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

A tribute to Sir Edmund Hillary

Not many people get to meet their heroes. And even fewer get to really connect with them. Since the early 1990s, I have had an ongoing relationship with Sir Edmund Hillary and his wife, June. When the news alert of his death hit my computer screen yesterday afternoon, it sent my thoughts flying. Here is some of what came to mind.

Sir Edmund Hillary Tribute Note

There are few real heroes...and most are indeed ordinary people who do extraordinary things. Sir Edmund Hillary was one of those who dignified the term "hero." His passing leaves this earth a more lonely and troubled place. His focus, drive, intellect and humble view of man's achievements were something to marvel in this life.

He had long been my hero when I was fortunate to host him on a visit to Seattle in 1992. When we met, a gaggle of "Sir Edmund"s came out of my mouth. He very quickly and casually said, "Please, just call me Ed."
I worked with him over the ensuing years on a number of projects. He hosted me in his home several times. Tea in his sitting room was so comfortable you could put your feet up and truly enjoy the conversation and the moment. Absolutely no pretense.

I asked him to fire the starting cannon at a round-the-world sailing race that had stopped in Auckland in 1999. When I went to the appointed place to pick him up, he had come with his wife June in their dated car and sat on the corner stoop watching the traffic until I arrived. We then went to the New Zealand Navy ship where he fired the cannon. As we walked across the deck, everyone, sailors and VIPs alike, recognized him as if he were an old friend...no bowing and scraping. He engaged in conversations about the news of the day and what was going on around the town. How refreshing.

Just a few months ago, I asked him to be part of an advisory board for an upcoming Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center Expedition. His response was that he appreciated the opportunity but he was unable to travel and now that he was 88, it was time for him to stop. As might be expected, he went on to say that "The project sounds so very worthwhile that we (he and June) both hope it is most successful and that the climbers have a great time in the process."

When I helped him with the promotion of his foundation and the 50th Anniversary of his Everest climb, Sir Edmund spoke very strongly about giving the mountain a rest...too much activity, too many people and too much waste. I'm trying to look at his death as a welcome peaceful rest for one of the world's most remarkable people. If we could all look at life the way he did, this world would be a more sane, rational and compassionate place.

I will miss you, Ed, very much.

Posted by Dan McConnell on January 14, 2008 8:23 AM Permalink

First Saturday in March is Susan Butcher Day

I am very proud that, under a bill just approved by the Alaska Legislature, the first day of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race will honor my good friend, Susan Butcher, a four-time champion of the 1049-mile endurance race. Susan was the second woman to win the Iditarod but was and forever will be first in the hearts of Alaskans and all who knew her. She died in August 2006 of leukemia.

Alaska House Bill 37 establishes the first Saturday of every March as Susan Butcher Day. The State Senate on Monday approved the measure on a 14-2 vote. The Alaska House approved the measure unanimously in 2007, the first of the two-year session, but the bill languished in a Senate committee until recently. Gov. Sarah Palin says she will sign the bill and March 1 will officially be Susan Butcher Day in the State of Alaska.
Susan and I came together over 20 years ago, early in her career, and we saw a lot of the world together, along with some very cold days on the tundra between Anchorage and Nome. She was a remarkable woman. When she passed away, I wrote my reflections about her, which follow here. Neither man nor beast could best Susan Butcher. My life is better having known her.

Susan Butcher…one of a kind

This business of public relations occasionally presents us the opportunity to make a connection with individuals who are one of a kind. Susan Butcher was one of a kind…tough, talented, independent, focused and driven. These were just some of the adjectives that described an athlete who made an indelible mark on the world of sport in a truly unique endeavor…Alaska’s great race, the Iditarod.

When I met Susan for lunch here in Seattle just over 20 years ago, she had tongue-tied Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show the night before on national television and made him laugh hysterically. We were introduced by a mutual friend and had come together to talk about Susan’s future as a competitor in the grueling 1100-mile cross-country sled dog race from Anchorage to Nome. She told me that day that she was going to win the race many times and that she needed to make a more effective connection with the “Lower 48” as we are known to many Alaskans, in order to accomplish all that she wanted.

We forged a bond that day that led us down many trails over the past two decades. Susan won the race, just as she said she would, and she won it four times convincingly. Many times, we took her coast to coast where she fascinated major media, enamored sponsors from Purina to Allied Fibers and mesmerized numerous captains of industry with her inspiring presentations. We made a national public television documentary of her story that is still the definitive tale of that incredible race with Susan at the center of it. We went to Japan with a group of world-class adventurers including the likes of Sir Edmund Hillary, who lined up with everyone else to hear Susan’s tales of the Iditarod. She was married at her home north of Fairbanks on a beautiful sunny afternoon at this time of year in a special ceremony with her closest friends…her dogs…as ring bearers…and her native Alaskan soulmates who brought blessed salmon that they had caught the day before on the other side of the state for the evening meal.

