The "Servant Leader" Project

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Don’t Ruin Your Father’s Good Name

“Ken – you – never missed – a good time! Your brothers, on the other hand, one was a state wrestling champion, the other went to West Point and then Duke. They know what it takes.” 

He was the CEO of Geisinger, one of the biggest hospital groups in Pennsylvania. I had asked for a letter of recommendation for graduate school. He invited me to stop by his office for a conversation. That’s where he delivered this reality check. And he wasn’t wrong. He led into it gently, asking if I was sure healthcare was the right field for me—it’s a 24/7 operation, full of inconvenient nights and weekends. Then he hit me with the truth: my brothers had shown real discipline and commitment, but me? I’d skated by on charm and minimal effort. “If you’re going into this field,” he said, “I need to know you won’t tarnish your dad’s name. He’s worked too hard for that.” 

I was the most average person in the world. Had to work twice as hard to be half as good. When I worked super hard, I could hang in there. If I didn’t commit myself, it showed! And I had not really committed myself. He called my bluff. That uncomfortable conversation was a turning point—a life-changing gift, really. It forced me to confront the paradox at the heart of real leadership: you can’t lead others effectively if you’re not willing to lead yourself with humility and discipline first. It’s not about being the star; it’s about serving a greater good, even when it means facing your own shortcomings head-on. 

My father had built an incredible reputation as a surgeon and administrator at Geisinger Medical Center. He wasn’t just a title-holder; he was hands-on, the kind of leader who embodied the idea that people don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care. He’d go in at midnight a few times a year, rounding the hospital floors when the night shift was on duty. “Those people never see administrators,” he’d say. It was his way of showing up, of valuing the frontline workers who kept the place running while the rest of the world slept. His mom, my grandmother, was an English teacher who instilled in him the same quiet dedication. But it was Sister Jenna Rose, the last Franciscan sister to lead St. Mary’s Hospital before Mayo Clinic took over—who taught me through her actions. At age 97, she’d still bend down to pick up a stray piece of paper on the ground. “Never become too big to do the right thing,” she’d say. I think of her every time I see litter in the immaculate halls of Mayo Clinic, where I now work. Just the other day, I spotted a napkin on the marble floor, watching people walk by it. I couldn’t ignore it—her example wouldn’t let me. 

Watching my brothers growing up reinforced that discipline. My middle brother was a Pennsylvania state wrestling champion. He didn’t obsess over the title; he committed to the process, loving the grind of training day in and day out. “If I’d focused only on the outcome,” he told me, “I’d have been a bag of nerves and lost in the first round.” My youngest brother showed similar grit, heading to West Point and then Duke. They both taught me that true leadership isn’t about shortcuts—it’s about embracing the hard work that builds character. 

Then there’s my wife, whom I’ve been married to for nearly 28 years. She lost her parents in high school, a tragedy that could have broken anyone. Instead, it shaped her into someone who lives by a simple mantra: “Just do the next right thing and continue to be kind.” She grounds me when life feels overwhelming, reminding me that it’s nice to be important, but more important to be nice. In the servant leader paradox, she embodies the balance between resilience and compassion—leading not through authority, but through quiet strength that lifts others up. 

Bob Walters, a great-grandson of Dr. Will Mayo, one of the founders of Mayo Clinic, hired me when I moved to Florida in 2000. On my first day, he pulled me aside: “Some people will like Ken Ackerman. Some won’t. You can’t worry about that. Stay true to your values and make sure they align with the organization’s.” Bob was a Mayo through and through, yet he was never about himself. He put the team and others above all, serving the greater good without seeking the spotlight. It’s a paradox: true leaders often descend from greatness but choose humility over entitlement. 

What are the pebbles in their shoes? That’s the question I ask myself about frontline teams. Most people join an organization hoping it’s more inspiring than just punching a clock. As leaders, we can’t always be in their shoes, but we can empathize, spend time on the front lines, and learn their challenges. Maybe even work a shift alongside them several times a year. It informs our decisions at the executive table. In healthcare—or any field, really—you have to keep finding time for that frontline stuff. Because if you want a team inspired to achieve the vision, you can’t do it alone. People want to contribute to something bigger than themselves. Most people join something hoping it will be more inspiring than just punching a clock. Don’t just show them you care. Care. 

That CEO’s words echo in my mind: Don’t ruin your father’s good name. It’s a reminder of the servant leader’s ultimate paradox—leading means serving, and serving starts with self-accountability. I’ve carried it through my career, from Geisinger to the Mayo Clinic, now overseeing hospitals across the Midwest. When we encounter truth, rarely do we walk away comfortable. Comforted? Perhaps. Comforted? Rarely. A hard message I didn’t want to hear was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given. 

Don’t ruin your father’s good name. 

~ Ken Ackerman, Mayo Clinic (Administrative Chair)

(an excerpt from Jonathan Fanning's SERVANT LEADER Project!)