HR News Classic 
How Hard Can Life Be?
by Karl Corbett, President, Sasha Corporation
published on HR.com, October, 2001

It's hard for us, as employers, to  understand how hard the life of a front line worker can be. Personal problems can derail even the most dedicated front line employee.

When I met Gary, it wasn't obvious how desperate things were.  As I pumped my gas,  he approached, carrying a cooler, asking "Got any jumper cables?".  "Yeah, I do.  Where's your car? "  "It's on the freeway, about 3 miles south."  Doesn't seem like too much trouble.  "I'm heading that direction. Hop in."

 It starts to get complicated.  The story unfolds.  He's been sick,  which explains the cooler he's carrying.  He opens it to show me  an assortment of a dozen medicines.  My guess, he's been real sick.

First day back, on the way in to work, his car breaks down. Mom calls the towing service.  So, we may or may not find Gary's car. The car's gone.  Gary has me dial up Mom on my cell phone. A lady answers, obviously elderly, a voice as thin as a sheet of paper. I turn it over to Gary. His end of the conversation turns to talk of taxi cabs and police cars.

Turns out, while Gary's car is breaking down on him, his Mom started feeling real poorly.  Gary's aunt called two of Gary's sisters who live out in the county.  "Get over there. She needs some help.  I'll meet you.  I know you don't have a car.  Call a cab.  I know you don't have any money.  I'll pay for the cab."  So they did as directed,  and arrived at Mom's. No aunt on the scene. No way to pay for the cab.  Police were called, issued their verdict: "Cab driver, everyone, meet back here in an hour.  Pay the cab or I'll take you downtown.  Cab fare's about 50 bucks."

So, now Gary's got a broken down car, no way to get to work or back home, a sick Mom, no money for the cab.  Gary's house, for me, is 10 miles in the wrong direction. It puts me late for work. I don't owe this guy anything. I've already done my part. I'm sensing he really needs somebody right now. Looks like I'm involved.

I start driving, Gary starts talking. Seven years, same construction job. Health problems kept him home for weeks. He's pushing it to get back to work, not feeling good. The doctors have him on a variety of medications. Gary's supervisor yelled at him when he called from the gas station to say his car was broken down.

Gary keeps talking. Before long, he's crying.  Gary has just buried his daughter. Twenty years old, visiting relatives. First real  trip away on her own.  Head on collision, killed in an auto accident.  Gary talks about his faith, which seems about all he's got right now. "I'm six feet two, three hundred pounds, and I dare anyone to call me a sissy for crying."  I'm about to cry myself.  I tell Gary: "Crying can be a good thing."  I think about my Dad, how I felt the first couple of weeks after he passed on.

So know, we're taking Gary home. We're heading into the projects. We start to deal with the reality at hand:  the police and the taxicab.  Gary's sister's got no money, Gary's Mom's got no money. If I give him the fifty bucks, I can take his cooler of medicine  until he pays me back.  I don't feel real good about that, and I don't see too many options opening up.  Gary's got no neighbors, no other family, except the aunt who's gone AWOL.  Gary's has the police on the way to his house. We pull up in front, walk inside.

Gary owns one book,  from the look of things:  a well-worn Bible. His Mom calls down from her bed, in that whisper of a voice. Gary goes upstairs. They talk through their situation, their lack of options. Gary is at the end of his rope.  He's hanging on by his fingernails. He's about to be crushed by his circumstances. All these figures of speech dance in my head.

Gary comes downstairs, I give him the money he needs.  He pulls a bookmark out of his Bible,  finds a pencil in the kitchen. I write down my address.  "Send me the money when you get paid." I know Gary means to. I know he wants to. I know he's legitimate.  I also know that something else will come up. Gary will always need that fifty dollars more than I do.  That's fine with me. Gary hugs me, cries a little more, and I go back to my comfortable world.

Gary's a good guy.  I'd bet he's a good worker:  dedicated, experienced, dependable. Gary needed some help, and his employer wasn't there for him. The '800' number posted on the wall in the lunchroom at Gary's office was useless. Gary didn't want to be anonymous. His boss yelled at him about being late. Gary needed a sympathetic ear, not added pressure.

It's impossible to know how many of your front line workers are 'hanging by a thread', almost overwhelmed by life. It's easy to see that employers have a social responsibility.  It's hard to figure out, in practical terms, how far it  extends. Given the demographics,  finding new employees for  entry level and production jobs is going to be tough till 2010. It's much more practical to keep the employees you have, whatever it takes, than to let them fail and find new ones.

Give some thought to developing support systems  and opening up lines of communication with your front line staff.  Start support groups inside your walls.  Set up phone chains for people who need help.

Creating support systems is easier than it looks. Develop networks with housing agencies, transportation providers, financial counselors, child care support services. Make sure everyone who might need this information has it.  It's not hard to find ideas and resources. The problem is,  it's too easy to ignore the social responsibility you have as an employer of front line workers.