I hated Casual Fridays.

 No, it wasn’t because I didn’t like having a chance to dress down a bit. It was because my organization had been taken over by a prig who had no interest in the welfare of the workers—or the welfare of the company for that matter. And rather than addressing real issues of wage inequities and mismanagement, the new president thought he could make it all better by tossing us a bone: Casual Fridays.

So when Casual Fridays rolled around, I made it a point to dress my best. The priggish president never noticed and wouldn’t have cared if he had. But at least I knew I wasn’t going beak down like the chickens Gordon Mackenzie’s dad “mesmerized” back in the summer of 1904. 

Down on the farm

A longtime sketch artist for Hallmark Cards, Mackenzie recalled his father’s story in his own autobiography of corporate life, Orbiting the Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool’s Guide to Surviving with Grace, published by Viking in 1998.

While visiting his aunt and uncle’s Ontario farm, the young city boy bonded with his cousin and the two 10-year-olds quickly set about making mischief. One Sunday as the aunt and uncle prepared to leave for church services, the youngsters feigned stomachaches so they could spend the morning breathing in the freedom of the farm instead of the virtue of the pews.

Soon after the adults departed, the cousin asked Mackenzie, “Do you know how to mesmerize a chicken?” Fascinated, the city boy watched as his country cousin lifted a white hen from the coop and carried her to the front porch. Picking up a piece of chalk, he drew a line down the porch. Then he placed the chicken on the porch, pointed her beak to the chalk line, and held it for a couple of minutes. When he finally removed his hand, the chicken remained perfectly still. Mesmerized.

Mackenzie was so delighted by the sight of the mesmerized chicken that he persuaded his cousin to do it again … and again … and again … until the porch was lined with about 70 chickens. Seventy, beaks-down, tails-up, perfectly still, mesmerized chickens.

The boys couldn’t wait to show their handiwork to the adults, expecting them to be amused by the whole thing. And they probably would have been amused but for one small detail: They’d invited their strict Presbyterian minister home to lunch.

Up in the air

The uncle was so embarrassed to arrive with the preacher in tow to find his porch lined with chickens and two mischief-making boys who’d so obviously lied about their stomach ailments that he began kicking at the chickens to bring them back to their senses. The chickens started flapping and clucking, feathers started flying, the uncle started swearing … and the minister turned his carriage and fled back to town.

So the next time someone tries to mesmerize you into going along with something you know isn’t in your best interest, no matter how inviting it sounds, think about those chickens. Lift your beak, flap your feathers, and start squawking. Let the world know, you will not just quietly beak the chalk line.