Leadership Series:
Stages in the Life of a Museum Director

by Charles Faulkner Bryan, Jr.

This article was published in Museum News
January/February 2007.

At first I could not believe it when a neighboring museum announced the appointment of a 42-year-old man as its new director a few years ago. How young, I thought. Then I caught myself up short when I realized that I was only 41 when I became the director of the Virginia Historical Society (VHS).

When I accepted the position in 1988, I really had no idea how long I would stay. Before that appointment, I had moved up the ladder to increasingly responsible museum jobs with average tenures of less than five years. I probably assumed that I would spend 10 good years at VHS and then move on to another opportunity. Eighteen years later, I am still here. I have long since stopped looking at job announcements, and I politely deflect the solicitations of headhunters. As far as I am concerned, I am here for the duration, depending on my ability to do the job well and the satisfaction of my board.

The debate over the ideal length of tenure for chief executive officers is never-ending. Some experts argue that 10 years should be the maximum. After a decade on the job, so the argument goes, directors become set in their ways and gradually lose their touch. On the other hand, there are numerous examples of long-tenured directors who have continued to lead their institutions effectively. Whether I am one of the latter is for others to determine, but my long time in the same job has given me a perspective that I did not have early in my career.

If I have learned anything about serving as the director of an institution, it is that the job is an evolving process. My role as president and chief executive officer of VHS today is different from what it was when I came in 1988. Of course, directorships vary depending on their institution’s size, the way they are governed and the nature of their missions. There are common characteristics, however, that all directors experience. Over the years, I began to understand the evolving role of directorships from my own experience and from observing other long-tenured executives. I am also reminded of Gail Sheehy’s best-selling book Passages, which relates the predictable stages of life. It seems to me that there are similar stages in the life of a director. With the passage of time, one’s role as chief executive officer changes as manifested in three distinct phases that I identify below. Understanding these stages can help a director or a board of trustees determine when it is time to leave or make a change at the top.

Stage One: The Learning Stage (Years 1 to 3)

This stage is often referred to as the “honeymoon period,” and everyone who has served as a director has experienced it. In most cases, your board is supportive and anxious to please. The staff is eager to impress. And unless conditions at your museum are truly bad, the new job is a refreshing and enjoyable experience. Some directors see this period as an opportunity to undertake major institutional changes—to make hay while the sun is shining—before the glow of the new CEO wears off. From my observation, however, radical changes made too early can prove problematic unless an institution is in serious trouble and in need of a major overhaul.

Most successful directors use this initial stage to learn and to listen as much as they can. As Robert Skotheim, who was president of the Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens for more than a decade, has advised: “Consider yourself an anthropologist learning the tribal customs.” Learning how the institution ticks and how it fits into the community it serves is vital. Successful directors become well-grounded in the institution’s finances and organizational structure. They conduct their own SWOT analysis, that is, determining the museum’s strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats facing it. They try to understand how the board operates and identify its key players. The same holds true for learning about the staff. Who is dependable? Uniquely talented? Who are the team players? Who is well connected in the community? A potential troublemaker? A darling of the board, but from your observation a weak link? Assessing the people around you, both on board and staff, is crucial to your future success, especially as you begin to develop your team and your vision for the future.

A thorough knowledge of the museum’s history and culture is important in formulating your vision and can serve as a source of institutional pride, or in some cases potential awkwardness and embarrassment. Knowing that the Virginia Historical Society was established in 1831, I began to learn as much as I could about its rich history as soon as I accepted the job. I was delighted to learn that every board meeting is opened with minutes from 100 years ago. It reminds our trustees and staff alike that they are the beneficiaries of a long and venerable heritage and lets them know that what they say and do today may be read by future board members 100 years from now! But learning about certain aspects of VHS’s past, particularly its former exclusivity, its time as a bastion of the Confederate Lost Cause and its long tradition of insularity, made me aware of some of the challenges facing me when I first arrived on the job. That knowledge helped guide my thinking about the most effective way to open the institution to the public as never before and decide which traditions to maintain and which to phase out gracefully.

Although it is essential to devote much of your time to learning during this first stage, you should make some changes. The museum’s building and its surrounding grounds may need a clean-up. Internal staff communications may need improvement. Museum publications could stand a freshening up and new look. Your museum perhaps needs for you and your staff to project a more visible presence to the organization’s membership and the community.