As time progressed, she and her loving husband David decided to start a family. Even that didn’t alter their routine or the racing. They just made some alterations in roles and responsibilities and kept on mushing. However, there is no doubt that Susan’s children changed her life…for the first time there were rivals for her affection besides her dogs and those girls were the love of her life. She was a hero to her family and to everyone who met her and when she began her battle against cancer a few years ago, we all knew that the disease would never have a more worthy adversary.

On Saturday, Susan succumbed to the advances of an army of bad cells in her body that was simply too much for even her to handle but she fought with every ounce of strength she had and was a role model of determination and positive thinking every step of the way. Susan was one of those people who are truly bigger than life and when you find compassion, understanding and love there too, it’s almost hard to believe. But with Susan Butcher you got all that and more, because in a man’s world, she was every bit her own person and would stand down to no one.

She leaves a space in our hearts that cannot be filled. In the world of adventure, the term hero is often thrown around casually today but that is not the same as being one of a kind. I’m glad this business of public relations has a way of seeking out the people who are real…the people who are more than talk…more than “been there, done that”. And when you find that person who is truly one of a kind, the power of their being impacts us in an extraordinary way. Susan Butcher was one of a kind. She can never be replaced. She will live forever in those of us who knew her but, today, we send our love to her family and suffer terribly the void left from the passing of our friend. Good bye, Susan…keep on racing.

Posted by Dan McConnell on February 14, 2008 10:32 AM Permalink

5 Days in April

Five days of “His Holiness the Dalai Lama Live” is exhausting, even if you are NOT the Dalai Lama. The unprecedented Seeds of Compassion event brought His Holiness to Seattle for a singular purpose—to explore new and more effective ways to instill compassion in children everywhere. An amazing cadre of experts and thought leaders assembled to pursue this objective with the participation of over 100,000 on- site observers and millions more via the media. There is no doubt that minds and hearts were changed by this special gathering.

Public relations professionals and firms from all over town were tapped by uber-volunteer-organizer Pamela Eakes from the organizing committee to help get the word out during every step of this five-day journey. I was asked to take on some key responsibilities and, with me, I brought an experienced group of those I trusted most from DDB Public Relations and our client The Space Needle, along with some old and new friends who volunteered their expertise to our cause.

The whole experience surrounded each of us and, although our minds were distracted by the real world from time to time, Seeds of Compassion was a part of our lives each day. On the outside, it was an incredible string of workshops, forums and presentations that pleased the participants and awed the audiences every minute. On the inside, each day brought new opportunities and challenges to effectively communicate the magnificent happenings. Here are just a few of these indelible inside remembrances.

For me, it began with the assignment of helping make an opening statement that would set the tone for the entire event. It would be delivered by Lama Tenzin Dohnden, friend of the Dalai Lama since childhood and now his Personal Emissary of Peace. Drafting statements for Buddhist monks is seemingly no different than taking on that job for anyone. We all have our way of saying things and we found the right voice on this one.
Next we had to break a date for His Holiness with Ann Curry from the Today Show, who had come early to prepare for her exclusive interview. His Holiness made a 40 hour real time trip from India to Seattle and it was when he arrived that we all learned that he must have his 8 to 9 hours sleep each day. He was overdue for some sleep and his request was honored. So was the interview, the next morning, and NBC made use of it through the weekend and into Monday’s Today Show.

By the weekend, we were all getting used to working with the group of over 100 reporters and photographers who were assigned to this event. Experience pays dividends in these instances because each of us knew what the others job was and respected each other’s willingness to make it all work.
Saturday was “Public Day”. thousands of international participants, an amazing 11-year-old violin virtuoso and over 50,000 observers inside the Seahawks’ Qwest Field in the open, with no cover. The day before it rained and was 38 degrees. The day after it rained more and the temperature was about the same. On “Public Day”, it was sunny, clear and almost 70 degrees. I don’t know about you but I know who I want to thank for that.

It was while we were at Qwest Field that I got the call. We had all agreed that the five days belonged to Seeds of Compassion. Even though there was trouble between China and the Dalai Lama’s native country of Tibet, that subject was not on the table during Seeds. We wanted to protect the sanctity of the purpose. The call informed me that His Holiness and his countrymen on the national Tibetan council felt they could not avoid speaking about China and Tibet to this collection of media while he was here.

