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Chapter 3
Getting Organized

Organizing is what you do before you do something, so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up.

—A. A. Milne

Watching an eight-oar racing crew skim along the Charles River is like watching a highly choreographed ballet group perform Swan Lake. To a coxswain's cadence, eight oars at exactly 90 degrees enter the water in unison. A collective pull “in swing” propels the shell smoothly forward as eight oars leave the water at a precise perpendicular angle. If any oarsman muffs just one of these strokes or “catches a crab,” the shell is thrown off kilter. Close coordination welds eight rowers into a harmonious crew.

It looks straightforward to an outside observer, an effortless ballet in motion. But structurally it is more complicated. All members of a crew are expected to row smoothly and quickly. But expectations for individuals vary depending on the seat they occupy. Bow seats one, two, and three have the greatest potential to disrupt the boat's direction, so they must be able to pull a perfect oar one stroke after another. Rowers in seats four, five, and six are the boat's biggest and strongest. They are often referred to as the “engine,” providing the boat's raw power. Seat seven's rower provides a conduit between the engine room and the “stroke oar” in seat eight. The “stroke oar” sits directly facing the coxswain and rows at the requested rate of speed and power, setting the pace and intensity for the other rowers.

The coxswain is responsible for steering the shell, but also serves as captain. Coxswains vocally determine both the rate and degree of power of the oar strokes. They know their rowers physically and psychologically and how to inspire their best efforts. They also know opponents' strengths and weaknesses. Before a race, the coxswain develops a strategy but must be ready to alter it as a situation demands. A good coxswain is “a quarterback, a cheerleader, and a coach all in one. He or she is a deep thinker, canny like a fox, inspirational, and in many cases the toughest person in the boat” (Brown, 2014, p. 232).

The individual efforts are also integrated by shared agreement that the team effort transcends the individual. All rowers have to optimize their strokes for the benefit of the boat. Coordination and cooperation among individuals of different statures and strengths assures the unified and beautiful symphony that a crew in motion becomes. In crew racing competition, structure is vital to top performance.

Structure is equally critical in larger organizations. Jeff Bezos, one of the world's most admired CEOs, is passionate about structure and process at the company he founded, Internet giant Amazon. He makes the company's strategy crystal clear. Embracing the familiar credo that the “customer is always right,” Bezos is riveted on figuring out what the customer wants and delivering it with speed and precision. His “culture of metrics” coddles Amazon's 250 million shoppers, not its quarter million employees.

Amazon tracks its performance against some 500 measurable goals; almost 80 percent relate directly to customer service. Even the smallest delay in loading a Web page is carefully scrutinized, because Amazon has found that “…a .01 second delay in page rendering can translate into a 1 percent drop in customer activity” (Anders, 2012). Supervisors measure and monitor employees' performance, observing behavior closely to see where steps or movements can be streamlined to improve efficiency.

Amazon is a classic example of a highly developed organizational structure—clear strategy, focus on the mission, well-defined roles, and top-down coordination. Some employees grumble about the working conditions and the fast pace, but many others find the tempo exhilarating. Bezos makes it clear: The customer is number one. Period. Amazon began as an online bookstore, but now it sells almost anything that can be shipped or downloaded. The company lost money for many years after its founding in 1995. But in recent years, it has been consistently profitable, and its 2015 annual report noted that it had achieved $100 billion in sales faster than any company in history (Amazon, 2015).

The benefits of getting structure right are obvious under normal conditions and even more so when organizational architecture meets unexpected crises. Recall the horror of 9/11 and the breakdown in coordination between New York City's fire and police departments as they confronted the aftermath of terrorist strikes on the World Trade Center. That day saw countless inspiring examples of individual heroism and personal sacrifice. At the risk of their own lives, emergency personnel rescued thousands of people. Many died in the effort. But extraordinary individual efforts were hindered or thwarted by breakdowns in communication, command, and control. Police helicopters near the north tower radioed that it was near collapse more than twenty minutes before it fell. Police officers got the warning, and most escaped. But there was no link between fire and police radios, and the commanders in the two departments could not communicate because their command posts were three blocks apart. It might not have helped even if they had talked, because the fire department's radios were notoriously unreliable in high-rise buildings.

The breakdown of communication and coordination magnified the death toll—including 121 firefighters who died when the north tower collapsed. The absence of a workable structure undermined the heroic efforts of highly dedicated, skilled professionals who gave their all in an unprecedented catastrophe (Dwyer, Flynn, and Fessenden, 2002).

The contrast between Amazon's operations and the rescue efforts at the World Trade Center highlights a core premise of the structural lens. The right combination of goals, roles, relationships, and coordination is essential to organizational performance. This is true of all organizations: families, clubs, hospitals, military units, businesses, schools, churches, and public agencies. The right structure combats the risk that individuals, however talented, will become confused, ineffective, apathetic, or hostile. The purpose of this chapter and the next two is to identify the basic ideas and inner workings of a perspective that is fundamental to collective human endeavors.

We begin our examination of the structural frame by highlighting its core assumptions, origins, and basic forms. The possibilities for designing an organization's social architecture are almost limitless, but any option must address two key questions: How do we allocate responsibilities across different units and roles? And, once we've done that, how do we integrate diverse efforts in pursuit of common goals? In this chapter, we explain these basic issues, describe the major options, and discuss imperatives to consider when designing a structure to fit the challenges of a unique situation.

