Deadline!

How Premier Organizations Win the Race Against Time

Author: Dan Carrison
Pub Date: 2007
Your Price: $24.95
ISBN: 0814407269
Format: Hardcover

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Chapter 1
TURNER CONSTRUCTION COMPANY MAKES THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS THUNDER

"On paper, this project seemed doomed to fail."
- CHRIS BRETTELL, PROJECT MANAGER, BRONCOS

"This job had a lot of hair on it."
- ROD MICHALKA, SENIOR VP, TURNER CONSTRUCTION COMPANY

The new $400 million Broncos stadium has come in under time and under budget. Beating both the schedule and the budget is unprecedented in the sporting arena industry.
- FACT

All major construction projects have their share of headaches and must be driven against time, but sports entertainment arenas and stadiums present difficulties and risks not found in other buildings of similar cost, not the least of which is the intense public scrutiny. "An NFL stadium is like the town cathedral of the Renaissance," says architect Terry Miller, who led the design effort, "it's a community icon." The cathedral analogy seems most appropriate, although to suggest that NFL football is a "religion" in the city of Denver is to elevate the term "religion" above its normal modern day significance. Unless one uses the word with a more ancient context in mind, such as in the time of the Crusades, Broncos football is more than a religion in Denver; it is an all-consuming passion. Indeed, if the reverse were true - if matters of religion were attended to with the fervor reserved for NFL football - the geographical coordinates of the city of Denver would be a direct link to Heaven; feet would not long remain in contact with the ground.

As it is, the city is an earthly paradise of football fandom. And that can put an enormous pressure on the builder. For most of us, the anxiety we experience when confronted with a serious deadline usually manifests itself as an image of our unhappy customer. That image may sometimes haunt us through the daily struggle to bring the project in on time. But that is only one customer, in a big world. If there is a refuge from the prospect of failure, it may be in the consolation that it is highly unlikely we will be confronting that particular customer in the future. But in the case of failing to deliver an NFL stadium on time, there are hundreds of thousands of customers - the hometown fans - all ready to point you out in the street as you drive the company truck, as the living embodiment of the Grinch who stole Christmas. Failure might mean not only losing your job, but also having to move out of town.

The funding mechanisms and approval processes are also more complex for sports entertainment projects. When building a stadium, the general contractor must deal not only with the individual owner, but also with state, county, and city authorities, all of whom represent a stake in the endeavor, and all of whom have the power to slow it down or bring it to a dead stop. The fiscal consequences of failure to meet the deadline are also greater with sporting facilities. If, for example, a builder is late in delivering an office building to its owner, thus delaying the tenants from moving in, he or she can grudgingly pick up the tab for a month's lost rent. But if a stadium does not open on game day - after 60,000 tickets have been sold (at, say, an average of one hundred dollars apiece), along with television rights, advertising, and anticipated profits from innumerable associated activities - picking up the tab for just that one Sunday would be an impossibility.

THE DEADLINE

Well aware of the inherent risks in building any sporting arena, Turner Construction Company contracted to deliver to the citizens of Denver a brand new NFL stadium by August 2001. Had this been a normal stadium project, the three-year timeline would have been aggressive enough. But unique to this particular undertaking were unprecedented challenges, some of which came as complete surprises.

* The timeline soon shrank to 27 months before construction could even begin (for reasons that we will explore).

* The project was to be a "design-build" job, which meant that it was to be designed as it was being built by a joint venture of builder and architect - the first ever stadium to be approached in such a radical manner.

* It had two contractual owners to appease, sometimes with different objectives.

* The labor force was mixed, union and nonunion, often a volatile combination. The ownership of the very land on which the stadium was to be built had not yet been transferred; only a third of the parcels were actually accessible on start day. That is like asking a contractor to begin building one-third of a house!

* Furthermore, it would be impossible to "clear the decks" and begin work even on the available land; the new stadium was to be erected literally in the shadows of two existing stadiums: venerable Mile High Stadium, which the city would not yet allow to be demolished, and McNichols Sports Arena, where the Denver Nuggets and Colorado Avalanche played, not scheduled for demolition until a year and a half into the project.

Additional minicrises occurred during the building of this stadium, including a precast concrete shortage, the inability of the original steel contractor to fabricate the enormous structures required, an endangered species of field mouse encountered on-site, and a design review board of local architects and city fathers who, in the middle of the project, suddenly demanded significant changes. It is positively amazing that this $400 million NFL flagship (officially named INVESCO Field) came in not only under time, but under budget, as well. The "under budget" aspect should be emphasized. Most stadiums, without encountering any of the above-mentioned obstacles, either open late or open unfinished, with months of "weekday" finishing touches remaining between games. Those arenas that have been brought in on time, in the literal sense, almost always conclude in the panic mode, running three frenzied shifts per day and usually costing millions of dollars over the guaranteed maximum price. To hand the owner the keys to a completely finished stadium ahead of schedule and millions of dollars under budget is unprecedented in the industry. How this was accomplished will be of interest to all who must win the race against time, in any business.

PARTNER WITH "YOUR ADVERSARY"

It is not surprising that, for a project of this magnitude, America's largest builder was chosen. Turner Construction Company, headquartered in New York, builds more than fifteen hundred projects a year across the nation and abroad, totaling, in 2001, $6.3 billion in value of construction. An equally prominent architectural firm was chosen: HNTB, the designer of Oakland Arena, Oakland Stadium, Qualcomm Park, Giants Stadium, Arrowhead Stadium, the Pontiac Coliseum, Kemper Silverdome, the RCA Dome, and the Ballpark in Arlington.

The organizations were selected a week apart, and both were pleased at the prospect of working with each other. But within weeks, it became obvious to them that their working relationship would be even closer than anticipated. "We realized," remembers Rod Michalka, senior vice president of Turner, "that, if we were to meet this aggressive timeline of thirty-six months, the traditional way wasn't going to cut it."

The "traditional way" puts the builder and the architect in an adversarial relationship. The architect is hired by the owner to design, and to protect, his or her vision. That design is ultimately put "out to bid"; general contractors then compete to arrive at the most cost-effective proposal to make the owner's vision a reality. The architect remains an advocate for the owner throughout the project, keeping a watchful eye on the contractor, so that all is done according to plan. The contractor, for his or her part, has every incentive to find errors and omissions in the drawings, so that more money for the corrections can be legitimately requested. This venerable arrangement, for all of its potential for finger pointing, has served the industry well over the generations. The only problem is, it takes a lot of time. The design alone could take a year and a half, followed by more than two years of construction - and that's assuming everything goes just right. Both Turner and HNTB could see that making the August 2001 deadline mandated by the owner using this tried and true method would be very doubtful. But, by building the stadium as it was being designed, the team could trim six to eight months off the timeline.

There is a sense of momentum in the very phrase design-build; while the contractor is completing Step 1, the architect is busily designing Step 2. The relationship requires a great deal of trust, as well as competence, between both entities. If there is a mistake, the builder cannot ask for more money, because the builder, not the owner, is responsible for the architect. The risk, then, is generally entirely on the builder, which explains why the design-build approach is rare on very large projects. Even rarer is the voluntary assumption of risk by the architect. Terry Miller, senior vice president of HNTB, was quite prepared to bet on the competence of his design team. "At first, we offered to assume 50 percent of the risk; but it really came down to who had the most control of the project - and that was Turner. So we agreed to assume 20 percent of the risk." The design-build team had now become a joint venture - the first ever on a project of this magnitude.

At the behest of Turner, FMI, a consulting firm for the construction industry, had been brought in to facilitate partnering sessions between Turner and HNTB management. Some on both sides were skeptical, fearing that these sessions, a few of which were scheduled to be at "retreats," would amount to nothing more than group hugs and campfire renditions of "Kumbaya." But the doubters were pleasantly surprised. The sessions were open, honest, and frank. In fact, they were so productive that it was decided to invite the owners themselves. Lance Nichols, leading the on-site design team, remembers the retreats well:

The recognition of one another's objectives would facilitate all future dealings within the decision-making group. Motives would be more understandable, and more predictable, reducing the chances of being at odds with one another without knowing the underlying cause. Key figures in the project would know where the other was "coming from." It was clear, too, at the end of these sessions, that, if the deadline were to be met, the owners would have to step down from the customer pedestal and become part of the delivery process.

