My account of Ann and I acting out our curiosity about to what level an evening out might have driven our blood alcohol (blog post of 13 October) drew much banter at my expense along with some serious chastisements from the worldly-wise. Still curious and now defensive, I found a blood alcohol calculator on the web (www.bloodalcoholcalculator.org) which illuminates some important data. First, notwithstanding my friend's assumption that driving to the police station for a check was prima facie evidence of being over the legal limit -- 0.08% -- it turns out I was legal: 0.066. Aha!
But Ann was not: 0.128. We each had enjoyed a martini at 6:30 and shared a bottle of wine from 8:30 to near 10. It was somewhat after ten when we pulled into City Hall.
The difference is important to keep in mind this holiday season of exceeding good cheer. Women don't metabolize alcohol as rapidly as do men. And yes, body weight makes a difference. Had I been a female at my body mass, my blood would have registered 0.08 -- BUZZER! Had I, as male, been at Ann's svelte body mass, my blood would have hit 0.109 -- BUZZER again, though not as far off as her 0.128.
The moral of this tale for slight, young women: don't try to keep up with the boys as they assail the wassail bowl, or else plan on taking a cab home from the party. Dads of lasses, take note.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front #8 Find Ways to Serve
This is the final section of a commencement address I have serialized here. I was honored to address the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz, a group of international hospitality colleges in Brig, CH, where I taught managerial marketing for several summers. The speech was entitled Eight Lessons From the Front, summarizing some principles I believe, having learned them the hard way.
#8 Find Ways to Serve
One of the things I have done right in my career is carving out time to be involved with my communities. In General Mills days, I worked in county politics; was active in the Citizens’ League, a non-partisan public policy group; served on the board of the public broadcasting station and, briefly, on the board of the Boys and Girls Clubs. I was a founding board member of the National Council on Children and Television. When I moved to Washington to join Marriott, I served on Sharon Rockefeller’s Corporation for Public Broadcasting task force on alternative ways to fund public broadcasting. In Seattle, I have served on the board of the Pacific Northwest Ballet, was director of adult education at my church, and serve as trustee of a public land trust and a jazz orchestra.
My purpose in naming these is not to pat myself on the back, but to suggest that it is easy to become involved, to contribute your time and talents to your community. But more to the point – it is of value to you to do so. I meet people from very different walks of life, people with whom I would never rub elbows in my corporate world, very unlike in views and values my associates or my clients. To hear their thoughts and perspectives stimulate my thoughts and broaden my perspectives. And that helps me look ahead, be a better and more empathetic boss, grasp what trends and issues are shaping our environment.
Get out of your offices each week or once each month at least, and be of service to some group or organization different from your own. Four Seasons knows that this is important; they expect each member of their hotel executive committees to serve on the board of a community non-profit organization – not for pr or leads to business (yes, there’s that, too) but to develop and broaden their managers.
Of course, the most important group to serve, to devote time to, is your family. Whether spouse or companion or kids or parents, we all have someone to serve who deserves our attention, time and concern. Don’t let work demands, and they are heaviest in the early days of your career, short-change the time and love your family needs and deserves. Tolstoy said happiness is loving your work and loving those for whom you work (and he was not talking about your boss.) I wish I had done a better job of balancing my work, my service and my family – but that’s a very different story.
Serving and loving: this brings us full circle, doesn’t it -- back to the first of my Eight Lessons From the Front --Find Work You Love. Then, Choose the Right People to Associate With; Don’t Manage – Lead; Be Forward Looking; Think Small; Empathize; Execute Relentlessly; and Find Ways to Serve. I hope recalling one or another of these when you are on the brink of a mistake proves of help. And I hope you find in this hospitality industry the satisfactions, the challenges, and the rewards that have so enriched my life. Go forth and make good luck happen.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front. #7 Execute Relentlessly
This is a serialization of a commencement address I was honored to give to the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz, Brig, CH. It's almost over....
7. Execute Relentlessly
You, especially those of you in master’s programs, have been studying and writing about strategy – strategic planning, competitive positioning, theory of the firm – all that grand stuff. Well, know this: execution trumps strategy. Operation is what counts.
The STP gas turbine race car was a technological strategic advance that would have revolutionized racing. The multi-million dollar STP ran away from the field at the Indianapolis 500, a sure winner -- until it was brought to a halt a lap and a half shy of the checkered flag by failure of a 12 cent rubber gasket in its rear differential. (Then the Luddites of auto racing banned turbines from the track.) Thus ended a brilliant, breakout technical strategy.