Structural Assumptions

The central beliefs of the structural frame reflect confidence in rationality and faith that a suitable array of roles and responsibilities will minimize distracting personal static and maximize people's performance on the job. Where the human resource approach (to be discussed in Chapters 6 through 8) emphasizes dealing with issues by changing people (through coaching, training, rotation, promotion, or dismissal), the structural perspective argues for putting people in the right roles and relationships. Properly designed, these formal arrangements support and accommodate both collective goals and individual differences.

Six assumptions undergird the structural frame:

  1. Organizations exist to achieve established goals and objectives and devise strategies to reach those goals.
  2. Organizations increase efficiency and enhance performance through specialization and appropriate division of labor.
  3. Suitable forms of coordination and control ensure that diverse efforts of individuals and units mesh.
  4. Organizations work best when rationality prevails over personal agendas and extraneous pressures.
  5. Effective structure fits an organization's current circumstances (including its strategy, technology, workforce, and environment).
  6. When performance suffers from structural flaws, the remedy is problem solving and restructuring.

Origins of the Structural Perspective

The structural view has two principal intellectual roots. The first is the work of industrial analysts bent on designing organizations for maximum efficiency. The most prominent of these, Frederick W. Taylor (1911), was the father of time-and-motion studies; he founded an approach that he labeled “scientific management.” Taylor broke tasks into minute parts and retrained workers to get the most from each motion and moment spent at work. Other theorists who contributed to the scientific management approach (Fayol, [1919] 1949; Urwick, 1937; Gulick and Urwick, 1937) developed principles focused on specialization, span of control, authority, and delegation of responsibility.

A second pioneer of structural ideas was the German economist and sociologist Max Weber, who wrote around the beginning of the twentieth century. At the time, formal organization was a relatively new phenomenon. Patriarchy rather than rationality was still the primary organizing principle. A father figure—who ruled with almost unlimited authority and power—dominated patriarchal organizations. He could reward, punish, promote, or fire on personal whim. Seeing an evolution of new structural models in late-nineteenth-century Europe, Weber described “monocratic bureaucracy” as an ideal form that maximized efficiency and norms of rationality. His model outlined several major features that were relatively novel at the time, although they are commonplace now:

  • A fixed division of labor
  • A hierarchy of offices
  • A set of rules governing performance
  • A separation of personal from official property and rights
  • The use of technical qualifications (not family ties or friendship) for selecting personnel
  • Employment as primary occupation and long-term career (Weber, 1947)

After World War II, Blau and Scott (1962), Perrow (1986), Thompson (1967), Lawrence and Lorsch (1967), Hall (1963), and others rediscovered Weber's ideas. Their work inspired a substantial body of theory and research amplifying the bureaucratic model. They examined relationships among the elements of structure, looked closely at why organizations develop one structure over another, and analyzed the effects of structure on morale, productivity, and effectiveness.

Strategy

Strategy comes from a Greek word that originally referred to the art of military leaders. It was imported into the business context in the twentieth century as a way to talk about an organization's overall approach to goals and methods. Strategy has been defined in many ways. Mintzberg (1987), for example, offers five of them, all beginning with the letter P:

  1. Plan: a conscious and intentional course of action.
  2. Perspective: an organization's way of framing where it wants to go and how it intends to get there.
  3. Pattern: a consistent pattern of decisions.
  4. Position: the way an organization positions itself in relationship to its environment.
  5. Ploy: a plan or decision whose purpose is to provoke a reaction from competitors.

Some of Mintzberg's Ps focus on thinking while others are more about action. All are elements of a coherent strategy. Roberts (2004) argues that the job of the general manager is to define a strategy that includes objectives, a statement of scope, a specification of the organization's competitive advantage, and the logic for how the organization will succeed. Structural logic dictates that an organization's success requires alignment of strategy, structure, and environment. But, as Chandler noted in 1962, “structure follows strategy.” A good strategy needs to be specific enough to provide direction but elastic enough to adapt to changing circumstances.

Eastman Kodak provides a classic case in point. Kodak developed a strategy that made it a dominant player in the film industry for many decades, but stayed with its approach too long and finally ended in bankruptcy. In 1880, George Eastman developed a formula for gelatin-based dry plates, the basis for the then nascent field of photography. For the next 125 years the company's strategy sought to capitalize on this technology by introducing products such as the Kodak Brownie camera, Kodachrome, the Kodak Instamatic camera, and gold standard motion picture film—as well as producing thousands of patents in related fields. Pursuing this strategy the company's performance soared. At its zenith, Kodak employed over 145,000 people and earned billions of dollars in sales (Brachmann, 2014). It was one of America's best-known and most-admired companies.

Threats to Kodak's film-based strategy surfaced as early as 1950 with the introduction of instant photography and the Polaroid camera. In the 1980s, Fujifilm, an upstart Japanese competitor, was able to mass produce film and sell it at a cheaper price to discount retailers like Walmart. Kodak couldn't compete and lost a large share of the film market (Brachmann, 2014).