At the same time you begin to establish your own management style, determining how it differs from your predecessor’s. For example, you may feel it important to communicate more directly and frequently with the board. Your predecessor’s style may have been autocratic, and you may sense that the staff would respond better to looser reins. On the other hand, perhaps the previous director was too laid back, providing little leadership and direction for employees. A firmer hand may be required. Finally, you let your staff know what your professional and ethical standards are and how you expect everyone to adhere to them.

Although an emphasis on learning and gradual change are the hallmarks of Stage One, you cannot afford that luxury if you inherit an institution in crisis, one that is experiencing serious financial problems, a scandal or perhaps personnel turmoil. In this case, changes tend to be less subtle and the actions more drastic. You may not have the time to seriously contemplate and reflect. Putting out as many fires as possible and restoring the museum to a state of normalcy become the main focus of your job. The risks of taking over an institution in trouble are high, but if you are able to bring stability and restore faith, you are in a good position to serve a long and successful tenure as director.

There are a couple of caveats for any new director that apply no matter if the institution is stable or in crisis. Resist the temptation to openly criticize your predecessors and their allies. Although there may be good reason to castigate the persons who preceded you, it can only diminish your image and stature in the eyes of others. It is best to say little, and to get on with what you want to accomplish. In the words of an ancient Egyptian philosopher: “Wise leaders learn when to be silent.” If your predecessor left the job on good terms, you should be gracious in acknowledging his or her contributions. Avoid jealousy of the previous director’s success. And if possible, get to know him or her, which can result in useful perspectives on the institution. Particularly if you have followed a long-tenured and beloved director, it is not only courteous but politically wise to try to stay on good terms with your predecessor. His or her stamp of approval can go a long way in helping establish yourself in the job. A bad relationship with a respected predecessor can be an obstacle to success.

The second caveat is to avoid talking too much about how you did things at your previous museum and especially about how you’ve come in to set things right. There is nothing wrong with applying good ideas from your old museum. Your new staff and board, however, can resent the implication that you have all the answers or that you do not value what they have done. Many a director who has seen himself or herself as a savior and was not reluctant to proclaim that has ended up alienating those most needed to form a cohesive team.

Stage One is the most important. If you fail it, there probably will not be further stages to experience. Most directors make it through this initial stage unless they make an egregious mistake or discover serious problems that were not revealed before arriving on the job. It is essential to make a good impression during this time. There is no better confirmation of the truism that “first impressions are the most important.”

Stage Two: The Shaping Stage (Years 4 to 10)

This could also be referred to as the make-or-break stage because it is the period of highest turnover through firing or resignation. As with college and university presidents today, the average tenure of nonprofit chief executives has shortened. In some cases, the board of directors realizes that the person they hired has not been a good fit or has not lived up to expectations. Or the director may begin to feel that things simply aren’t working out, especially relations with the board. Perhaps certain institutional problems had not been revealed before arriving on the job—problems serious enough to inhibit effective management and leadership.

If you make it through Stage Two successfully, however, you may look back on these years as the most crucial period in your tenure at the museum—a time when you had the greatest short-term and long-term impact. A time when you helped create a vision and firmly asserted your leadership.         

As a Stage Two director, you now begin to point the museum in a certain direction after thoughtful study and planning, followed by energetic implementation. You put your staff leadership team and structure in place, having replaced anyone who is not able or willing to go in the direction you have set. By now you should have established a healthy relationship with your board, working together as a team. You have begun to influence your trustees, providing the subtle, effective leadership they need and expect. You are even able to shape the makeup of the board by helping determine who is and is not selected to join.

In today’s environment, building positive relationships in your community (no matter how broadly you define it) is another essential element of Stage Two leadership. Plato wrote that “good leaders are weavers.” It is up to you to weave people of different backgrounds, needs and interests into supporters of and advocates for your museum. Gone are the days when directors could be content to confine their work only within the walls of the museum. Making your presence known in the community has become a staple of the job. You may become the face and voice of the museum in the media. Effective Stage Two directors are willing to make regular public appearances on the rubber-chicken circuit at community organizations and service clubs.

Once these elements have fallen in place in the early part of Stage Two, most directors make a varying number of fundamental changes in their institutions. Quite often they will lead the reshaping or broadening of the museum’s mission, which usually results in significant new programs and services. Major building projects often result from programmatic expansions or in response to addressing long-deferred capital needs. Of course, launching a substantial fund-raising effort or formal capital campaign goes hand-in-hand with program and building expansion endeavors.