At General Mills, we empirically demonstrated to ourselves that in advertising, execution can trump strategy. We tested positioning strategies against one another and could measure relative attractiveness of alternative strategic positions. Then we tested advertising executions of the better alternative positions. What we found is that a great execution of a lesser strategy beats an OK execution of the superior strategy. In effect, the width of variation around strategies is narrower than the variation between poor and outsanding executions.
I believe this principle applies throughout business, especially in our service business that so depends on interactions between people – great execution can outperform a superior strategy competently executed. A poorly located restaurant offering superior quality and service can out-pull a competitor in a superb location. A higher priced offering, within reason, can prevail over low-priced competitors through flawless performance.
Our business depends upon consistent delivery of what the customer wants and needs -- and what your employees want and need to play their part in that delivery. But humans are anything but consistent – right? We all change -- weekly, daily, hourly. You mustn’t assume that once you get it right, it will stay right. Don’t assume that if you have the best idea – the turbine race car or Courtyard by Marriott – that you will prevail. Your job as operator is to execute. Your job as manager is to select the right people and lead them, giving them the vision, the tools, and the motivation so they can and will execute.
Customers change, competitors change, employees change. You must execute and improve continuously. Inspect what you expect and adapt and refine – continuously. Execute, execute, execute relentlessly.
7. Execute Relentlessly
You, especially those of you in master’s programs, have been studying and writing about strategy – strategic planning, competitive positioning, theory of the firm – all that grand stuff. Well, know this: execution trumps strategy. Operation is what counts.
The STP gas turbine race car was a technological strategic advance that would have revolutionized racing. The multi-million dollar STP ran away from the field at the Indianapolis 500, a sure winner -- until it was brought to a halt a lap and a half shy of the checkered flag by failure of a 12 cent rubber gasket in its rear differential. (Then the Luddites of auto racing banned turbines from the track.) Thus ended a brilliant, breakout technical strategy.
At General Mills, we empirically demonstrated to ourselves that in advertising, execution can trump strategy. We tested positioning strategies against one another and could measure relative attractiveness of alternative strategic positions. Then we tested advertising executions of the better alternative positions. What we found is that a great execution of a lesser strategy beats an OK execution of the superior strategy. In effect, the width of variation around strategies is narrower than the variation between poor and outsanding executions.
I believe this principle applies throughout business, especially in our service business that so depends on interactions between people – great execution can outperform a superior strategy competently executed. A poorly located restaurant offering superior quality and service can out-pull a competitor in a superb location. A higher priced offering, within reason, can prevail over low-priced competitors through flawless performance.
Our business depends upon consistent delivery of what the customer wants and needs -- and what your employees want and need to play their part in that delivery. But humans are anything but consistent – right? We all change -- weekly, daily, hourly. You mustn’t assume that once you get it right, it will stay right. Don’t assume that if you have the best idea – the turbine race car or Courtyard by Marriott – that you will prevail. Your job as operator is to execute. Your job as manager is to select the right people and lead them, giving them the vision, the tools, and the motivation so they can and will execute.
Customers change, competitors change, employees change. You must execute and improve continuously. Inspect what you expect and adapt and refine – continuously. Execute, execute, execute relentlessly.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front -- #6 Empathize
This is the sixth part of a serialization of a commencement address I was honored to deliver to the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz, in Brig, CH. They are best read from the bottom up, part 1: Find Work You Love.
#6: Empathize
Empathy is the glue that binds. That binds families, clans, tribes, communities. It is also the key to serving well the needs and wants of customers and employees – that vital ingredient that makes the difference between giving OK service or that memorable experience that creates customer loyalty.
Empathy is more than understanding the wants and needs of others. It is not sympathy, which is merely understanding another’s plight. And it’s not sacrificing yourself, losing yourself in another’s feelings or needs to the exclusion of your own. To empathize is to understand and feel what the other is going through while retaining your own sense of self and purpose. Empathy is wholly walking in the other’s shoes – feeling their separation anxiety, their tension, their travel exhaustion – whatever is the emotional condition of the interaction with them. When you empathize, you make judgments and take actions appropriate to the feelings and needs of the other and to your responsibilities.
The ability to empathize is natural -- all humans can empathize, but not all of us do. We may wall off our feelings for others, we may become desensitized by pressure of the job or tensions we bring with us, or simply by the nature of our upbringing. We may not be confident enough to empathize with strangers. But you can change that. You can improve your ability to empathize. You can do it consciously, practicing and training to empathize. Ask yourself “what is person is feeling? What kind of experience is it for this person – what are the clues I’m picking up? How can I show them I understand and can relate?” Don’t view that next customer as just another transaction; make a game of putting yourself in their shoes and sharing their feelings. Then you will be able to give the service that distinguishes you from the merely competent person who remains faceless to customers.