The death knell for Kodak came in the midseventies with the invention of the digital camera. Ironically, it was invented in one of the company's labs by one of its own engineers. Upper management's reaction: “It's cute but don't tell anyone about it” (Chunka, 2012). Kodak's protection of its film-based strategy and inability to see that digital would capture the market led to its decline and eventual bankruptcy filing in January, 2012.

What kept Kodak from adapting to a changing world? The strategy led to an organizational structure that channeled the activities and thinking of top management in one primary direction: film! In that context, any effort to promote digital cameras required swimming upstream against a strong current.

A similar thing happened at Xerox. Xerox researchers had developed the concepts for the graphical user interface and mouse, but the company's structure and business model were built around photocopying, not computers. Steve Jobs at Apple and Bill Gates at Microsoft immediately saw the market potential that Xerox executives missed. Kodak and Xerox, like many other companies, were never able to capitalize on their own inventions because they fell outside the corporate strategy. Christensen (1997) calls it “the innovator's dilemma,” and notes that one reason firms get stuck in the past is that standard cost-benefit analysis usually tells them that they will get a better return by investing in the tried and true instead of something new and unproven. As at Kodak and Xerox, the game is usually lost before the numbers tell a different story.

Structural Forms and Functions

Structure provides the architecture for pursuing an organization's strategic goals. It is a blueprint for expectations and exchanges among internal players (executives, managers, employees) and external constituencies (such as customers, competitors, regulators, and clients). Like an animal's skeleton or a building's framework, structure both enhances and constrains what an organization can do. The alternative design possibilities are virtually infinite, limited only by human preferences and capacities, technological limits, and constraints in the surroundings.

We often assume that people prefer structures with more choices and latitude (Leavitt, 1978), but this is not always the case. A study by Moeller (1968), for example, explored the effects of structure on teacher morale in two school systems. One was loosely structured and encouraged wide participation in decision making. Centralized authority and a clear chain of command characterized the other. Moeller was surprised to find the opposite of what he expected: Faculty morale was higher in the district with a tighter structure. Teachers seemed to prefer clarity of expectations, roles, and lines of authority.

United Parcel Service, “Big Brown,” provides a contemporary example of the benefits of structural certainty and clarity. In the company's early days, UPS delivery employees were “scampering messenger boys” (Niemann, 2007). Since then, computer technology has curtailed employee discretion, and every step from pickup to delivery is highly programmed. Detailed instructions specify placement of packages on delivery trucks. Drivers follow computer-generated routes (which minimize mileage and left turns to save time and gas). Newly scheduled pickups automatically download into the nearest driver's route plan.

UPS calculates in advance the numbers of steps to your door. If a driver sees you while walking briskly to your door, you'll receive a friendly greeting. Look carefully and you'll probably notice the automated van lock the driver carries. Given such a tight leash, you might expect demoralized employees. But, the technology makes the job easier and enables drivers to be more productive. As one driver remarked to us with a smile, “We're happy robots.”

Do these examples prove that a tighter structure is better? Sometimes the opposite is true. Adler and Borys (1996) argue that the type of structure is as important as the amount or rigidity. There are good rules and bad ones. Formal structure enhances morale if it helps us get our work done. It has a negative impact if it gets in our way, buries us in red tape, or makes it too easy for management to control us. Equating structure to rigid bureaucracy confuses “two very different kinds of machines, those designed to de-skill work and those designed to leverage users' skills” (p. 69).

Structure, then, need not be machinelike or inflexible. Structures in stable environments are often hierarchical and rules oriented. But recent years have witnessed remarkable inventiveness in designing structures emphasizing flexibility, participation, and quality. A prime example is BMW, the luxury automaker whose success formula relies on a combination of stellar quality and rapid innovation. “Just about everyone working for the Bavarian automaker—from the factory floor to the design studios to the marketing department—is encouraged to speak out. Ideas bubble up freely and there is never a penalty for proposing a new way of doing things, no matter how outlandish. The company has become an industry benchmark for high-performance premium cars, customized production, and savvy brand management” (Edmondson, 2006, p. 72. Copyright © 2006 McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc.).

Dramatic changes in technology and the business environment have rendered old structures obsolete at an unprecedented rate, spawning a new interest in organizational design (Nadler, Gerstein, and Shaw, 1992; Bryan and Joyce, 2007; Roberts, 2004). Pressures of globalization, competition, technology, customer expectations, and workforce dynamics have prompted organizations worldwide to rethink and redesign structural prototypes. A swarm of items compete for managers' attention—money, markets, people, and technological competencies, to name a few. But a significant amount of time and attention must be devoted to social architecture—designing structures that allow people to do their best:

CEOs often opt for the ad hoc structural change, the big acquisition, or a focus on where and how to compete. They would be better off focusing on organizational design. Our research convinces us that in the digital age, there is no better use of a CEO's time and energy than making organizations work better. Most companies were designed for the industrial age of the past century, when capital was the scarce resource, interaction costs were high and hierarchical authority and vertically integrated structures were the keys to efficient operation. Today superior performance flows from the ability to fit these structures into the present century's very different sources of wealth creation (Bryan and Joyce, 2007, p. 1).

Basic Structural Tensions

Two issues are central to structural design: how to allocate work (differentiation) and how to coordinate diverse efforts after parceling out responsibilities (integration). Even in a group as small and intimate as a family, it is important to settle issues concerning who does what, when the “what” gets done, and how individual efforts mesh to ensure harmony. Every family will find an arrangement of roles and synchronization that works—or suffer the fallout.

