What to Say to the Man Let Go? Mary worked as a secretary in a department within

Question

What to Say to the Man Let Go? Mary worked as a secretary in a department within a branch of a large corporation. The branch director had decided that the job of her department director, Jim, would soon be discontinued. Although Mary and a few others in her department had this knowledge, Jim did not. For a few weeks, Jim was directed to work on an array of special projects at his home office. In the meantime, an employee from a different department was told to move in to Jim's office. The branch director instructed Mary and other support staff to change Jim's voice mail, move his files out of the office, and erase his name from his assigned parking spot. Mary was told that the human resources department would call Jim to let him know what had taken place. That week Jim called Mary because he could not get into his voice mail. He wanted to know if there were any technical problems. Mary felt torn: should she tell him the truth now or should she rely on human resources staff to tell him? WHAT WOULD YOU DO AND WHY?

Explanation / Answer

James is a fourth-grade classroom teacher whose homework policy is that homework for the week goes home on Friday and is due the following Thursday. He emphasizes that it is the students' choice to do it or not, but if homework is not completed and handed in on Friday, they will serve detention during one recess period.

Raoul is an excellent student who always finishes his work on time and correctly. He is a sensitive and dedicated student who strives hard to please. One Wednesday, Raoul is sick and out of school; the following day, Thursday, he forgets to bring his homework to class. This is the first time Raoul does not have his homework. James is sure he did his work: Raoul could get a day's extension for being sick. James also knows the thought of serving detention is devastating for Raoul.

The Rules of the Game

The mood at Baileyville High School is tense with anticipation. For the first time in many, many years, the varsity basketball team has made it to the state semifinals. The community is excited too, and everyone is making plans to attend the big event next Saturday night.

Jeff, the varsity coach, has been waiting for years to field such a team. Speed, teamwork, balance: they've got it all. Only one more week to practice, he tells his team, and not a rule can be broken. Everyone must be at practice each night at the regularly scheduled time: No Exceptions.

Brad and Mike are two of the team's starters. From their perspective, they're indispensable to the team, the guys who will bring victory to Baileyville. They decide—why, no one will ever know—to show up an hour late to the next day's practice.

Jeff is furious. They have deliberately disobeyed his orders. The rule says they should be suspended for one full week. If he follows the rule, Brad and Mike will not play in the semifinals. But the whole team is depending on them. What should he do?

Lost in translation?

Brian McNally is a part-time faculty member at a mid-sized university located in Boston, Massachusetts. He has worked for the University in his current capacity for less than five years, but is well versed in the university's policies he has agreed to uphold.

In McNally's survey course on American History, an international student turns in her first term paper. During the grading process, McNally discovers that the student's work is a textbook case of plagiarism. The majority of the paper is copied directly and without attribution from the references listed at the back of the student's paper, and little of the work is the student's own.

The university has a strong policy about plagiarism, which is outlined in the course syllabus that McNally knows this student received. When confronted about plagiarizing her paper, she claims that she did not realize what she was doing was plagiarism, since the academic culture in her own country is very tolerant of such copying. McNally explains to her that the policy, as outlined, requires that he fail her, but that he would consider her explanation over the weekend.

In this justice-versus-mercy decision, McNally thinks that on one hand it is right to fail her and myabe even eject her from the class, because there would be no chance for her to pass the course after failing this assignment. He would be just in his decision because the rules were clear. On the other hand, it is right to show mercy and ask her to rewrite her paper. If she truly did not understand the rule, it would seem unfair to penalize her so harshly, expecially if this was just a case of cultural mistranslation. What should McNally do?

Honor Who To Protect?

Don Riles, insurance claims adjuster, has the day off. He is playing with his 4-year-old daughter Erica when the telephone rings. At the other end of the line, Don's supervisor, apologizing for interrupting his time off, pleads for his help. Will Don please visit a woman in his neighborhood who has made claims for bodily and mental injury resulting from a car crash with a person insured by Don's company? The woman has consented to a visit from their adjuster to assess the injuries to her nose and mental state. (Apparently the crash has caused her to relapse into a condition of paranoia and manic depression, previously stabilized.)

The claims adjuster in charge of the case has called in sick—scheduling the appointment has been difficult. Will Don please fill in? Don agrees readily, but asks if he could bring his daughter—it is their day together while his wife worked. Don's supervisor gratefully assures him that bringing the little girl along is no problem.

