Vancouver Round One

The Games are on and there’s one week down. What a rollercoaster ride it has been so far. No doubt you have read about all the controversy and celebration. The US is leading the medal count right now and there have been some surprises. But my ruminations in this post are more about the visitor experience that is not in the news. The rest you can get on NBC (although it’s broadcast 3 hours late on the west coast) or CBCTV if you live in Canada or elsewhere around the world.

The first obstacle of attending the 2010 Olympic Games is that you have to get to Canada. Crossing the border at the “Peace Arch” or the “Truck Crossing” is your first decision. The lighted “Crossing Update” sign read “5 minutes” at either point. We locals like to think the “Truck Crossing” is our little secret but in reality I’m sure it’s used as much as the “Peace Arch” is.

I decided to chance the “Peace Arch” and as I approached there was absolutely no traffic. This was mid-morning and I have never seen it so devoid of cars. As I came over the hill, I saw 12 brand spanking new crossing booths, all open, all manned and not a single car but mine to be seen. It was so easy it made me uncomfortable. I felt like I was cheating…but so be it.

The drive into downtown Vancouver, about 30 miles, was equally pleasant. I even took my favorite route, Cambie Street, and hardly missed a light. This was all really surprising. Vancouver is the largest city to ever host a Winter Olympic Games and, at the very least, you would think that traffic would be a problem.

When I arrived in town, I quickly parked in a covered lot near False Bay for $12 a day. Then, after a great lunch of cooked-to-order chowder and fried oysters at Rodney’s Oyster House, my favorite hole-in-the-wall, I began to explore.

The new subway system had just opened and I had to give it a try. Easy access. Two routes, not too confusing. It takes you within a five minute walk of any downtown neighborhood or the waterfront for $2.50 and the ticket is good for 90 minutes. Truth be told, there are signs that say you must have a ticket and may be asked to show it but no one ever did.

The powder blue jackets of the Games volunteers stood out everywhere. There are reportedly more than 25,000 and I had trouble stumping them with questions about the activities and directions in the downtown corridor. And they were eager to help.

The Olympic Flame and Cauldron was my first real objective. It had only been burning for a couple of days since The Great One touched the flaming torch to it. When I reached the waterfront and asked which way, the hand pointed down the street and the young volunteer said, “You’ll see the crowd!” And what a crowd it was. Probably 500 people were jammed up against a 10-foot-high, chain-link fence about 30 yards from the Flame. It looked like the Berlin Wall. People were climbing the fence and building human pyramids to get a better look or to take pictures. The rest kept maneuvering forward until they could stick their cameras through the links to get an unobstructed photo. The plaza around the Flame was beautiful, with the water and the mountains behind North Vancouver, but only a handful of VIP’s were walking around it. This was the first critical point of connection with the public and it was a huge mess.

Then I decided to try the Official Olympic Merchandise Shop. To get there, I had to go down Robson Street, a major retail thoroughfare. It is blocked off to cars for the Games and the crowds full of Canada-capped, red-jacketed, Maple-Leaf-mufflered revelers were stifling. But everyone seemed to be happy and having a good time.

The shop is located in a large section of the main floor of the Hudson’s Bay Company. The checkout line was more than 6 blocks long and they were letting new shoppers through a stancioned- entrance ONE AT A TIME. It’s good to be popular but not that popular. I asked some visitors on the street (mostly Canadians from other provinces) where they bought their souvenirs and they directed me to the nearby Sears store that has a good selection of Official Merchandise and no lines whatsoever. The hooded sweatshirts are still $80 though.

The International Media Centre was my ultimate goal to meet with the VANOC (Vancouver Organizing Committee) folks I would be working with during the Games. It’s in a perfect spot near the Pan Pacific Hotel on the waterfront and a stone’s throw from the chain-linked cauldron. The offices are small but comfortable and there are battalions of paid and volunteer workers whose job it is to make these Games comfortable, entertaining and successful for the athletes, the spectators, visitors and dignitaries alike.

The Games were never out of sight. Every restaurant, bar and retail shop had big screen TVs with CBC's live coverage from Whistler and Vancouver/Richmond in full view. Even several high-rise buildings had jumbotron sized screens mounted on the exterior walls for street viewing. The city is immersed in the Winter Olympics.