Division of labor—or allocating tasks—is the keystone of structure. Every living system creates specialized roles to get important work done. Consider an ant colony: “Small workers…spend most of their time in the nest feeding the larval broods; intermediate-sized workers constitute most of the population, going out on raids as well as doing other jobs. The largest workers…have a huge head and large powerful jaws. These individuals are…soldiers; they carry no food but constantly run along the flanks of the raiding and emigration columns” (Topoff, 1972, p. 72).

Like ants, humans long ago discovered the virtues of specialization. A job (or position) channels behavior by prescribing what someone is to do—or not do—to accomplish a task. Prescriptions take the form of job descriptions, procedures, routines, protocols, or rules (Mintzberg, 1979). On one hand, these formal constraints can be burdensome, leading to apathy, absenteeism, and resistance (Argyris, 1957, 1964). On the other, they help to ensure predictability, uniformity, and reliability. If manufacturing standards, aircraft maintenance, hotel housekeeping, or prison sentences were left solely to individual discretion, problems of quality and equity would abound.

Once an organization spells out positions or roles, managers face a second set of key decisions: how to group people into working units. They have several basic options (Mintzberg, 1979):

  • Function: Groups based on knowledge or skill, as in the case of a university's academic departments or the classic industrial units of research, engineering, manufacturing, marketing, and finance.
  • Time: Units defined by when they do their work, as by shift (day, swing, or graveyard shift).
  • Product: Groups organized by what they produce, such as detergent versus bar soap, wide-body versus narrow-body aircraft.
  • Customer: Groups established around customers or clients, as in hospital wards created around patient type (pediatrics, intensive care, or maternity), computer sales departments organized by customer (corporate, government, education, individual), or schools targeting students in particular age groups.
  • Place: Groupings around geography, such as regional or international offices in corporations and government agencies or neighborhood schools in different parts of a city.
  • Process: Grouping by a complete flow of work, as with “the order fulfillment process. This process flows from initiation by a customer order, through the functions, to delivery to the customer” (Galbraith, 2001, p. 34).

Creating roles and units yields the benefits of specialization but creates challenges of coordination and control—how to ensure that diverse efforts mesh. Units tend to focus on their separate priorities and strike out on their own, as New York's police and fire departments did on 9/11. The result is suboptimization—individual units may perform splendidly in terms of their own goals, but the whole may add up to much less than the sum of the parts. This problem plagued Tom Ridge, who was named by President George W. Bush as the director of homeland security in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. His job was to resolve coordination failures among the government's many different units that dealt with security. But he was more salesman and preacher than boss, and he lacked the authority to compel compliance. Ridge's slow progress led President Bush to create a cabinet-level Department of Homeland Security. The goal was to cluster independent security agencies under one central authority.

As often happens, the new structure created its own problems. Folding the Federal Emergency Management Agency into the mix reduced FEMA's autonomy and shifted its priorities toward security and away from its core mission of disaster relief. The same agency that had responded nimbly to hurricanes and earthquakes in the 1990s was slow and ponderous in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and lacked authority and budget to move without a formal okay from the new Secretary of Homeland Security (Cooper and Block, 2006).

Successful organizations employ a variety of methods to coordinate individual and group efforts and to link local initiatives with system-wide goals. They do this in two primary ways: vertically, through the formal chain of command, and laterally, through meetings, committees, coordinating roles, or network structures. We next look at each of these strategies in detail.

Vertical Coordination

With vertical coordination, higher levels coordinate and control the work of subordinates through authority, rules and policies, and planning and control systems.

Authority

The most basic and ubiquitous way to harmonize the efforts of individuals, units, or divisions is to designate a boss with formal authority. Authorities—executives, managers, and supervisors—are charged with keeping action aligned with strategy and objectives. They do this by making decisions, resolving conflicts, solving problems, evaluating performance and output, and distributing rewards and sanctions. A chain of command is a hierarchy of managerial and supervisory strata, each with legitimate power to shape and direct the behavior of those at lower levels. It works best when authority is both endorsed by subordinates and authorized by superiors (Dornbusch and Scott, 1975). In military organizations such as an aircraft carrier or a commando team, for example, the chain of command is usually clear and universally accepted. In schools and human service organizations authority relations are often fuzzier or more contested.

Rules and Policies

Rules, policies, standards, and standard operating procedures are developed to ensure that individual behavior is predictable and consistent. Rules and policies govern conditions of work and specify standard ways of completing tasks, handling personnel issues, and relating to customers and others. The goal is to ensure the handling of similar situations in comparable ways and to avoid “particularism” (Perrow, 1986)—responding to specific issues based on personal whims or political pressures. Two citizens' complaints about a tax bill are supposed to be treated similarly, even if one citizen is a prominent politician and the other a shoe clerk. Once a situation is defined as fitting a particular rule, the course of action is clear, straightforward and, in an ideal world, almost automatic.