Partnering with a traditional adversary can be both a liberating and disquieting prospect. On the one hand, it would be a great relief to have a former opponent as an ally; the battles typically fought would have already been won. No longer must you prepare to confront, or tiptoe around, your adversary; you're both on the same side. But new concerns arise. Accustomed to making unilateral decisions, you must now give a vote to your new partner in the enterprise. Company secrets, such as profit levels and customer "management" techniques, are now laid bare to somebody who may be an adversary once again, on a future project. If the venture does not go well, the relationship may end in bitterness, or in court. Later, like former lovers meeting at a social gathering, both of you may wonder what is being said behind your back. You would have been better off as simple adversaries. Conversely, if the project goes well, expectations will have been raised for partnering on the next project - an option, to be sure, but one that you would rather contemplate from a position of command. There will be more profit-sharing with a partner. True, less risk will be borne alone, but that, in itself, entitles your new partner to have a voice in matters you may consider none of their "business."

Partnering with a traditional adversary can be both a liberating and disquieting prospect.

The best justification for partnering with an adversary, of course, is the time that will be saved on a fast track project - if, that is, both parties feel equally driven to meet the deadline. The mutual assumption of risk will assure common cause and create a mandate for openness and trust. To the degree that mandate is followed, your relationship with your adversary will change irreversibly. Even if you find yourselves on the other side of the table on a future project, the insights gained into each other's character, business practices, and business concerns, will make for a better understanding of the other's position. Business is not, simply, "all about the numbers"; most of us would prefer to work with people we like and trust, especially if they are in an adversarial role.

DON'T WAIT FOR THE STARTER'S PISTOL

The team had been assembled; all that was wanting was the taxpayer's permission to build a new stadium, and that was by no means a safe assumption. Many proposed stadiums have been voted down in recent years; San Francisco lost a new stadium at 48 percent of the vote, and the Cardinals stadium referendum was defeated twice. The proposed new Broncos stadium did have something going for it, however: It was, in a sense, already paid for. The sales tax that had been instituted by the voters a few years earlier, in order to pay for Coors Field baseball stadium, was not slated to expire until 2016. But Coors Field had been paid off early, in 1999. The taxpayer was being asked to voluntarily allow this tax to continue, thereby financing the new NFL stadium. If this was approved, the residents of Denver would be getting two stadiums out of a tax originally designed to finance one.

The referendum, however, would not be held for months. Turner and HNTB could not afford to wait for the election results. In order to meet their deadline, they had to proceed without the authorization of the voters, up to the eve of the election, and then abide by the will of the people. Should the stadium proposal be defeated, the design-build team would be out of pocket for the cost of months of design and preconstruction mobilization.

"We simply had to take the chance," recalls Rod Michalka. "But at the same time, we had to minimize the risk. So I went shopping for insurance." One can only imagine the initial reaction of an insurance agent when confronted with Michalka's request to insure the design-build team's efforts should the stadium be voted down. The answer to the obvious question, "Why not simply wait until the voter has spoken before proceeding?" and the answer, "that the interim before the election was time too valuable to waste," may have raised an eyebrow, as well, for somebody unaccustomed to dealing with major deadlines. "It was not an easy sell. We went to Lloyds of London first. They did a lot of research into stadium referendums of other cities that had been defeated. They were also very concerned about the possibility that quarterback John Elway would retire, or that the Broncos might have a losing record up to the eve of the vote that would detract from the community's passion. You've got to remember: It's not as if the Denver fans were clamoring for a new stadium; they loved the old one."

Mile High Stadium, for all of its faults, was an NFL shrine. It had a glorious history and was normally packed to the gills. The proposed $400 million stadium, although twice the square footage, would have a total of only two more seats - reflecting the complex ratio of seats-to-demand that owners prefer - so it wasn't as if the fans were being offered a thousand more opportunities to witness a live game. There were a lot of very vocal Broncos supporters who saw few advantages in the new stadium for the average fan. The offer of twice as many executive suites is hardly compelling to a working person who could barely afford tickets in the old stadium. Yes, there would be more bathrooms and concession booths, but the promise of creature comforts does not sway the rugged individualist, and that's how Denver folks see themselves. The fact that the proposed new stadium was to be uncovered, at an altitude where it can snow any month of the year, and most certainly throughout football season, is a tacit recognition of the hardiness of the Broncos fans. Cowboys don't need domes to keep out the rain and snow, and they don't need fancy new stadiums with corporate names.

Had they waited for the starter's pistol, the stadium would never have been completed on time.

It was very, very possible that the people of Denver would, like those in San Francisco and St. Louis, reject the proposed new stadium. Nevertheless, the design-build team worked - in effect, without permission - up until the eve of the vote. HNTB put its resources into creating a design for the voters to approve, while Turner continued developing the construction timelines and affordable budget guidelines, with the full understanding that these months of work would be at risk. If the proposed stadium were to be rejected by the voters, the insurance policy would help ease the pain, but nobody could reimburse the design-build team for the cost of the policy - a whopping $1 million. Yet, in retrospect, it is clear to all that, had they waited for the starter's pistol, the stadium would never have been completed on time.

Waiting for official sanction before one begins a project seems a reasonable enough precaution. Negotiations over contractual terms have, after all, been stalemated or have fallen apart, and last-minute changes to the scope of work could certainly nullify the preparations we may have made. And, indeed, it seems the habit of a lifetime to wait until it's "official" before we begin most activities - be it a term paper, a New Year's resolution, a change of behavior (such as quitting smoking right after the diagnosis of emphysema, rather than after repeated warnings over the decades), or a project strongly rumored to be imminent. Not only do we wait for the announcement from on high, we wait further, often until the very last minute - perhaps for the proper send-off, or for others to climb onboard - before we begin.

Turner's example of starting without the official sanction of the citizens of Denver was definitely risky, but it was not reckless; even without the insurance policy, their decision to begin immediately made practical business sense. Not to have begun would have incurred much more risk. Not all organizations are so aggressive, however; a great many of us would not consider proceeding without proper authority. The bigger the contract the more cautious we become; it will not become an order until it has the blessing of senior management, and the credit department, and the legal division, etc. We fear that, by beginning work without the unqualified backing of our own organization, and that of the customer, we might be seen, at best, as naively enthusiastic; at worst, as irresponsibly obsessed. Yet, what is there, really, to lose? As long as the preparation is on our side of the fence, the risk is limited. Turner, after all, did not start digging at the site; their activities were internal, and the odds were good enough for an insurance company to indemnify the preparations being made.

Perhaps our deadlines will not require Lloyds of London, but most of them will require forward management. Just as a nation need not wait until an actual declaration of war in order to take steps to defend itself, an organization is sometimes entitled to move first and let the project catch up. In the unlikely event of the last-minute cancellation of the project, our activities can be defined as a very realistic drill, which should not be discounted. The next deadline will be better managed, due to the lessons learned in our preparations for the one that got away.

DON'T WAIT FOR THE EXPECTED CONDITIONS

During the first half of the football season preceding the referendum vote, the Broncos had no stauncher fans than the Turner executives in New York, who followed the team's progress obsessively. Elway had, to the delight of all, signed up for another year, and the Broncos - the previous year's Super Bowl champions - were undefeated by the time of the special election. The referendum authorizing the new football stadium passed by 57 percent to 43 percent. Although a comfortable margin, one wonders how close the vote might have been if all the pieces to the puzzle not been in place - if Elway hadn't committed to another season, or if the team had had a losing record. In any event, nobody could have been happier with the victory than the design-build team. After much back-slapping and toasts into the night to innumerable football players, past and present, Turner was poised, shovel in hand, to begin construction the very next day.

