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By
Steve Alan Edwards
 This
was to have been an article about male secretaries and the
women who employ them. Unfortunately, I am forced to
report to you, as well as to my editor, that there are no
more secretaries, male or female. Gone. Vanished. Kaput.
Even the word secretary has been abolished from the
corporate lexicon. Too bad, because it was such a good
word. From the Latin root secretum, it used to mean
"keeper of secrets."
"Administrative
assistant" just doesn't have the same ring to it, but
that's what we're left with in this enlightened,
politically correct era. An administrative assistant, of
course, is something other than the soap opera cliché of
the sexy but highly efficient paragon who looks up at her
boss with adoring eyes and understands him in a way his
wife never could.
But even the soap opera
stereotype was an evolutionary successor to the
secretaries of the 19th century. In that far-gone age,
secretaries wore white shirts and ties and were well-nigh
exclusively men. Perhaps Scrooge would have been a tad
less dour if, instead of Bob Cratchit, he had a Dolly
Parton look-alike to handle his correspondence.
Unfortunately for Ebenezer, women did not enter the
business work force until the two world wars created a
shortage of male workers.
On the eve of the 21st
century, the work place again is undergoing not-so-subtle
shifts. Most important, the occupant of the corner office
is increasingly likely to be female. She is exercising her
prerogative to hire whom she pleases as her assistant, and
sometimes she chooses a man. Though still rare, there are
men capable of answering phones, typing, and yes, even
making coffee.
***
"Maybe I was looking
for a man," admits Donna Brown, general manager and
co-owner of the TekShop, speaking of the day she hired her
assistant Douglas Sells. She had lost three female
assistants in two years. One left to work for a publisher,
one went off to nursing school, and the third, a young
mother, decided to open a day care center so she could be
closer to her child. Doug, 30 years old, has been with
Donna for more than five years.
The TekShop is a cluttered,
nerdy sort of place, appropriate to its line of
work--installing and maintaining computer networks and
systems. Donna is laid-back and unassuming, the antithesis
of a stereotypical business executive. Nevertheless, she
runs the business and runs it successfully, along with her
husband Tim. Her soft-spoken assistant, Doug, seems to
have adopted her attitude, slouching easily into a sofa in
the back office.
Doug does all the
traditional secretarial things, opening the mail, making
appointments, typing. He screens Donna's
calls--"otherwise, she'd be on the phone all day, and
couldn't get any work done," he notes. However, in
this small business, Doug has become a kind of
Jack-of-all-trades. His favorite task is accounting, and
he's working toward a degree in accounting at Nashville
Tech.
Doug has also adopted the
role of bill collector and has made it part of his job to
lean on customers whose accounts are past due. "I'll
threaten them. I can be mean," he asserts, though his
soft Tennessee drawl seems unsuited for hostility. Donna,
for her part, admits she is too easy on debtors: "I
feel sorry for them," she says.
Doug believes women must be
more aggressive than men to succeed in business. He should
know. Through some curious quirk of the ‘90s business
environment, he has never had a male supervisor.
Has Donna ever yelled at
Doug?
"Well," she
ventures sheepishly, "we made a mistake
yesterday."
"I made a mistake
yesterday," continues Doug, admitting to
inadvertently discarding a critical piece of
correspondence. Donna doesn't yell, he avers, although he
admits there are some "tense moments."
Donna, for her part, is
uncomfortable about expressing emotions in a business
situation. As a woman, she worries that her feelings will
be discounted as "PMS or hormones, or
something."
Though they've adapted well
to the information age, neither Donna nor Doug seems
totally at ease with it. Donna married into the computer
business, and says she's "been dragged along, kicking
and screaming." Doug keeps the traditional Rolodex
and appointment calendar on his small desk. Why doesn't he
store that information on the computer? He points an
accusing finger toward the monitor: "That thing can
die," he says. "And then what do you do?"
The TekShop, of course, has multiple backup solutions they
sell for just such an eventuality, but like the proverbial
cobbler with no shoes, they are behind in equipping their
own office.
Though they may not be
techies, the TekShop owes much of its success to Donna and
Doug. "We're a team," avers Donna. "Without
us, this place would shut down."
***
Keeping the business
running at the Columbia Centennial Surgery Center is chief
administrator Cynthia DuVall, along with her assistant,
Frank Hall. Cynthia grew up in a day when the only
acceptable professions for women were secretarial,
teaching and nursing. She chose the latter, in lieu of her
real ambition, to become a doctor.
"Nursing is changing,
" says Cynthia. "It used to be a real vocation
for people who cared for other people, but more and more,
it's becoming just another technically driven job."
In any case, her skills at handling people have propelled
her to greater responsibilities. Currently, the 70 or so
employees of this surgery center all answer to her. She
runs it as an autonomous unit; her closest supervisor in
the giant corporate parent, Columbia Healthcare, is in
Dallas.
