Construction Site as CEO Battleground

"He knew little about construction or critical paths of building, but he could see what he could see. He would count the bricks that had been laid day to day. If the difference did not seem reasonable, he would question it. The answers were often unacceptable, and before long, Sol would be yelling at the workmen that he could “fucking well do it better myself”. To the annoyance of the construction firm, some workers did what Sol had suggested: they “fucked off”. Others realised that he was right, and in a strange way, it motivated them to do better and work harder. At least he showed a keen interest in what they were doing. And, to Sol’s surprise, some of those workers suggested shortcuts or ideas that would reduce the cost of the project. Working with the men at the coalface became a lifelong habit of Sol’s, and in the years that followed, it surprised many of his backers and partners."

"For several nights before the nearly 400 guests invaded, Sol hardly slept. Like the Duracell battery in the adverts, he just kept going – and bit by bit, corner by corner, things fell into place. The last thing to do was to tarmac the sloped drive from the road up to the entrance of the building. At 10pm the night before the opening, Gordon and I were astounded to see our boss wielding a rake as he smoothed out the hot, black goo right up to the front door. Finally, at midnight, just hours before opening, the hotel was ready – or, to be precise, the hotel building was ready."

"With the clock ticking and only two weeks to the deadline, Sol was still making changes to the construction work and adjusting costs in his quest to improve the finished product. As he flew over the unfinished building en route to Plett airport from Johannesburg for one final “push”, he asked the pilot to make another pass over the building. “Shit!” he said loudly. “We’ve built the wrong fucking pool!” Since Sol’s last visit a couple of weeks earlier, Gordon Hood had started and finished construction of the hotel’s swimming pool, a rectangular structure in the centre of the beach-facing garden. Sol, browsing an international travel magazine on the plane, had just seen a picture of a resort swimming pool of highly irregular shape, wrapping its way around a rocky crag and an island bar. It was, at the time, an extremely unusual design. “Shit,” said Sol again. “We should have fucking well done that.” When he reached the construction site, he stomped into the hotel lobby, head down and walking swiftly with distinct purpose. Gordon was waiting for him. “Fuck, Gordie,” said Sol, even before greeting his colleague. “We’ve built the wrong fucking pool!” Gordon had no idea what Sol was talking about. In fact, he was proud of the pool project he had just overseen. He thought it looked great. “No, man,” Sol ranted on, seeing that Gordon was about to get defensive. “Look at this.” He thrust the travel magazine in Gordon’s face. “Come on, man. We haven’t got much fucking time. Let’s find a place for a new pool, and rip that one out.” Gordon looked at the magazine as he scurried after his boss. He liked the picture, but he did not like the idea of ripping up what he had just painstakingly built. “It can’t be that important,” he mumbled to himself, “and we are already over budget for the job. Building a new pool will just exacerbate the problem.” As he hurried along behind a striding Sol, he tried to protest. “But Sol, we can’t afford to build a new pool. We don’t have the budget.” “Now listen to me, Gordie,” his boss retorted. “If we don’t change it now, we never will – and that would be a huge mistake. So, fuck the budget. Rip this one out and build another.” Sol was right, of course."