A standard is a benchmark to ensure that goods and services maintain a specified level of quality. Measurement against the standard makes it possible to identify and fix problems. During the 1970s and 1980s, American manufacturing standards lagged, while Japanese manufacturers were scrupulous in ensuring that high standards were widely known and universally accepted. In one case, an American company ordered ball bearings from a Japanese plant. The Americans insisted on what they saw as a daunting standard—no more than 20 defective parts per thousand. The order arrived with a separate bag of 20 defective bearings and a note: “We were not sure why you wanted these, but here they are.” More recently, pressure for world-class quality has spawned growing interest in “Six Sigma,” a statistical standard of near perfection (Pyzdek, 2003). Although Six Sigma has raised quality standards in many companies around the world, its laser focus on measurable aspects of work processes and outcomes has sometimes hampered creativity in innovative companies such as 3M (Hindo, 2007, pp. 8–12). Safe and measurable may crowd out the elusive breakthroughs a firm needs.

Standard operating procedures (SOPs) reduce variance in routine tasks that have little margin for error. Commercial airline pilots typically fly with a different crew every month. Cockpit actions are tightly intertwined, the need for coordination is high, and mistakes can kill. SOPs consequently govern much of the work of flying a plane. Pilots are trained extensively in the procedures and seldom violate them. But a significant percentage of aviation accidents occur in the rare case in which someone does. More than one airplane has crashed on takeoff after the crew missed a required checklist item.

SOPs can fall short, however, in the face of “black swans” (Taleb, 2007)—freak surprises that the SOPs were never designed to handle. In the 9/11 terrorist attacks, pilots followed standard procedures for dealing with hijackers: cooperate with their demands and try to get the plane on the ground quickly. These SOPs were based on a long history of hijackers who wanted to make a statement, not wreak destruction on a suicide mission. Passengers on United Airlines flight 93, who had learned via cell phones that hijackers were using aircraft as bombs rather than bully pulpits, abandoned this approach. They lost their lives fighting to regain control of the plane, but theirs was the only one of four hijacked jets that failed to devastate a high-profile building.

Planning and Control Systems

Reliance on planning and control systems—forecasting and measuring—has mushroomed since the dawn of the computer era. Retailers, for example, need to know what's selling and what isn't. Point-of-sale terminals now yield that information instantly. Data flow freely up and down the hierarchy, greatly enhancing management's ability to oversee performance and respond in real time.

Mintzberg (1979) distinguishes two major approaches to control and planning: performance control and action planning. Performance control specifies results (for example, “increase sales by 10 percent this year”) without specifying how to achieve them. Performance control measures and motivates individual efforts, particularly when targets are reasonably clear and calculable. Locke and Latham (2002) make the case that clear and challenging goals are a powerful incentive to high performance. Performance control is less successful when goals are ambiguous, hard to measure, or of dubious relevance. A notorious example was the use of enemy body counts by the U.S. military to measure combat effectiveness in Vietnam. Field commanders became obsessed with “getting the numbers up,” and were often successful. The numbers painted a picture of progress, even as the war was being lost. Meanwhile, as an unintended consequence, American troops had an incentive to kill unarmed civilians in order to raise the count (Turse, 2013).

Action planning specifies how to do something—methods and time frames as in “increase this month's sales by using a companywide sales pitch” (Mintzberg, 1979, pp. 153–154). Action planning works best when it is easier to assess how a job is done than to measure its outcome. This is often true of service jobs. McDonald's has clear specifications for how counter employees are to greet customers (for example, with a smile and a cheerful welcome). United Parcel Service has a detailed policy manual that specifies how a package should be delivered. The objective is customer satisfaction, but it is easier to monitor employees' behavior than customers' reactions. An inevitable risk in action planning is that the link between action and outcome may fail. When that happens, employees may get bad results by doing just what they're supposed to do. Unions sometimes use this as a bargaining chip by telling employees to “work to rule”—scrupulously observing every detail in every procedure—because it is often an effective way to slow work to a crawl.

Lateral Coordination

Behavior in organizations is often remarkably untouched by commands, rules, and systems. Lateral techniques—formal and informal meetings, task forces, coordinating roles, matrix structures, and networks—pop up to fill the gaps. Lateral forms are typically less formal and more flexible than authority-based systems and rules. They are often simpler and quicker as well.

Meetings

Formal gatherings and informal exchanges are the cornerstone of lateral coordination. All organizations have regular meetings. Boards confer to make policy. Executive committees gather to make strategic decisions. In some government agencies, review committees (sometimes known as “murder boards”) convene to examine proposals from lower levels. Formal meetings provide the lion's share of lateral harmonization in relatively simple, stable organizations—for example, a railroad with a predictable market, a manufacturer with a stable product, or a life insurance company selling standard policies.

But in fast-paced, turbulent environments, more spontaneous and informal contacts and exchanges are vital to take up slack and help glue things together. Pixar, the animation studio whose series of hits includes Toy Story (1, 2, and 3); Finding Nemo (and Dory); Monsters, Inc.; WALL-E; and Up, relies on a constant stream of informal connections among managers, artists, and engineers in its three major groups. Technologists develop graphics tools, artists create stories and pictures, and production experts knit the pieces together in the final film. “What makes it all work is [Pixar's] insistence that these groups constantly talk to each other. So a producer of a scene can deal with the animator without having to navigate through higher-ups” (Schlender, 2004, p. 212).

Task Forces

When organizations face complex and fast-changing environments, demand for lateral communication mushrooms. Additional face-to-face coordination devices are needed. Task forces assemble when new problems or opportunities require collaboration of diverse specialties or functions. High-technology firms and consulting firms rely heavily on project teams or task forces to synchronize the development of new products or services.