Strategy is my game and I’m there to help communicate and promote in the most effective ways possible. VANOC and the sponsor group are my clients. They are already facing many unanticipated problems but I’ll talk about that in my next post.

Hoteliers and restaurateurs who I spoke with had seen great opening weekend business but by early this week traffic was dropping off quickly. Hotel rooms were readily available at significantly reduced rates and there were no long waits at most restaurants. Tickets to the competitions were being sold on the street for a fraction of face value. Ticket scalping is legal in Canada and the VANOC officials say they simply don’t have time to discourage it. Almost any venue imaginable was available for $50 or less per ticket.

For me, this first trip was to get the lay of the land. From the Opening Ceremonies to Canada’s first Gold Medal on Canadian soil, the host city was gracious, attentive and welcoming in every way. They were dealing with their problems head-on and the objective was always what was best for the athletes and the visitors.

When I drove back to Seattle and came to the Peace Arch crossing, the sign still read “5 Minutes”. The difference was that the US-maintained side of the crossing was unfinished. Construction equipment and piles of dirt and debris were scattered everywhere. It was like a slalom course to reach the crossing booth but there was one open with no wait. “What did you do while you were in Canada?” the guard asked. “Saw a lot of Canadians,” I said. He laughed and waved me on.

Super Sunday

The television really was pretty ugly…pink and white…made out of tin. The screen was 15 inches and the color wasn’t black and white. It was sort of gray on lighter gray. The snow was caused by the reception from the “rabbit ears” antenna…not the weather, which was perfect in Los Angeles on January 15, 1967. It was the first Super Bowl and that little TV was what my college roommates and I had to watch the spectacle so we made the best of it.

No one had yet dubbed the day Super Sunday. The franchise owners and league officials had finally figured out that pro football could make them money…on television. This could be better than professional wrestling which filled the airwaves most weekends in those days, along with baseball. There were still two competing leagues then, the original National League and the new American League. It wasn’t until 1970 that the National Football League was formed, with two conferences, the National and the American.

Besides the size of the television, which now is embarrassing if it isn't 42inches or larger, it was different then. The Green Bay Packers with their immortal coach Vince Lombardi and Quarterback Bart Starr, the Peyton Manning of his day, defeated the upstart Kansas City Chiefs 35 to 10 and the tradition was established. The winners got $15,000 each and the losers $7,500, with no cheerleaders and a half-time show that looked pretty much like the Rose Bowl. It did give us time to play a little catch in the sun.

Lots of big global viewing numbers are thrown around by the NFL and the television networks but, in reality, this is a very American event. Oh, it is shown around the world, but most other countries know as much about American Football as we know about Cricket and avoid it in droves. I’ve watched the game with other Americans in several interesting places like Sydney, Paris, London, Auckland and Milan. The snacks were different but good and there was definitely no competition for a spot in front of the TV in the local pubs.

I’ve seen a few live Super Bowls with my clients but I have to say going to Detroit to see the Seahawks play the Pittsburgh Steelers is the one that will remain in my memory bank. The vast majority of the games have been played in sunny climes like LA and Miami. Only three times, so far, has the game been played in a northern city, where winter is really winter, as it should be. It was snowy and cold in Detroit and because it is so close to Pittsburgh that their fans could drive it easily, we Seahawks were dramatically outnumbered on the streets and in the stadium.

Other than Detroit’s remote parking plan, which cost us five hours in sub-freezing weather standing outside and on the bus, and their new downtown people movers that were completely unreliable and needed the “station stuffers” who get every person possible on the Tokyo subways, the city was hospitable. The snow turned into a sheet of ice on almost all roads on Sunday, so just getting to the stadium was a half-day event itself.

In person, the game has become a colossal extravaganza that includes a little football being played for a couple of hours. The opening tribute to Motown with Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, Smokey Robinson, Wilson Pickett and a host of other stars got us warmed up quite well. At half-time, the Rolling Stones gave it their best with Mick Jagger’s lips being 100-feet wide on the jumbotron.

