There was a lesson to learn from lechers

Among the many office lechers I've worked with over the years, a guy I'll call Peter Robinson was a prime offender. Mr. Robinson was an old-timer -- in his late 60s at least -- and had been with the not-for-profit agency where we worked forever. When you asked people the reason for his long tenure, people nodded sagely and said old man Robinson knew where the bodies were buried. Then they told you (in case you'd only worked there a minute-and-a-half and hadn't figured it out for yourself) that Peter Robinson had a dirty mind and a roving pair of hands.

At least he was an equal opportunity harasser: No woman, no matter how old or attractive, escaped his affections. He pinched your bottom, whispered unwanted endearments into your ear, and inquired -- a little too pointedly -- about your romantic life. The only woman he didn't bother any more was a secretary who'd grown up in Western Pennsylvania and was as tough and husky as her coal-mining brothers. When she'd had enough, she pushed Mr. Robinson against a wall, ground her knee into his groin, and suggested he cut it out.

But I was shorter and more cowardly and needed a different strategy. And please, don't tell me I should have complained to the personnel director. Among his other duties, Mr. Robinson was the personnel director.

I had a little apartment at that time and thought about the situation each day as I walked home from work. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized it wasn't just about harassment. Something else was going on. Because Pete Robinson was not the only lecher in the company. But when young guys sneaked up behind you in the hall and snapped your bra strap, we girls laughed and kibitzed along with them. Even the old battle-axes who, we twenty-somethings joked, hadn't had a date since the Flood, blushed and simpered like teenagers when these guys teased them. The thing was, those guys were young and cute and fun, while Mr. Robinson was old and desiccated. And when I realized that, my strategy was clear.

The next time Mr. Robinson burst into my office, instead of trying to avoid him -- a physical impossibility in that tiny space -- I went to him and hugged him. "How nice to see you," I said. "Has anyone told you how handsome you look today?"

To my amazement, Mr. Robinson froze and blushed. Then he reached out a hand and patted me on the behind. We chatted a few minutes about something inconsequential and he left me in peace. He was back the next day, but something had changed. His manner was more hesitant, less assured. I had him on the run. I took him around and he hugged me briefly. Then he sat on the guest chair and chatted for a moment about international politics.

Mr. Robinson continued to visit me daily, but he no longer bothered me with unwanted attentions. He'd bring his coffee, or smoke his pipe, and we'd talk about global issues, or history, or office intrigues. He told me stories about our agency's history, and coached me about its personalities, so that I could better navigate its politics. He supported my recommendations at senior staff meetings. Occasionally, he'd even ask for my opinion about how to handle something.

He was not my lover, and he was not my mentor, but he was something infinitely more important in business: my first serious corporate political ally.

One day, Mr. Robinson said, "You know, darling, you've changed. You're not the little girl you used to be." I had some words for him, all right, speeches I'd rehearsed on those long walks home, about women's equality and mutual respect and the consequences of the abuse of power in the workplace. I started to speak, and then I didn't. Instead I smiled and said, enigmatically, I hoped, "Really?"

"Yes," he said. "You used to be such a little girl. I think you are becoming a very dangerous woman."

You can't get away with that kind of behavior in today's workplace, of course. There'd be a class action suit, executive coaches on call, and nasty media coverage. That is how it should be, and we have made great progress in establishing the boundaries of office behavior. But something is always lost, even as something more valuable is gained, and I think we are now in danger of forgetting that business is not only about mission statements and teamwork exercises.

At its core, business is the legitimate expression of the aggressive impulse in our society, and it is as much about power and influence as it is about marketing and customer service. The problem is that we don't learn this in school. We have to figure it out for ourselves, and good teachers like Pete Robinson retired long ago.