Coordinating Roles

Coordinating roles or groups use persuasion and negotiation to help dovetail the efforts of different units. They are boundary-spanners with diplomatic status who are artful in dealing across specialized turfs. For example, a product manager in a consumer goods company, responsible for the performance of a laundry detergent or low-fat snack, spends much of the day pulling together functions essential to the product's success such as R&D, manufacturing, marketing, and sales.

Matrix Structures

Until the mid-twentieth century, most companies were functionally organized. Responding to strategic complexity during the late 1950s and early 1960s, many companies shed their functional structures in favor of divisional forms pioneered by DuPont and General Motors in the 1920s. Beginning in the mid-1960s, many organizations in unwieldy environments began to develop matrix structures, even though they are often cumbersome (Peters, 1979; Davis and Lawrence, 1978.) When organizations figure out how to make matrix structures work, they solve many problems (Vantrappen and Wirtz, 2016). By the mid-1990s, Asea Brown Boveri (ABB), the Swiss-based electrical engineering giant, had grown to encompass some 1,300 separate companies and more than 200,000 employees worldwide. To hold this complex collection together, ABB developed a matrix structure crisscrossing approximately 100 countries with about 65 business sectors (Rappaport, 1992). Each subsidiary reported to both a country manager (Sweden, Germany, and so on) and a sector manager (power transformers, transportation, and the like).

The design carried the inevitable risk of confusion, tension, and conflict between sector and country managers. ABB aimed for structural cohesion at the top with a small executive coordinating committee (11 individuals from seven countries in 2016), an elite cadre of some 500 global managers, and a policy of communicating in English, even though it was a second language for most employees. Variations on ABB's structure—a matrix with business or product lines on one axis and countries or regions on another—are common in global corporations. Familiar brands like Starbucks and Whole Foods rely on matrix structures to support their successful international operations (Business Management, 2015).

Networks

Networks have always been around, more so in some places than others. Cochran (2000) describes how both Western and Japanese firms doing business in China in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries had to adapt their hierarchical structures to accommodate powerful social networks deeply embedded in Chinese culture. One British firm tried for years, with little success, to limit the control of “Number Ones” (powerful informal leaders who headed local networks based on kinship and village) over the hiring and wages of its workforce. The proliferation of information technology beginning in the 1980s led to an explosive growth of digital networks—everything from small local grids to the global Internet. These powerful new lateral communication devices often supplanted vertical strategies and spurred the development of network structures within and between organizations (Steward, 1994). Powell, Koput, and Smith-Doerr (1996) describe the mushrooming of “interorganizational networks” in fast-moving fields like biotechnology, where knowledge is so complex and widely dispersed that no organization can go it alone. They give an example of research on Alzheimer's disease that was carried out by thirty-four scientists from three corporations, a university, a government laboratory, and a private research institute.

Many large global corporations have evolved into interorganizational networks (Ghoshal and Bartlett, 1990; Gulati and Gargiulo, 1999). Horizontal linkages supplement and sometimes supplant vertical coordination. Such a firm is multicentric: initiatives and strategy emerge from many places, taking shape through a variety of partnerships and joint ventures.

Designing a Structure That Works

In designing a structure that works, managers have a set of options for dividing the work and coordinating multiple efforts. Structure needs to be designed with an eye toward strategy, the nature of the environment, the talents of the workforce, and the available resources (such as time, budget, and other contingencies). The options are summarized in Exhibit 3.1.

Exhibit 3.1. Basic Structural Options.

Division of labor: Options for differentiation
Function
Time
Product
Customers or clients
Place (geography)
Process
Coordination: Options for integration
Vertical Authority
Rules and policies
Planning and control systems
Lateral Meetings
Task forces
Coordinating roles
Matrix structures
Networks

Vertical or Lateral?

Vertical coordination is often efficient but not always effective and depends on employees' willingness to follow directives from above. More decentralized and interactive lateral forms of coordination are often needed to keep top-down control from stifling initiative and creativity. Lateral coordination is often more effective but costlier than its vertical counterparts. A meeting, for example, provides an opportunity for face-to-face dialogue and decision making but may squander time and energy. Personal and political agendas may undermine the meeting's purpose.

Ad hoc groups such as task forces can foster creativity and integration around pressing problems but may divert attention from ongoing operating issues. The effectiveness of coordinators who span boundaries depends on their credibility and skills in handling others. Coordinators are also likely to schedule meetings that take still more time from actual work (Hannaway and Sproull, 1979). Matrix structures provide lateral linkage and integration but are notorious for creating conflict and confusion. Multiple players and decision nodes make networks inherently difficult to manage. Organizations have to use both vertical and horizontal procedures for coordination. The optimal blend of the two depends on the unique challenges in a given situation. Vertical coordination is generally superior if an environment is stable, tasks are well understood and predictable, and uniformity is essential. Lateral communications work best for complex tasks performed in a turbulent environment. Every organization must find a design that works for its circumstances, and inherent structural tradeoffs rarely yield easy answers or perfect solutions.

Consider the contrasting structures of McDonald's and Harvard University (highly regarded organizations in two very different industries), and Amazon and Zappos (two successful Internet retailers with very different structures).

