Lawyers, Journalists and other users of the English language beware...

...too many words are useless...even professors are susceptible..this from an educator friend of mine:

I wonder if I might crave your momentary indulgence in order to discharge a by-no-means disagreeable obligation which has, over the years, become more or less established practice within our circles as we approach the terminal period of the calendar year, but not financial, of course. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, I submit to you, with all appropriate deference, for your consideration at a convenient juncture, a sincere and sanguine expectation -- indeed confidence, or even, one might go so far as to say, hope -- that the terminal two weeks of this calendar year may be, at the end of the day, when all relevant factors have been taken into consideration, susceptible to being deemed to be such as to merit a final verdict of having been by no means unsatisfactory in its overall outcome and, in the final analysis, to give grounds for being judged, on mature reflection, to have been conducive to generating a degree of gratification which will be seen in retrospect to have been significantly higher than the general average.

In other words, have a Happy New Year.

The Christmas Limp

During my grade school years, no matter where my military father was stationed, we would  often return to the family farm in Indiana for Christmas.  My uncle and his family would show up and we would have a week or so of fun and reminiscence.  On Christmas eve, there was always a  unique happening that made us kids giddy with joy.  After dinner, we would all be in the living room of the old farm house talking about how hard it was going to be to get to sleep, when we would hear the sound of sleigh bells…real sleigh bells.  They would get closer and closer and then suddenly there were feet on the roof and the sound would literally make the room vibrate.  One year in particular, we thought we could actually hear the sleigh take off from the roof with a woosh and a bump. Nothing was more exciting than those few moments in our young lives.  Then it was off to bed with anticipation of the Christmas morning  festivities. Pa, as we called our grandfather, seemed to especially enjoy seeing our faces after the sleigh bell incident, though we never remember seeing him in the room while it was happening.  That particular year, we did notice that Pa was walking with a limp for the next few days.  It had been snowing and on Christmas morning, we could definitely see the footprints on the roof but they turned into a slide trail that went right over the steep side and into the bushes next to the house.  Strange way for Santa to leave, we thought. Oh well, all seemed fine and Pa’s limp got better too.  He said he “slipped on the porch steps going to the barn.”  Grandpa’s are great, aren’t they.  They will do anything to make us happy.  Have a safe and happy holiday season.

One thing leads to another...

When World Expo 2010 in Shanghai held its closing performances, parades and forums on October 31, it was the final chapter of a very exciting year filled with global events for us. We were fortunate to participate in the Vancouver Winter Olympics, the South African World Cup and the Shanghai World Expo, beginning in February and ending about a month ago. 98.2 million people attended these three events and all three set records for media coverage worldwide. Hardly a person on the planet missed seeing or hearing about one or more of these events and our business of communication is at the heart of that experience.


The host committees sought our communications and sponsorship strategies and crisis communications counsel and that made for some interesting encounters and creative problem-solving which I have written about in earlier messages. Noteworthy to me is that each of the hosts had very specific objectives to realize from their investments, which totaled in the billions. Vancouver sought tourism. South Africa wanted the world’s appreciation. Shanghai wanted business partners. In my mind, all three achieved their goals.

The series of events that brought us to these world-class happenings began three years ago with a sponsorship summit in Shanghai. It was clear to me then that China does not want to do business alone. They want to collaborate. They want to grow with the help of others. This year they became the world’s largest economy. That’s no accident. The Expo attracted 246 countries and organizations and that is quite a buffet of opportunity.

Contacts we have made over three decades working abroad have led us to many corners of the globe. The Shanghai Summit brought us to the attention of the Beijing Olympics and many of the organizers there were involved in the prep for the World Expo. Olympic contacts we made also opened the door to the Vancouver event. Working in these circles makes for long plane rides on short schedules but decisions are made quickly and you move on to the next subject or issue. There is not much time for contemplation.

73 million people attended the World Expo. Shanghai’s population is 20 million and the drive market around the city is almost twice that number. Like all three of the global events we worked on this year, there are many foreign visitors but most of the attendance comes from the surrounding area. Two things impressed me about this World Expo. First, I’m sorry to say that the US pavilion was a bit embarrassing. I’ve heard stories about the bureaucratic starts and stops and lack of funding, but the experience boiled down to watching a bunch of promotional videos from brand name companies. How disappointing. There were indeed some amazingly interactive experiences to be had at the event. It’s just too bad that none of them were associated with our country.

Secondly, China’s young people are making a great impression on the world. In all the events I’ve been involved with over there, “interns” abound. They are both interesting and interested. They have learned English in school and are making themselves very valuable to business. China’s young are becoming the best ambassadors for that country. Universities are overflowing with talent and the West is benefitting from it.

As we come to the end of our “Big Event” year, it’s important to note that, despite the travails of the world economy, life goes on. Both in business and our personal lives, we continue to move ahead, making advances where we can. Predictions and forecasts aside, this is still a time of great change and opportunity. Communication Technology is an ever-increasing part of our lives and it applies to all aspects, from business to culture, sport and education. We’re on an exciting ride right now. We need to hang on and keep going. I’m looking forward to what’s coming up. We’re already working on projects next year and beyond. I can hardly wait.

Stop complaining for one day...

All of us Americans grumble a lot. We are frustrated with our government. We don’t like many of our elected officials. Taxes are too high. Schools are not good enough. Our air and water could be cleaner. Even our cable television channels make us mad. But this is it. This is all we have. This is the life we live in a free and open democracy. How did we get to this point in our lives? Most of us were born here. Many of us came here for our own personal reasons and have become full-fledged citizens. Can we change the way things are? Can we make our lives better? We can certainly try and, in this country, no one can stop us from complaining or trying. Guess why?


Today is Veterans Day and, at least for today, we should think about those who have served our country proudly and how they have protected our right to complain…and our right to try to make things better. We only have a draft or conscription during war times…and then with exceptions. Otherwise, our military is volunteer. Many other countries have conscription. China, Russia, Germany, Israel, South Korea, even Switzerland require two years of military service at the age of 18. There are many reasons to serve your country. Personally, I like patriotism. Being a patriot is honorable. It is a distinguishing characteristic. The dictionary says one who loves, supports and defends one’s country. We all may have different reasons but I think, deep down, we love our country.

I am reminded of a line from the powerful movie about military service, “A Few Good Men”. The lawyers who are defending two Marines in a case about their commitment to service are arguing about the motives of these two young men. One lawyer asks, “Why do you like them so much?” The other answers, “Because they stand upon a wall and say ‘Nothing’s going to hurt you tonight, not on my watch.’” That’s patriotism to me.

I come from a military family. My father was a career Army officer. He was drafted in World War II and fought on D-Day and in the Battle of the Bulge. Later in his career, he worked to create Civil Defense, now FEMA, to help our country in emergencies. I still remember seeing him on television standing behind President Carter at Three-Mile-Island when he was Chief of Staff of the Department. He was a patriot to the end of his days and he would have been appalled when “W” uttered that now-infamous statement, “Good job, Brownie.” Brownie would have been my father’s boss and he would have been embarrassed. He was a patriot.

It took me over a week in the 3rd Grade to be able to bounce a quarter off the square-cornered blanket on my bed. When I could pass my Dad’s inspection, I went on to other things. I never considered not serving my country during a very unpopular war. I’m definitely a veteran and I sincerely hope I’m a patriot. I have the greatest respect for those who have served our country. It should be considered an honor. Every veteran deserves our applause and gratitude…at least, on this day dedicated to them. So take a break from your belly-aching long enough to give thanks to those who have helped make this country a place we can all love. Salute the veterans. They deserve it.

A Girl Named Soleil

Even Mad Men slow down a bit on hot summer Friday afternoons. It was just such a lazy Friday a little over 10 years ago when the phone rang and it was the senior vice president of marketing for Cirque du Soleil. He wanted to talk about a project. Did I have time to meet? I’ll make time, I said.

