Management Time: Who's Got the Monkey?

By William Oncken, Jr., and Donald L. Wass. Commentary by Stephen R. Covey.

This is a lightly adapted version of "Management Time: Who's Got the Monkey?", originally published in Harvard Business Review in 1974 and reissued as an HBR Classic in 1999. The ideas are entirely Oncken and Wass's. I've updated some of the references and language to read more naturally in a modern workplace.

Overview

Why is it that managers are typically running out of time while their direct reports are typically running out of work? This article explores "management time" as it relates to interactions with bosses, peers, and direct reports. It shows how managers can reclaim discretionary time by keeping "monkeys" (problems and next actions) on the right backs.

The Three Kinds of Management Time

Managers face three kinds of management time.

Boss-imposed time is used to accomplish activities the boss requires and that the manager cannot disregard without direct and swift penalty.

System-imposed time is used to accommodate requests from peers and cross-functional partners for active support. Neglecting these requests will also result in penalties, though the consequences tend to be less direct or swift.

Self-imposed time is used to do those things the manager originates or agrees to do.

A portion of self-imposed time is taken over by direct reports and becomes report-imposed time. The remaining portion is the manager's own discretionary time.

Because boss- and system-imposed time carry penalties, managers can't simply ignore them. Their main leverage is to increase discretionary time by minimizing report-imposed time, then use that reclaimed time to better control boss- and system-imposed demands.

The Monkey-on-the-Back Metaphor

Report-imposed time begins the moment a "monkey" (a problem plus the next move) successfully leaps from a direct report's back to a manager's back. It doesn't end until that monkey is returned to its proper owner for care and feeding.

Where Is the Monkey?

Imagine a manager is between meetings when a Slack message pops up from a direct report (Jones).

"Hey, got a sec? We've got a problem with the Acme rollout. Basically…"

The manager knows enough to get involved but not enough to decide on the spot. The manager replies.

"Glad you flagged this. Slammed right now. Let me think about it and get back to you."

Before the message, the monkey was on the direct report's back. After the message, the monkey is on the manager's back, because the manager accepted responsibility and promised a follow-up. Later, the direct report pings again to "check in."

"Any thoughts on that Acme thing?"

The direct report is now supervising the manager.

Common Monkey-Leap Patterns

"Drop me a doc on that."
The direct report writes the doc, and then the manager has the next move. The doc sits unread in a shared folder. Delay creates follow-up pings, frustration, wheel-spinning, and guilt.

"Just let me know how I can help."
This sounds generous, but it leaves the direct report unsure how to proceed without the manager's input. The manager has signaled they want involvement without defining what that involvement looks like. The direct report stalls, waiting to figure out what "let me know" actually means. The monkey is now straddling both backs.

"I'll put together an initial draft for us to discuss."
The direct report has the job and formal responsibility, but the manager has the next move. The direct report is immobilized until the manager reviews the draft.

"Let me run this by my manager and get back to you."
Said to a peer or stakeholder, this shifts the next move to the manager while appearing collaborative. The direct report and the stakeholder are both now waiting. Only the manager can unblock them, whenever they get to it.

These situations persist because manager and direct report often (explicitly or implicitly) treat the issue as a "joint problem." The monkey starts astride both backs, and one wrong step transfers it fully to the manager.

Who Is Working for Whom?

If each direct report allows only three monkeys per day to jump to the manager through Slack messages, meeting escalations, and "quick questions" over video, then over a five-day week the manager picks up 60 monkeys (assuming four direct reports, more if the team is larger). That's too many to handle individually. The manager spends report-imposed time triaging a backlog of threads and messages, while direct reports wait in various states of limbo and tell peers,

"I'm blocked on my manager. Still waiting for a decision."

Meanwhile the manager can't make next moves because boss-imposed and system-imposed time consume the day. The manager gets trapped. The more they try to "catch up" on messages after hours, the more they invite additional monkeys, because fast responses train people to keep sending.

The breakthrough comes when the manager realizes that clearing monkeys for their people only invites more monkeys. The manager decides to reclaim discretionary time and teach direct reports "The Care and Feeding of Monkeys."

Getting Rid of the Monkeys

On Monday, the manager works through 1:1s with each direct report. The goal of each meeting is to do three things. First, put the monkey on the table between them. Second, determine how the next move can be the direct report's. Third, if the next move is unclear, schedule a short follow-up (with the monkey staying on the direct report's back in the meantime).

Key ground rule (in effect):

Your problem will not become my problem. If it becomes mine, you no longer have a problem. And I can't help someone who hasn't got a problem.

When the meeting ends, the problem leaves exactly the way it came in, on the direct report's back. The manager's help is available by appointment, with both parties agreeing on the direct report's next move.