Empathy is a key ingredient in effective leadership. When you empathize with each team member, you will be more likely to find the key to motivate them, to unlock their energy, and to lead. And, in turn, encourage and train them to empathize. And consciously empathize with those unknown employees for whom you are developing policies and procedures. Use small think and try to imagine and empathize.
Can lack of empathy lead to mistakes? Oh yes. When we introduced Marriott’s Marquis Club, we sought to build elite services into the program. One of my bright ideas was to create a Marquis Club position at the front desk; when a club member stepped up there to check in or out, they would receive immediate attention. We hung a fancy brass plaque above that position. But when I travelled from hotel to hotel, I would find a “closed” sign sitting under the Marquis Club plaque or a big, showy vase of flowers blocking the space. What was going on?
Well, I hadn’t applied small think, nor had I empathized with either our guests or our front desk agents. I was asking a 24 year old desk agent in her first year in the business to walk away from one, maybe two, maybe more business travelers waiting to check in or out and go over and give preference to some bloke who had just walked up to the Marquis position. And then … she was supposed to go back and now face a frustrated, irritated, sometimes irate 42 year old businessman waiting impatiently to get going. No way was she going to deal with that. And what’s more, she thought it was intrinsically unfair, un-democratic. I hadn’t thought small – about one guest and one employee dealing with one another, and I had suspended empathy for either of them.
As so often is the case, inadequately prepared employees with their own values and attitudes scuttled the grand plan from the brilliant pooh-bah at headquarters. You still see legacy airlines offering such preferential services – but at least their employees are seasoned and other travelers understand how gruesome it is to have amassed 100,000 miles and reached “premier” status. But you don’t see Southwest in the States or Ryan Air here in Europe playing those games. Do you suppose that has anything to do with their popularity and employee morale? You bet.
The organization whose employees consciously empathize with fellow employees and with customers is the organization that will provide truly distinctive service in this people business.
#6: Empathize
Empathy is the glue that binds. That binds families, clans, tribes, communities. It is also the key to serving well the needs and wants of customers and employees – that vital ingredient that makes the difference between giving OK service or that memorable experience that creates customer loyalty.
Empathy is more than understanding the wants and needs of others. It is not sympathy, which is merely understanding another’s plight. And it’s not sacrificing yourself, losing yourself in another’s feelings or needs to the exclusion of your own. To empathize is to understand and feel what the other is going through while retaining your own sense of self and purpose. Empathy is wholly walking in the other’s shoes – feeling their separation anxiety, their tension, their travel exhaustion – whatever is the emotional condition of the interaction with them. When you empathize, you make judgments and take actions appropriate to the feelings and needs of the other and to your responsibilities.
The ability to empathize is natural -- all humans can empathize, but not all of us do. We may wall off our feelings for others, we may become desensitized by pressure of the job or tensions we bring with us, or simply by the nature of our upbringing. We may not be confident enough to empathize with strangers. But you can change that. You can improve your ability to empathize. You can do it consciously, practicing and training to empathize. Ask yourself “what is person is feeling? What kind of experience is it for this person – what are the clues I’m picking up? How can I show them I understand and can relate?” Don’t view that next customer as just another transaction; make a game of putting yourself in their shoes and sharing their feelings. Then you will be able to give the service that distinguishes you from the merely competent person who remains faceless to customers.
Empathy is a key ingredient in effective leadership. When you empathize with each team member, you will be more likely to find the key to motivate them, to unlock their energy, and to lead. And, in turn, encourage and train them to empathize. And consciously empathize with those unknown employees for whom you are developing policies and procedures. Use small think and try to imagine and empathize.
Can lack of empathy lead to mistakes? Oh yes. When we introduced Marriott’s Marquis Club, we sought to build elite services into the program. One of my bright ideas was to create a Marquis Club position at the front desk; when a club member stepped up there to check in or out, they would receive immediate attention. We hung a fancy brass plaque above that position. But when I travelled from hotel to hotel, I would find a “closed” sign sitting under the Marquis Club plaque or a big, showy vase of flowers blocking the space. What was going on?
Well, I hadn’t applied small think, nor had I empathized with either our guests or our front desk agents. I was asking a 24 year old desk agent in her first year in the business to walk away from one, maybe two, maybe more business travelers waiting to check in or out and go over and give preference to some bloke who had just walked up to the Marquis position. And then … she was supposed to go back and now face a frustrated, irritated, sometimes irate 42 year old businessman waiting impatiently to get going. No way was she going to deal with that. And what’s more, she thought it was intrinsically unfair, un-democratic. I hadn’t thought small – about one guest and one employee dealing with one another, and I had suspended empathy for either of them.