Like Rick said to Louis at the end of the movie Casablanca, that meeting was “the beginning of beautiful friendship”. I remember that afternoon as if it were yesterday. I grabbed the agency’s BIG conference room and recruited a couple of folks who hadn’t already headed for the sun. We quickly pulled ourselves together and got ready for the challenge.

The meeting was very informal. We just talked. It turned out that the Senior VP and I had a lot in common in our business backgrounds. We’d both seen large-scale events from all angles. What he was looking for was help in bringing Cirque’s Saltimbanco travelling show from Singapore through the Pacific Northwest and then on to Tokyo. How did he find us, I asked. The story really started in Singapore where two DDB’ers whom I had met at a New York DDB board meeting gave the Cirque office there my name. Suffice it to say, it felt like a match to me but you never know in these situations. Seldom do you get an instant response. And it didn’t come this time either.

In an unusual turn for Cirque, they were looking for one-stop-shopping. They wanted all our services, advertising, PR, media, promotions, the whole ball of wax. This was an extremely special opportunity with what I consider to be the most creative entertainment organization in the world. I had picked the right people to be in the room with me. They were able answer all the questions and offer up some good ideas. Almost too quickly, we were wrapping things up. I felt like we needed a little extra boost before we let them get away.

Now I’m not really a “Don Draper” (slick closer, ad guy from television’s Mad Men series) kind-of-guy, but this move makes me think of him. When I let the agency know that Cirque would be in the house, one of our folks told me that she and her husband named their daughter, Soleil, because of their infatuation with Cirque. “We are totally committed to our clients,” I told the Senior VP as we walked out. “We look for long term relationships. This woman (and I found her for the introduction) thinks so much of the Cirque du Soleil brand that she named her daughter Soleil. She’ll be on your team and you’ll never have a more committed group working for you.” Really? Really!

Still after over 10 years, my friend, the Senior VP, tells that story and says that my parting comment was a big factor in him calling back later that day and saying they were ready to work with us.

Before we knew it, we were in Singapore immersing ourselves in the magic of Cirque. It’s been a wonderful long term relationship. If it isn’t fun, they won’t do it. And I found out quickly that Cirque is not short on good laughs. We were going to the premiere night of Saltimbanco in Singapore, so I asked if it was black tie. Of course, they told me. This is a very special opening event. Well, when I walked into the tent at the pre-party in my tux outfit I had lugged from Seattle, not only was I the only one in a monkey suit but when I met the President of Singapore in his wild print sport shirt, he said “Why did you get so dressed up?” A good laugh was had by all...at my expense. I have continued to wear a tux on premiere nights just to remind myself not to take anything too seriously.

It’s been a great ride for more than a decade. We’ve worked together in almost every aspect of their business. I’ve watched their performers hang from the halo at the top of the Space Needle waving at the diners in the restaurant like monkeys on a limb. My trips to Montreal still captivate me when I see “behind the curtain” and am amazed at all they do to make the magic look so easy.

I’ve been able to experience a lot backstage, from trying on the make-up to bungee jumping from the top of the Grand Chapiteau. Yes, I was scared to death and had an exhilarated buzz for the rest of the day. When I’ve gotten to know the cast a little, I’ve even had a bit of influence on who they pick to have fun with before the performance begins. College Chancellors and noted mountaineers were not immune.

On the most recent visit to our area, I saw the show a few times as usual and had a great laugh when they pulled an unsuspecting person out of the audience for a hilarious on-stage pick-pocket routine. On our VIP night when I brought a group of clients and friends to the show, I wondered who they would pick. As the performer looked at the guy sitting next to me, I hardly noticed that he had grabbed my arm. He picked me clean in front of the crowd, including taking off my tie. I’m surprised I still had pants on. The College Chancellor told me afterwards that whatever goes around, comes around and he was “happy” for me.

My respect for the Cirque organization is immeasurable. They have created one of the most recognized and revered brands in the world. I have been very fortunate to play a small role in the growth and success of such a fabulous company. Every time we get together my eyes grow wide with envy at what Cirque can do to amaze and entertain so many people. For me, it all started with a girl named Soleil.

For The Record

5000 is the number I have used for quite some time to describe the six floor-to-ceiling bookcases full of phonograph records in my basement. Actually, I stopped counting between 3000 and 4000 and, even now, I don’t know the real number. I just kept buying records. There was a “pusher” at Tower Records on Mercer Street here in Seattle who wouldn’t let me out the door without a handful of new music to sink my ears into.

Music has been a passion of mine as long as I can remember. My mom and dad loved music. It was always around. My first 45 (a small record with a big hole in it) was Elvis’s “Wear your ring around my neck” and my first 33 1/3 LP was the soundtrack from the movie South Pacific, which I had just seen in Todd-AO, the successor to Cinerama. Wow, there ain’t nothing like a dame… that Mitzi Gaynor was something else!

Regardless, you know where most of the money from my paper route was going. Once I was in school, there was always a record store on the way home and they had listening booths where you could sample the music before you bought the album. Those booths were a record store owner’s delight…because I almost always bought the album.



My taste in music is eclectic. There is not much that I don’t like, though acid rock and some grunge get a little hard on the ears after an hour or two. My “collection” grew in every direction imaginable. Jazz, classical, rock, opera, cast recordings, soundtracks and lots of world music when it was called African, French, Reggae, Calypso or Samba. And that doesn’t count my great Klezmer and Zydeco albums and the Maori Chants.

I could go on but I’ve got to get to the point of this story. All those records, along with the books and video tapes, in the basement came from years of cruising shops while travelling. It was a great way to fill empty time in the evenings and the occasional weekend when I was on the road. A few months ago on a complete whim, I decided to get rid of the VHS video tapes. I had over 1500 movies and TV shows on tape but have steadily been building a duplicate DVD collection . I converted some tapes to DVD, gave a few away to friends and then trashed the rest. It was actually pretty easy…and cathartic.

But then I began to stare at the record albums. There is a lot of sentimentality associated with them. Music does that to you. I even backed them up with turntables that haven’t even been out of the packing boxes, just to make sure I could always play them. So, I invested in another turntable that could digitize records and even cassette tapes. I picked almost 1000 that ended up on cd’s or my iPod. Then I started thinking what would I do with the records if we moved again. A client in the air freight business once told me that the heaviest thing to ship per cubic inch is phonograph records. I’ve carted most of these from one end of the country to the other and can vouch for the fact that they are quite a load.

At UW, I have a good friend that has always been ready to talk records and music with me. I decided to ask him what he thought I should do. “It depends on what you’ve got,” he said. So I invited him over to take a look and give me an assessment. He’s very serious about records and music. One thing that I learned in this process is that I am not a “collector”. I’m a “buyer”. I’ve always impulsively bought music that moved me wherever I was…Chinese string music from the streets of Beijing…and that kind of thing. My friend, Dave, is a collector. I have 5000 albums. He has 25,000 and he knows who designed most of the album covers. That’s a collector.

Dave spent a summer evening going through the stacks of records on the garage floor, looking closely at almost every one. He even wears a special stocking cap when he does these searches…for good luck in finding the ultimate album, I guess. “You’ve kept them in pretty good shape,” he said. Except for a few that barely survived the college drinking parties, he was right. “Too bad you wrote your name on them.” Oops, that’s the collector talking. He identified a handful that he thought, with some effort, might really be worth something on eBay. I let him have his pick before Jane cooked us dinner but there were still thousands left.

“Some are worth a few dollars, most are worth 50 cents or a nickel,” he told me. “I can call a couple of guys who have a lot of records and we could have them take a look.” “Fine,” I said. When Dave’s two friends each went through all the albums separately, a small stack appeared in each of their corners. This is where my picture of a “collector” became even clearer. I thought I had some very unique albums that only I liked and that others had probably never seen or heard. But, there was hardly an album that these guys didn’t look at and say “I’ve got two or three copies of this but the back cover was done in Nashville by a famous artist and it’s in better shape than any of mine.” Out of my league!