When Don arrives at the woman's house, he discovers no one at home, so he and his daughter wait in the car. Eventually, the woman arrives, parks, and emerges from her car, at which point Erica cries happily, "It's Miss Anderson!"

"Who is Miss Anderson?" asks her father with surprise. Miss Anderson turns out to be Erica's daycare teacher. Don conducts a short interview with the woman on the front steps of her home, satisfying himself that she does indeed have some facial injuries and that she is taking prescription medicine for her mental problems.

Following the interview, Don realizes that he has a real dilemma. Insurance ethics mandates that claims investigations are completely confidential. An insurance professional with knowledge of a claims case is expected to keep silent and to refrain from using the knowledge for personal benefit. On one hand, to uphold his industry's code of ethics, he is not to discuss or act on the information he has received about Miss Anderson's situation. On the other hand, he does not want his daughter under the care of a person who is undergoing treatment for mental illness and who might be dangerous. Don's wife is also an insurance claims adjuster, working for a separate company. Still, even if Don tells her, she is bound by the same professional code of ethics. What should Don do?

Danny Needs Help

Returning to his desk one afternoon, Richard reviews his options with some anxiety. As a caseworker in a community agency providing counseling and temporary shelter for abused and troubled youth, he has just visited the state human services office—without much success. His goal had been to persuade the state to accept custody for Danny, a 15-year-old boy whose parents were, in Richard's eyes, seriously abusive. The law on this point is, he feels, perfectly clear: Danny has the right to state guardianship if an investigation shows he is clearly in imminent danger.

But Janice, the state worker on duty that afternoon, feels otherwise. Reviewing the request, Janice tells Richard that the state would not accept custody of Danny. As far as she could determine, Danny is not really in imminent danger of physical injury. And, at 15, he is better able to take care of himself than many others who are referred to her every day.

Richard knows it is a difficult decision for Janice. After all, she and he are in the business of social work because they care about children like Danny. It is not her fault that, given recent budget cutbacks, priorities have tightened, excluding children who once would have qualified for state support. Still, he feels strongly that the potential danger for Danny is real and immediate. His responsibility, he knows, is to promote Danny's welfare.

Should he, then, try to pressure the department into accepting custody by appealing Janice's decision to her unit supervisor? If he appeals the decision, there is some chance that it would be overturned and that Danny would win state support. But Richard works cooperatively with Janice and her co-workers on a regular basis. Would he jeopardize future relations—and maybe lose his effectiveness in cases far more serious than Danny's—if he challenges her decision?

Quality Time Better Spent?

After graduating from college with a degree in science, Andy finds a solid job in his profession, married, and had two sons. Twelve years later, he moves to another company promising him steady advancement within its managerial ranks. A devoted family man, Andy admires his wife's dedication to raising their boys. But he also observes that his sons, approaching their teen years, benefit greatly from his fatherly friendship and counsel-especially as they approach what he and his wife realize could prove to be a difficult transitional period in their upbringing. So he has made a commitment to spend plenty of time with them, playing baseball and helping with their schoolwork.

But he also loves his work, and does well at it. And it has become apparent that to advance rapidly up the managerial ranks, he needs an MBA. A nearby university offers the degree in an evening-and-weekend program that would allow him to continue full-time employment, but it would soak up his free time for the next several years and throw most of the family activities into his wife's hands. Where should Andy focus his attention?

The Bribe

George simply isn't paying attention. It has been a long drive back home from the family's winter vacation, and he is on the Interstate coming through the downtown area of the city. His wife is with him up front. In the backseat are his young daughter and her younger brother, who is feeling sick and needs to get home. On the radio are the riveting final minutes of the playoff game with his favorite basketball team.

So when the familiar blue lights begin flashing in his rearview mirror, George's heart sinks. As he pulls over to the side of the highway, he knows he's been speeding—partly to get his son home and partly with the excitement of the game. Because it is cold, the officer suggests he bring his papers and come sit in the front seat of the police cruiser, while the other officer in the car takes the backseat.

They exchange papers and the arresting officer writes up the speeding ticket. And then begins a conversation George finds increasingly troubling. The officers tell him he will need to come down to the police station to settle this ticket. Unfortunately, the station is quite a ways away. What's more, as it is Sunday evening, there are few people on duty, and processing the ticket could take several hours.