It was a tough decision to decide who would take on this responsibility. There were client conflicts all over the place. Because of my experience in both these countries, because I had been very transparent to my clients on both sides about my involvement with Seeds and His Holiness and, in spite of my work with upcoming Beijing Olympics, ultimately it was decided that I was the best choice to conduct this special news conference.

We chose early Sunday morning because it was the beginning of a quiet day and it fit His Holiness’s schedule. I don’t suppose I will ever send out another Media Alert where I sign it “Personal Representative of His Holiness the Dalai Lama”. But then the entire event was to become a personal highlight on so many levels.

We worked closely with the Secret Service, who protects foreign dignitaries as well as the President of the United States. I have worked with them in the past but, each time I do, I gain a new respect for this group of patriots who have an incredibly delicate job to do. This detail was no different as you will soon learn.
I gathered my crew of DDBers and Space Needle pros to help with this job. We staffed the room, got the media set in their places and waited. I had to give the media the rules and some hints about the Dalai Lama’s approach to interviews. Just remember not to stand up in his presence unless you’re called on.
When His Holiness entered the room with the Secret Service detail, I was to greet him. He walked straight to me and extended his hand. It was a warm two-handed handshake and he said very softly in my ear “Thank you for this.” Being touched by this is an understatement.

He took the stage, sat down in the overstuffed red chair that we were all getting used to by now, leaned forward, shook his head and said “I have nothing to say.” I immediately thought that this was going to be a very long moment in a very short morning. But, as you might guess, he went on to talk for over an hour, answering every question that was tossed up.

I was the moderator. Just me and him on the stage. If you ever want to feel small and insignificant then spend an hour and half on a stage with the Dalai Lama. Somehow I felt invisible. But it was about 40 minutes into the conference when we had an unexpected turn of events. With His Holiness in mid-answer, the room went totally dark. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. It was dark for no more than one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. When the lights came back up, the two Secret Service agents who were sitting on either side of the room in folding chairs before were now standing next to each other at the ready in the center of the room in front of the Dalai Lama. I might have been scared enough but I could never have made that leap in less than three seconds.

When my heart stopped pounding, His Holiness was continuing his answer with his trademarked laugh. It was then we found out that one of the members of the security detail had unknowingly leaned against the light switch. He heard about that for the rest of the day, I’m sure.
Those 90 minutes that morning will be bottled in my mind forever. When he placed his matching cloth carrybag over his shoulder, I was told he would be ready to go, so I have gave him the sign that time was up and, suddenly, it was over. As we left the room, one of the media folks there said to me “You know the question I want to get the answer to that never gets asked? Does the Dalai Lama have a real life? Does he put on jeans and a t-shirt and go browsing at the video store or listening to music?” It would be interesting to know but somehow I can’t picture it.

From there, time seemed to become a blur. Sunday afternoon, I witnessed an “appreciation audience”. All the key volunteer leads gathered in one room organized together by our responsibilities. There must have been over 200 of us. With the event producer leading the way, the Dalai Lama and his Secret Service contingent passed by each group for a photo. At each stop, he would shake some hands. My wife Jane had her “Brush with Greatness” there because shorter people were in the front row and he reached her first. I looked at my watch when he entered the room. He gave a short “Thank You” to us after five minutes and in seven, he was gone. Though the contact was brief, we were all still touched by him.

His entourage led by Lama Tenzin had dinner at the Space Needle on Monday evening. After they were seated, I asked him if he would be having a vegetarian meal. He said, “No, I could use some meat.” In fact, more than half of the group had meat and they loved it!

The finale on Tuesday at the University of Washington was better than the best show-stopping Broadway number you can imagine. His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu sitting next to each other on the stage with a group of spiritual luminaries for two hours. They laughed, they cried, they talked about their mothers. They both have infectious laughs and when the Archbishop punched His Holiness and said “You should act more like a Holy Man!” he made himself laugh so hard that it took a minute for him to gain control again. His Holiness watched in disbelief until the Archbishop had settled down and then said quietly, “Thank you so much.” They were like Hope and Crosby (that’s Bob and Bing for you twenty-somethings)—only better.

And all of a sudden this groundbreaking enclave was over. Seeds of Compassion immediately began to revel in its success and evaluate its potential for changing the world. Our group rushed outside and waved as His Holiness left for the airport. We received a hand-wave back through the car window as it sped by with the motorcade. He was headed for Ann Arbor and I had to race to catch a plane to Chicago for a client event that night. As I settled into a coach seat on my newly-inspected American Airlines MD80, I put in my white earbuds and, on “Shuffle”, up came Bob Dylan’s “You Gotta Serve Somebody”. No kidding! When my mind began to decompress, I wondered what playlist His Holiness has on his iPod…IF he has an iPod! Maybe we’ll find that out the next time. My world is so different now.