Our seats were great…on the 35 yard line…we found them in the Seahawks players pool, thanks to my ex-Seahawk, television anchor buddy. I only ventured away from our spot and the boisterous Steeler fans behind us, who loved the verbal sparring throughout the entire game, one time. It was a trip to the souvenir stand for “trash and trinkets”. I had a serendipitous long conversation with Jamie Moyer in the line. He was after sweatshirts for the whole family, which cost him more than the average monthly house payment. I came away with a cap and a couple of shot glasses.

The Seahawks lost 21 to 10 but they played a good game and finished with heads held high. Today, team spirit and hometown allegiance makes the Super Bowl a great event…and I haven’t even mentioned the commercials. I’m sure my friends from Indianapolis are feeling a bit down right now but New Orleans deserves some time in the sun and the win, as well. It was a great game and something for all Americans to revel in.

There was a time when “Super” Sunday was probably Easter for most people…and really, I’m sure, it still is. But for many, this Super Sunday in the heart of gray and blustery winter is a time to gather with friends and enjoy an American tradition that strengthens our bonds and excites us. The Winter Olympics are up next and we’ll get to feel that spirit again…for Team USA.

We've got to stop fighting

It was half-time at the Rose Bowl and the Fightin’ Hoosiers still had a chance to beat USC (OJ Who?). I was in graduate school working for the athletic department and spotting (you can’t know the players without a spotter) down on the field for the NBC cameras. One of my very best friends had chosen to do his active duty in the Army before getting his advanced degree. I, as I’ve said before in these pages, opted to finish school first because I didn’t think I would want to go back after the service. As I was walking toward the dressing room, I heard my name called and it was my friend’s brother who was producer of the Nightly News and working on the Rose Bowl Special for NBC. It was good to see him. He was part of a very close family and I knew he would have news of my friend’s tour. “Art’s been wounded,” he said. My heart sank. “How badly?” “It was a mortar attack but he’s going to be alright.” “I’m so relieved,” I said. “Art will be coming home,” he told me.

This was the first time it really registered in my mind that we were fighting a war in Vietnam that had very personal consequences. Sadly, I lost many friends to that war but my close friend Art made it. We spent a lot of time together during his recuperation at Walter Reed Hospital in DC where I was living and eventually working on Capitol Hill. We talked endlessly about our lives and where we were headed as we confronted our future. I have to say that there is a bond that forms in these highly stressful situations that is very strong and long lasting.

We didn’t beat OJ in the Rose Bowl but made a very respectable showing, losing 14-3, on the only trip the school has made there since that day. I left Pasadena the next day for an interview with United Airlines in Denver. After I got my masters degree, I didn’t take that job but went to work on Capitol Hill for John Gardner and Bill Ruckelshaus, among others. A short few months later, I received my orders to report to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for gunnery school in the Field Artillery. I signed in on the Fourth of July with my new wife, Jane, in tow after being married just six days earlier in DC.

I come from a military family. My father was a career officer in the Army. His branch was Field Artillery as well. I think the word “brat” is bit harsh but still growing up on military posts does give you a different view of the world. I never considered NOT serving my tour. I spent a lot of time away from Jane and, I guess, I began the travel that has become second nature in my professional career. I was working on secret weapons projects for the war that took me many places that I shouldn’t have been. The Army kept me in a few months longer than my tour was scheduled for because one of those projects was finishing up.

Being in the Army during an unpopular war is character building. We’re right back in that place again. Today we seem to have gained a new respect for our troops which is heartening to me. I like the word “patriot”. The definition is one who loves, supports and defends one’s country. I can live with that. We are very fortunate to live in a remarkable experiment called democracy. I’m proud to be a patriot and a veteran. I’m proud of all those who are serving in the military today. The Army is even more important than it has ever been. The Middle East is a scary place for Americans. I have great respect for the troops who are there now. My father, a veteran of two wars, would be proud of them too, God rest his soul. I’m thinking of him and my friend Art and those we lost to war. We’ve got to stop the fighting.

Just how proud can one person be?