As so often is the case, inadequately prepared employees with their own values and attitudes scuttled the grand plan from the brilliant pooh-bah at headquarters. You still see legacy airlines offering such preferential services – but at least their employees are seasoned and other travelers understand how gruesome it is to have amassed 100,000 miles and reached “premier” status. But you don’t see Southwest in the States or Ryan Air here in Europe playing those games. Do you suppose that has anything to do with their popularity and employee morale? You bet.
The organization whose employees consciously empathize with fellow employees and with customers is the organization that will provide truly distinctive service in this people business.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front -- #5 Think Small
From my commencement address to the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz in Brig, CH.
Working for a chain, there is strong pressure to think about regions or brands or centralized yield management or employee policies and so on. But remember, ours is a transaction business, one person at a time dealing with one employee -- one person picking a restaurant or selecting a hotel or making a reservation or arriving or checking out. Always frame the system or policy or procedure you are considering or developing in terms of one person – think small.
Don’t think about the chain; think about one hotel or one restaurant -- its own strengths and weaknesses, its available potential customers, and its local competitors. Those three elements compose its marketing situation – and every marketing situation is unique.
Don’t think categorically about “labor” or “market segments” or ad “targets” of people “35 to 54” or whatever. Challenge yourself to think persons, to think small, and test against your “small think” the plans, procedures, systems and policies being urged on you for the good of the chain. Optimize each unit and each transaction, and your chain will grow itself.
Small think keeps you focused and grounded.
Don’t think categorically about “labor” or “market segments” or ad “targets” of people “35 to 54” or whatever. Challenge yourself to think persons, to think small, and test against your “small think” the plans, procedures, systems and policies being urged on you for the good of the chain. Optimize each unit and each transaction, and your chain will grow itself.
Small think keeps you focused and grounded.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front -- #4 Be Forward Looking
From my commencement address to the graduating classes of the hospitality colleges of University Center Cesar Ritz, in Brig, CH.
We (i.e., the hotel industry) are awash in data – monthly statements, daily operating ratios, even in the US, data on how one’s set of competitors did last night in rate, occupancy, and revpar (revenue per available room, a standard yardstick in the industry.) Arm an accountant with a computer and you will be up to your ass in data before you can get to your desk.
And what do we do with that data? We analyze it, we report it, bosses review it and the accountant projects it. In other words, we all stand on the observation platform at the rear of the train, looking back down the tracks and assume we know where we’re going.
Two things you must know about accountants' projections: first, they are always wrong; second, they are never right.
If you’re going to lead, get up in the engine and look ahead. Yes, it’s necessary to know where you are, but the question to ask of the data is “What does this suggest given what I know and don’t know about the future?” Forecast. Cast forward your thoughts and intentions.
Forecasts differ from projections. Projections are just extensions of the past. They don’t tell you when there is a block in the track or when a switch decision is coming. Forecasts are judgments and educated guesses of what is likely. And don’t just forecast a single future. Forecast a best, worst, foreseeable, likely, conceivable… and intentional futures. See what they suggest as a prudent leader you do.
The best CEO I ever worked for was Bill Marriott. He had coupled an amazing attention to detail with a keen gift of anticipating. One day in 1983 he called me to his office to discuss airline crew contracts which we had been beating the bushes to get during the recession with great success; we’d garnered the lion’s share of crews at every airport and metro market in which we operated. So, I gathered up my books and steeled myself to get examined about why we didn’t have Eastern in Salt Lake or Continental in Miami or whatever. I was thunderstruck when Bill said “start dumping the airlines. This economy is about to turn and business travelers will be heading out onto the road. We have to be ready for that high-rated demand, so get rid of the discounted crew contracts.” That was looking ahead -- and 1984 turned out to be a barn-burner for pent-up business travel demand.
Be curious. Don’t just solve the problem in front of you, but ask why is it that we’ve been short of banquet waiters three times this month? What does that mean about our waiter pool, or labor rates, or what’s changing in the local hiring market? Look up from the data and look around, as Bill Marriott did while I had my nose buried in the airline contract prospect books.
One more word on looking ahead: it’s amazing to me how few operators attend to demographics. Operators know a lot about their current customers (never enough, but a lot,) but don’t look at what's already known to foresee their future customers. For example, with women making up half or more of business school graduating classes in the mid '80’s, should it have been a surprise to encounter a rising tide of women business travelers ten to fifteen years later, when they were reaching middle management and taking more trips? It shouldn’t have been, but most of the industry was totally unprepared to cater to the needs and want of women diners and women guests. “How come all this damn demand for hair dryers” said housekeeping; “where are all these room service orders coming from” groused the food and beverage manager. They had all been standing at the back looking down the tracks, and nobody had been looking ahead.