If, however, George simply wants to pay the officers right then in cash, they would be happy to do the necessary paperwork when they get to the station, letting George go on his way with no delay.

The more George listens, the more his blood begins to seethe. This is the United States, he reminds himself, not some backwater nation with a corrupt police force. Yet here he is, being asked (he felt sure) for a bribe. Yet there is his young son, feeling sick and increasingly desperate to get home to his own bed. What should George do?

The Dying Passenger

Mike Nolan knew there was a problem even before the flight attendant knocked on the cockpit door. After 18 years of piloting 747s and their smaller kin across the country and around the world, Nolan had developed a keen sense of the atmosphere aboard his planes. This flight—a December trip from Detroit to Seattle—had been a struggle from the start.

First, there had been the late departure from the Detroit gate—a delay caused by a flat tire on the food-service van a few miles from the gate. The van's driver had been further slowed by the onset of a snowstorm, whose first flurries had begun falling less than an hour before. Compounding the slow start was the packed and cramped cabin to Nolan's back, a precursor to the coming holiday crunch. The flight crew was new, too—each with plenty of experience, but not yet used to one another as a routine team on this westbound route. These things—more disruptive and disjointed than truly troubling—had nevertheless put Nolan on alert.

So when the knock came on the cockpit door, Nolan wasn't entirely unprepared. At the door was Maggie Cho, a flight attendant Mike had worked with a few times before, although not on this route. Maggie, Nolan knew, was new to the route and relatively new to the job, but had the bearings and the brains to stay calm in a crisis—qualifications that made her a good person to have in the cabin. Tonight, Mike soon realized, she was badly needed.

Maggie wasted no time in telling Nolan and the rest of the cockpit crew that there was trouble in the back: a passenger had suffered a severe heart attack and needed immediate medical attention. While a doctor aboard the plane had been able to help, a hospital was needed quickly—or the patient would likely die.

Nolan knew his options were few and his time short. The scheduled flight path had led Nolan's plane slightly south in a bid to slip the grip of a growing snowstorm over the northern plains. That tactic, however, had failed. The storm, pushed and pulled by competing air-pressure systems, had spread more widely than forecast, covering America's middle states with a wide swath of snow, sleet, and strong winds. And Nolan's night flight, now 20 minutes from Denver, was in the middle of the mess.

Transferring control to his copilot, Mike took to the radio, calling the Denver tower to seek clearance for an emergency landing. From the other end of the radio, Nolan heard an upsetting response: Permission Denied. The Denver controller explained that weather conditions were worsening, making a landing unadvisable and unsafe for Nolan's crew and passengers. With extreme regret, the Denver tower told Nolan to provide what medical care he could—but to continue his flight as prescribed.

Mike, Maggie, and the rest of the cockpit crew looked at each other, pained expressions on their faces. After talking quietly for a few minutes, Mike concretized their options. They could follow Denver's orders and stay aloft, or they could demand a landing for a medical evacuation.

The weather WAS a problem, Mike admitted, but not one he wasn't ready to meet. Nolan felt sure he could land the plane—a confidence borne of his 27-year experience at the controls of military and civilian aircraft. But he wasn't prepared to risk the lives of his crew and passengers—breaking the conservative standards of airline safety regulations—without their full and informed consent.

At Mike's request, Maggie returned to the cabin for a status check. In less than three minutes, she was back with the bad news of the patient's worsening condition. News of the crisis, she said, had spread remarkably slowly, running through only a small portion of the passenger cabin. The rest of the flight crew, however, had been told of the emergency and had—with only one fleeting hold out—signaled their wish to land the plane immediately.

Now, the choice was Nolan's.

A Love Triangle

Tamara's best friend, Janine, who had been having bad luck the past couple of years developing good relationships, finally meets the "man of her dreams." There was only one problem: this man is married. To further an already complicated situation, this married man’s wife is Tamara’s other friend, Susannah.

One day, Susannah tells Tamara that she suspects her husband of having an affair. Because Tamara knows her husband, and she and the couple have many mutual friends, Susannah asks Tamara if she has heard the rumor and, if so, if she has any information. Susannah is shocked and distraught about the news, but is hoping to work with her husband to save their marriage. What should Tamara say? What would you do?

