In “On The Waterfront,” the classic 1954 Elia Kazan film about a former professional boxer turned low-status New Jersey longshoreman, the protagonist, Terry Malloy, is played by Marlon Brando.
In one of the most poignant, heartbreaking scenes in cinema history, Malloy reprimands his mobster brother about the time he made Malloy throw a fight (take a fall) so his bosses could illicitly win a big bet on the fight.
“That night I coulda taken Wilson apart…! Instead, he got a shot at the title, and I got a one-way ticket to Palookaville…You don’t understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a CONTENDER… I coulda been SOMEBODY! instead of a bum, which, let’s face it, is what I am!”
70 years later, that scene still brings tears to people’s eyes. Why? Because we’ve all been there. We’ve all been in situations where our dreams “coulda made us a contender,” but were crushed in the end, somehow.
We thought about this scene when we watched the recent Netflix documentary series, “America’s Sweethearts,” about one of Texas’ most prominent female teams: the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.
For us, one thing really stood out:
Compared to the millions of dollars the football players get paid, the Cheerleaders get paid hardly anything. About as much a public school substitute teacher brings home. Yet these ladies train just as hard as the men on the field, or at least, as hard as any high-level college athlete.
Two questions keep coming back. 1) Is it unfair that these ladies get paid far, far less than the male football players and 2) What compels all these highly attractive young women with so much talent and drive to be so dedicated for such little remuneration?
The first answer is easy: That’s showbiz. Nobody said it was fair. Companies generally don’t feel the need to pay people more than they can get away with, QED.
The second answer is just as easy: Human Nature. Which is by far the most important thing for leaders to truly understand.
What motivates these young women is not the money. They’re after what we all are – a shot at greatness. A chance to be part of something that matters. A chance to be world class. A chance to have a narrative beyond the normal, boring, daily grind we all know about. Proof of excellence. A sense of belonging and significance.
It’s what we’re all chasing: the ability to tell a good story about ourselves. For the rest of their lives, they’ll proudly be able to tell people, “I was a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader.” And for these young women not long out of school, that’s not bad, not bad at all.
The search for meaning is the search for narrative, and vice versa. You can’t separate the two, nor can you suppress it in your own team. Sure, you may pay them well and offer all the company benefits, foosball tables, and free La Croix in the world, but that’s not the BIG reason they’re with you.
“I had class. I was a contender. I was somebody.” Narrative is everything.