Use data, of course, but be forward looking.
We (i.e., the hotel industry) are awash in data – monthly statements, daily operating ratios, even in the US, data on how one’s set of competitors did last night in rate, occupancy, and revpar (revenue per available room, a standard yardstick in the industry.) Arm an accountant with a computer and you will be up to your ass in data before you can get to your desk.
And what do we do with that data? We analyze it, we report it, bosses review it and the accountant projects it. In other words, we all stand on the observation platform at the rear of the train, looking back down the tracks and assume we know where we’re going.
Two things you must know about accountants' projections: first, they are always wrong; second, they are never right.
If you’re going to lead, get up in the engine and look ahead. Yes, it’s necessary to know where you are, but the question to ask of the data is “What does this suggest given what I know and don’t know about the future?” Forecast. Cast forward your thoughts and intentions.
Forecasts differ from projections. Projections are just extensions of the past. They don’t tell you when there is a block in the track or when a switch decision is coming. Forecasts are judgments and educated guesses of what is likely. And don’t just forecast a single future. Forecast a best, worst, foreseeable, likely, conceivable… and intentional futures. See what they suggest as a prudent leader you do.
The best CEO I ever worked for was Bill Marriott. He had coupled an amazing attention to detail with a keen gift of anticipating. One day in 1983 he called me to his office to discuss airline crew contracts which we had been beating the bushes to get during the recession with great success; we’d garnered the lion’s share of crews at every airport and metro market in which we operated. So, I gathered up my books and steeled myself to get examined about why we didn’t have Eastern in Salt Lake or Continental in Miami or whatever. I was thunderstruck when Bill said “start dumping the airlines. This economy is about to turn and business travelers will be heading out onto the road. We have to be ready for that high-rated demand, so get rid of the discounted crew contracts.” That was looking ahead -- and 1984 turned out to be a barn-burner for pent-up business travel demand.
Be curious. Don’t just solve the problem in front of you, but ask why is it that we’ve been short of banquet waiters three times this month? What does that mean about our waiter pool, or labor rates, or what’s changing in the local hiring market? Look up from the data and look around, as Bill Marriott did while I had my nose buried in the airline contract prospect books.
One more word on looking ahead: it’s amazing to me how few operators attend to demographics. Operators know a lot about their current customers (never enough, but a lot,) but don’t look at what's already known to foresee their future customers. For example, with women making up half or more of business school graduating classes in the mid '80’s, should it have been a surprise to encounter a rising tide of women business travelers ten to fifteen years later, when they were reaching middle management and taking more trips? It shouldn’t have been, but most of the industry was totally unprepared to cater to the needs and want of women diners and women guests. “How come all this damn demand for hair dryers” said housekeeping; “where are all these room service orders coming from” groused the food and beverage manager. They had all been standing at the back looking down the tracks, and nobody had been looking ahead.
Use data, of course, but be forward looking.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front -- #3
This is a serialization of a commencement address I was honored to give to the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz, in Brig, CH. These lessons came mainly from mistakes I made along the by-ways of my career: #1-- Find work you love. #2 -- Choose the right people with whom to associate. #3 -- Don't manage. Lead. #4 -- Be forward looking. #5 -- Think small. #6 -- Empathize. #7 -- Execute relentlessly. #8 -- Be of Service.
#3 Don't Manage. Lead
(At the commencement, I asked all who intended to manage others to stand; after a hesitation, nearly all the 200-some graduates rose to their feet.” Well, sit down,” I admonished,) ...”good people don’t want to be managed.”
I recall coming home one night frustrated by my Marriott team. “They are just unmanageable” I fumed. My wife burst out laughing. “So when were you ever Mr. Manageable” she chided. She was right; I had driven bosses to distraction at times with my restless attempts to short-cut, do things better/cheaper/differently, always seeking some new new thing.
No, good people don’t want to be managed, and don’t need to be. What do they want? What do they need? Leadership. Given a vision to share, clear-cut goals and accountabilities, and the direction to go, good people will produce. Stand back and let them be good people to work with.
Manage yourself and your boss, not them. Given good leadership, your people will manage themselves -- and you.