The Chain of Command

As an Air Force lieutenant colonel, Jack commands a squadron of fighter-bombers. Like other squadron commanders in his wing, he is concerned about safety. While the record is not terrible, there have been aircraft accidents and many close calls recently. Something is out of kilter.

So when he is promoted to squadron commander—in charge of 25 pilots, 25 navigators, and 300 maintenance and ground personnel—Jack takes a different approach. Every Friday afternoon he convenes his 50 fliers in the Squadron's Bar. To pay for refreshments they each plunk down a dollar on the pool table for each mistake or close call they had while flying. And then they talk for hours, freely and frankly, about what is going on in the squadron and how to improve safety. Jack has just one standing rule: amnesty. Whatever is said within the room is to be held in confidence; nobody gets in trouble for admitting they have made an error while flying.

In the months that follow, the conversation is open and direct. Lots of issues, big and small, come to the surface concerning management, personnel, maintenance, regulations, and everything else. Jack begins to notice the hoped-for change: His squadron's safety record rises higher and higher in comparison to other squadrons in his wing.

Then one Friday a pilot recounts an experience he had earlier that week during what should have been a routine flight. He was flying in formation when the lead plane peeled off into a turn too soon. Having only seconds to adjust to the confusion, he lost his bearings—experiencing what is known among fliers as "spatial disorientation." When he came out of that potentially fatal condition, his plane was soaring upwards into the clouds, far from the formation. Deeply shaken, he headed back to the base, landed, and went home for the day.

Jack thinks the conversation that Friday, regarding ways the whole squadron could work together to prevent such situations, is particularly good. But he also knows that spatial disorientation is such a serious problem that the Air Force requires any such incidents to be reported up the chain of command. When the circumstances leading to these types of incidences are investigated, there is usually discipline and retraining involved. Yet Jack has offered amnesty—which is the reason, he is sure, that the pilot had been willing to speak frankly. A few days later his superior calls him in. One of the officers at the bar that day has broken the confidence and told the commanding general what had happened. "What are you going to do?" Jack's superior asks him.

Giving Chase

As captain of a U. S. Coast Guard cutter, Chuck is charged with patrolling the Mona Passage separating Puerto Rico from the Dominican Republic. Although not Hispanic, he and his wife are very fond of the warm, family-based culture they found in San Juan, where they lived.

While on patrol one day with his crew—many of whom are of Puerto Rican descent—an Immigration and Naturalization Service plane radios a request for Chuck’s cutter to intercept a small boat crossing toward a deserted section of the Puerto Rican coast. Chuck is not surprised. The passage, separating United States territory from an economically depressed nation, is a favored crossing-point for refugees, drug-runners, and would-be illegal aliens.

Making for the boat, Chuck can see it is filled to the gunwales not with terrorists or dealers, but with grandparents and infants. It is heading toward an isolated beach filled with brightly dressed people holding welcoming banners and carrying picnic hampers.

These are families seeking to reunite with their elderly and young. Knowing their keen sense of family, Chuck finds his heart going out to them. Yet his constitutional duty is clear: It is his job to prevent individuals from entering the United States illegally by stopping them and returning them to the Dominican Republic.

As Chuck and his crew close in, the boat crosses a sand bar too shallow for the cutter. Chuck does, however, have an outboard-powered inflatable onboard that might stand a chance of catching the small boat. Yet giving chase so close to land, he knows, might cause some of the passengers to panic and try to wade ashore while their boat is still dangerously far from the beach. While his duty is to enforce the law, he also knows that the Coast Guard's job is above all to save life, not to endanger it.

Should he launch the inflatable? Or should he turn away, citing the sand bar as the final impediment to the capture?

Honor The Cost of Philanthropy

As chief legal officer in a well-respected company making lifesaving drugs, Alistair has been asked by his board of directors to look into rumors of price-fixing in the firm's European offices. His board has a very strong ethics policy, and is especially wary of price-fixing, bribery, kick-backs, and other unethical activities that can plague overseas operations.

After several months of detailed interviews in Europe, Alistair satisfies himself that the rumors are groundless. "There's no issue here," he heard several managers say. “But,” added one such manager, "if you really want something to investigate, look into the Bosnia contract."