We made a deal for everything, loaded their van and said goodbye to decades of music enjoyment. I’ve kept the one’s that Dave told me might have some real value. Then I found another stash in the basement that I had missed so I’ve ended up with maybe 100 that take up ¾ of one shelf…and 5 ½ empty bookcases. Oh, there has been some seller’s remorse. I stood in line to buy every Beatles and Stones album the day it came out. I had a couple of folk albums that were new to my friend who is one of the original Brothers Four. There were cast albums from Broadway Shows that closed the first week. Several autographs that I couldn’t part with (I learned that some of the covers are worth more than the records.). My “pusher” at Tower turned me on to Larry Jon Wilson and that small collection even stumped the “collectors”. Memories!

All in all, it was a great experience. I learned a lot more about music and what it means to people. Still, I’ve got 20,000 songs on two iPods and about 1000 cd’s for what they’re worth. My friend Dave and I have lots more music to talk about and I’m very close to selling the cd’s and then starting to sort through the books. Don’t worry, the DVD collection has moved from the floor to the bookcases and continues to grow. I’ve got some great obscure little films that a “collector” will look at one day and say, “Wow! I’ve never seen this before.” Cool! I'll enjoy the moment.

A Major Hurdle

Seattle is full of itself. We’re very independent…very opinionated…and very provincial. Some things we take too seriously and other things not seriously enough. The site of the 1962 World’s Fair has become the city’s gathering place for festivals, celebrations, observations and demonstrations. Earlier this year, a proposal was put forward by two of the city’s icons, the Space Needle and world renowned artist Dale Chihuly. The idea was to create the world's largest exhibition of Dale Chihuly’s glass art on the site of a now defunct amusement park. At no cost to the taxpayers, this creative mecca would be a much-needed revenue-generator for the city, an attraction for hundreds of thousands of visitors and locals, a green playground designed by artists and a haven for arts education. Could you possibly guess that a handful of our citizens who don’t like Dale Chihuly’s art (my oh my, but I’m being much too kind here), a few more who think that we can turn Seattle Center into Central Park and yet others who had absolutely nothing to do with the Master Plan for the Center decided that this idea didn’t fit the mold? What was to be a gift for the good of our city was punched, slapped and battered near submission by this effete minority. It has been a long and winding road but today the sun broke through the clouds. We cleared a major hurdle when the Chihuly Exhibition was selected by the Center’s Review Committee to be the sole recommendation for use of the site. This has been a tough contest but the game is not over. The project has to go to the Mayor and then to the City Council for approval of the lease. Who knew it would be so hard to be nice. Oh well, as I said before, Seattle is full of itself.




Below is our statement on the recommendation and an early article posted on the Seattle Times website. The battle continues… but for today, we smile.



This process has brought renewed excitement and energy to the Seattle Center and we’re happy to be a part of it. Thank you to the Century 21 Committee. We hope that this focused attention on the Seattle Center will benefit the city, the tenants and the public as we begin the next fifty year chapter for the campus . The input received over the last several months from interested citizens, neighborhood groups and public officials has been invaluable in making a great project even better. We are anxious to move forward with the Chihuly exhibition and to play an active role with the Seattle Center, the Mayor and the City Council in bringing a new vitality and openness to the community’s premier gathering place.



As much as we’re thrilled about creating the Chihuly Exhibition, there is still opportunity to find room for one or more of the other proposals on the campus of Seattle Center and we are committed to that end. We want to thank Mayor McGinn and the Seattle City Council for encouraging collaborations. If we work together now, and quickly, there will be a number of wins in this process.



Jeff Wright

Chairman

Space Needle, LLC





http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2012925681_chihuly18m.html

The Insurgency in Seattle

For months now, many of us who care deeply about our city ("Civic Seattle") have been trying to put our finger on the pulse of the new administration.  And so far, we can't seem to find a heartbeat.  There may be several reasons for this but local pundit David Brewster (still an east coast transplant after 40 years) recently told that bastion of business and commerce leaders, the Downtown Rotary, what he thinks is happening...and, for the most part, I have to agree.  David and I have worked together for years and he has always tried his best to be the voice of the alternative view. Today, he is using http://www.crosscut.com/ as his mouthpiece and here is an excerpt from his current take on our fair city...alternative or not, there's a lot of truth in it.  Granted, this is local politics but Seattle is on the national scene now and we're not San Francisco 20 years ago. David is making unbiased sense...for once, at least.

"A year ago, probably many (including me) would have felt that Seattle politics was very stable. Mayor Greg Nickels had put together a traditional political coalition of developers, unions, big business interests, municipal employees, and environmentalists, leaving only neighborhood groups and deep-greens on the outs. Then suddenly, voters gave the two-term mayor a pink slip, as he finished third in the primary to two unknowns.

What happened? Nickels was an inside mayor, liked at city hall and good in deal-making but not well connected with the public. Another factor was Obama’s campaign a year before, which drew many young people into politics and trained them in the new, social-media aspects of highly targeted politics. Many flocked to the Mike McGinn campaign, and then on into his administration, which retains the feeling of a youthful crusade, cheerfully defying their unbelieving elders.

“Authenticity” is a key value for these young voters, who are deeply cynical about conventional politics and super-quick at detecting phoniness. Accordingly, Mayor Mike dresses casually, hangs out with young crowds at the Crocodile, and does seemingly outrageous things like dissing Steve Ballmer or ignoring the protocol for state-of-the city addresses. These things send powerful messages of insurgency and genuineness.

McGinn, more than most politicians around here, grasps that Seattle has changed dramatically in the last 10-15 years, becoming a McGinn kind of town. Seattle had been, during the long Cold War boom that greatly favored the region and its economy, a classic "city of the last move." People moved here in mid-career, psychologically considering Seattle a place to settle down, to join civic organizations, to get involved in local schools. They were the ones who took the legendary fork on the Oregon Trail west — the one leading to farmland, not gold fields. And they built, particularly in the 1970s and 80s, an admirably civic-minded culture, what I call Civic Seattle.

Well, Seattle is now a classic "city of the first move." As they do with New York and San Francisco and LA, restless young people move here right out of college. They want to hang out in a cool city with lots of starter jobs and other young people and nightlife. Psychologically, they are not really intending to stay so much as to get launched. Last-move cities build solid middle class neighborhoods, jobs, and institutions. First-move cities draw an irreverent, disruptive, geeky “creative class.” They are the footloose foot soldiers of an innovation economy.

And that’s produced the major fault line in our region and our politics: the tension between an Innovation Economy and a somewhat dispirited Civic Seattle. Bridging this gap is the challenge and opportunity of the day. That’s my theme in this essay.

Thanks largely to Microsoft, this region massively put its eggs in the new economy and the young workforce it requires. The transformation has been especially dramatic and swift in Seattle. Only a generation ago, we were the most middle-class large city in America. Now we are a city with a disproportionately high number of well-educated, young, detached newcomers. We are San Francisco.

Here are a few figures to demonstrate how extreme a case Seattle has become, how far the pendulum has swung.

 Our average household size is now 2.08, well below the national average of 2.61 and lower even than San Francisco’s (2.24).

 The percentage of families with kids is 19 percent, while the national average is 31and San Francisco’s is 18.

 The percentage of non-family or unmarried households is 55 percent, compared to the national average of 33 percent.

 53 percent of Seattle adults have a college degree, highest in the nation and 20 points above the national average of 33 percent.

 Lastly, 31 percent of the Seattle population has lived in the city for five years or less; only Austin, Texas has a higher number, and it’s 32 percent.

Welcome to the Next Seattle. Smart, unmoored, mobile, young, liberal in politics. (Interestingly, the demographic portrait of towns surrounding Seattle is very close to the national norms.) So, Civic Seattle, picture a speeding bicyclist passing you as you sit in your Lexus SUV at a long red light. And maybe giving you the finger.

Such rapid demographic change has finally caught up with our slow-to-change political order. Suddenly coming to power, this new elite finds the fading regime too fond of cars, too slow in addressing climate change, too cozy with established ways of doing things. As one friend in the McGinn shop enjoys telling me, I’m Microsoft. Mayor Mike’s Apple.