Don’t manage. Lead.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Eight Lessons From the Front -- Part 2
This is a serialization of a commencement address I was honored to give to the graduating classes of University Center Cesar Ritz, in Brig, CH. These lessons came mainly from mistakes I made along the by-ways of my career: 1) Find work you love. 2) Choose the right people with whom to associate. 3) Don't manage; lead. 4) Be forward looking. 5) Think small. 6) Empathize. 7) Execute relentlessly. 8) Serve.
#2: Choose the right people with whom to associate .
Years ago, while debating the merits of centralized vs. de-centralized R&D with Bill Anklam, my first boss at GMI, he good-humoredly listened to the impassioned, newly-minted MBA and finally said “Fletch, it doesn’t matter. The most important decision in business isn’t your structure or even your strategy; it’s the people you choose to go into business with.” His words were prophetic and came back to haunt me several times as I made my people mistakes.
An early bad choice was the guy whose venture team I joined. Driven by his competitive ego and desire for personal glory rather than by the mission of the larger organization, he suspended sound judgment and ignored good advice. And to compound the error, I went along – arrogantly confident I could make things right from within. I committed this error of ignoring personnel danger signs three more times – twice in hospitality -- always by ignoring my gut instincts and accepting the wrong people to work for me. I had perfectly rational reasons to justify the compromises, but in these compromises were the seeds of troubles.
Who are good people? Those who love their work, who share sound values and are able to embrace with you a common mission.
Choose to be with good people. Choosing the wrong people with whom to associate , no matter how expedient it may be at the time, is to handicap yourself with two strikes as you come up to the plate.
#2: Choose the right people with whom to associate .
Years ago, while debating the merits of centralized vs. de-centralized R&D with Bill Anklam, my first boss at GMI, he good-humoredly listened to the impassioned, newly-minted MBA and finally said “Fletch, it doesn’t matter. The most important decision in business isn’t your structure or even your strategy; it’s the people you choose to go into business with.” His words were prophetic and came back to haunt me several times as I made my people mistakes.
An early bad choice was the guy whose venture team I joined. Driven by his competitive ego and desire for personal glory rather than by the mission of the larger organization, he suspended sound judgment and ignored good advice. And to compound the error, I went along – arrogantly confident I could make things right from within. I committed this error of ignoring personnel danger signs three more times – twice in hospitality -- always by ignoring my gut instincts and accepting the wrong people to work for me. I had perfectly rational reasons to justify the compromises, but in these compromises were the seeds of troubles.
Who are good people? Those who love their work, who share sound values and are able to embrace with you a common mission.
Choose to be with good people. Choosing the wrong people with whom to associate , no matter how expedient it may be at the time, is to handicap yourself with two strikes as you come up to the plate.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Eight Lessons From The Front
A few years back, I was honored to give the commencement address to the classes of 2005 being graduated from University Center Cesar Ritz, an group of international hospitality and travel colleges in Brig, Switzerland, which I served as an adjunct faculty member in the hotel school. The address was well received, even by jaded faculty who had sat through many a commencement drone.
Telling a friend about it recently, he urged me to reproduce the talk here, on Northwest Ruminations. I will serialize what I call my "eight lessons from the front," being mainly a recounting of what I learned the hard way, from making mistakes -- sometimes repeatedly to my chagrin -- but to my eventual benefit.
I. Find Work You Love
There is no one sadder than the person stuck in a job they do not like. Over time, that job will just grind them down. Loving what one does is the prime ingredient of success. It endows enthusiasm, energy, and interest – those extras that distinguish the comer from the also-ran, the person whose career will blossom into multiple options and rewards.
I’ve always loved my work. First, doing market assessments of new products in the development labs of General Mills; then introducing and marketing new packaged foods; then helping plan and manage a diversification venture into toys and games; then managing a diverse group of marketing and advertising services; installing and managing a marketing process in hotel and resort businesses; and finally consulting on and teaching marketing process management.
Only once did I stick in a job I didn't love; I was doing no one any good -- me, my family, the organization. I badgered my way out of it after a couple of years, but I learned the anchor not loving one 's work can be.
I made my share of mistakes along the way but -- save for that one exception when I compromised -- I loved getting up and going to work, wrestling with work problems in off hours, and challenging conventional approaches to the job.
If you don’t love the work you find yourself in and can't force a change, then drop the job and search until you find work you can love.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Frozen, Then Thawed ... Ain't Love Strange?
I haven’t blogged in some time, not since helping care for Mom in Vermont in August. I drafted a piece on the tyranny of infirmity, the mutual dependency that locks care giver and receiver into a tyrannical circle, each lovingly imposing on the other. But that hit too close to home and love and regret shut me down for weeks.
Last night love opened me up again.
