a part of me keeps wrestling with my own big questions. How appropriate and how adequate are the pedagogical processes I have adopted?  The stories to bring alive the scholarly theories, the realistic projects to foster skills, the connections to the broader liberal arts curriculum – do they add up to the managers I have sworn to develop? What am I missing?

Grand Canyon raftMy torment reaches its peak during a most enjoyable smooth water rafting trip. Our energetic young guide points out noteworthy bluffs and recent landslides and wild horses, and as enaging as he is, I can’t help playing a game of silent competition. That rock might look like a pirate, but this one over here looks like a griffin. This raven is no less interesting than that turkey vulture. And suddenly I am horrified by the thought that in the softer business classes – Fundamentals, Organizational Behavior, HR – our choice of the theories and cases and tools  to include in our curriculum might be so random that we have no right to claim we are imparting valuable knowledge to our students. How can I say my students get more value out of my class (the guide’s narration) than simply getting a job (floating down the river) and making their own observations, perhaps creating their own tools and theories? What if the many smug self-made businessmen I’ve bantered with over the years are right and the only way to learn business administration is to skip the classroom and administer a business?

Grand Canyon ravenThis inner tension is not new to me, nor will it be easily resolved. It does ease somewhat, though, when our guide maneuvers the boat so we can retrieve a plastic bottle from the river, and tells a story of a time he had to retrieve a half-drowned passenger. The captain, the lifeguard, the environmental steward – there are so many more ways in which this young man is our guide than in his narration, and thanks to him I got to survey parts of the river I could not see otherwise, even if he was pointing at pirates and vultures and I was seeing griffins and ravens. For a teacher, there is much food for thought in that.


The Pomegranate Quiz (a sort of a teaching philosophy)

pomegranate If I let myself get truly creative (and admittedly, a little peculiar) about what to cover in the business curriculum of an American university, I would definitely include a lesson on Exotic Fruit. No one should become a manager without pondering the lessons such a class might offer.

Unlike the” basic” fruit categories many Americans restrict themselves to (apples – oranges – bananas –grapes – repeat), many exotic fruits require patience and an open mind. Not that there aren’t modern shortcuts – I love my pineapple corer/slicer – but it is important to understand that not every  fruit – and not every customer account, or investment analysis,  or feasibility study –  can be reduced to a formula and expected to yield its treasures straight away.

Our entire education system conditions students to learn a tool and then apply it to repetitive problems without a diagnostic process, and in my analytical classes students particularly dislike “word problems” that do not specifically name the tool they are expected to use. A nice fruit basket, and maybe some time trying to get into a coconut with a pineapple corer, might help drive the lesson home that when given a problem, their first objective should be to study its unique qualities, and then, contingent on their best perception, research, and critical thinking, select a tool from as wide an arsenal as possible. And to cover the basics of how to research for, or design, tools for addressing a problem they have no prior experience with.

I particularly like the lessons on patience and adaptability. A lifetime ago, babysitting an American child in Turkey, I learned that my charge loved apricots and made it a point to buy a rosy-cheeked, fragrant pound of the best apricots to be had at the farmer’s market for our next visit together. Imagine my chagrin when the boy took one look at my offering and flatly declined to even taste them. “Those are not apricots!” he told me with the superior sneer I have also seen employed by managers when they visit what they think of as developing countries, or modest ventures, or small towns. According to them, everyone knows that apricots come pre-sliced, in a can with heavy syrup, and trade regulations or stock markets or performance reviews should run in a certain way. Well, my friends, here in the real world, we’ve got different apricots and a variety of rules.

In international entrepreneurship classes, we tell our students that Chinese administrators may put bureaucratic difficulties in their way, or seem to deliberate and waffle for lengthy periods, because they are looking for American businessmen who have progressed past the instant culture, who are able to persevere and remain courteous. Having our students regurgitate this fact back to us in a test is of dubious value. I would much rather give them a Pomegranate Quiz.

Of all the fruits I grew up with, I love pomegranates best, and I am grateful that they can now be found at my local Wal-Mart. I love the rich color and the tangy taste and the antioxidants. I find great joy at the sight of the plants with the delicate flowers, and am grateful to my husband who is trying to coax a couple of baby pomegranate trees through a Midwestern winter in our spare bedroom. But most of all, I appreciate the fact that you cannot eat a pomegranate standing up in front of the refrigerator or typing with one hand, which is how I get the deplorable majority  of my nutrition. You have to respect a pomegranate, to approach it with humility, with nimble, gentle fingers and a willingness to explore the topology of each individual fruit to discover the hidden arils. If the students got into the spirit of the experiment, we could discuss contingency theories and time management for projects that cannot be crashed, all while we prepared the pomegranates, and then end the class with a wonderful snack!

Wouldn’t it be brilliant if I could be up lecturing during part of the preparation and get treated to some labor-free pomegranate? An apple on Teachers’ Day would be fine if I was lecturing straight out of textbooks, but since I put together my classes with all the intricate work it takes to prepare a pomegranate,  this really would be the way that appreciation is shown if any is felt!

I am only half kidding. As my arthritic paws crush the fruit and spray my blouse with that distinctive purple juice,  I always hearken back to the memory of my best friend, back when we were twelve, preparing bowls of pomegranate arils for her father, and find yet another regret in my childless state. Sadly I never served my own father thus, and wouldn’t really expect any half-American offspring to do it for me; but there is another lesson here I would love to share with my students. If I could distill that image of a twelve-year-old girl gracefully preparing that bowl, and have my students truly see it, it would deepen our discussions about diversity.

That entire theory of nations  fed on potatoes being more warlike than those with diets of rice aside,  food is a definite artifact of culture, and our single-serving pouches of processed food  should be inspected next to, say, a papaya, which is so obviously meant to be shared by a family. We could then discuss the dimensions of diversity, and how, instead of insisting all their employees be apricot cans, they can create company cultures that will let each participant contribute what is authentically their best effort, to arrive at the sort of healthy, multilayered fruit salad that will remain a competitive advantage for decades! pomegranate-bowl