In short, Mayor McGinn is no fluke. And his politics,as well as McGinn himself, are likely here to stay. These politics are impatient, oppositional, anti-suburban, deep green. They have only the slightest ties to unions, to big vested interests like the University of Washington or Microsoftor city hall and its rule-bound workers. Just as previous insurgencies used the Pike Place Market and the Commons and the R.H. Thomson Expressway as wedge issues in assuming power and as organizational tools to rally the young troops, so this rising counter-elite uses the deep-bore waterfront tunnel as a big fat symbol of auto-worshipping old-think.

Our version of evolution is more like punctuated equilibrium, where we jump to a new plateau rather suddenly.

A critical question is whether the McGinn insurgency will have staying power, or whether it will provoke a return to the political consensus Seattle has enjoyed since 1970. I’m pretty fond of that old order, having chronicled it and cheered it on for decades. Develop the arts, make a major research university, build a lively downtown, create fine urban neighborhoods to hold the middle class, cherish diversity, rescue old buildings like Town Hall, and keep plugging away at reforming our schools and building transit.

It’s a good record, but viewed by this Next Seattle, it’s not good enough, not contemporary enough. Where’s the extensive rail transit? Where’s the global leadership to a post-carbon economy? Where are the switched-on schools? Where’s the living arts scene, as opposed to a museumized culture? Why, above all, such complacency?

The key issue around which this new politics turns is climate change, and what we can do about it locally and in our daily lives. To its credit, this new political order doesn't want to keep biding its time, accepting tiny gains. Consider, for instance, the longtime goal of Civic Seattle to stop sprawl and build up a high-interaction, culturally rich downtown. The record is not very good. The Downtown Seattle Association recently reported that Seattle has lost 30,000 jobs in the past decade, 21,000 of them from the core city. We are very late in building rail transit, maybe too late. Or look at this measure, the percentage of all jobs in a region more than 10 miles outside of the central business district. Of the 45 largest American cities, Seattle (56 percent outside 10 miles) comes in 10th worst. "

By David Brewster

Trial by fire

Crisis Communications has been part of my professional life for as long as I can remember. On my first corporate job, I walked into a work stoppage (strike to those of us not in a union) that almost crippled an iconic Midwestern manufacturing company. It ended mercifully just before they had to close the doors. NBC’s Jane Pauley was one of the local reporters (before she joined NBC) that I had to speak with every day for months. She was new to the news game and had never covered a strike before. Good thing I knew her from college. For both of us, it was a trial by fire… but that’s the only way to learn this business. It’s strenuous and stressful and even scary sometimes. Like many jobs, you have to have the right temperament to be good at it. Since then, I’ve counseled numerous corporations and their executives, sports stars, politicians, non-profit organizations, two Presidents and the Dalai Lama. I’ve now taught crisis communications at the University of Washington for 20 years. The all-day crisis communication workshop is consistently the highest rated single class session in the year-long curriculum. It’s the day when the students feel the pressure and the stress. They come prepared for anything and, thanks to my role-playing friends, they are never completely ready for the communications challenges they are faced with…because that’s the reality of crisis communications…trial by fire.




I have just finished writing an email to a New York Times reporter named Peter S. Goodman. His article in last Sunday’s Times is better than any textbook I have ever seen on this subject. He’s got great material to work with from BP, Toyota and Goldman Sachs. But he gets under the skin of the public face of those companies. And through the eyes of the internal communications chiefs and several experienced outside professionals, he paints a very vivid picture, good and bad, of the impact of this profession on business today. Much of the interpretation and advice in this article are things I have told clients and even some of you who read these blogs. But it never hits home until it happens to you or until a reporter gets to the heart of it and nails it. Kudos to Peter Goodman for masterfully presenting our business in a way that can be understood by many for what it is…artful communication…and remember there’s good art and there’s bad art. If you have the time, read this and read all of it.  It's what I do.  Enjoy.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/business/22crisis.html?scp=1&sq=crisis%20communications&st=Search

Sure, you remember the World Cup...South Africa and those crazy horns

That swarm of bees buzzing on our television in June and July is quiet now. Unless you pull out your own personal “vuvuzela” and give it a toot (I do every once in a while), World Cup Fever is subsiding. South Africa’s big coming-out party was the second event in a year full of world-class extravaganzas for us. It began with the Vancouver Olympics and now we move on to the World Expo in Shanghai, which has already reached a full head of steam.

My good fortune of working on the world stage for many years now has drawn us together with exceptional colleagues and wonderful friends everywhere. And it is those relationships that have guided us into these high profile international happenings. South Africa is perfect case in point.

Twenty years ago, I made my first trip to South Africa. I remember when changing planes in Johannesburg, you had to go through an x-ray machine. Next to the machine, on a steel table, was a grey plastic box like the one’s we’re all used to now for our shoes, laptops, coats and all. The stenciled sign on the box read “Deposit all weapons here”. And the box was perpetually full. Hand guns, knives, machetes, cartridge clips, even steel-tipped darts. Virtually every local that walked through was carrying a weapon of some sort. Unbelievable, I thought at the time! They were handed back to the owner at the other end of the flight…but they were on board with us.

Fortunately, that doesn’t happen anymore. Well past the turn of the century, I made yearly trips to South Africa. I was there just before, during and right after Nelson Mandela was elected president. A few years later, I made the trip to Pretoria. We pulled up, just like Matt Damon in the movie “Invictus” did, to have our audience with the president and his national head of sport at the Capitol. I can still smell the purple-flowered Jacaranda trees in full bloom as we walked in. We were the first international sporting event to be hosted by South Africa after the election. It was an exciting time.

The lasting friendships I’ve made there over the past two decades are very special to me. They have taught me so much about their country and life in a society that we outsiders are still struggling to understand. They’ve exposed me to the beauty of their land, the warm graciousness and hospitality of the people, as well as the sadness, violence and poverty that continue to plague them in many places.

My friends are also very well connected…and so, just as I did in Beijing with the Olympics, when South Africa got the nod, I sent an email telling them that I wanted to share the experience anyway I could. You might guess that they pulled me into all the action from every angle…right down to “tweeting” minute to minute from the stands during several of the matches. As you can see, I’ve even made a personal contribution to their economy by owning every possible piece of World Cup merchandise that was offered at the stadiums.

My insider’s view began with the building of the stadiums, the airports and the transport systems. The locals were skeptical themselves that they could pull it off but the infrastructure came together to make it happen. My good friend in the health care business had three hospitals in her region chosen as FIFA hospitals. During the 18 months prior to the World Cup, disaster plans were developed for all based on the New York City model, post-911. These related directly to the crisis work that we're being asked to do on a regular basis.

I got an intimate look at sponsorships including VISA’s prime involvement. Their link with Castrol put VISA in a position to use ticket promotions at the retail level, which resulted in increases from 40% to 300% in various markets. They were also able to get good outdoor trade exchanges from many shopping centers. However, it was interesting to see that banks, consumer goods and even some other gasoline retailers were able to put ticket promotions together without paying any sponsorship fees by having their customers spend with a VISA credit or debit card. Without the option of offering tickets, MasterCard and American Express were really never able to compete.

From opening day to the final match it was “absolutely electrifying…the people, the flags and the vuvuzelas were just impossible to beat,” according to one of my local compadres, “Such a special time in our lives”. Even the personal tragedy in Nelson Mandela’s family could not diminish the enthusiasm of the natives of his country when the cameras rolled for the month-long event. It was an education for the rest of the world. When I met him last in Seattle a few years ago, President Mandela was receiving an honorary degree. I was representing one of our local community colleges and he said to me, “You know that education is the most powerful weapon you can use to change the world.” That statement could not be more true than for the power and influence of South Africa’s World Cup.

The championship drew a global audience 7 times larger than the Super Bowl. Futbol (soccer to us in America)is an amazingly democratic game. It can be played anywhere and the pitch (the field) is always level…literally and figuratively. It is a game that helps raise the standards for education and encourages youth to work together. This World Cup did all that and more. It helped free a country from a false impression.