"That's when we found out from the city," grimaces Emil Konrath, the Turner veteran chosen to bring this enormous project in on time, "that we weren't going to get all of our land at once." In fact, access to nearly three-quarters of the property on which the stadium was to be built was being denied by the city. The design-build team, which had quite naturally anticipated complete control of all of the site - how else could you build a stadium? - was shocked. They were told the land issues would be settled in the "near future," but the clock had begun ticking. While their start date continued to move, in the wrong direction, the one constant that never moved was the end date.

There were a number of reasons for the delay in the availability of the land, none of them of much consolation to a design-build team ready to "blow and go." For one, the city had not yet completed the necessary transactions with the various owners of several land parcels and did not seem to be in any particular hurry to do so. Secondly, McNichols Arena, home to the Denver Nuggets and the Colorado Avalanche, had been contracted, unbeknownst to Turner, for a number of concerts and events well into the winter. Turner had planned to demolish the thirty-year-old arena months earlier; it was in the way; now they had to live with it and work around it. And thirdly, Turner learned that venerable Mile High Stadium, also in the way and slated for early demolition, was to remain standing as a safety net, should they fail to meet the August 2001 opening date.

So Turner found itself denied the very land it needed to build the new stadium the traditional way, as an oval spiraling up, and, to the extent to which it could build, it must do so in the claustrophobic proximity of not one, but two, existing stadiums.

That is when Emil Konrath had a general contractor's equivalent of satori, the moment of enlightenment said to come to Buddhist monks who have mediated long and hard. Not exactly the monkish type, Konrath stared at the problem long and hard, calling up his nearly three decades of bare-knuckle high-rise construction experience with Turner. Then, the answer came to him. HNTB's Lance Nichols remembers the drama of Konrath's solution. "Instead of building the stadium the way all stadiums have been built for the last one hundred years - as one complete, recognizable oval, coming out of the ground, level by level - it occurred to Emil that the stadium could be looked upon as eight interconnected five-story buildings. When he pointed this out to us, we suddenly realized we didn't have to build the whole thing, level by level; we could build it by sections, going all the way to the top. We only had the land for three out of the eight sections available to us, but we could at least start there."

Konrath's solution was like baking a pie one complete, perfect, succulent slice at a time. No stadium had ever been constructed in such a fashion; but, then again, no contractor had ever been denied access to three-quarters of the site on start day. Many months later, the land parcels would eventually be transferred, and permission would be granted to demolish McNichols Arena. If the design-build team had waited for that day to begin construction - and no one could have blamed them for insisting on possession of all the site - they never would have made the deadline. "The problem is," says Emil, "that even if you have a legitimate reason for not delivering on time, and God knows we had a good reason, all people would remember would be that Turner didn't deliver. I couldn't allow that to happen. If we were going to make the deadline, we had to start somewhere, we just couldn't wait."

Konrath's solution was like baking a pie one complete, perfect, succulent slice at a time.

It is said that the subcontinent Greenland is so named because its discoverer, Eric the Red, wanted to attract settlers from his homeland. The hardy Viking men and women who were lured by the visions of verdant pastures found themselves confronted with a frozen wasteland, and, no doubt, a fast-talking Eric the Red. Anybody who has been in business for a few years has experienced the sensation of landing on similar shores - perhaps a sales territory that did not quite live up to the loving descriptions of management, or a "key account" that turned out to be run by the CEO from hell. At such times we find ourselves nodding our heads in agreement with the inner voice that warned us not to sell the house and relocate or take on the new challenge of key account manager.

Sometimes, the unexpected conditions are trivial: Business cards have not yet been ordered for us, and the company car, with the cell phone in the glove compartment, won't be available for a few weeks. And sometimes, the lack is more serious, such as desperately needed equipment on back order, or a change in management that has not yet produced our new manager. Or, perhaps we are developing a market plan for entering uncharted territory that just needs "a little more" research. In all cases, we are tempted to wait until we feel confidently ready to begin - driving the company car, business cards in our pocket, on the cell phone, updating our new manager on the arrival of the needed equipment, and implementing a foolproof business plan that will turn the CEO from hell into a pussycat and terraform the forbidding sales territory into fertile orchards that grow contracts on trees.

There are occasions when one has to cheat - not the customer - but Time, itself.

Turner knew that critical deadlines cannot wait for everything to be "just right"; and that if one does wait, the deadline may be jeopardized. There are occasions when one has to cheat - not the customer - but Time, itself. It would be interesting to know if Turner would again build a stadium as if it were a series of interconnected high-rise buildings when it didn't have to (that is, when all the land was immediately available). But even if it had not discovered the solution for normal conditions, it certainly has created an action plan, should the incredible restrictions encountered on that project ever be encountered again. The kind of aggression exhibited by Turner is usually possible, oddly enough, from "conservative" companies, which do not demand, in the interests of fair play, intervention from the courts, or sympathy from the customer. Turner had every right to stamp its feet and appeal to higher authorities; instead, it accepted its conditions, but not its fate.

PUT ALL DECISION MAKERS UNDER ONE ROOF

Given the speed required to meet the deadline, Turner was determined to do things differently in a number of ways, one of which was to consolidate the decision makers. Normally, construction sites are characterized by "trailer cities" - a kind of Cannery Row of portable trailers and storage bins that take up a fair amount of the job site. While the important subcontractors are on-site, conspicuously missing are the architects and, of course, the owners, who can be found in their downtown offices. Turner insisted on putting designated members from the alliance of four - the Football District, the Broncos, HNTB, and Turner itself - under one roof, on the job site. Having so many partners, each protecting its own interests, in such close proximity, may have initially raised the specter of too many cooks spoiling the broth. But the environment proved to be a secret weapon.

Under usual conditions, the flow of information between contractor and architect, and architect to owner, and back again through the architect to the contractor, can take weeks, for each and every issue that arises. With the decision makers on-site, only a step across the hall from each other, the process is accelerated to warp speed. In the case of the Broncos stadium, potentially worrisome issues were often put to rest in minutes. Rather than trying to describe a situation to one another over the phone, the team members could simply step outside and look at the problem, and, with the subcontractors at their side, resolve it.

Not every issue requires the attention of the decision makers; there were decisions made daily in the field by supervisors who were, in turn, empowered to take control of their areas of concern. But inevitably issues rose to the surface, to be dealt with by the owner's representatives and the Turner-HNTB partnership. Meetings were often in session; it was unlikely, however, that a troublesome issue had a long life. "One thing that made this team different, at least from my experience," says Broncos project manager Chris Brettell, "is the way we went into meetings. We walked in with one goal, and that was to come out of it with an answer, not another `tabled' question. And we'd stay in that room until we got it."

Of course, the system would not work without the decision-making authority being transferred from corporate headquarters to those closest to the task, on the actual job site. The representatives of the District, Broncos, HNTB, and Turner did not have to defer to higher authority, although that higher authority did exist. Each of the four respective representatives was empowered to make a command decision on behalf of his organization - not only empowered, but urged to make up his mind quickly. "There's a good decision and a bad decision," says Tim Romani, executive director of the Metropolitan Football District, "but the worst decision of all is indecision. Even if you make a bad decision in a timely manner, you'll have time to correct it. But if you wait too long, and then make a bad decision, there will be no time to recover. It's a double kill."

If there is anything to the caveat about having too many cooks spoiling the broth, it is certainly more likely if there are scores of assistant cooks banging about in the kitchen. Although somewhat compartmentalized, each of the on-site decision makers had considerable staffs; accordingly, there were lots of people under that roof. To avoid delay or confusion, the builders, designers, and owner's representatives found it best to funnel all information through one designated person on each team, and not to bother anyone else with it. As long as that rule was obeyed, the needless duplication of effort was avoided.

Apart from the critical determination to make this a design-build venture, the assembling of the decision makers under one roof proved to be the single most valuable technique for making the ambitious deadline of August 2001. For those of us who do not have a twenty-acre site to house all decision makers, the concept is still very practical. It is not out of the question to move a few desks around within our limited work space, in order to create a command center from which to manage our deadline, with empowered representatives - from the customer, as well as from any vendors involved - temporarily occupying a desk in an area dedicated to the project. The inconvenience for all will be compensated for by the speed at which the deadline is met and the pace of the bonding that will occur between all who struggle together to get the job done. Such an experience can be the stuff of reunions.