Structural Imperatives

Why do McDonald's and Harvard or Zappos and Amazon have such different structures? Is one more effective than the other? Or has each evolved to fit its unique circumstances? In fact, there is no such thing as an ideal structure. Every organization needs to respond to a universal set of internal and external parameters (outlined in Exhibit 3.2). These parameters, or contingencies, include the organization's size, age, core process, environment, strategy and goals, information technology, and workforce characteristics. All these combine to point toward an optimal social architecture.

Exhibit 3.2. Structural Imperatives.

Dimension Structural Implications
Size and age Complexity and formality typically increase with size and age.
Core process Structure must align with core processes or technologies.
Environment Stable environment rewards simpler structure; uncertain, turbulent environment requires a more complex, flexible structure.
Strategy and goals Variation in clarity, suitability, and consistency of strategy requires appropriate structural adaptations.
Information technology Information technology permits flatter, more flexible, and more decentralized structures.
Nature of the workforce More educated and professional workers need and want greater autonomy and discretion.

Size and Age

Size and age affect structural shape and character. Problems crop up if growth (or downsizing) occurs without fine-tuning roles and relationships. A small, entrepreneurial organization typically has simple, informal architecture. Growth spawns formality and complexity (Greiner, 1972; Quinn and Cameron, 1983). If carried too far, this leads to the suffocating bureaucratic rigidity often seen in large, mature enterprises.

In the beginning, McDonald's was not the tightly controlled company it is today. It began as a single hamburger stand in San Bernardino, California, owned and managed by the McDonald brothers. They virtually invented the concept of fast food, and their stand was phenomenally successful. The two tried to expand by selling franchise rights, with little success. They were making more than enough money, disliked travel, and had no heirs. If they were richer, said one brother, “we'd be leaving it to a church or something, and we didn't go to church” (Love, 1986, p. 23).

The concept took off when Ray Kroc arrived on the scene. He had achieved modest success selling milk shake machines to restaurants. When many of his customers began to ask for the McDonald's milk shake mixer, he decided to visit the brothers. Seeing the original stand, Kroc realized the potential: “Unlike the homebound McDonalds, Kroc had traveled extensively, and he could envision hundreds of large and small markets where a McDonald's could be located. He understood the existing food services businesses, and understood how a McDonald's unit could be a formidable competitor” (Love, 1986, pp. 39–40). Kroc persuaded the McDonald brothers to let him take over the franchising effort. The rest is history (or Hollywood, which tells its version of this story in the 2016 film, The Founder).

Core Process

Structure forms around an organization's basic method of transforming raw materials into finished products. Every organization has at least one core technology that includes raw materials, activities that turn inputs into outputs, and underlying beliefs about the links among inputs, activities, and outcomes (Dornbusch and Scott, 1975).

Core technologies vary in clarity, predictability, and effectiveness. Assembling a Big Mac is relatively routine and programmable. The task is clear, most potential problems are known in advance, and the probability of success is high. Its relatively simple core technology allows McDonald's to rely mostly on vertical coordination.

In contrast, Harvard's two core processes—research and teaching—are far more complex and less predictable. Teaching objectives are knotty and amorphous. Unlike hamburger buns, students are active agents. Which teaching strategies best yield desired results is more a matter of faith than of fact. Even if students could be molded predictably, mystery surrounds the knowledge and skills they will need to succeed in life. This uncertain technology, greatly dependent on the skills and knowledge of highly educated professionals, is a key source of Harvard's loosely coordinated structure.

Core technologies often evolve, and significant technical innovation calls for corresponding structural alterations (Barley, 1990). In recent decades, struggles to integrate new technologies have become a fateful reality for many firms (Henderson and Clark, 1990; Christensen, 1997). Existing arrangements often get in the way. Companies are tempted to shoehorn innovative technologies into a box that fits their existing operations. As we saw with the decline and fall of Kodak, a change from film to digital photography, slide rules to calculators, or “snail mail” to e-mail gives an advantage to new players less committed to the old ways. In his study of the disk drive industry from 1975 to 1994, Christensen (1997) found that innovation in established firms was often blocked less by technical challenges than by marketers who argued, “Our customers don't want it.” By the time the customers did want it, someone else had grabbed the market.

Some organizations are more susceptible than others to outside influences. Public schools, for example, are highly vulnerable to external pressures because they have limited capacity to claim the resources they need or to shape the results they are supposed to produce. In contrast, an institution like Harvard is insulated from such intrusions by its size, elite status, and large endowment. It can afford to offer low teaching loads, generous salaries, and substantial autonomy to its faculty. A Harvard diploma is taken as sufficient evidence that instruction is having its desired effect.

Strategy and Goals

Strategic decisions are future oriented, concerned with long-term direction (Chandler, 1962; Mintzberg, 1994; Roberts, 2004). Across sectors, a major task of organizational leadership is “the determination of long-range goals and objectives of an enterprise, and the adoption of courses of action and allocation of resources necessary for carrying out these goals” (Chandler, p. 13).

A variety of goals are embedded in strategy. In business firms, goals such as profitability, growth, and market share are relatively specific and easy to measure. Goals of educational or human services organizations are typically more diffuse: “producing educated men and women” or “improving individual well-being.” This is another reason Harvard adopts a more decentralized, loosely integrated system of roles and relationships.