Jane McConnell has done many great things in her career besides being by my side every step of the way. She created a successful business from scratch and edited and produced a research tool that had no equal and never saw a significant challenge from competitors. She’s managed big events in domed stadiums and concert halls. She kept track of the media attending many, many events… even scolded them for smoking in unapproved places. She’s headed fundraising campaigns that have helped build beautiful new buildings and found donors in every corner you can imagine. She’s mentored performers and taught children and young adults in every social strata. She’s done goat races in Jamaica, boat races in Falmouth, England and even organized an enticing breakfast for drunks in every corner of the world. And I don’t know a soul who doesn’t think she’s a queen.

So I’m going out on a limb here when I say that the closest thing to Jane’s heart is ballet…the Pacific Northwest Ballet to be exact. This fall she is being honored in many ways for over 30 years of devout commitment to that organization. Yesterday, she was named a Trustee Emeritus, a very exclusive club indeed. If that doesn’t make her a queen, I don’t know what does. Earlier this summer, a performance was dedicated to her and I’m not the only one who said they usually only do that when you’re dead. She already has an annual scholarship in her name for promising students in the school. These are stunning tributes to a woman who cares deeply about everyone and everything that her world touches. And these tributes say that the people in her world know what she’s done.

Her focus at the ballet has been on the Pacific Northwest Ballet School. She knows the staff, the students and the parents intimately. She has taken on every role imaginable to help the school succeed and grow. She even found a French cookie maker to provide the celebration snacks after Nutcracker performances. That’s when the students get their annul chance to shine in front of the ballet’s most exciting audience. She even talked me into giving backstage tours and once participating in something called Ballet for Two Left Feet…using some moves that I am very familiar with.

The Ballet School was the domain of Francia Russell, co-artistic director of the company with her husband Kent Stowell until they recently retired. Jane and Francia have become fast friends and confidantes. I know that they listen to each other and even argue occasionally because in the end they always agree. When the School dedicated the performance of La Source to Jane, Francia was quoted in the program and her words about Jane were so special.

“Jane has devoted endless time, thought and energy to her responsibilities…Thoroughly versed in both the philosophy and the practical functioning of the School, she worked tirelessly toward the realization of our shared goals. In hundreds of meetings, Jane was the School’s spokeswoman and champion, the person who could not only answer every question but, at the same time, gently educate her listeners. Without realizing it herself, Jane set a new standard for committee chairmanship. A great lady, a woman of intelligence, sensitivity and strength, Jane cared for the staff and faculty of the School and she earned our lifelong respect and affection.”

Such a beautiful expression of respect and adoration. How proud can one person be? No more than in this moment of recognition for Jane. I am humbled by what she has done.

Jane started a tradition years ago by taking Francia and key staff members out for a holiday celebration during Nutcracker season. There was more inside talk there than you can imagine and it was for their ears only. I felt honored to be the only man invited but my job was very specific. I would take the annual group photo. I nibbled on the appetizers a bit but they usually shooed me away pretty quickly. However, I did learn something by going to that special gathering. There was a love of the art that was shared by everyone there. And that love was a bond between them. Jane belonged there. The bond would never be complete without her. These recognitions she has just received show that love and now she can be an important part of this ballet company forever, one of the best in the world, thanks in no small part to Jane McConnell. I love her.

One Kind Favor

The folk music groups of the 60’s were like the grunge bands of the mid-80’s. A guitar, a harmonica, a group of pals and an apartment or garage were all you needed to make some music. My good friend Bob Flick of Brothers Four fame likes to call it the music of America. We all knew the words and weren’t afraid to sing out.

But Peter, Paul and Mary were an exception to the rule. Most of the groups of the day came together serendipitously…friends, classmates, frat brothers and the like. PPM on the other hand were skilled professionals. They each had solo careers and were brought together by music producers who knew how to mix and match voices and styles. This was a match made in heaven.

I knew that Mary Travers had been ill for some time. Their PBS special had been repeated many times and last year, several of the well known groups from the era came together for a reunion concert. The ravages of cancer were evident but Mary pulled it off and her voice was clear and strong.

Mary was in her late 20’s when I met the group after a concert in suburban DC. She was a ball of fire then and her flame burned brightly throughout her career. Caught up in the music of the times, I formed several groups that served as warm-ups for the hot groups of the day and, as a result, I got to know Peter, Paul and Mary, the Brothers Four, the Kingston Trio and many of others. When I got to college I started to manage the concert schedule for groups like PPM and spent a lot of time in the backstage world.