NEVER CREATE YOUR TIMELINE IN A VACUUM

Every deadline, big and small, requires a map. How one is going to get to the end state, and in what order, must be plotted out on a piece of paper, not etched in stone. The Turner timeline is a living document, reflecting unavoidable changes in course over the many months. Certainly, the design-build team would have preferred a straight, uneventful journey. But it was prepared to react with flexibility to circumstances outside its control. Its schedules were designed to adapt. The only thing that never changed was the delivery date to the customer; that had been etched in stone.

Developing a logical sequence of events for all that must be accomplished, in order to construct a one-of-a-kind NFL stadium, must be something like trying to imagine a million dollars in a single stack of one-dollar bills; the mind rebels, it cannot build up the image for long. Of course, Randy Mendenhall, Turner's scheduling guru, had a computer to retain the more than 7,000 activities that had to be mapped out logically. Nevertheless, he had to develop each schedule, one by one, each with its own set of internal monitoring mechanisms.

Mendenhall speaks in a deceptively slow, Midwestern drawl, which may be his way of managing his own emotions in such a fast-paced environment. When asked how he could coordinate the thousands of tasks that had to be completed before opening day, he laughs. "That wasn't the hard part; the hard part is always getting all the trades to buy in. They want to know if the schedule is realistic. Can it be done? I have to convince them it can, and then I have to enforce it." It would have served no purpose for Mendenhall to dream up a timeline that ended in August 2001, just to please Turner management; it would soon be exposed as a floating abstraction, a castle in the sky that could not be built as scheduled. So he involved the major subcontractors in all of his planning. "I try to get as much input as I can from those who will actually be performing the work." There is no conflict of objectives; everyone on the project wants to finish it as soon as possible. The quicker they get it done, the more money they make.

Mendenhall's timelines are really made up of minischedules, separated by milestones that represent significant "drop-dead" deadlines within the overall project. If the milestone is jeopardized, Mendenhall calls for battle stations; all of the subsequent tasks down the line are, by implication, also threatened. A recovery schedule must be developed to regain the original pace. One of the ways to enforce the schedule is to take advantage of every opportunity to move ahead. Mendenhall, accordingly, never counts on the identical opportunity being there the next day. "I grew up on a farm; the weather changed so fast that, when there was a clear spell to get something done, we rushed into it. It's that same way on a job site; for all you know you may be about to experience the worst winter in thirty years. You'd better make good use of every day you have."

Tim Romani likens milestones to incremental racing times. "A marathon runner needs to know his times for eight miles, twelve miles, etc. If he waits only for the final, finishing time, he'll never be able to manage his own race. It's the same thing with us." Mendenhall agrees and adds that schedules also perform a self-diagnostic function. "You have to have a schedule in order to find out where the problem is. Then, once you understand why you're not where you thought you would be, you can begin to recover." Between monitoring the status of milestones on the timeline and recovering where necessary, Mendenhall's day is rivaled only by that of an air traffic controller. "You can't let this get to you," he drawls, gesturing to the critical path charts that cover the four walls of his office. "I've seen a lot of good people that it got to." Some of the individuals he refers to no doubt developed their schedules in a vacuum.

Every business deadline, regardless of the industry, has some sort of schedule. Like sales or production quotas, they are sometimes the result of an airy business math, which divides the final goal, mandated by the customer or board of directors, into twelve-month chunks - and there's your target. Those who have to actually do the work may not be consulted, for fear of introducing objections that could jeopardize the end date; and that end date represents management's inviolable commitment to the customer. Management may even feel a bit embarrassed for caving in so quickly to the demands of the customer and now makes its own demands with a toughness that would have better served the company in earlier negotiations. The rank and file, then, is brusquely presented with a schedule, which is also enforced, like a law the police may not believe in but are compelled by grim duty to follow to the letter.

An unrealistic schedule creates cynicism within the team tasked to keep pace. Certainly, a team that does not believe it can do the job will, in all likelihood, fail; and it doesn't take the whole group to feel that way in order to jeopardize the schedule. Just a few members, whose work must be done before others can follow, can cause a ripple effect that will be very hard to contain later. If the team, moreover, senses that its leader is not a believer and is just bravely going through the motions, the deadline will not be met. By soliciting the input, and the commitments, from those who will perform the work, management not only has a more realistic schedule, it has also made it difficult for anyone to come back at a later date and object to the timeline. If the promised end date initially seems overly ambitious, a brainstorming session is in order, in which all who will be involved can explore creative solutions to meet the customer's mandate. Instead of a half-hearted collection of individuals, haunted by an impending failure, management will have mobilized a team bent on victory.

INVOLVE THOSE WHO CAN INHIBIT YOU EARLY IN THE PROCESS

Turner had finally been given permission to bury McNichols Arena in the parking lot of the new stadium. But, though welcome and long overdue, the actual demolition of McNichols Arena could have caused a delay in itself. Normally, all work would cease while everybody stepped back and watched the sturdy concrete structure, riddled with reinforcing steel, slowly taken down. The process could have caused weeks of delay. But Turner, typically aggressive, kept working on the new stadium, alongside one end of McNichols, while the other end of McNichols was being demolished. This way, crews could work (in complete safety) nearly up to the last minute of McNichols's demolition.

Nonetheless, there was a delay associated with the demolition. The Denver Fire Department, seeing a golden opportunity, requested permission to practice disaster response drills in the rubble of the old stadium. Although time was at a premium, Turner shut down its demolition operation and even helped fund the drills. At one time, there were nearly one thousand disaster response personnel on-site. Months later, with the national experience of the attack on the World Trade Center behind them, builders might consider such a gesture to the Fire Department a civic duty. But in spring 2001, this invitation was fairly unprecedented. It cost Turner two precious weeks.

"Why did we do it? It was good PR," explains Emil. "We made friends with an agency that could have held us up for a lot longer than two weeks, believe me. We don't get our certificate of occupancy until the Fire Department is happy. I'd much rather have them on our side." Accordingly, Project Manager Charlie Thornton set aside one day a week to deal proactively with any agency that could possibly have an influence on the schedule - and there were scores of them. "I made myself available to every city, state, or county agency that expressed an interest in the project, and I did it with a smile," he grins. "With one phone call, some unhappy bureaucrat - or a college professor who suspects we're digging into an ancient Indian burial ground - could have held us up for weeks. I kept them happy." Thornton's cooperative attitude is genuine; although a busy and preoccupied project manager, he is friendly and accommodating. By giving the project a friendly face, Turner was able to keep the community agencies and delegations on its side.

When a local academic study discovered evidence near the job site of an endangered species of mouse (officially, "Preble's meadow jumping mouse"), Thornton was all smiles and cooperation. While no doubt inwardly concerned at the prospect of an injunction halting construction, he personally invited the Department of Fish and Game experts for their judgment - and prayed. It turned out well for both Mother Nature and the new stadium; the federal department ruled that there was no adverse environmental impact. Had Charlie Thornton's attitude been obstructive, the verdict probably would have been the same, but perhaps a bit more prolonged. People have a habit of mirroring the demeanor of their counterpart; from day one, Thornton's proactive friendliness disarmed many a city councilman and state delegate who may have harbored resentment over the referendum results.

Turner's penchant for bringing people "on board" early in the process applies also to its own key subcontractors. Roger Webb of Baker Concrete, a major player in the project with a $50 million contract, was asked to "office" on-site fully six months before he would be pouring concrete. "For nearly half a year, I attended design meetings and gave my input; no contractor had ever asked me to stay so close to a project before I was actually needed. It turned out to be a good thing, too; we were able to save the owner a chunk of change." Webb was to have a brainstorm of his own.