So much was right about South Africa’s World Cup. The people there worked together to make it a huge success. One of today’s greatest players, Cameroon’s Samuel Eto’o is quoted as saying “Success is much more than a question of quality…it’s a question of heart.” That’s true of the game and of the South African people.

To Susan, Howard, Ian, Rob, Grant and Margaret, my deepest heartfelt thanks for sharing this World Cup experience with me… for all you’ve taught me over the years…for all you’ve helped me see…for the compassion, friendship and understanding you’ve shown. You have my undying gratitude and love…for you and your magnificent country. YOUR World Cup was a vision of the future for all of us. Ngiyabonga!

Dan Mc

“If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.”
Nelson Mandela

And The Tony Award goes to...

The 5th Avenue Theatre is a jewel in America's musical theatre crown. It truly represents the heart and soul of Seattle. My long time association with this institution as a consultant, advisor and board member has been among my most rewarding activities. I have gone through the growing pains, the difficult financial times along with the rebirth, rejuvenation and great successes. Long-time managing director Marilynn Sheldon found Executive Producer and Artistic Director David Armstrong to form the team that has propelled the theatre into the 21st Century. First they brought Hairspray to us and we launched it on to Broadway with great success. Now Producing Partners Kenny and Marleen Alhadeff have drawn us into association with Memphis, a spectacular new musical that has taken Broadway by storm this summer. We walked this completely original production through every step from birth to the New York stage. And now it has won the Tony Award for the year's Best Musical and we are sharing a tiny part in that tremendous success. Muscial theatre brings joy into people's lives. What could be more rewarding. We are so proud to play a small role in the 5th Avenue Theatre family and the production of Memphis. We are honored to hold up our Tony Award for all the world to see. How exciting!

It's been a year...

We had been exploring in York, England, for a few days and stopped in Cambridge on the way back to London. After our obligatory afternoon tea on the River Cam, we headed back to our friends’ home on the bank of the Thames. We’d been there a week and, although the jet-lag was over for us, the car ride made everyone ready for a nap, except me. The radio is always on in their home and I had to listen twice when I heard “Michael Jackson has died.” His much anticipated comeback tour was to begin in London on July 8 so his name was all over the news from the time we arrived.

Michael Jackson’s death was to this generation as Elvis Presley’s was to a generation earlier. Whether you liked his music (and I did) or not, he was an icon of the times. His persona was bigger than life. He had come from being a child star with his brothers to the ultimate pop star in front of our eyes over two decades. Even when things got very weird for him in the latter years, he stayed close to his fans and became quite a philanthropist.

One of Michael’s lasting tributes is the viral effects of the dance from his Thriller video that have permeated our society. Not since John Travolta’s famous disco moves in Saturday Night Fever has choreography moved the public the way Thriller did. It’s one of the all-time You Tube successes from subways and train stations to schools and living rooms. It is the number one music video of all time, according to MTV. I love the version that comes out of nowhere in the Jennifer Garner movie “13 Going On 30”. The movie is pretty sappy otherwise but that scene is a scream!

Michael’s music was all over BBC radio and television that night and we listened and reminisced to it right through my favorite dinner of Julia’s famous cottage pie, which just writing it makes my mouth water. His music is happy. It makes you feel good. It makes you want to dance…and we did, regardless of what the sight of me dancing does for you.

The next morning, we took a nice walk with our friends to the Two Rivers Mall near their home. I stopped in at the Boots Pharmacy and picked up all the London papers to add to my ever-growing souvenir collection. There was even a special section on “How to do the moonwalk.” People were trying it in all the open spaces at the Mall. It reminded me that Michael Jackson was an amazing entertainer. He made us smile. He made us move. He did what entertainers are supposed to do. He moved his audiences.

Throughout the period after his death and then the memorial service and burial, what struck me most was that the weirdness associated with him in recent years was not the topic. It was Michael Jackson’s talent and music and influence and philanthropy that took the front seat. That’s pretty special for an entertainer. It’s pretty special for any public figure.

I can’t do a playlist on my iPod without one Michael Jackson number just to get my feet moving and to put a smile on my face. Even one year later, Michael Jackson lives!

From my friend in South Africa

For twenty years, I have been travelling to South Africa. There have been many changes during that time and almost all for the better. The country is one of my most favorite places in the world. As we watch the World Cup open our eyes to an exciting and beautiful South Africa, I revisit the times that I have tried to explain why we, especially in America, don't fully or clearly understand the ways of that country. Now that I think of it, we are not particularly good at understanding or even trying to understand the ways of other countries. Regardless, a South African friend sent me the following "Open Letter To Foreign Media" this week and it makes my point very effectively. WAKA WAKA! (This Time for Africa!)

________________________________________
by Peter Davies 09/06/2010 09:09

Dear World Cup visitors,
Now that you are safely in our country you are no doubt happily realising you are not in a war zone. This may be in stark contrast to what you have been bracing yourself for should you have listened to Uli Hoeness or are an avid reader of English tabloids, which as we all know are only good for wrapping fish ‘n chips and advancing the careers of large-chested teens on page three.
As you emerge blinking from your luxury hotel room into our big blue winter skies, you will surely realise you are far more likely to be killed by kindness than by a stray bullet. Remember that most of the media reports you have read, which have informed your views on South Africa, will have been penned by your colleagues. And you know what journos are like, what with their earnest two thousand word opuses on the op-ed pages designed to fix this country’s ills in a heartbeat. Based on exhaustive research over a three-day visit.
Funnily enough, we are well aware of the challenges we face as a nation and you will find that 95% of the population is singing from the same song-sheet in order to ensure we can live up to our own exacting expectations.
We are also here to look after you and show you a good time. Prepare to have your preconceived notions well and truly shattered.
For instance, you will find precious few rhinos loitering on street corners, we don’t know a guy in Cairo named Dave just because we live in Johannesburg, and our stadiums are magnificent, world-class works of art.
Which is obviously news to the Sky TV sports anchor who this week remarked that Soccer City looked ‘ a bit of a mess’. She didn’t realize the gaps in the calabash exterior are to allow in natural light and for illumination at night, and not the result of vandalism or negligence.
The fact that England, the nation which safely delivered Wembley Stadium two years past its due date, is prepared to offer us South Africans advice on stadium-readiness should not be surprising. The steadiest stream of World Cup misinformation has emanated from our mates the Brits over the past couple of years.
If it’s not man-eating snakes lurking in Rooney’s closet at the team’s (allegedly half-built) Royal Bafokeng training base, then it’s machete-wielding gangs roaming the suburbs in search of tattooed, overweight Dagenham dole-queuers to ransack and leave gurgling on the pavement.
In fact what you are entering is the world’s most fascinating country, in my opinion. I’m pretty sure you will find that it functions far more smoothly, is heaps more friendly and offers plenty more diversions than you could possibly have imagined.
In addition to which, the population actually acts like human beings, and not like they are being controlled by sinister forces from above which turns them into bureaucratically-manipulated robots.
Plus we have world’s most beautiful women. The best weather. Eight channels of SuperSport. Food and wine from the gods themselves. Wildlife galore. (Love the Dutch team’s bus slogan: “Don’t fear the Big 5; fear the Orange 11”).
Having said all that, Jo’burg is undoubtedly one of the world’s most dangerous cities. Just ask those Taiwanese tourists who got out of their hire car to take close-up snaps of tawny beasts at the Lion Park a few years back. Actually, ask what’s left of them. And did you know the chances of being felled by cardiac arrest from devouring a mountain of meat at one of our world class restaurants has been statistically proven to be 33.3% higher in Jozi than in any other major urban centre not built upon a significant waterway? It’s true. I swear. I read it in a British tabloid.
Having recently spent two years comfortably cocooned in small town America, I’m only too aware of how little much of the outside world knows about this country. The American channel I used to work for has a massive battalion of employees descending on World Cup country. It has also apparently issued a recommendation to its staff to stay in their hotels when not working.
Given that said corporation is headquartered in a small town which many say is “best viewed through the rear-view mirror”, I find the recommendation, if it’s true, to be utterly astounding. In fact I don’t believe it is true. Contrary to the global stereotype, the best Americans are some of the sharpest people in the world. The fact they have bought most tickets in this World Cup proves the point.
Of course I have only lived in Johannesburg, city of terror and dread, virtually all my life, so don’t have the in-depth knowledge of say, an English broadsheet journalist who has been in the country for the weekend, but nevertheless I will share some of my observations gleaned over the years.
Any foreign tourist or media representative who is worried about his safety in South Africa should have a word with the Lions rugby fans from last year, or the Barmy Army cricket supporters (lilywhite hecklers by day, slurring, lager-fuelled lobsters by night). They managed just fine, just like the hundreds of thousands of fans who have streamed into the country over the past fifteen years for various World Cups, Super 14 matches, TriNations tests and other international events. Negligible crime incidents involving said fans over said period of time.
Trivia question: which country has hosted the most global sporting events over the past decade and a half? You don’t need me to answer that, do you?
In addition. Don’t fret when you see a gaggle of freelance salesmen converge on your car at the traffic lights (or robots as we like to call them) festooned with products. You are not about to be hijacked. Here in Mzansi (nickname for SA) we do a lot of our purchasing at robots. Here you can stock up on flags, coat hangers, batteries, roses for the wife you forgot to kiss goodbye this morning and a whole host of useful merchandise.
Similarly, that guy who runs up as you park the rental car outside the pub intends no malice. He’s your car guard. Give him a buck or two and your vehicle will be safe while you refuel for hours on our cheap, splendid beer. Unless someone breaks into it, of course.
We drive on the left in this country. Exercise caution when crossing the road at a jog-trot with 15 kilograms of camera gear on your back. Exercise common sense full stop. Nothing more. Nothing less. If you want to leave wads of cash in your hotel room like our Colombian friends, don’t be surprised if it grows wings.
Bottomline. Get out there and breathe in great lusty lungfuls of this amazing nation. Tuck into our world-class food and wines. Disprove the adage that white men can’t dance at our throbbing, vibrant night-clubs. Learn to say hello in all eleven official languages. Watch at least one game in a township. You will not be robbed and shot. You will be welcomed like a lost family member and looked after as if you are royalty. Ask those Bulls rugby fans who journeyed to Soweto recently.
With a dollop of the right attitude, this country will change your life.
It’s Africa’s time. Vacate your hotel room. Join the party.
Waka waka eh eh.