Paul was a frustrated stand-up comic and rock and roller. Peter told me that he could be a Bolshevik, if it were only in style. Mary had a knack for bringing zen into almost any situation. Although the group became associated with the civil rights movement because of their performance at the “I have a dream” rally on the mall in 1963, their role as activists was never as strong as their success as performers, in my mind. “Lemon Tree” was not an anti-war cry and “Puff the Magic Dragon” was not about marijuana…it was a children’s song.

I had been around the folk music scene for several years when Mary Travers came up to me backstage and said “We’ve got to talk.” Good or bad? How was I to know. I was going to have the conversation regardless. The short version, you’re probably ready for that at this point, is their road manager was leaving and they were offering me the job. “You can always come back to school,” she said. “Peter is our only graduate and look at how he turned out.” Ha…some joke. Well, I didn’t take the job…CHICKEN!! I used the same logic about not coming back to school for more degrees after the army. I just knew I’d never do it.

Regardless, it was a flattering offer and I fantasized about it for a long time. Mary certainly made life on the road seem like it led to OZ. For her, it certainly did. After the news of her death, I received an email from a good high school and college friend who reminded me that on Father’s Day Weekend, I took him and his father backstage after the concert. When I introduced them to Mary, she told his father that he had “a great smile”. His father was touched by her graciousness. He never forgot it.

For some of us, our lives have a soundtrack. There is always music playing in my head. I like all kinds of music and some tune or song bubbles up to fit the occasion. My playlists for Friday Tunes at the agency were always an indication of the mood of the day or week. The music I play on long car trips is planned to fit the geography. Coincidentally, as we crossed the plains of eastern Washington a few weeks ago, I played Peter, Paul and Mary’s “In Concert” album. There is a song on that album called “One Kind Favor”. It’s not a happy song but it’s quiet and solemn and respectful. Peter, Paul and Mary brought much to the music of their times. They even helped Bob Dylan become a star…asking the nine questions of “Blowin’ in the Wind”. I like to think that PPM did us all “One Kind Favor”. They gave us the beauty, the grace, the voice and the heart of Mary Travers. She belongs to our times...forever.

Dan Mc

"Things just don't get any better than this!" EMK

There is a time in our lives when all of us, even those who call ourselves “independents”, make a turn to the left or right…at least, we lean one way or the other. For me, that juncture occurred in Washington, DC, in the mid to late 1960’s. The process started as I was finishing high school and going away to college. My father, a career army officer, had taken an assignment at the Pentagon and he encouraged me to get a summer internship on Capitol Hill. It was the Kennedy Administration and little did I, or my very-Republican father for that matter, realize how those years in DC would change my life and outlook.

My grandfather was a state leader in the Republican Party and had plenty of “good ol’ boy” contacts in DC so somehow I ended up as a Capitol Hill Intern. I spent summers and then a year as an intern before getting my first assignment as a legislative liaison. Simply stated, and it’s really not so simple, that job entails being assigned to congressional offices and helping write legislation that they are sponsoring. That first assignment was in the office of the new senator from Massachusetts, Edward M. Kennedy. You were admonished if you didn’t call him Ted. He was barely in his 30’s and treated the entire staff as compatriots…he liked that word and used it a lot.

It was such an exciting time in DC. There was electricity surging through us all that made everything going on there seem earthshaking. I would spend many of my lunch hours in the Senate gallery watching history being made. I would often pass by Ted and his brother Bobby standing outside in the hall strategizing before they entered the chamber to speak or vote. The cadre of people that JFK brought to Washington with him was amazing. Each person fit the job they were given so well. And both Ted and Bobby made their presence known very quickly…Bobby in issues of civil rights and Ted in health care.

The first piece of legislation that I helped write was about health insurance and government reform…sound familiar? It was a small step but it moved the needle closer to the green “go” zone. It took two months to write and I was part of team that was laboring over every word. We met often with Ted and his colleague Birch Bayh, who he admired and respected. We debated. We argued over words. We were demoralized by the committees that wanted to change everything we had done. We laughed when we slipped something in that didn’t get noticed by the opposition. Ted made us feel a part of every step. He recommended books and even music that would push us down different roads to reach our goal. And he worked harder than anyone to see the process through, even though he was encountering twists and turns that he’d never seen before.