Every stadium built to date has a mixture of precast concrete forms (structures that have been formed off-site and trucked in) and cast-in-place concrete structures, which are, as the term implies, poured "wet" into forms that are removed when the concrete dries. But the traditional method was not going to work under then-current conditions. Webb could see that, without the other land parcels being accessible, it was going to be difficult to erect the enormous precast structures, not to mention store those that would be needed on the future parcels. He started thinking about a method to pour concrete in place that could cover spans normally supported by precast structures. By welding together small four-foot panels, he was able to demonstrate to Turner that poured-in-place concrete was a viable option, one that could save the owner time and money.

Turner's policy of bringing key subcontractors on board before they're needed is in stark contrast to the "just-in-time" mentality of many businesses, which do not want to bring resources into play until the last possible minute, because resources, whether inventory or personnel, cost money. Had Turner brought Roger Webb on to the job site the day his work was to literally begin, as most general contractors do, the owner never would have benefited from his time- and money-saving innovation.

It was not always possible, however, to involve those who could exert a disproportionate influence on the project - especially during the months before the election, when there was no official sanction, and, therefore, no budget to pay everybody for their efforts. And, while the design-build team had plenty of enthusiasm, it was difficult to instill a similar Zlan into the bureaucrats and citizenry boards of Denver, made up of local professionals, until the project had been authorized and funded. Months later, Turner and HNTB were to be stunned by the emergence of a committee with the power to bring the job to a standstill. The city's Design Review Advisory Committee (DRAC) was composed of local architects, designers, and art historians. While Turner and HNTB knew that, somewhere along the line, they would have to go through the "formality" of a design review, no one could have guessed the degree to which it would become involved in the design of the new stadium. HNTB, the premier sports architecture firm in the nation, was suddenly being told that some significant changes had to be made.

The problem was, the design was 60 percent complete, creating perhaps the most distinctive NFL stadium to date. At the owner's insistence, the famous horseshoe shape of old Mile High Stadium had been incorporated into the new one, with the upper seating bowl simultaneously forming the shape of a giant saddle, appropriate for a team called the Broncos. As this was a design-build project, Turner had not been waiting around for a complete set of finished plans. The drawings for the foundation and structural steel had been released, so the work had begun. The caissons - enormous shafts drilled into the earth and filled with reinforced steel and concrete - had been poured, based on the loading calculations of the HNTB design. Structural steel had been put in place, similarly dedicated to a certain load. It was not possible, at this stage of the game, to make changes to the core without gravely altering both the schedule and the budget. In the words of HNTB's Terry Miller, "The train had left the station. The time for making significant structural changes had passed."

The design review committee interpreted the Turner-HNTB stance as resistive and uncompromising. HNTB no doubt felt it was being second guessed by "locals" whose suggestions betrayed an unfamiliarity with the complexities of a 76,000-seat, 1.7 million-square-foot stadium. In it's defense, DRAC members believed they had a fiduciary obligation to make sure the citizens of Denver would get a stadium that would be regarded as a thing of beauty for the next fifty years. Many on the committee thought the HNTB design could be improved upon. Furthermore, they had the power to insist on changes - the committee wielded the authority to influence the timing of Turner's receipt of the building permits. It could literally stop Turner in its tracks.

After a number of sometimes contentious meetings, Emil Konrath, using a mixture of diplomacy and the authority of a veteran builder, persuaded the committee that the core of the stadium was nonnegotiable. The foundation and the structural steel were in the ground, engineered to a specific load, and could not be altered. The committee could, however, suggest changes to the exterior of the stadium. This was no little sacrifice on the part of HNTB; to an architect, the exterior of the building is what you see. Thousands of hours of hard work and creativity had gone into a design it was justifiably proud of; to allow a third party not only to question its design but also to "improve" on it had to be a bitter pill. In the end, the DRAC crisis passed. The committee had exerted its influence and did make some changes to the exterior skin of the building, costing Turner time and the owners an additional $10 million. But the stadium was still a beautiful thing to behold. If Turner had to do it over again, it probably would have spent more time courting and cultivating the local architects.

PUSH, BUT PROTECT

Within a few strides from the job site, a fourteen-floor Red Lion Hotel overlooks the stadium. Conveniently, there is a bar at the top. It was not uncommon in the evenings to find a number of tradesmen from the project below, relaxing after their twelve-hour day. After introducing myself, I was invited to join a table of field supervisors, who looked over their mugs at me with suspicious glances. I explained that I was writing a case study of their project and asked if they could think of the single most important reason for such an enormous undertaking coming in under budget and ahead of time. Without hesitation, the name "Emil" erupted on the heels of raucous laughter. It took a moment for the supervisors, all of whom reported to Emil Konrath, to come up with a suitable term for his unique leadership style. "Driven management" was the consensus, and "Hell on wheels" the footnote.

Konrath does not deny the characterization. Throughout his career, he has earned a reputation in the industry for being a passionate advocate for Turner, and for the customer. Owners like him; they sense someone who is willing to fight for their interests. "I push hard. You have to keep the sense of urgency alive every day. So I'm always charging around the project. But," he winks, "I make sure there is somebody on the site to watch over the people I push, and to hold them back a little, if necessary."

Konrath himself embodied "the push," while safety director Mark Hargett was delegated to protect those inspired by Emil from their own enthusiasm." "Most safety violations," says Hargett, "are committed with the best of intentions - somebody trying to be a hero. Take a masonry guy, building a wall. He is well aware of the schedule and aware of the other guys down the line - painters, plasterers, electricians, and carpenters - who are depending upon him to keep on track. If he falls behind, so does everybody else after him. Sometimes this guy is willing to take a chance with his own safety, just to make up a little time."

Apart from the human concerns of life, limb, and family, a job-site accident can dramatically slow the pace of the project; a fatality can have a devastating effect on the morale of the entire crew. Few workforces recover from a job-site fatality and go on to meet the project deadline. So, although Hargett occasionally had to take a stand that seemed to hinder the momentum of eager subcontractors, such as insisting a heavier crane be brought on-site for a given task (which can take a precious week), his proactive vigilance in the long run saved the project from countless lost days.

Although not all deadlines require a safety director, they do require a similar guardian to protect enthusiastic "corporate soldiers" from themselves. Deadlines create a crisis environment; under pressure we are all apt to risk, if not our own safety, our better judgment. Even paperwork mistakes, made in the final hours of a very long day, can cost a task team precious time. Emil's leadership style of pushing - and of delegating someone to push back occasionally - is worth emulating on any time-critical project. Many managers assume that it is human nature to be easy on oneself and that all employees require motivation. But deadlines, while they bring out the best in us, can also bring out the worst: anxiety, fatigue, irritability, and disharmony at home. There may be times when a "push" is the last thing required, and when the manager should exercise great care in adding to the already sufficient burden carried by the team. Overtime hours should be monitored and occasional weekends "enforced," so that the team members, like athletes preparing for a great effort, are properly rested. Pizza parties might follow schedule review meetings, so that team members don't walk out of the room grimly obsessed; and when overtime is required, it is presented as a temporary challenge, rather than as a way of life. A smiling and confident manager, as well, can set the example, personifying a team that is "on track," cheerfully determined, and bent on success.

Under pressure we are all apt to risk our better judgment.

BURN YOUR BOATS

When Caesar invaded England, he assembled his army on the beach to watch the very boats on which it arrived burn to ashes. It was Caesar's graphic way of saying that there was no way home; the only option was victory. The Roman emperor, unlike Turner, was not hampered by a historical equivalent of the city of Denver.

The city of Denver was, quite understandably, suspicious of the claims of contractors and architects. It had been intimately involved in the spectacular Denver International Airport project, which became almost a national byword for waste and overruns. In the end, DIA was tens of millions of dollars over budget, and very late. Now, another contractor was full of promises and, worse, asking for a demonstration of the city's trust: Turner wanted permission to demolish venerable Mile High Stadium a year before its replacement was due to be completed.

