Ruffles and Flourishes--and Paperwork

Most of us never get the chance to be president of anything. I’ve never hired or fired anyone, or sat at the head of a meeting room with everyone looking in my direction for leadership.

But I’m fascinated by those who reach that level. When they walk into their offices, how do they know the best way to spend each day? What does it feel like to snap out a handful of orders which send people scurrying to satisfy your wishes? At what point in your career do you set your sights on a presidency?

This week I went to a welcoming reception for Margaret Gratton, the new president of Orange Coast College in Costa Mesa. I wanted to see up close how a president handles herself.

When Gratton first started on the path of a career in education in Oregon some 30 years ago, she gave almost no thought to some day being a college president. That’s because, she says, “there were almost no women college presidents then, or vice presidents, or deans. There weren’t even many women department heads.”

But Adrien Bezdechi, her mentor professor when she was a student (and who showed up with his family for the reception), said she displayed extraordinary talent at a young age. His wife, Astrida, added: “She had such incredible determination to succeed, and with all those babies too.”

Gratton laughed when I repeated some of that to her later. Gratton gave birth to her daughter the week she earned her bachelor’s degree. By the time she completed two master’s degrees, she had three toddlers at home.

“I had my share of juggling books and diapers,” she said.

At the reception, Gratton was gracious in her praise of others at Orange Coast, where she’s actually been on the job since August. And it was evident she’s enthused about the job. But she mentioned that she came to the festivities with a little guilt that she was behind on the day’s paperwork.

That’s one thing I’ve often wondered about presidents, whether they’re running the country or a college: How do you organize your time so you don’t get bogged down in the minutiae, like paperwork? How do you make sure there’s time for vision, and the broad picture?

You have to do both, she said. “It’s a balancing act. Because no matter how important it is to get out and meet people, or to spend time planning, there is always paperwork to the job.”

Example: The day after the reception, Gratton dived into the first day of hiring personnel to fill faculty vacancies. No way to avoid paperwork on that task.

Actually, maybe I’m too hung up on the idea of vision. After all, Gratton pointed out, the real job of a president is not to project your vision onto the campus, “but to help see to it that the talent you work with get a chance to see their visions become reality.”

I wonder if Bill Clinton sees it the same way?

The Color Was Red, Red: I had a terrific Valentine’s Day thanks to a bunch of folks here at The Times whose names you never see in print.

Our company sponsored its annual Valentine’s “Senior Prom” on Friday for those who enjoy spending time at the Costa Mesa Senior Center. The great majority of seniors wore red, and they ate, danced and partied their hearts out.

At one table everyone wore red but one woman, whose friend announced: “She’s wearing red underwear.”

It was a chance to meet a lot of nice people. One of them, Corine Larison, joked to me: “This is a big deal to us old folks.” And I answered: “It’s a big deal to us too.”

The Comeback Kid: Louie had been off for three weeks with a bad back. If he and I made a deal on a new car, this would be his first sale since his return. The whole office was rooting for him to get that first one, he said. His comeback.

Later I heard from the sales manager: “Did they tell you Louie has been off three weeks? We want to see him get this one, Mr. Hicks. But you aren’t giving us any good numbers. Give us something we can work with--for Louie. Whattaya say?” Buy one for the Gipper?

Every five years or so, I must endure one of life’s great agonies: Buying a new car. I know car salesmen have to make a living. And I know how hot they get that customers like me take a poke at their reputations for honesty and integrity. But the process of dealing with many of them is just as painful as I remember it from five years ago.

In recent days I’ve come across some doozies:

“This is my first day on the job. This will be my first sale.” (The eager beaver salesman.)

“I used to work at the dealership across the street. But it finally just bothered me knowing I was selling a product inferior to what you’re looking at here.” (The salesman with a conscience.)

“You’ve got a sharp eye for detail. I like that in my customers.” (The kiss-up.)

I sought out a female salesperson. Women, my subconscious tells me, are basically more honest than men. Ten minutes into the sale, she turned me over to a man.

Bottom line: There really are honest, well-meaning car salespeople out there. True, they want the best dollar they can get. But you can find decent salespeople to deal with in Orange County--if you look long enough, and get lucky. But, as my final salesman, Terry O’Brien of Costa Mesa, told me: “This is kind of like going to the dentist, isn’t it?”

Wrap-Up: At the reception for “Madame President” Gratton, I saw something during the formal ceremonies that I enjoyed immensely: Hugging and kissing.

After the district’s chancellor, William Vega introduced Gratton, they shared a hug and a cheek kiss. When student body President Amy Wise presented a gift to Gratton, they shared a huge hug.

I don’t think you see male presidents getting hugs and kisses like that. Not everyone may agree, but I’m delighted to see that kind of behavior is still politically correct.

Jerry Hicks’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Readers may reach Hicks by calling The Times Orange County Edition at (714) 966-7823 or by fax to (714) 966-7711, or e-mail to jerry.hicks@latimes.com