Goodnight Moon - Joyce

Goodnight Moon, the book Joyce gave us.

I took a course in recruitment. How to recruit people in the Anglo-Mexican Cultural Institute, as one of its directors. I was Zone Director in Guadalajara at the time.

I had been told to recruit people and expand services on the company courses side and so I did. I recruited teachers, but I wasn't very good at it because I had an open access policy. If you had the right qualifications, a positive attitude, a fair command of the language a car and some experience, then you were in.

The worst recruits were the Americans on the run. One of them looked like a nun. She was thin and bitter and insisted on teaching all her students about how they would best fit into US culture and combat prejudice.

'This is a British cultural institute and we don't want to teach people how to integrate into US culture, thank you very much.' I explained. But it didn't make any difference.

So, I went to observe one of her classes. It was awful. She was talking down to them. To this nutcase I had recruited, these sons and daughters of the Guadalajara elite were the Hispanic inner city poor of Chicago.

We all went on a recruitment course. There was Joyce. She gave us a system.

'Look,' she said: 'When you recruit someone don't ask them hypothetical questions. Ask them to give you examples of what they have done and what they have learned from the experience. Get concrete evidence.'

She was a bit of a star really, in the spirit of the post-depression American entrepreneur: Dale Carnegie, Napoleon Hill and Norman Vincent Peale. We went away with a system and now, every time I am interviewed or interview I think of Joyce and remember her advice.

One of the worst interviews I have ever had was an interview for a job to be in charge of managing trainers at the Volunteer Service Oversees in Putney.

It was a pestilential process. The candidates, all competing against each other, were all put into teams and given problems to overcome. The the silly recruiters at the VSO watched us perform the task they set. Of course the most vicious and ruthless candidates put on a show of thoughtful collegiate leadership while at the same time they tried to show up the opposition. It was a bullying by stealth activity. One the British are very good at. A requirement for many jobs in the UK.

Joyce came to Guadalajara and visited us at home and brought is a book for our children called Goodnight Moon. It was a beautiful, resonant book. It seemed to mean a lot to her. This is what I read my son when he was little, she said. He's a little older now, but I can recommend it to you. Actually, it's not very well known in the UK, thank you very much. The book was perfect because it was poetic and so reiterative. I never tired of reading it to my children and they never tired, I think, of hearing the sing song words:

Goodnight Moon

In the great green room
there was a telephone
And a red balloon
And a picture of--


The cow jumping over the moon
and there were three little bears, sitting on chairs
and two little kittens and a pair of mittens
and a little toy house and a young mouse
and a comb and a brush and bowl full of mush
and a quiet old lady who was whispering "hush"


Goodnight room
goodnight moon
goodnight cow jumping over the moon
goodnight light and the red balloon
goodnight bears goodnight chairs
goodnight kittens goodnight mittens
goodnight clocks and goodnight socks
goodnight little house and goodnight mouse
goodnight comb and goodnight brush
goodnight nobody goodnight mush
and goodnight to the old lady whispering "hush"
goodnight stars, goodnight air
goodnight noises everywhere.

We thanked Joyce.

Three months later I flew to a meeting in Mexico City. Before the meeting I went to the office of the Director of Communications, Joyce's line manager. Single, pretty, ambitious and completely ineffectual - she was around 40. 

'Where's Joyce?' I asked.

'Haven't you heard?' she said, 'Joyce's son died in an accident.'

I looked at her, thinking of the book Joyce had given us, Goodnight Moon.

'He was on a bicycle and riding in Chapultepec Park. They were behind him in a car, following to make sure he would be alright. He was wearing a crash helmet. Then he must have hit a stone or a hole. His bike veered and he went straight into a tree, hit his head and broke his neck.'

'You're joking. That's awful. That's terrible' I said.

'She always used to go on and on about her son.' Said the Director of Communications. 'Now, perhaps she'll shut up.'

She turned away smiling, to look at her computer screen.

'Now, if you don't mind Phil, I have some things to prepare for the meeting.'