Even though Turner could prove that the new stadium was actually ahead of schedule, the very idea that the Broncos might not have a facility in Denver for even one Sunday, should Turner fail for whatever reason to deliver, was abhorrent to the city. And, actually, the city had every incentive to keep Mile High as long as it could. Should Turner fail to have the new stadium ready for football on August 1, the first few NFL games would be played at Mile High, with all proceeds going to the city, while, when the new stadium hosted the games, the proceeds would go to the Broncos. Perhaps not surprisingly, permission to demolish Mile High months ahead of schedule was denied.

Not only could Turner not burn its boat, it couldn't escape its presence. The work for the new stadium took place literally in the shadow of the old. Mile High loomed over the job site, as if to reassure the community, and the workers at the site, that home games would be played in Denver, even if worse came to worse. Rather than being in any way buoyed by the physical manifestation of a safety net, the Turner team was frustrated and determined to eradicate, to the best of its ability, the notion that Mile High Stadium still existed in the event of an emergency. By imparting a sense of urgency to its subcontractors, who became obsessed with meeting the schedule on a daily basis, and by never once suggesting that the old stadium was an alternative to opening August 1, 2001, Turner was able to eliminate Mile High as a factor to be considered "just in case." The blocking-out process was so complete in the minds of some that, when I questioned them about the old stadium, their expressions seemed momentarily to ask, "Stadium? What stadium?"

Turner had to suffer the presence of the older stadium for a contingency it would not allow itself to seriously contemplate. A "back-up plan" is supposed to help one reach the deadline, in the event of a failure along the way. Considering the future use of the older stadium would not be an alternate path, any more than a draft of the terms of surrender is a "back-up plan" for victory. Unable to burn its very large "boat," the Turner team simply blocked it out of consciousness.

The very idea of cutting off all means of retreat is frightening to most of us, who have been schooled to "keep our options open." Having no "fall-back position" is the equivalent to having our back to the wall. Yet, this is precisely the feeling the wise deadline manager will cultivate. If the team is allowed to think in terms of options short of complete victory - if, for example, it believes that substantial completion of the project will be grudgingly accepted by the customer, in a year of economic downturn - then there will be few late nights at the office. The proper attitude can be encouraged simply by cutting off all directions except forward. The team should be aware that there will be no personnel reassignments until the deadline is met, and, for that matter, no vacations scheduled during the final, critical weeks. Team meetings should never be allowed to become forums in which to revisit past issues; the discussions must be focused on tomorrow. The manager must do everything possible to sustain a sense of momentum, by reviewing the weekly progress made and forecasting the team's position in the weeks to come, securing, in the process, commitments from every member to keep pace with the schedule. At no time should there be discussions of the remotest possibility of not meeting the deadline, or speculation that the customer might be withholding unrevealed margins of time, or might be secretly satisfied with less than a completed project.

The proper attitude can be encouraged simply by cutting off all directions except forward.

MAKE THE DEADLINE A PRESTIGIOUS PROJECT

Enforcing safety regulations, or rules of conduct, on such a high profile project is perhaps easier than on other, less prominent, sites simply because nobody wanted to be thrown off the job. The new Broncos stadium represented a once in a lifetime opportunity for the local tradespeople, all of whom are Broncos fans. More prestigious than even Denver International Airport (which will not have an NFL blimp hovering over it every Sunday, broadcasting its pictures all over the nation), the stadium would become a point of reference for all who were involved in its creation.

"If you look closely," says Bob Sternberg, one of Turner's senior site managers, "very closely, because it's so discreet, you will find an initial etched in stone here, and a name there, where only its owner can find it, to show his buddies, or his kids. Everyone on this job is proud to have worked on it. Years from now, as they watch the games here or at home, they can say, `Yeah, I did that.' So, why spend your day building a warehouse by the railroad tracks, when you can be on the most famous project in the city?"

It is safe to say that, in many companies, deadlines are treated something like top secret projects. The task teams meet behind closed doors; the goals of the deadline are not broadcast to the rest of the office staff, perhaps out of a superstitious fear that widespread awareness may compromise its chances of success. Only afterwards are victorious team members highlighted in the company newsletter, as if only now the story can be told. But a deadline challenge, properly presented, should be the buzz of the workplace; those chosen to be a part of it should count themselves lucky. And if, in fact, many employees are relieved not to be part of an endeavor that has the anxious eye of management on it, preferring anonymity to association with a pet project that may very well fail, management simply hasn't presented the opportunity well.

By making the deadline a prestigious project, even those in the organization who are not associated with it walk a little taller and may boast to friends and family of the challenge the company has taken on. It is frankly amazing how many employees of a large organization may not be aware of the great adventures embarked on by their own associates down the hall. The more aware the rank and file is of the company's great challenges, the more supportive it can be; great ideas often do appear in the Suggestion Box, but not if the deadline is pursued in secret. When employees know that something really important is "in the works," they tend to be less vulnerable to competitive job offers and more likely to buy company stock, and perhaps the stock of the customer being served. A prestigious project makes everyone within the organization more aware of the customer and less likely to unwittingly offend the customer; the cozy relations between the executives of both parties can be undone by the actions of those far removed from the conference rooms - receptionist, delivery driver, or customer service technician - who may not even know of the critical undertaking in progress.

Properly presented, a major deadline is both an adventure and a rite of passage within the organization. It is the chance of a career to associate oneself with a team of special individuals who stepped forward at a time of crisis. Some who shied away from the project will volunteer for the next, sorry to have missed the chance to have been a part of a widely recognized endeavor. A prestigious deadline imparts a sense of history - because many projects hearken back to previous undertakings - and a sense of history in the making. No manager should underestimate the lure of a publicly declared challenge; there are those in every organization who yearn for something meaningful in the workplace, or, at the very least, a dynamic change of routine.

SETTLE CONFLICTS IMMEDIATELY

One of the deadline-management tools that came out of the partnering sessions facilitated by FMI was the "stand and deliver" session. On a regular basis, task teams were required to update management with a formal presentation. What prevented these presentations from becoming "dog and pony shows" was the degree of interaction. Project managers did not sit back with folded arms while nervous field supervisors reported; they were actively involved. More often than not, the "presentation" evolved into an earnest dialog.

"We asked," says Lance Nichols, "`What can we do to help you?' And, conversely, `What are we doing to hinder you?'"

The ball frequently ended up on management's side of the court. In either case, action items were assigned, accountability accepted. These sessions greatly helped this complex project keep pace with the ambitious schedule. While management was being made aware of issues that, if unresolved, could jeopardize the deadline, the task team members had an opportunity to make their case for more support. Furthermore, they had a chance to distinguish themselves, in front of management, from the more than one thousand warriors on the job. More than one tradesman, supervisor, and subcontractor caught the eye of management during the stand and deliver sessions.

One session in particular serves as an example to all who must manage teams committed to making a deadline. In the absence of Emil Konrath, who had an appointment, a key contractor "stood and delivered" a shocking announcement: After a careful analysis of the schedule and of the remaining work to be done, the contractor projected a finish date for its own trade months beyond the sacred, immutable end date of August 2001. As one can imagine, the room erupted into earnest and heated discussion. In an effort to calm things down, the person presiding over the meeting called for a two-week "cooling-off" period, in which the contractor would reexamine his projections. A follow up meeting was accordingly scheduled.

"I'll tell you how to settle conflicts: You settle them immediately."

In recalling the situation, Konrath's lips tighten. "A few minutes after I heard about the meeting I missed - and now that I think about it, my not being there may have had something to do with that announcement - I was banging on the trailer door of that contractor. As it turned out, he didn't need two weeks at all; I gave him two hours to reconsider, and guess what? He was suddenly `on schedule' again." Konrath smiles at the notion of a "cooling-off" period. "I know there are management books out there about conflict resolution, and how to patiently bring everybody back on course and pulling in the same direction. But on a job like this, every minute is precious. Do you think I'm going to let somebody hold up all the subsequent trades for two whole weeks?" Konrath leans forward. "I'll tell you how to settle conflicts: You settle them immediately."

