How Great Leaders Survive Crises: Stories From Tylenol to Southwest
Real-world lessons from Johnson & Johnson, Starbucks, Airbnb, and others on what it takes to lead when everything goes wrong.
In the fall of 1982, panic swept Chicago. Seven people were dead after taking Tylenol capsules laced with cyanide. Nobody knew who was behind it. The fear spread fast. Medicine cabinets across America suddenly felt dangerous. Tylenol, one of the most trusted names in pain relief, was at the center of the storm.
At Johnson & Johnson’s headquarters, executives were staring at a nightmare. Their product had been weaponized. They could drag their feet, blame others, and hope the storm passed. Or they could do the unthinkable: pull every bottle, eat the losses, and speak to the public straight. They chose the second path. Thirty-one million bottles yanked from shelves. Ads pulled. Daily press briefings. The cost: more than $100 million. The payoff: survival. Tylenol came back stronger, rebuilt on trust and tamper-proof seals.
That moment still hangs in business school classrooms, but it isn’t an academic story. It’s a reminder. Crises don’t hand you extra time. They rip the clock from the wall and demand a decision now.
Southwest’s Misstep
Fast forward to December 2022. A brutal winter storm hit. Southwest Airlines’ brittle scheduling system collapsed. Airports turned into refugee camps: families sleeping on linoleum floors, travelers desperate for answers. Days passed with little clarity. By the time CEO Bob Jordan issued a video apology, the public had already made up its mind. Southwest had bungled it.
The lesson isn’t subtle. First hours matter more than polished apologies. Customers forgive chaos if leaders level with them. They don’t forgive silence.
Words That Land, Words That Don’t
In 2018, two Black men walked into a Starbucks in Philadelphia to meet a friend. They ended up in handcuffs after an employee called police. The video went viral. The backlash was immediate.
CEO Kevin Johnson didn’t hide. He called the arrest “reprehensible.” He flew to Philadelphia to meet the men. And then he shut down 8,000 stores for a day of racial-bias training. The move cost millions in lost sales. But Starbucks was showing the public: we take this seriously.
The difference was tone. Johnson spoke like a person, not a press release. A crisis apology has to bleed a little. If it reads like it came from legal, it backfires.
When Companies Stall
Toyota had its turn in the spotlight in 2009–2010. Reports of sudden acceleration in millions of cars led to a massive recall. Instead of swift, open action, the company dragged its feet. Regulators grilled executives. Lawmakers called out failures. The hesitation damaged what had been one of the most respected brands in auto safety.
Here’s the blunt truth: delay kills credibility. You can fix a defect. You can’t easily fix trust.
Cash is the Lifeline
The pandemic was a wrecking ball. Airbnb saw 80 percent of bookings vanish almost overnight. CEO Brian Chesky had to act fast. He raised emergency money, slashed spending, and made a brutal decision: laying off a quarter of staff.
But the way he did it stuck. Chesky sent a letter explaining every decision, outlining severance, extending health insurance, and even setting up job placement support. Employees were still devastated, but they weren’t left in the dark.
Cash flow is survival in a crisis. Leaders who pretend otherwise are just buying a slower collapse.
Shelves Go Empty
Supply chains: the invisible arteries of global business. COVID-19 revealed how fragile they were. No chips, no cars. No containers, no store shelves.
The companies that handled it best didn’t try to sugarcoat. They called suppliers every day, rerouted shipments, and leveled with customers. The ones that painted rosy pictures only deepened the anger when delays hit.
Efficiency is great when skies are clear. In a storm, it looks like fragility.
Hackers and Hard Truths
May 2021. Colonial Pipeline is hit with ransomware. Fuel stops flowing along the East Coast. Gas stations run dry. People start hoarding.
Colonial’s early communication was halting and slow. That silence fueled panic. Eventually, the company admitted it had paid a ransom. Operations came back, but trust didn’t.
Cyber crises are different from storms or recalls. They move at internet speed. The only antidote is blunt communication: here’s what’s hit, here’s what isn’t, and here’s when we’ll update you.
Boards Don’t Get a Pass
When two Boeing 737 Max planes went down in 2018 and 2019, killing 346 people, scrutiny turned not only to the company but also to its board. Did directors ask enough questions about safety? Did they press hard enough for answers? Many concluded they hadn’t.
Boards can’t sit quietly in a crisis. They’re supposed to ask the hard questions before regulators or the public do. When they don’t, the damage cuts deeper.
After the Fire
When the smoke clears, too many companies just want to move on. They shouldn’t. The Army runs after-action reviews for a reason: you need to dissect what happened, brutally and honestly. What went right? What went wrong? What must change.
Done right, those sessions leave scars that turn into muscle. Done poorly, they turn into blame games where nothing sticks.
And reputations? They rebuild the same way. If you caused the crisis, own it. Apologize. Fix it. If you were a victim, tell the truth, and show how you’ll protect people next time. Anything less reads as spin.
The Human Side of Leadership
Crisis leadership is exhausting. Leaders burn out. They snap. Or they pretend everything is fine when it clearly isn’t. Neither works.
The leaders who come through strongest show a mix that’s rare: calm without detachment and optimism without fakery. They say, “This is serious, and here’s what we’re doing.” Employees mirror that tone. If the boss panics, the company unravels. If the boss shrugs, trust evaporates.
What Separates the Survivors
Look back: Johnson & Johnson, Starbucks, Airbnb. They all moved fast, spoke honestly, and put people first.
Then look at the others: Boeing, Toyota, Southwest. Same resources. Different outcomes. Their hesitation, their defensiveness, and their silence that’s what did the lasting damage.
Crisis leadership isn’t about brilliance. It’s about courage and clarity in the ugliest hours. People remember less about the crisis itself and more about how leaders made them feel. That’s what lingers, long after the headlines fade.
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Amara is a Nigerian-American leadership coach and ex-triathlete known for helping founders master resilience, focus, and energy management.