"No Futbol!"...YES, WORLD CUP!!

Albissola Marina is a nice little seaside town on the Italian Riviera. We had hoped to reach Nice before nightfall but after a long, hot July day on the autostrada, where your foot constantly cramps up from pushing down on the gas pedal trying to keep up with the traffic, we were ready for a break and there was Albissola Marina. A delightful pensione, just a block from the beach, had a very nice room for us. We checked in quickly, took a beach stroll and then a nap before dinner. When we came downstairs, the reception room/bar was empty. We called out but no answer. It was a short walk to an inviting restaurant with a screened-in porch for dining. After a considerable wait, a young woman came out and begrudgingly took our order. There were no other diners and no sight of any traffic on the sidewalk or the street outside. Strange, we thought, but maybe this was another one of those European “siesta” times that we hadn’t experienced.

The meal was excellent and so was the pitcher of house wine that always seems to match the food perfectly. The young woman warmed up a bit as the evening went on but she was still a little grumpy. I finally put the sign language aside and, after a brief look at my phrase book, in my best pidgin Italian, I said, “Where are the people?”. This got no response at all. Then I asked, “Is there something wrong here?”. Two words came back, “No Calcio!”. “Calcio?,” I said. “Futbol…No Futbol!” she responded as she walked to the screen door and pointed down the street. I still didn’t get it. So we paid the bill and started walking down the empty street in the direction she had pointed. It was dark by then but it was still a very weird feeling as we walked along. A block and a half away, we heard a muffled cheer…then another…and another. In a very large house with a big front porch, we found virtually everyone who lived in Albissola Marina. The 21-inch, black & white television was sitting precariously on the top of a bookcase. THE soccer match was on television and the whole town was watching. Young and old, they all were squinting to catch every move as Milan played Amsterdam in something called the European Cup that was leading up to the World Cup in West Germany the next year.

This was my first real encounter with the power of soccer around the world. It’s football everywhere else and what we play on the gridiron is American Football. From my stuttering Italian conversation with some of the local revelers in the big house, I found that this was the only television in that part of town, that “calcio” is the Italian word for soccer and that the young woman from the restaurant had said “No Futbol!” because she was lamenting being the one left behind to work while the rest of her family came to watch the match. (Milan lost, by the way.) Soccer is indeed the world’s game.

Flash forward to today. We’re lucky here in Seattle to be a soccer town. Many of us know the game, follow it closely and even play, as long as our bodies hold together. The Sounders FC have become the darlings of professional soccer in this country and no youth or school soccer programs come close to those we have homegrown here. In my travels, I have been fortunate to see soccer being played in every corner of the world. For almost twenty years, I have been travelling to South Africa and I have made many wonderful friends there. This is their moment and South Africans are feeling the pride and jubilation. Sport is bringing us another world-changing spectacle. We saw it in Beijing with the Chinese…and then in Vancouver for the Canadians. My friends from the veld are well-connected in sports circles and they have brought me into the loop with the local organizers of these games. I’m “skyping” my opinions on a regular basis and still hope to be there before this momentous month is over.

The African continent and South Africa in particular has always been a mystical and spiritual place for me. As the players of Bufana Bufana, the South African team, came down the ramp into the stadium this morning and took the hands of school children, you could sense the emotion. Seeing our good friend, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who has grown so close to Seattle and its people, cheering in the stands with that beautiful smile of his was truly heart-warming. Sadly missing was the heart of South Africa, 91-year-old Nelson Mandela, also a great friend to our community. In spite of a personal tragedy in his family, his message to the country came through loud and clear…these games must go on.

So put on your rally scarf. Grab your vuvuzela (we used to call them stadium horns but vuvuzela is so much more fun to say.). Get ready to toot and cheer because these games are happening…now! I told my good friend in the UK this morning that he’d better start practicing his Ugly American cheers because there will be no holds barred when the USA and England play tomorrow. British Petroleum be damned!!! It’s World Cup Fever…catch it!

June 6...a day to remember

The season began with Bobby Kennedy announcing his candidacy for President of the United States. Unfortunately that was the high mark of the Spring of 1968. Just over two weeks later, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis; next came more than a month of the worst urban riots this country has ever seen; a month after that Bobby Kennedy was murdered in Los Angeles when he all but wrapped up the Democratic nomination; and then the country fell into a long demoralizing protest over the war in Vietnam that went on for years.

Spring is supposed to be a rebirth and a rejuvenation. Bobby Kennedy’s run for President was just such a breath of fresh air. We were ready for a change and it was clear that Bobby could deliver.

My first encounter with him had come earlier in my Capitol Hill internship as part of something called the White House Seminars. I was on the steering committee and each week during the spring and summer months, all the interns would gather to hear from various members of the amazing cadre of advisors that had been assembled by President Kennedy during his all-too-short term. Bobby was on the list as Attorney General and that initial engagement was electric. He was a whirling dervish. He was everywhere and hardly drew a breath while he was connecting with everyone in the room. There was a glimmer of recognition when we shook hands as he remembered his involvement in bringing my father and our family to Washington, DC, but that’s another story for another time.

Now Bobby Kennedy was going to be President. We just knew it. From my office in the Rayburn House Office Building, I had frequently connected with his staffers and, as I got to know them, it was an easy decision to join the Capitol Hill Supporters for RFK. The group was informal because we couldn’t be seen as political in our government positions. We met in nearby pubs and apartments while we were reviewing campaign strategies and speeches. Our opinions, along with many others, were constantly being sought on a host of relevant issues including the war.