While all of these things are happening at your museum, more than likely you have begun to make a name for yourself in the community. You also begin to plant roots through your involvement in activities outside of your institution such as schools, service clubs, religious institutions or other nonprofits. If you live in a small city, the importance of your museum in the cultural life of the community may even make you a proverbial “Big Fish in a Little Pond.” By the end of Stage Two, your imprint on the institution is clearly visible, both internally and externally. If things have gone well and you can look back at the last decade as a success, you probably have reached the status of “beloved director.”

Now also comes a watershed in your time at the museum. You are at the peak of your power. You usually have the full support of your board, in no small part because you have helped shape it. You have the solid backing of your staff, and you work effectively with them as a team. You think for each other, support each other and, when needed, cover for each other. You have reached the top of your fund-raising abilities. Indeed, at this stage of your directorship you may be the museum’s chief fund raiser and lobbyist. At the same time, you and your development director work as an effective team, with both of you having the full confidence and support of the board and staff. In some cases you now are able to solicit major gifts successfully with only limited trustee involvement.

You have made it as director. You now may be told that the museum is “your museum,” a dangerous thing if it leads to hubris and overconfidence. At this stage, boards often are reluctant to confront successful directors with problems. And they are more willing to forgive mistakes as long as they are not serious and have not become a pattern. This tolerance often comes from fear of losing their “beloved director.” They are aware that they have a strong chief executive, one who would be difficult to replace. They also know that headhunters are probably contacting their director with other offers.

As director, you now have reached a crossroad. Perhaps it is time to leave. But why? For one, if you left now, you would go out a winner. And by this time you may be ready for a new challenge, a whole new endeavor that excites you. On the other hand, the reasons to stay put can be compelling. You’re happy where you are. The board has made certain that you are well compensated. For some directors, almost any other job would be considered a lateral move. You may be reluctant to leave the staff that you have put together, many of whom have become friends. More than likely you have also formed good friendships with members of your board. Your spouse may have a job that is not easily transferable, or your children may be of a certain age. And finally, the thought of pulling up stakes and starting over simply does not have the appeal it once did. What then happens if you stay?

Stage Three: The Golden Years or The Gray Years
(Beyond Year 10 )

To continue the good work, you cannot rest on your laurels and coast until retirement. You cannot become a stumbling block to needed change. And like the preacher who has been in the same pulpit for many years, you cannot allow your sermons to start sounding the same. Crucial to continued success is the belief on your part that there is more you can do for your institution. An institution under a director who thinks all needs have been met or dreams fulfilled can begin to ossify.

If you have become a Stage Three director, you must work with your board and staff to be on the lookout for opportunities and potential threats and regularly think about what comes next. Articulating an evolving vision is no less important now than when you first came on. And it must be a vision that takes into account the changing community and world around you. The first strategic plan we developed after my arrival at the Virginia Historical Society in the late 1980s included nothing about the Internet. Eighteen years later, we have made it a key element of our current plan. Our first plan laid out a strategy for reaching a younger audience, a long-neglected constituency. Two decades later, the plan we are developing addresses the rapidly expanding population of intellectually curious senior adults.

In thinking about what comes next for their museum, the time eventually arrives when Stage Three directors must consider their own exit strategy and timetable. Hays Watkins, former president of the giant transportation conglomerate CSX, argues in his autobiography that one of the most neglected responsibilities of a CEO is preparing for succession. Many CEOs, he argues, do not want to face the reality of eventual retirement, especially when they are at the pinnacle of their careers. The most important final measure of a CEO’s tenure, Watkins observes, may be working with board and staff to develop a succession plan in advance of retirement. If the museum suffers from a poorly considered or hasty transition in leadership, followed by institutional decline, it could be argued that you failed to properly prepare your board and staff, which is your last important duty as director.

There is a cautionary tale to Stage Three leadership: Finding a balance between hard work, family, civic obligations and rest becomes increasingly important as your years on the job pile up. Before his retirement from the Huntington, Skotheim related that it was imperative for him to fight fatigue, burnout and, yes, even “been there, done that” syndrome. Emotional and mental fatigue can take their toll over the years. As Skotheim observes, heading a complex organization with a high public profile like a museum is no easy task. At one time or another, most museum directors have heard people exclaim “Oh, you must have the most wonderful job in the world!” Little do they realize the incredible demands and pressure of your work. In the minds of many people, directors must spend most of their time reading rare manuscripts or studying paintings in the galleries. But in reality, as I heard one museum director say: “If it weren’t for budget, personnel and dealing with demanding donors, this would be a fun job.”