Emil, incidentally, is perhaps five foot six and 160 pounds. In his late fifties, his hair is graying, and he has the world-weary and wise face of a general who is in no hurry to go to war. He is, in fact, rather distinguished. Yet, he banged on the door of an upset contractor twenty-five years his junior, not because he is physically intimidating but because he felt compelled to rise to the defense of his project. His was an effort to protect something he cared about, not simply to impose his will, and he went alone into a situation that had not yet had sufficient time to defuse. From a purely human relations standpoint, he chose exactly the wrong moment to oppose a rebellious team member bent on gaining either more time or more money - a contractor who, after his public declaration, could little afford to lose face. Yet, from the perspective of a deadline manager, Konrath did the right, and courageous, thing.

One certainly cannot blame the "stand and deliver" session facilitator for declaring a cooling-off period; our experience tells us that the passage of a week or two often gentles the soul. Usually two men who were on the verge of coming to blows will later regret the incident and yearn for a face-saving way to reconcile. Mediators, in fact, often fulfill the role of a parent or teacher, in an adult reenactment of a childhood playground incident, by coaxing the two parties into the renewed friendship each privately desires but cannot be the first to express. If Human Resources is made aware of a clash of wills among employees, it will schedule just such a meeting or two and probably resolve the issue to the satisfaction of both parties. But the time spent placating the offended egos of team members is time lost to the deadline, and, for people like Emil Konrath, the deadline comes first.

Equally wise managers will make it clear to their teams that, like all great enterprises, the deadline is bigger than those who serve it, and that every member must occasionally subjugate personal likes and dislikes, at least until the project is over. Deadlines are just as much a test of maturity as they are of one's ability to manage resources and time. But participating in a great deadline can also be a liberating experience. Priorities temporarily rearranged seldom return to their previous ascendancy. We may find, after the victory celebration, that service - to the company, to the community, and to loved ones - is more fulfilling than being served.

It may be, in retrospect, a good thing that Emil Konrath missed that meeting and was compelled to deal with the contractor one on one. Settling conflicts immediately is certainly good deadline management advice, but settling them privately is best for all concerned. Emil, of course, is an experienced executive and may have listened to the contractor's provocative announcement and simply tabled the issue until a follow-up session, later that day. But he is also a human being, and there is some speculation that, had he been in the room, the acoustical football stadium would have echoed his response. By dealing with the issue "off-line," without an audience (or, perhaps one should say, without "witnesses"), he was able to resolve the problem in such a way that the contractor could comfortably go to work the next day, albeit with a revised schedule and a bruised ego, without feeling too terribly self-conscious among fellow workers.

LIVE IN TOMORROW

As the nation's largest builder, Turner exercises great power on a project. But, for all its might, Turner is, like every general contractor, paradoxically dependent on its subcontractors to fulfill their commitments. Turner based its Guaranteed Maximum Price to the owners of the new stadium largely on the bids provided by its "subs," all contractually bound to their original proposals. But if the subcontractor fails to perform, the eventual cost to the builder, who must now hire a replacement and recover the pace of all the subsequent subcontractors, can be out of all proportion to the original bid. Smart builders, therefore, are not seduced by low bids and would much rather negotiate with a truly qualified, known entity. Having done that, even smarter builders have a back-up plan, or resource, should the qualified sub have a problem.

One of the endearing qualities of old Mile High Stadium was, quite simply, the noise it made. Broncos fans discovered that by stamping their feet in unison in the more recently added portions of the stadium - made out of steel, in an otherwise concrete stadium - an enormous sound could be produced, eventually dubbed by the sports media as "Rocky Mountain Thunder." The deafening reverberations are, of course, intimidating to the visiting football teams, as are the signs, near the visitor's bench, declaring the 5,000-foot altitude and announcing the availability of oxygen.

The HNTB designers had promised the community that the new stadium would retain the Rocky Mountain Thunder - and then some. Whereas the seating area in Mile High Stadium was perhaps only 20 percent steel, the seating areas of the new stadium would be made up entirely of steel. "It was like building a battleship," says Terry Miller. He adds, with a nearly mischievous grin, "the noise will be deafening. My only concern is that somebody down in the concession area will have to order a hot dog in sign language. But that's a risk the owner is willing to take. This will be the noisiest stadium in the world."

To build a stadium that has been compared to a beautiful, giant erector set, steel forms had to be bent, or welded, into place. Since welding steel takes more time than "bending" steel in huge off-site machines called "brakes," Turner chose a steel fabricator with the longest brake - fully sixty feet in length. From the beginning, however, the Turner inspectors spotted problems. The bends were slightly off. Enormous steel forms had to be sent back to the fabricator. "Before we knew it," remembers Chris Brettell, "we were weeks behind and sweating bullets."

Unable to live with the slow pace of the original fabricator, and unwilling to depend solely on locally based contractors, Turner contacted Angeles Steel in Los Angeles, a premier fabricator, with a slightly smaller brake. Unbeknownst to Angeles Steel, Turner had placed it on a short list of companies to be considered in the event of a failure on the part of the chosen subcontractor. Already busy, Angeles Steel nonetheless instituted a double shift to accommodate the sudden 25 percent increase to the year's production plan. Working twenty hours a day for ten months, the company eventually fabricated and delivered two million pounds of steel. The 60,000 fans drumming their feet on the steel floor have no idea of the heroics that were necessary to recover the pace of the project timeline, but the Turner team will long remember the contribution of Angeles Steel.

Having a contingency plan can reduce many of the anxieties associated with a deadline. Much of our stress hangs on the question that so often wakes us up in the middle of the night during a critical project: "What if?" "What if" questions can torment us throughout a job. "What if the people we depend on stumble?" "What if the shipment arrives late?" etc., etc. Perhaps even Turner veterans like Rod Michalka and Emil Konrath occasionally wake up in the middle of the night. But, it is very likely, they simply remind themselves there is a back-up plan for that particular nagging possibility, then go peacefully back to sleep. This is not to suggest that Turner could have created a back-up plan for every contingency on a project of this size; even the best construction managers in the business are not omniscient. Turner's decision to build the new stadium as an integration of high-rise buildings, for example, was not a "back-up plan"; it was an inspiration in reaction to completely unprecedented and unforeseeable circumstances.

Sometimes, the best one can do is cast a vigilant eye toward the future, while maintaining the best of relationships with those met over the years of a long career, who may be able to help in the event of an emergency. When asked if there was a Turner Way for handling time-critical challenges, Emil Konrath frowned and thought for a moment. "In this business, most companies I've seen are struggling, sometimes heroically, with Today. But, on my team, there are only a small number of people concerned with Today - and they are the field supervisors. Everybody else I want thinking about Tomorrow - just how far into Tomorrow depends upon their responsibilities. I would say that's the Turner Way: planning hard, and living in Tomorrow, so that potential problems are defused."

SHARE THE SAVINGS

There is a perception among those of us outside the construction industry that builders will, if allowed, drag a job out as long as possible, generating change orders at a higher profit level than their original bid. Actually, builders make the most money by finishing as early as they can.

Most deadlines have budgets, which can be broken down into days and months. If it is costing a construction company like Turner, say, $200,000 each month it is on the job, then, by finishing a month early, it has saved $200,000. If they have a "sharings clause" in the contract, as is the case with this stadium, then customer and builder alike benefit from a project finished early. Turner's share of the savings is then further distributed in the form of bonus checks to all of its associates involved on the project. Everyone, consequently, is motivated by this additional incentive to beat the schedule; an early-finish bonus actually discourages the seeking of change orders that could prolong the project.

To the degree possible, the Turner example of "spreading the wealth" among its associates responsible for meeting the deadline should be emulated by any organization taking on a time-critical challenge. All the motivational speeches in the world do not have the impact of a well-deserved bonus check. If raises in salary are the ways in which a company normally acknowledges excellence, then a bonus check under the "abnormal" crisis state of a deadline is most appropriate. A pat on the back for sustained efforts beyond the call of duty is insufficient reward, if the employee suspects that management has benefited financially from his or her sacrifice. In fact, it is crucial from an enlistment standpoint for the next challenge, that bonuses be awarded to all involved in the successfully met deadline. Nothing can damage morale more than unshared recognition. If a manager accepts a bonus for the efforts of his or her team when the team itself is not given a bonus, the sense of triumphant exhilaration will be short lived indeed, replaced with resentment, bitterness, and cynicism. Not only will the next deadline have few volunteers, but experienced "deadline busters" may have left the organization for one that rewards its people more equitably.