Posted by Dan McConnell on April 21, 2008 4:06 PM Permalink

3,000,000 miles on Company Time

A few days ago, I went to the far reaches of Glacier Bay National Park in Alaska to pick up some mountain climbers. The Alaska Airlines flight on that trip put me over the 3 million mile mark in air miles traveled since joining the DDB family 15 years ago this year. That’s a lot of time in the air in memory of Bill Bernbach and the boys.

3 million air miles can be expressed in a lot of ways.

It’s 120 trips around the world. It’s 6 trips to the moon and back. It’s 6000 hours, 36 weeks or 8 1/3 months in the air.

For me, it was 21 different airlines, including Comanche, Red Dog and Flying Moose Air. It was 8 real trips around the world, following sailboats; 20 trips to China; it was touching down on all seven continents and staying on 6 of them. It was crash-diving in a small twin-engine plane over Chicago to get the ice off the wings after take-off. It was landing on the semi-frozen Bering Sea with only one float working during the spring thaw. It was staring across the aisle at the dead guy with a blanket over his head all the way from New York to Chicago before they could remove the body. It was watching Jack Nicholson across the way do that eye-brow thing at the two ladies looking at him, then tipping up his sunglasses and saying, “Yeah, it’s me.” It was riding CAC from the middle of China to Tibet with several chickens and one small pig running loose on board. And more.

Since 9/11, flying has become a whole new ballgame and with that have come a whole new set of experiences. Having the TSA people know your name or at least recognize you can become sort of creepy. And then there is my now-famous “razor blade in the sport coat” encounter which got me almost arrested and permanently into Nordstrom’s company-wide tailoring guidelines. That even made for a whole column in the daily newspaper. Reader’s Digest was sort of the ultimate when they called me a “true frequent flyer” as the lead in a cover story about amassing airmiles and how they get used.

These are only miles that I can actually track over the past few years through frequent flyer records. My routes are so erratic that I can’t fly on just one or two airlines, although between Delta, American and United, I’m holding close to half a million right now. My annual miles increased with world travel since the 1990’s but I can’t remember a year that I haven’t done 100,000.

My personal record is fall 1994 to fall 1995 when I came in just shy of 300,000 miles. The quickest long trip was Seattle to London, London to New York (on the Concorde); New York to Las Vegas; Vegas to Nome; Nome to Chicago; Chicago to New York; New York to Seattle—in ten days.
I’ve traveled in every job I’ve ever had. My first boss handed me a ticket to St. Louis the day I started work and I was off to a meeting. You get to know the routine and the little tricks pretty well. There’s the friend who told me he discovered that simply leaving your car on the departures level at the airport when you’re in a rush costs you less to pay the towing on your return than the normal parking fees. I must admit I can’t talk myself into trying that one.

I’ve had every kind of food imaginable on board; much that was undistinguishable. Chinese and Russian national airlines take the cake—actually, there was nothing there that even tasted like cake. I have all the sleep booties, masks and collapsible toothbrushes I can ever use. And, I’ve found out the hard way that on-board duty-free purchases, with very few exceptions, are far from the best prices available.

What’s the best airline? I’m often asked. There used to be definable differences between major airlines. With deregulation and more of a focus on price, those differences have gone by the wayside. Some of the international airlines, like Thai and Swiss Air, do a great job on specific routes but overall I would have to say British Airways gets the top award in my book. Their coach section is called “World Traveler” and they make you feel like one. Even on their flights within England, you get white glove service.

Once, when I was traveling with a client, we both tried to upgrade to business class at the ticket counter. Due to a computer glitch, I thought he had made it and I had not. What really happened was that the entire plane, except for First Class, filled up with his request. First class opened just long enough to take my reservation then closed again. I rode from Seattle to London as the only first class passenger on British Air. What a way to go. The flight attendant greeted me with “Mr. McConnell, we’ll be traveling together to London. Please just let me know if there is anything you need.”

Do I like traveling? It has just become second nature. When it’s for business, all the airports, rental cars, taxis, hotels and meeting rooms begin to look the same. When it’s personal travel, it can be an adventure to a new place. But when it does get old, and it does get old, one thing gets me through it. Unless she’s traveling with me, my wife is always waiting here when I return. There is absolutely no place like home.

Posted by Dan McConnell on July 7, 2008 5:54 PM Permalink