Frank, 42, is a large,
affable man with a bushy mustache sprouting over an
ingratiating smile. Dolly Parton he most certainly is
not--it is difficult to imagine a greater leap from the
secretary she portrayed in the movie 9 to 5. Still, he
does the typing when required. He admits to no great
typing proficiency, but these days, blazing typing speed
is less of an requisite than other skills--such as his
facility with computers, spreadsheets, databases and word
processing programs. Previously, he was the office manager
at a small publishing firm.
Frank doesn't screen
Cynthia's calls. "She has an open door policy for the
employees, and practically an open phone policy, as
well," he explains. Operating in a service industry,
Cynthia is acutely sensitive to the feelings of patients
as well as the physicians with whom she works. She feels
that as executives, men are often too direct and
undiplomatic, and she brings a woman's empathetic touch to
her job as administrator.
Cynthia likes Frank's
businesslike attitude. Some of her previous female
assistants, she says, actually preferred a more
traditional secretarial role, which wasn't what she wanted
or needed. "They wanted to pick up my laundry, and
become part of my life in a personal way," she says.
Rather than taking on more responsibility, they would
stretch the work they had to fit the available time.
Frank, in contrast, has expanded his role at the surgery
center, taking over parts of payroll and human resource
duties
Businesslike or not, Frank
does see it as part of his job to cheer Cynthia up, to
lighten the load if she becomes upset over a work
situation. Cynthia appreciates his even temper and
patience.
Does Frank mind taking
orders from a woman? "No," he replies with a
smile. "My wife has trained me well."
His attitude at work, he
says, approaches a servant mentality: "When I'm at
work," he says, "Cynthia is my master."
Making light of Frank’s
suggestion, Cynthia adds with a laugh, "I try not to
whip him too often.
***
Another team, a
complementary odd couple, manages the activities of Lovell
Communications, Inc., a public relations firm whose
clients include hospitals, physicians and bankers. Paula
Lovell, the founder, occupies the literal corner office.
"I have two windows instead of one," she points
out. Her assistant, Jeff Goodson, 24, was formerly a
"struggling young account executive" at the
firm. When Paula's female assistant left, she encouraged
Jeff to take over the role, offering significant financial
inducements. More important, in Jeff's view, she promised
to promote his "professional development."
Jeff, in his gray business
suit, looks like a rising young executive. Although a
terrible typist who can't take dictation, he has all the
right skills for the job, says Paula. "Mainly Jeff
manages me and my time," she says. "He has the
temperament it takes to work with a hyper, high-strung,
driven, obsessive-compulsive boss."
Jeff, despite his youth,
does seem to exude a kind of patient tranquillity in
marked counterpoint to Paula's manic intensity. Part of
his job is to run interference for Paula, translating her
sometimes intemperate remarks for the benefit of clients.
"Tell that S.O.B. I never want to see him
again!" becomes "I'm sorry, Paula is currently
unavailable. Perhaps we could schedule an appointment for
later in the week."
Paula points to Jeff's
creativity and versatility as important qualifications.
Not only does he help in some of the design work, but he
has been an impromptu actor in some of Paula's
presentations.
Though maleness was not
part of the job description for administrative assistant
when she hired Jeff, Paula does see some gender
differences between him and her former assistants.
"With Jeff, I can be more direct," she says.
With her female assistants she had to "walk on
eggs" when it came to necessary criticism. Jeff is
less likely to take Paula's occasional frustration
personally.
"Paula is a tough
boss, maybe the toughest in Nashville," concedes
Jeff, "but the best there is. Some people just don't
want a boss who really pushes them."
Jeff came to Nashville from
Arkansas after obtaining a degree in public relations from
Harding University. Eventually, he wants to combine his
work in PR with his love of music, perhaps as a promoter.
A musician himself, his office wall sports a silly Elvis
clock juxtaposed with a poster of Leonard Bernstein.
He sees his work with Paula
as a kind of graduate education. "Every day I absorb
things from Paula that they could never teach you in
school," he says. He also is making invaluable
contacts, as Paula is careful to introduce him to the
movers and shakers she knows at business meetings and
charity events.
Although he and Paula are
friendly, Jeff knows where the line is drawn. "She
owns the business," he points out. "The biggest
thing I own is my car, which I'm still making payments
on."
At the same time he's
getting an education in public relations, Jeff is being
tutored as the "perfect companion" by the other
nine employees of Lovell Communications, all female, who
apparently think men need some instruction in this area.
According to Paula, he's the most eligible bachelor in
Nashville.
Ever the PR person, Paula
has chosen a spot in front of the corporate logo as the
perfect spot for pictures. Jokingly, she instructs Jeff to
gaze at her with admiration for the shot. Our
photographer, hoping for a more natural pose, moves the
scene to Paula's office and requests a
"high-five."
"Well, we don't really
do high-fives here. What do we do instead?" Paula
muses. Impulsively, she grabs the startled Jeff in an
affectionate hug.
Steve
Alan Edwards
has written articles on Transhuman, science, and
environmental issues. You can see his articles on
his website at http://users.aol.com/salaned/writer.htm
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