Over the months, Alistair keeps hearing about "the Bosnia contract." So when he finishes his report on the price-fixing rumors, he decides to satisfy his curiosity on this matter. The contract, he discovers, is ordinary in almost every respect: A major relief organization has contracted with his company to supply a million inexpensive kits of medicine for delivery into the war-torn regions of Bosnia. Like most such contracts with charitable organizations, it contains hardly any profit for his firm.

What he finds strange, however, is the payment of an extraordinarily large commission to a Romanian distributor to deliver the kits deep into Bosnia. Seeking out the executive in his own firm who negotiated the contract, he has one question in mind: Is this a bribe?

“Yes and no,” says the executive. According to the Romanian distributor, the backs of the delivery trucks are loaded with the kits—and the glove compartments are stuffed with cash. That way, when the drivers are stopped at roadblocks set up by local militia units operating all across Bosnia, they can pay whatever is demanded and continue their journey. “In the past,” he notes, “drivers without cash have been taken from their trucks and shot. If the kits are to be delivered, this is the cost of doing business.”

Alistair feels sure that none of the money has flowed back to the executive, whose only motive is to get the kits delivered. And by this time, the deliveries have already been made. Yet Alistair still faces a dilemma. Should he draft a separate report to the board on this most unorthodox contract—possibly causing great harm to the executive who negotiated it or embarrassment to the relief organization, which is aware of the commission? Or should he keep silent?

What should Alistair do?

A Lack of Outrage

Larry is a young port engineer who works energetically for his shipping company, overseeing repairs and related projects. He is proud when put in charge of a multi-million-dollar repair order for one of his company's ships. The repairs are contracted out to a major shipyard, and everything goes smoothly until the end of the project. When Larry is handed the bill, he realizes it has been inflated by about one-third of total project costs.

Larry is shocked. He has never been confronted by such an apparently corrupt practice before. After delaying the "sign off" for a couple of days, he approaches his boss, points out what is going on, and explains why he cannot sign off. His boss asks for specifics, which Larry readily supplies.

A meeting is arranged between shipyard and shipping company officials, who go over the disputed items. They agree the shipping company is being overbilled by millions of dollars. To Larry's surprise, there is little reaction from either side of the table. Nor is there any definitive, ethical stance from his company.

The meeting is adjourned until the next day, when shipyard officials offer to split the difference. Both parties turn to Larry for approval, who explains he cannot sign off on the adjusted bill, either. Again, the meeting adjourns with no apparent reaction, and Larry is left in a daze.

By the time of the third meeting, Larry begins to piece things together. Apparently his superiors respect his integrity. They are following orderly procedures to arrive at a final bill. But he cannot help noticing their lack of outrage and conviction. What drives them to such a compromise? What could make such a fine company turn a blind eye to such practices?

“Smoothing” the Factory’s Accounts

As the young, newly appointed manager of a chemical plant, Alex learns that a team of internal auditors from his firm's home office will descend on his factory in two days. He prepares his staff as best he can. The day before the auditors arrive, one of his assistants discovers some disconcerting news. It appears, he says, that Woods, a 30-year veteran of the plant, has been systematically altering accounts for years. Month by month, Woods has been shipping products to customers without billing them—and then billing customers without shipping anything.

Alex is stunned. Seeking an explanation, he learns that the practice has nothing to do with fraud. Woods hasn't been lining his own pockets; he was simply trying to be helpful. His goal was to smooth out the cyclical nature of the orders so that, month by month, the figures sent to the home office appear level and consistent, with no peaks and valleys. On balance, Alex finds, no money has been lost or gained; it all balances out in the end. And while the amount is not immense, the funds affected amount to perhaps five percent of the plant's annual earnings.

In one sense, Woods's adjustments have benefited Alex, who has already been complimented by higher-ups for his astute forecasts and for meeting his targets so accurately. But Alex also knows that if these practices were to come to light, Woods would be fired instantly—he himself, though ignorant of the practice until now, might have some tough explaining to do. After all, for years Woods has been fudging records and misstating corporate revenues to management, shareholders, and the IRS.

Related Questions

Navigate

• Browse (All)
• Browse W
• Subjects

Integrity-first tutoring: explanations and feedback only — we do not complete graded work. Learn more.