Historically, McDonald's had fewer, more quantifiable, and less controversial goals than those of Harvard. This aligned well with the centralized, top-down McDonald's structure. But that structure has become more complex as the company's size and global reach have fostered levels of decentralization that allowed outlets in India to offer vegetarian cuisine and those in France to run ads attacking Americans and American beef (Tagliabue, 1999; Stires, 2002; Arndt, 2007).

Understanding linkages among goals, structure, and strategy requires a look beyond formal statements of purpose. Schools, for example, are often criticized if structure does not coincide with the official goal of scholastic achievement. But schools have other, less visible goals. One is character development, often espoused with little follow-through. Another is the taboo goal of certification and selection, as schools channel students into tracks and sort them into careers. Still a third goal is custody and control—keeping kids off the streets, out from underfoot and temporarily away from the job market. Finally, schools often herald honorific goals such as excellence. Strategy and goals shape structure, but the process is often complex and subtle (Dornbusch and Scott, 1975).

Information Technology

New technologies continue to revolutionize the amount of information available and the speed at which it travels. Once accessible exclusively to top-level or middle managers, information is now easy to get and widely shared. New media have made communication immediate and far reaching. With the press of a key, anyone can reach another person—or an entire network. All this makes it easier to move decisions closer to the action.

In the 2003 invasion of Iraq, for example, U.S. and British forces had an obvious advantage in military hardware. They also had a powerful structural advantage because their superior information technology let them deploy a much more flexible and decentralized command structure. Commanders in the field could change their plans immediately in response to new developments. Iraqi forces, meanwhile, had a much slower, more vertical structure that relied on decisions from the top. A major reason that Iraqi resistance was lighter than expected in the early weeks was that commanders had no idea what to do when they were cut off from their chain of command (Broder and Schmitt, 2003).

Later, however, the structure and technology so effective against Iraq's military had more difficulty with an emerging resistance movement that evolved into a loosely connected structure of entrepreneurial local units that could adapt quickly to U.S. tactics. New technologies like the Internet and cell phones enabled the resistance to structure itself as a network of loosely connected units, each pursuing its own agenda in response to local conditions. The absence of strong central control in such networks can be a virtue because local units can adapt quickly to new developments and the loss of any one outpost does little damage to the whole.

Nature of the Workforce

Human resource requirements have also changed dramatically in recent decades. Many lower-level jobs now require higher levels of skill. A better-educated workforce expects and often demands more discretion in daily work routines. “Millennials” typically ask for higher salaries and more favorable working conditions than their predecessors. Increasing specialization has professionalized many functions. Professionals typically know more than their supervisors about technical aspects of their work. They expect autonomy and prefer reporting to professional colleagues. Trying to tell a Harvard professor what to teach is an exercise in futility. In contrast, giving too much discretion to a low-skilled McDonald's worker could become a disaster for both employee and customers.

Dramatically different structural forms are emerging as a result of changes in workforce demographics. Deal and Kennedy (1982) predicted early on the emergence of the atomized or network organization, made up of small, autonomous, often geographically dispersed work groups tied together by information systems and organizational symbols. Drucker makes a similar observation in noting that businesses increasingly “move work to where the people are, rather than people to where the work is” (1989, p. 20).

Challenges of Global Organization

In sum, numerous forces affecting structural design create a knotty mix of challenges and tensions. It is not simply a matter of deciding whether we should be centralized like McDonald's or Amazon or decentralized like Harvard or Zappos. Many organizations find that they have to do both and somehow accommodate the competing structural tensions.

Two electronics giants, Panasonic (formerly Matsushita) in Japan and Philips in the Netherlands, have competed with one another around the globe for more than half a century. Historically, Panasonic developed a strong headquarters, while Philips was more decentralized, with strong units in different countries. The pressures of global competition pushed both to become more alike. Philips struggled to gain the efficiencies that come from selling the same products around the world. Meanwhile, as Panasonic gradually discovered, “No company can operate effectively on a global scale by centralizing all key decisions and then farming them out for implementation. It doesn't work…No matter how good they are, no matter how well supported analytically, the decision-makers at the center are too far removed from individual markets and the needs of local customers” (Ohmae, 1990, p. 87).

Conclusion

The structural frame looks beyond individuals to examine the social architecture of work. Though sometimes equated with red tape, mindless memos, and rigid bureaucrats, the approach is much broader and more subtle. It encompasses the freewheeling, loosely structured entrepreneurial task force as well as the more tightly controlled railway company or postal department. If structure is overlooked, an organization often misdirects energy and resources. It may, for example, waste time and money on massive training programs in a vain effort to solve problems that have much more to do with social architecture than with people's skills or attitudes. It may fire managers and bring in new ones, who then fall victim to the same structural flaws that doomed their predecessors.

At the heart of organizational design are the twin issues of differentiation and integration. Organizations divide work by creating a variety of specialized roles, functions, and units. They must then use both vertical and horizontal procedures to mesh the many elements together. There is no one best way to organize. The right structure depends on prevailing circumstances and considers an organization's goals, strategies, technology, people, and environment. Understanding the complexity and variety of design possibilities can help create formal prototypes that work for, rather than against, both people and collective purposes.

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