Although most of us have no regrets about our choice to become directors, experience has taught us that despite its many rewards, there is a heavy burden of responsibility. Most of us do not instinctively like the pressure of making difficult decisions that can make or break an institution or that can affect the livelihood of other people. Issues like payroll allocation, building projects, raising money, firing employees, listening to employee grievances, dealing with troublesome board members, rejecting program requests, cutting budgets or being pressured by a legislator to do “special” favors are not activities that most people enjoy unless they are sadists or masochists. Long-tenured directors have learned how to do the unpleasant tasks, but few would admit to enjoying them.

Then there are other strains—for example, making decisions about issues you know little about, such as technological innovations or complex financial matters. In those cases, you have to trust the expertise of others, who can let you down if you are not attentive. There is also the strain of trying to maintain a tactful and positive posture no matter how inane a proposal presented by a potential donor may be.

And the longer you stay on the job as director, the more you experience mounting demands on your time, especially free time. The mayor now asks you to join a special task force. Professional associations invite you to serve as a board member or officer. Before you realize it, you find yourself doing a dozen things that blur the line between work and extracurricular activities. Even the line between work and pleasure can become fuzzy. Invitations to social functions are an important element of a director’s job. Most museum directors attend dinner parties and private cocktail receptions knowing full well they are on duty and must work the crowd.

Over time, the relationship between work and play, professional life and personal life, office and vacation can easily come in conflict. All of these can take a cumulative psychic and physical toll. And serious health issues can come with age. Last year, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. When my neurologists urged me to try to avoid stress and fatigue, two factors that can exacerbate symptoms, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Of course, the long-term effects of stress on the job are not unique to the museum profession. Numerous gurus have made fortunes giving advice on this issue, but there is little consensus about what works best. It varies from one individual to another. Some directors are miserable taking any kind of break, an attitude that can take a toll on family relationships and even colleagues. Most of us, however, need time away from the shop. This may mean jealously guarding your weekends and refusing to do almost anything that isn’t for personal satisfaction. Some directors with long tenures have insisted on extended breaks during the summer. Others prefer to go on several short holidays throughout the year. An escape to a favorite place in the mountains or at the beach is the salvation for some directors. A few of us have been granted sabbaticals. After wrapping up a successful capital campaign in my 11th year at the Virginia Historical Society, I was granted a three-month sabbatical to work on a book and to be a “real” historian again. It was a marvelous experience, both personally and professionally. I came back to my job thoroughly refreshed and regenerated. In retrospect, I think it helped make me a better director. Unfortunately, sabbaticals are rarely given or taken in our profession.

Finding the right balance between work and leisure becomes increasingly important with time on the job. It can make a great difference in how Stage Three of a directorship unfolds and then ends. If, after many years with your museum, you still have a sense of fulfillment, joy and even fun on the job, your last stage will be golden. If, however, there is little fulfillment and joy in what you do, it will begin to show in almost everything you do. It will affect the people around you. It will begin to affect your institution.

I knew a director who remained at the same museum for nearly 25 years. The first two-thirds of his tenure was marked by brilliant successes, especially in the area of collecting art. By his 15th year on the job, he was in firm control of the museum and its destiny. By the time he retired 10 years later, however, the institution was heading for trouble. The building and grounds had been neglected. The museum’s membership had declined steadily. Its finances had been weakened. The staff and board had become overly comfortable and set in their ways. Indeed, because the director had built up such a strong legacy in his early years, the board was reluctant to confront him with problems. It was his museum, after all. Frankly, the board became old and tired like the director, and they, too, were blind to the mounting troubles. Only minimal planning went into his succession, and as a result, the museum entered a problem-filled decade in which several directors were hired, then quit or were fired. It took nearly 15 years for the museum to recover from the long period of stagnation under a director who had lost his spark and drive. Clearly, the last stage of his career could be considered the “gray years.”

Fortunately, there are plenty of examples of directors who have had very long and successful tenures. They refused to rest on their laurels, and they continued to build on their earlier accomplishments. When it came time to leave, they departed on good terms. They had laid the groundwork for succession and left their institutions in strong condition for the next director. Over the years they evolved from successful Stage One directors, through Stages Two and into the Stage Three realm, that of respected director emeritus.