That small piece of legislation moved through the system and caused a change in the government’s support of hospital care for the underserved. We had a celebration in the office when we received the word. Ted Kennedy came up to me and asked if this was my first bill project. I said it was. He put his arm around me and said “Things just don’t get any better than this.” If I was leaning before that, it was then that I made a hard left turn in my life. Somehow I understood that we could make a difference in people’s lives and that change comes in small steps but every one counts. And Ted Kennedy became the master at making every piece of legislation count. He had no peer.

When I heard the news today of Ted Kennedy’s passing, I thought back to that time in the 60’s when the world was fresher and cleaner and safer. The Kennedy family changed our world. They pushed us down new roads as a country and a people. Ted and his brothers changed my view of life forever. I was able to stick my toe into the Clinton Administration and it was special. I envy those who are part of the Obama years. These are very exciting and challenging times. But when I think back over that time in the 60’s as Ted Kennedy and his family and friends came on the scene, things really haven’t gotten any better than that. Thanks, Ted, “the dream will never die”.

Dan Mc

You don't know how much we're going to miss the PI

The Seattle Post Intelligencer, at 146 our community's oldest continually operating business, is ceasing publication of its daily newspaper today. This is a loss to Seattle in so many ways. For us in the public relations profession, it is a loss of credibility and a loss of testimony that is at the heart of the work we do. This profession was built on the relationship we have with journalists who could tell the stories about our bosses and clients to the community with an unbiased voice. It’s a third-party testimonial that states the facts and gives credibility to the content. It’s not just us telling everyone that the company is good at what it does. It’s a reputable journalist validating what we say.

I don’t know a business person who doesn’t want to show or tell everyone about the story on their company that was written in the newspaper. That story is certainly one measurement of the success at messaging that we PR folks crave. Today, most business people know that public relations is more than publicity but there is still nothing like one of our stories being reported on by the news media.

We’re definitely in an electronic world where television and radio are instant reporters. But their stories are fleeting moments in an intensely fast-paced life that we all work in now. There is also much talk about the power of the internet. Even the PI is going to “continue its bloodline” with an online presence. The news of this change in the information world is really no longer news and the young people that have grow up with the internet are now tweeting and linking and facebooking their thoughts on an hourly basis. And they know, like most of us, that there is still one element of cyberspace that is a weak link…and that is the fact that there is no editor. Anyone can say anything anywhere and it’s up to us to believe it or not.

There is something about a hard copy newspaper that feels solid. It’s somehow easier to accept when it’s in your hands in print on a piece of paper that came from a tree. Without that foundation, the news business is truly 24/7 banter that is a becoming harder and harder to accept as “breaking news”…which everything seems to be these days.

Some great journalists are now trying to find other ways to do their reporting and commentating. There are over 150 who are being released as a result of the PI closure. They will find a way to give us the facts or their opinions but it will be harder to find them and their voices will be part of the din. I’ve worked in and around the newspaper business all my life. It is truly a valuable institution and one that has made our country stronger and safer. I thought I would tell a couple of reporter stories here but suffice it to say, some of my best friends are journalists. And as I tell my students at the University of Washington, it’s a job to them. They put their pants on one leg at a time, just like us. But they do it with integrity.

I loved to visit the PI when it was in the building at 6th and Denny. It felt like a newspaper should. The news room had a buzz that gave life to the news of the day. I met many of my reporter friends in the cafeteria there to talk about upcoming stories or to explain why things happened the way they did. It always seemed like a safe haven.

We are really going to miss the Seattle PI. As PR pros, we now have fewer sources to give credibility to our stories. Fewer ears to bend about what’s happening and what’s coming up. And we have less opportunity to have the community know about the projects, programs, products and services that affect their lives. We’ve got one daily newspaper left…but there’s no one to challenge them…no divergent opinions. Seattle has definitely lost a bit of its luster with the passing of the Post Intelligencer. Don’t forget to bookmark it on your search engine!

Dan Mc