Nothing can damage morale more than unshared recognition.

Management must realize that the eyes of the rank and file are always watching, searching for a confirmation of its worst suspicions. "Management" is already seen by many as an exclusive club - immune to the consequences of failure, and the first to take credit for the efforts of the unrecognized. Notable corporate failures, such as Enron and Global Crossing, in which executives seemed to profit while the 401(k) plans of the employees were irrevocably diminished, only strengthened the impression for many that management somehow always prevails, and that the rank and file is the last to know. By sharing the savings of a successfully met deadline with all of those originally tasked, management offers a tremendous incentive, while perpetuating a team eager for the next time-critical challenge. It also casts itself in the role of a working partner with the team, prepared to share the fruits of victory and also prepared to suffer the consequences of not meeting the deadline.

NEVER ACCEPT A "MISSION IMPOSSIBLE"

There is something in the challenge inherent in every deadline that makes us want to swallow the lump in our throat and accept. Much of our compulsion must be in our upbringing: Certainly none of our fictional or Hollywood role models would hesitate to accept a dangerous mission. Although the recorded instructions in the Mission Impossible films and television series bear the caveat "should you choose to accept," what self-respecting superhero would decline? In fact, the very impossibility of the challenge seems to be a prerequisite for even approaching the hero, as if other "missions possible," are relegated to the more mundane 9-to-5 working stiffs.

Another factor that paves the way for our acceptance is that deadlines are rarely presented to us as negotiable propositions. Our customers, or our superiors, lay the challenge out before us, asking, in effect, "are you competent enough to take this on?" Presented in those terms, our only option, other than acceptance, is to admit incompetence. We feel somehow that if a deadline can simply be expressed, it can be met by the right person - and we like to think of ourselves as the right individual.

What struck me most during the interviews of the seemingly fearless professionals charged with the responsibility of bringing this awesome stadium in on time was a universal willingness to walk away from a truly impossible deadline. "Even the most competent people in the world will fail in an environment in which they can't win," believes Tim Romani, executive director for the Metropolitan Football Stadium District. "And, quite frankly, when I heard that the opening date for the project was scheduled for August 2001, I said, `No thanks.' 2002 made a lot more sense."

Romani, having just brought in the Pepsi Center - Denver's new NBA and NHL arena - had every reason to question the feasibility of the 2001 deadline. Every sporting facility construction project requires the blessing of numerous city agencies; he had worked with the city of Denver for the last three long years on the Pepsi Center and appreciated how painfully slow the bureaucracies can move. The new Broncos stadium was not only a much bigger project, it would also involve many more agencies: those of the city, additional state delegations, and agencies from the surrounding six counties that made up the Metropolitan Football District. "When I became convinced that actual human beings could make the opening date - not imaginary subcontractors on a spreadsheet - I agreed to run the project for the District. Otherwise, what good would it do me to take on a job that I knew had a great chance of failing? If the stadium didn't come in on time, I'd never be able to explain why to the next owner in need of a stadium, because I would never get the chance."

A free agent like Tim Romani, who has built a reputation for bringing sports entertainment facilities in on time, must think in terms of his rZsumZ, but so must a "company person." The seasoned execs at Turner were prepared to decline, or to negotiate, an unreasonable deadline. They were well aware that the reasons for a failure to deliver on time, whether it be an earthquake, labor strike, or the worst winter in thirty years, are soon forgotten by the small world of thirty-two NFL team owners. The owners would remember only that Turner did not "come through" on the new Broncos stadium. And, in that case, there might never be another.

When deadlines are handed to us, not from our customer but from our own management, it is even more difficult to decline a mission impossible and go to work the next day comfortable about our future with the company. Saying "No thank you" to an assignment is an exercise of an option that doesn't exist; the challenge isn't being offered, it is politely mandated. Even moments spent considering the challenge seem inappropriate; soldiers do not ponder the orders of an officer, as if they have a choice in the matter. Corporate soldiers, likewise, have no option but to accept the challenge briskly as it is presented by management; it's OK, however, to sleep on the terms. Being an employee does not prevent us from countering with our own suggestions for the timeline, budget, or required resources. We can say, in so many words, "Thank you for entrusting me with this challenge; of course I accept. I do, however, want to think more deeply about what I will need to bring this to the successful conclusion we all desire."

"We only have two resources," says Romani, "time and money. If you are asked to bring in a thirty-month project in twenty-four months, you will never hold the budget. If you are given an inadequate budget, you most certainly go overtime. I would advise anyone to consider both, and, if you're not happy with what you're being offered, counter with your own timeline or budget." Most customers, or managers, will see the light if the case is made reasonably. They want, above all, to meet that deadline successfully.

EMBRACE THE DEADLINE

For many, the announcement of a business "deadline" spoils a heretofore splendid relationship with the company. Suddenly, all is changed; the customary smiles are gone. One finds oneself forced into a race against time. Even the most industrious employees - who have daily met their obligations in an undeclared deadline - can be intimidated by the heightened awareness of their activities. Tried and true work habits can suddenly seem insufficient for one "officially" tasked with beating the clock. There is no more time for the enjoyment of the job; the challenge is just to get it done as quickly as possible. Some of us suffer the presence of a deadline as we would toothache, knowing that it cannot last forever. "Soon," we tell ourselves, "all this nonsense will be over; management will find something else to occupy its attention, and we can get back to work, in peaceful anonymity."

But Tim Romani believes that a deadline, rather than simply being borne, should be welcomed from the start. "Most people's last day of work is pretty much like the first, it's simply the final day of the same routine. Here it's different. Our last day is a time of celebration; it's the antithesis of the first day. It's a time of joy. Once you realize that, you also realize that the deadline is your friend, because it takes you as quickly as possible to that moment of joy. That's why I embrace the deadline. If you live in fear of it, you might as well go sell insurance."

If you live in fear of the deadline, you might as well go sell insurance."

With apologies to insurance salespeople (it was an insurance policy, after all, that made the prereferendum design work possible), Romani's advice is eloquent. Deadlines, indeed, lead us toward a time of celebration and of triumph; they constitute the highlights of our careers. It is at these times of celebration, incidentally, that the fellow employees who once counted themselves lucky not to be part of the high visibility project now wish they had been involved. To its credit, Turner Construction has few timid souls. By creating a deadline-oriented corporate environment - in which the cream of the industry eagerly awaits assignment to prestigious, high-profile projects - Turner has developed the most sought after construction management teams in the business.

Checklist of Deadline Management Techniques from the Crucible of This Project

* In the interests of time, partner with your adversary.
* Encourage your customer to be part of the delivery process. Make it "we," not "they."
* Start where you can; don't wait to "clear the decks."
* Put all decision makers, or their empowered delegates, under one roof for the duration of the deadline.
* Decentralize the command structure. Let those closest to the task make the decisions.
* Make everybody a believer in the schedule. No one anywhere should give the impression that the deadline could slip.
* Be intense. Take advantage of every opportunity NOW (because it may not present itself again).
* Understand why you're off schedule before you develop a recovery schedule.
* Involve agencies, review boards, gatekeepers, etc., early in the process.
* Bring your other project allies "on board" before they're actually needed.
* Appoint a protective counterpart to "driven management."
* Burn your boats, like Caesar. Show your team there is no alternative to victory.
* Make the deadline a high-profile project, so that everybody involved, from the top down, is proud to be part of it.
* Settle conflicts immediately; don't allow a cooling-off period.
* Include a "sharing clause" in your contract, then share the savings among your team members when the deadline is beaten ahead of time.
* Delegate team members to anticipate future problems.
* If it is truly a "mission impossible," don't accept it. Either present a more realistic schedule or walk away.
* Embrace the deadline!

© 2003 Dan Carrison
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