Ann and I had a cocktail, after quite a day, and then adjourned to Il Terrazzo Carmine for roasted calamari, Carmine’s antipasto, duck, sweetbreads, a great Nobile di Montepulciano, and cappuccino – all in celebration of our 19th anniversary. We nuzzled together like a couple of parakeets and recounted sappy things like our favorite places we’ve been together, what makes us so happy with one another, how lucky we are … thank God no one could overhear us.
On the way home we began to speculate on what a double martini at 6:30 and a half bottle of wine between 8 and 10 would do to one’s blood alcohol level. Were we at or over the magical 0.08?
Curiosity consumed us: we detoured to the Mercer Island police headquarters, parked and went looking for a policeman to test our blood. We figured if we were illegal they’d either drive us home or call a cab – and we’d have learned something. Unfortunately, Mercer Island in its austerity campaign closes its police office at 10 and transfers calls to Bellevue. We weren’t giddy enough to drive over there, and decided to call it a night. Despite the seeming idiocy of the idea, I’m sure I was safely within legal limits. I had put 92.5ml of alcohol into my body mass of 75.3kgms over a span of 3.5 hours – go figure. But maybe the very notion of asking for a breath-o-meter test suggests otherwise…. And I’m suspicious of her; her body mass is only 55.34kgms.
Twenty-two years entwined with this lady of which nineteen married. And we’ve never had a fight! It continues to be a terrific ride.
Last night love opened me up again.
Ann and I had a cocktail, after quite a day, and then adjourned to Il Terrazzo Carmine for roasted calamari, Carmine’s antipasto, duck, sweetbreads, a great Nobile di Montepulciano, and cappuccino – all in celebration of our 19th anniversary. We nuzzled together like a couple of parakeets and recounted sappy things like our favorite places we’ve been together, what makes us so happy with one another, how lucky we are … thank God no one could overhear us.
On the way home we began to speculate on what a double martini at 6:30 and a half bottle of wine between 8 and 10 would do to one’s blood alcohol level. Were we at or over the magical 0.08?
Curiosity consumed us: we detoured to the Mercer Island police headquarters, parked and went looking for a policeman to test our blood. We figured if we were illegal they’d either drive us home or call a cab – and we’d have learned something. Unfortunately, Mercer Island in its austerity campaign closes its police office at 10 and transfers calls to Bellevue. We weren’t giddy enough to drive over there, and decided to call it a night. Despite the seeming idiocy of the idea, I’m sure I was safely within legal limits. I had put 92.5ml of alcohol into my body mass of 75.3kgms over a span of 3.5 hours – go figure. But maybe the very notion of asking for a breath-o-meter test suggests otherwise…. And I’m suspicious of her; her body mass is only 55.34kgms.
Twenty-two years entwined with this lady of which nineteen married. And we’ve never had a fight! It continues to be a terrific ride.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
The Blue Angels -- What you see is what you think.
Seafair is over; the Blue Angels have left town. Did you just hear hateful, god-awful, ear-splitting noise --- or like some boosters, did you hear “the sound of freedom?” It depends….What are the Blue Angels? Why are the Blue Angels? What do the Blue Angels mean?
On April 24, 1946, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Chief of Naval Operations, ordered the establishment of an air acrobatic team “to enhance Navy and Marine Corps recruiting efforts and to represent the naval service to the United States, its elected leadership and foreign nations.” Note “its elected leadership” -- an underlying mission was to generate public and political support for a larger Navy allocation of what would clearly be shrinking War Dept. and Navy Dept. budgets. (Consolidation into the DOD came later, in 1947.) It was a brilliant move; you can’t steam a battleship into Kansas, but you can show off naval aviation anywhere in the country.
Public and political support: these are still the missions today, perhaps the prime mission.
Within a week, Lt. Commander "Butch" Voris, a World War II fighter ace, was charged with creating a flight demonstration
team. Voris selected three fellow instructors and went to work. The group perfected its initial maneuvers in secret over the Florida Everglades so that, in Voris' words, "...if anything happened, just the alligators would know."Only two weeks later, the team gave its first demonstration before delighted Navy officials. One month later, Voris led his diamond of four F6F-5 Grumman Hellcats through their inaugural, 15-minute public performance at home base, Naval Air Station Jacksonville.
Over the past 63 years, the team has grown from the diamond four to eight plus Fat Albert and to a huge support staff.
They graduated from pistons to jets in 1949, taking off in Grumman’s F9F Panther. The first time I saw them was in 1957, off Virginia Beach. I was thrilled… by then they were flying the Grumman F9F Cougar.In 1986, they adopted the McDonnell Douglas (now Boeing’s) F/A-18 Hornet. Those are still the angels’ chariots, 23 years later.