The result is that the manager's Slack no longer needs to be set to Do Not Disturb all day. Monkeys are gone and will return by appointment only.

Transferring the Initiative

Managers can transfer initiative back to direct reports and keep it there. The critical truism:

Before developing initiative in direct reports, the manager must see to it that they have the initiative.

A manager and a direct report cannot effectively hold the same initiative at the same time. The opener "Hey, we've got a problem" signals initiative duality and a monkey astride two backs, which is a bad start.

The Anatomy of Managerial Initiative

There are five degrees of initiative a manager can exercise relative to the boss and the system.

Wait until told (lowest initiative)
Ask what to do
Recommend, then take resulting action
Act, but advise at once
Act on own, then routinely report (highest initiative)

For bosses and the system, professionals should avoid levels 1 and 2. Levels 3 through 5 preserve control over timing and content, with level 5 offering the most.

What This Means for Direct Reports

A manager's job with direct reports is twofold.

First, outlaw initiative levels 1 and 2. Encourage people to learn and master "Completed Staff Work." When someone brings you a problem, they should also bring a recommendation, not just a question.

Second, ensure that every problem leaving the meeting has an agreed level of initiative (e.g., "Go ahead and act, just let me know how it lands") and an agreed time and place for the next check-in, on the manager's calendar and not floating vaguely in a Slack thread.

The Care and Feeding of Monkeys

The manager's schedule implies five rules.

1. Monkeys should be fed or shot.
Otherwise they starve, and time is wasted on postmortems or attempted resurrections. If a problem has been sitting in limbo for two weeks with no owner and no next step, kill it explicitly or assign it. Ambiguity is where monkeys go to die slowly.

2. Keep the monkey population below the number the manager has time to feed.
Direct reports will find time to work as many monkeys as the manager finds time to feed, and no more. Proper feeding takes 5 to 15 minutes of focused conversation.

3. Feed monkeys by appointment only.
Managers should not go hunting through Slack threads and stale docs to find starving monkeys and feed them ad hoc. If a monkey needs attention, it comes to you through a scheduled check-in and not through a drive-by notification.

4. Feed monkeys in real-time conversation, not over async messages.
When you work through a problem over Slack or email, every reply you write becomes the next move. The monkey is on your back between messages. A five-minute call keeps the thinking where it belongs. Async works for status updates. It is a poor channel for problem-solving, because it quietly transfers ownership with every message sent.

5. Every monkey needs a next feeding time and degree of initiative.
These can be revised by mutual consent but must not be vague or indefinite. Otherwise the monkey will starve or wind up on the manager's back. "Let's circle back sometime next week" is how monkeys go feral. "You'll send me your recommendation by Thursday at noon, and we'll spend ten minutes on it in Friday's 1:1" is how monkeys stay fed.

Commentary: Making Time for the Gorillas (Stephen R. Covey)

When William Oncken first articulated the monkey metaphor, managers were desperate to free up time in a command-and-control world. The "give the monkey back" idea demanded a paradigm shift that many managers now take for granted, at least in theory.

In practice, true delegation remains hard, for several reasons.

First, you must ensure direct reports have both the desire and ability to solve problems. Handing back a monkey to someone who lacks the skills or context to handle it will leave them stranded. Particularly as AI tools make it easy to generate options and surface information, the temptation is to assume people can figure things out on their own. But judgment, prioritization, and stakeholder navigation still require real development.

Second, empowerment often requires developing people, and developing people can initially take more time than solving the problem yourself. This is the investment managers most frequently skip and the one that pays back the most over time.

Third, empowerment needs organizational support. If the culture punishes mistakes or rewards escalation (as many do implicitly through approval workflows and sign-off chains), people will keep returning monkeys to their managers no matter how many times they're told otherwise.

Above all, effective delegation depends on trust and an ongoing partnership. If people fear being blamed when things go wrong, they will keep routing decisions upward instead of taking initiative. Psychological safety is the mechanism that determines whether monkeys stay on the right backs.

Covey also observes that some managers are eager to take monkeys because they fear losing relevance or control. Being the person with all the answers feels important. But the manager who hoards monkeys ends up doing individual contributor work at a manager's salary while their team atrophies.

Finally, Covey ties Oncken's vivid monkey metaphor to a broader observation about time. Many managers spend huge portions of their day on matters that are urgent but not important (other people's monkeys) while neglecting the real gorillas that matter most. Strategic planning, team development, systems improvement, and relationship building all share the same quality. They never ping you on Slack, never show up as overdue, and never feel urgent, until the damage from neglecting them is already done.

Originally published in Harvard Business Review, November–December 1974 (reissued as an HBR Classic in 1999). Adapted here with modern language for today's workplace.