Jeff Hoyland wasn't always one of my strongest BDRs.
At one point Jeff was struggling enough that I put him on a performance improvement plan. But I've never believed a PIP should be paperwork designed to get somebody out of the company. If I'm going to put someone on a performance plan, then I have an obligation to help them succeed at that plan.
So Jeff and I went to work. We focused on what wasn't working, coached the areas that needed improvement and gave him a real opportunity to turn things around.
He did.
Jeff worked his way completely off the PIP and eventually earned a promotion to Senior BDR.
That's important because Jeff didn't become special to me because he got sick. I had already watched him struggle, respond to coaching, improve and become an important member of the team.
Then Jeff was diagnosed with throat cancer.
Before beginning treatment, he came to me with a question I will never forget. He wanted to know when he should schedule his treatment so his absence wouldn't hurt the team's quota.
Think about that. This guy had just been told he had cancer, and he was worried about our number.
I basically told him he was crazy. Get treatment. Get healthy. I'll worry about the quota.
The night before Jeff was due to return to work, I was getting a haircut. While I was there, I found myself thinking about Jeff and the dedication he had shown to the team throughout everything he was going through.
When I got home, I told my wife about it and made a decision.
I shaved my head.
I went into work early the next morning, before anyone else arrived, and put on the Battle Helmet—an old-school Army helmet we used on the sales floor when I was giving one of my speeches about getting into the trenches and fighting for the number.
When the team came in, nobody noticed that I had shaved my head. They were so focused on the helmet that my completely bald head somehow went unnoticed.
I talked about Jeff's commitment, his courage and what he meant to the team. Then I removed the helmet.
That was when they realized what I had done.
There wasn't a dry eye in the room.
I hadn't shaved my head to make a statement about leadership. I wasn't thinking about some lesson I could tell years later. Jeff was a member of my team who had shown incredible dedication while fighting something much bigger than anything happening at work. It simply felt like the right thing to do.
Looking back, moments like that helped define the kind of manager I wanted to be.
And I didn't need to give the sales speech. The team crushed quota that month.
Unfortunately, Jeff's cancer eventually returned.
The team organized a transportation schedule to make sure Jeff could get to treatments. I didn't mandate it. There wasn't a KPI for it. Nobody was getting compensated for it. They did it because one of their teammates needed them.
Jeff eventually lost his battle with cancer.
What he did with the years he had was remarkable. When speaking became difficult, he turned to photography. He photographed kids, sports, performances and community events around Bedford, Massachusetts. He helped other cancer patients and promoted acts of kindness. Bedford eventually named him Citizen of the Year.
Life gave Jeff more lemons than anyone deserves. He built a lemonade empire.
Jeff taught me that accountability and compassion aren't opposites. You can put someone on a PIP and fight like hell to help them succeed. You can demand performance while caring deeply about the person producing it.
There are very few days that go by when I don't think about Jeff. He was an inspiration to me, to the people who worked beside him, and eventually to an entire community.
I was fortunate enough to be his manager for part of his journey. I was even more fortunate to be his friend.
It helped define the kind of manager I wanted to be.
I cannot be successful unless the people who work for me are successful.
I didn't learn that from a management book. I learned it from people like Jeff.
I miss him.