Not five years earlier, his brother Jack had been assassinated in an earth-shaking event that changed our country immeasurably. Bobby constantly reminded us that a mere 8 years before, he was a campaign manager and, therefore, knew and appreciated all the work we were doing to help him get elected. Working on his campaign made it easier to cope with the volatility of the times. It definitely kept us moving in the right direction. Even when the orders came to report for military service, my father’s life-long commitment to the Army seemed in perfect concert with the fact that Bobby and his brothers had all served as well. You don’t have to want war to feel compelled to protect your freedoms. I never questioned it.

Just before Bobby headed to the west coast in May for the Oregon and California primaries, he stopped by the Capitol Hill apartment where we were meeting. He was there for half an hour. He read parts of speeches on civil rights, poverty and the war that he wanted feedback on. We had heard his words before but now the messages were very finely tuned. To the group, he said, “I’m a little concerned about Senator McCarthy in Oregon (note: McCarthy upset Bobby there) but Cesar Chavez and California will put us over the top.” He shook hands with each of us as he left with thanks for our efforts. “I’m told your father is doing a great job at the Pentagon,” he said to me. The rush of pride had to be noticeable. And then, he was gone.

Certain dates become landmarks in our history. “Black Thursday” when the stock market crashed on October 29, 1929, was indelible to my grandparents; The attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941; D-Day, June 6, 1944, when allied troops, including my father, landed in Normandy; of course, September 11, 2001; all dates ingrained in our learning. We celebrate the birthdays of some our great leaders but lately I’ve noticed that the dates when our leaders have been struck down are beginning to blur. Abraham Lincoln was shot on April 14, 1865, Good Friday, and died on April 15 (OK, I looked that one up!); JFK was killed on Friday, November 22, 1963…even this date has dulled in the minds of the current generation; Martin Luther King was gunned down on Thursday, April 4, 1968, and I’ve written about that day and those immediately after; and a serious attempt on the life of President Reagan occurred on Monday, March 30, 1981 as I was on my way to a client meeting in Austin, Texas, when we heard the news on the new upstart cable television network called CNN.

Tuesday, June 4, 1968, was a run-of-the-mill day on Capitol Hill. I did some research and writing on two education bills that were being presented for committee review. Lunch was at the Rayburn Building cafeteria for some of its famous bean soup. The Capitol Hill group met briefly at the end of the day for a quick rally before we all headed home to watch the primary results come in from California. Nothing was really instant then. There wasn’t even much instant reporting because live coverage was very limited. Although there were voting machines, it felt like every ballot was being counted by hand, maybe literally one hand, and it took forever. It was after 2am eastern time on Wednesday, June 5, that Bobby Kennedy was declared the winner in California. Bleary-eyed, I watched him give his victory speech on my little black & white television just before 3am. All I could think about was Bobby becoming President. Things would be right in the world again.

I left the TV on while I got ready for bed. Suddenly there was a commotion, screams and shouts of “Bobby’s been shot!” It was frightening. I woke up my parents and the vigil began. I think we really knew he would not recover but we held on to that slender thread of hope throughout the entire day. Reports came periodically and we would try to work in between but our minds couldn’t function clearly. The office was a tomb. No one could leave the conference room where there was a television and radio. We all drove home in silence and it wasn’t until the early morning hours on Thursday, June 6, when word came that he had died.

Such emotional times those were. Bobby’s funeral would be in New York while I was driving to the Midwest to attend college graduation ceremonies. I came right back to DC feeling the need not to miss a moment of the requiem. A week later, I went to the gravesite at Arlington Cemetery. Near his brother, in the green grass, was a simple white cross and marker. It seemed so right. I shot a couple of pictures (one above) because the crowds were gone. It was an intense moment. It was hard during those times to keep mustering the strength to feel good about our country. But we had to try.

So you can place Thursday, June 6,1968, on the list of dates to remember from our times. We lost ground in our quest for peace and equality on that day but the example had been set. We just have to keep trying.

"Mick" and "Oh"

The Irish love to talk. Telling stories is even more fun. When I first met Lance O’Toole, he said, “I’m glad to have a “Mick” on my side, even if you’re not a Marine!” The “Mc” on the front of my last name and “O” on his immediately told us we were countrymen of some sort from the Ould Sod. Mick, from Mc, has become a slang term for Irish(sometimes derogatory, if you’re English) and O-anything is a dead giveaway. Everyone in this amazing country has roots somewhere in the world but some of us feel the ties more than others. The two of us never stopped talking from the day we met.

Lance and I were learning to be field artillery officers together in Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. We were far away from families, in our 20’s and newly married. He had already done his “Boot Camp” and I had done my “Basic”. We reported for duty on July 4. Jane and I had changed our wedding date to June 29 after my orders came and we had five days to drive from DC to Ft. Sill. Lance had come in on 4th too and we met at PT (physical training in military speak) the next morning.

We always argued about how “Irish” each of us were and I have to say that his red hair gave him a distinct advantage. The stories we told each other about our families and childhoods filled the long hot days of summer that were full of classroom work in sweltering Quonset huts, days and nights on the firing range with the 105mm and 155mm howitzers being used in Vietnam and endless forays into the countryside to practice being forward observers who direct the artillery fire onto the enemy targets. “FO” was the pre-determined job for most 2nd Lieutenants so, believe me, we paid very close attention to those drills.

Lance always wanted to be a Marine. Some fall into it but he had thought about it a lot and as soon as he could enlist, he did. Becoming an officer was a very proud moment for Lance and we talked about what it meant and would mean to our lives. My dad, who spent his life in the military, couldn’t be there when I was commissioned but, years later, he told me how much my being an officer during Vietnam had meant to him and that filled a void in me that to this day is very satisfying.

It wouldn’t be the last time but I was the odd duck in my gunnery school class. Because of the war, the Department of Defense was running all the services with ground troops through the same schools. As luck would have it, I was in a class of Marines with only two other Army officers so we were constantly being verbally abused. My ace in the hole was Lance P. O’Toole. He called me “Mick” and I called him “O” and we stood back to back when we were in the field ready to take on anything they could throw at us. It was good-natured but you know as well as I do that boys will be boys.

Our orders came in late September. As I opened the envelope, I remember that for the first time since we’d been in Oklahoma we had opened the windows of our apartment to let in some “cool” night air and I could feel it. I had been levied overseas but was being temporarily held back to be a gunnery instructor at the school. The next day I learned that all the Marines were headed for Vietnam.

Lance and I spent those last few days before they left talking about plans for the future. What were we going to do when we were discharged? What kind of jobs would we be looking for or even be qualified for? Where would we call home? That summer on the plains of Oklahoma was our first step out into the light of our own lives. Like our troops today, we were doing what our country asked us to do. In spite of what your mind tells you, your heart says being a patriot is the right thing.

The day Lance left, I helped him pack the car because he had stored some of his gear at our place overnight. “Good luck, Oh, it’s been great getting to know you” I said. “Mick, I’ll see you on the other side.”

Two months later, I had just been assigned to the Agent Orange project and was stationed at Edgewood Arsenal outside of Baltimore. Another Marine from our class called to say that Lance had been killed in a firefight less than a month after arriving in country. He wasn’t the first friend I had lost to that war, nor would he be the last, but we were Irish and we’d made a connection that was hundreds of years in the making. In the boxes that we shipped cross country from Ft. Sill was something that Lance had left behind. It’s a simple Army-issue green canvas camp stool. I still use it today to sit on while I shine my shoes. Stamped on the leg in true Marine style, it reads “Lance P. O’Toole”.

Each Memorial Day, I pull out that stool and the picture of Lance and me that Jane took on the day of our graduation from gunnery school. My memories of him and that summer in Oklahoma paint a brilliant picture of life, of freedom, of ancestry, of country. To me, wars are much less about ideology, nationalism, religion or politics than they are about the people who fight them. I long for a time when we can find peace in this world…when the “Oh’s” and “Mick’s” don’t have to be “good soldiers”. That time can’t come too soon. I miss you, Lance. I’ll see you on the other side.

It's just a play...

The annual ArtsFund luncheon in Seattle is one of those “can’t miss” affairs. Every corner of our art world is represented. Most organizations and major underwriters have their own tables. Over a 1000 supporters of the arts are in the house. It’s an arts “love in”.

This year, I was honored to sit with my friends from the Seattle Symphony as their world renowned Music Director Gerard Schwarz was presented the lifetime achievement award. It was particularly moving to have his son Julian perform a very engaging Handel piece on the cello with violinist Elisa Barston. For sure, it moved Gerry.

Being at the luncheon prompted me to reflect on how the arts have affected my life. My interests have always been wide ranging. I had a fourth grade teacher who loved the Renaissance and took every opportunity to tell us that pursuing all of your interests was very important to experiencing a full life. It did not take me long to immerse myself in music, art, performing, science, sports, astronomy, world culture and language, which made my parents scratch their heads. Why in the world was I taking an interest in all these subjects? A short attention span? I hope not. There was just so much out there to learn and more importantly experience.

As I sat listening to Handel’s Passacaglia, I was reminded of an incident in high school that was a tipping point for me. As my teen years progressed, I developed more than a passing interest in writing, music and language. But before I knew it, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat consumed me and sports became my life. After all, you didn’t get a cool sweater and jacket with letters, bars and pins all over them from the Spanish club, or the Glee club or for writing for the school newspaper. It seemed as though sports were everything. Then along came the class play. That sounded like fun. “The Diary of Anne Frank” gave this young Richie Cunningham (“Happy Days”) a chance to recite a lot of Hebrew and make some pretty heady decisions as Anne’s father.

The play occurred during basketball season and that year I was in Indiana where, as I’ve said before, basketball is next to Godliness…as long as God makes the ball go through the hoop for you. I was always a team player in sports. I never gave the coaches a hard time. But then a note was handed to me in class that said the coach wanted to see me BEFORE practice. Not a good sign, I thought.

When I reported to his office, the coach barely looked up. After making me sweat for a couple of minutes, he said, “I understand you want to be in this play.” “Yes, I do. It’s just a play and I thought it might be fun.” Then the lecture started. This wasn’t supposed to be fun. This was about discipline and learning to respect others. You can’t play a sport and then “waste” your time “goofing around” in this “silly play”.

Wow! I was floored. Why was this so bad? I don’t think I had ever felt the need to stand up for myself so strongly. And why I did then, I’ll never know. But the words came out of my mouth without hesitation. “How am I doing on the court, Coach? If I’m doing ok and I don’t miss practice and I keep up my grades then how can you tell me that I can’t be in the play and still play basketball?” Silence. “Are you going to cut me from the team half way through the season if I want to be in the play?” More silence. Then,“Well…your grades are good. Mind you, if you miss five minutes of practice for this play, you’re done.” “I won’t, Coach.” I’m sure I was shaking. I know I thought my head was going to blow up. I turned slowly and walked out.

Times were pretty medieval then. Thank goodness the renaissance mentality has crept back into our lives. But never another word was said about the encounter. Oh, I thought the coach worked me harder than everyone else after that, but, if he did, I probably needed it. We had a great basketball season and the play was fantastic! My Hebrew wasn’t bad, either.

Turns out, it was not “just a play”. It was a little piece of freedom that my fourth grade teacher gave me. Finding those things in life that excite and stimulate you is an adventure that everyone should experience. That’s what I think the arts are about. They are very personal. They exercise our minds. They fill in the blanks in our lives. They make us complete.

That’s what keeps me coming back to the ArtsFund Luncheon. It’s about being with people who have found the value and the emotions in art. We can’t all be artists but we can enrich our lives by being around them, by thinking about them, marveling in them and, perhaps, even participating. What would our lives be without the arts? Pretty dull and grey, I think.

As I listened to the moving Handel piece, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and tears filled my eyes. Whether it’s the beauty of a new ballet, the excitement of a Broadway musical, a dramatic new play on stage, an astonishing display of glass art or even hearing Kurt Cobain scream at you from the wall of the Art Museum, your life has more meaning from these encounters. I love the arts…and the Seahawks too!

Butler takes us back to better times

No one will deny that the Butler Bulldogs could have won the National Championship in college basketball, just as Duke did. It was a fair match every step of the way. Gordon Hayward’s 4-second jump shot and 1-second half-court heave were the only difference between victory and defeat. The Bulldogs made a magnificent run for the title. We love to root for David over Goliath. We seem to always like the little guy…and the team from Indy was something to admire all season long.

Butler University’s story has given new life to one of the greatest legends in sports history. The small town Milan Indians (pictured above) defeated the far-superior Muncie Central Bearcats for the Indiana State High School Championship in a game that even my grandmother could describe in minute detail. The victory was the inspiration for the award-winning movie “Hoosiers” and, although the back story of the principal characters was fictional, the final game was played out with pain-staking accuracy in the film.

I’ve got Hoosier blood in me. Both my parents were born and raised in Indiana. While I was growing up and moving from base to base every year with my military father, my summers were spent on the family farm in Indiana and whenever the chores were done, I was shooting hoops…or fishing.

My uncle was a high school basketball coach, which if you’re successful, gets you any other job you want in Indiana. He coached in the same state tournament that Milan won and, although I didn’t know the significance then, he took me to that final game as a grade schooler.

Butler Fieldhouse was mecca for high school basketball in those days. And it made the same impression on me as it did on the players in the movie “Hoosiers”. It was HUGE and the packed crowd was almost scary. High School players looked like giants to me then and the Muncie team dwarfed the Milan crew. Bobby Plump was the star that day and he’s one of those people who can never get past that one big moment in their lives. Like Bobby, nothing else that Jim Whittaker has done in his lifetime will ever make him more than the first American to climb Mt. Everest. When I met Bobby Plump at a family wedding a few years ago, he held court all day long talking about THE game. It’s been 50 years!!

But I digress…Milan’s coach was from Butler and had only been coaching for two years. He was 26-years-old. That was old to me then, but now, I realize that he was just a kid himself. He found a way to control the game and keep the bigger, more physical Bearcats from running and shooting. It’s called “the stall”…just hold on to the ball, don’t take a shot until you absolutely have to or want to, then get it back as quickly as you can and keep stalling. With a minute to go in the game, the score was tied 30-30. Bobby Plump held the ball for the last four minutes without ever making a pass. Remember, the rules were different in those days. There was no shot clock and Milan made it to the finals in a single-elimination tournament with every high school in the state participating…there were over 750 of them.

With 18-seconds left, Bobby dribbled to the right side of the key and shot a jump shot that touched nothing but the net. 32-30 Milan wins! I remember being engulfed by fans streaming onto the floor to celebrate. I kept my eye on my uncle who went straight over to congratulate the Milan coach. As the story goes, when the team drove back home to southeastern Indiana, over 40,000 people lined the road to greet them. All the players from the team went to college because of that game and Bobby Plump played for Butler and in a professional league before becoming a life insurance salesman in Milan where he is today.

Thirty years later, the whole state of Indiana rallied around the making of the movie “Hoosiers”. My uncle was asked to be the basketball consultant for the film and he even got a cameo as one of the opposing coaches. In the Director’s Commentary on the 10th anniversary edition of the DVD, Uncle Tom gets some real props from the filmmakers.

In Texas, it’s football. In Indiana, it’s basketball and always will be. Many of the game’s greatest players have learned the fundamentals there. I know I did during my two tours in and out of the state while I was in high school…we moved twice and I went to three different high schools during my four years. But I learned that basketball was king and playing the game made you proud…and got you a free haircut on Saturday, after a win.

The Butler University team will be an inspiration to an untold number of youngsters who are growing up in school now and joining in athletics. Basketball teaches a lot about skills, conditioning and teamwork. You gain respect for others while playing the game and you learn a lot about yourself and what motivates you. Last night’s championship game will be remembered as one of the greatest college basketball games ever played. And the most beautiful thing is…nobody lost.