In this show season, the team will have flown their F/A 18s in 70 air shows at 35 sites in the United States. A total of 15 officers voluntarily serve with the Blue Angels. Pilots rotate out every two years. Blue Angels officers return to the fleet after their tours of duty.
“Boss,” the Blue Angels’ Commanding Officer, who flies point in the diamond, No. 1, must have at least 3,000 tactical-jet flight hours and have commanded a tactical-jet squadron. This season, Boss is Commander Greg McWherter.
The Events Coordinator, who calls the shots on all scheduling and logistical matters and flies Number 8, is a Naval or Marine Corps Officer who, like the pilots of Numbers 2 through 7, must have a minimum of 1,250 tactical-jet flight hours. This year, she is Lt Commander Amy Tomlinson.
Career-oriented officers and enlisted men specializing in airframe and power plant maintenance, communications, avionics, administration, aviation medicine, public affairs and supply fill 108 support positions.
So that’s the what, the who, and the why of the Blue Angels. Audience?
- Some 15 million spectators view the squadron during air shows each season (March through November) and 50,000 more are visited at schools, retirement homes and hospitals.
- Key to the pr/lobbying process is to invite media reps and VIPs to fly. The squadron has two F/A 18 D’s, two-seaters, for just this use. Three media members are selected at each show site and a handful of VIPs from television, sports, music and the movie industry are taken for spins -- literally.
Danger?
- During its history, 26 Blue Angels pilots have been killed in air show or training accidents, with considerable collateral damage. Through the 2009 season there have been 264 pilots in the squadron's history. That’s a 10% fatality rate. In a peace-time assignment.
Costs? The Great Mystery
- An oft repeated number on internet sites is $20 million for the squadron, but I can find no hard source for that.
- I examined the Navy budget for 2009, searching for Blue Angels, demo teams, air shows, etc. No entries.
- A 2005 GAO report to Congress said the Angel’s costs are carried – or buried is more like it -- in the Navy’s recruiting advertising budget, which this year is about $115million.
Maintenance, salaries, training, etc. would be done as part of naval aviation, were there Angels or not. Certainly there are incremental expenses for a travelling air demonstration team – some 45 people travel 240 days a year – so transport expenses, room and board, communications, pr and all the rest. How much? If it’s $500/day/pp, that is only $5.5 million.
Whatever the true costs of this recruiting and lobbying effort, if the Dept. of Navy knows, they aren’t telling Congress nor us citizens.
Does it work? We don’t know and neither does the Navy.
- Guess what? Studies show that people who go to air shows like them. Duh!
- Rear Adm. Eugene Carroll, deputy director of the Defense Information Center: "No study has been conducted to determine how effective the teams are as recruiting gimmicks." Note he uses the word “gimmicks.”
- You may have watched an uplifting demonstration of America’s might at a time of national self-doubt. Perhaps, but, like me,
- You also may have seen taxpayer dollars being frittered away on superficial public relations at a time of ballooning national deficits.
- You may have seen a thrilling demonstration of American ingenuity and leadership in aerospace engineering, or – like me,
- You may have seen unnecessary environmental stress -- wasted fuel, exhaust emissions, noise pollution.
- You may have see evidence of our having the finest airmen in the world to protect us and project our force – yes, but at the same time, like me,
- You may have witnessed a depressing demonstration of America’s love affair with armaments,
- and the military-industrial complex’s shameful manipulation of public opinion.
I think I’d rather see that money, whatever the total truly is, spent on pre-schools for armed service families, or for more PTSD clinicians, or for more dependent family subsidies, especially to forestall foreclosures. Yes, the Angels are thrilling, but we have better things to do.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Passing Pesto
Pesto-day was yesterday, our annual orgy of plucking basil, grating parmesan and romano, peeling garlic, pouring olive oil, crushing walnuts, and packaging finished product in small containers for freezing, all while drinking wine and listening to music. Saturday was a chill and rainy break in a run of lovely northern summer days. We headed for Pike Place market early, eschewed the usual dawdle, and got back before the Blue Angels’ bridge closure.
The basil this year was not from Sosio’s, where I have been a regular fruit and vegetable shopper since living in the market for a couple of years before Ann and I married. Sosio’s is the best in the market – knowledgable, friendly, great merchandising of top quality produce, irreverent. One day, Ann sent me off with a list, more like a directive. George read over my shoulder, spotted Ann’s admonition “good peaches”, and announced to the crowd in his gravelly barker’s voice “Oh My God, Fletch is not shopping for bad peaches today.”
Why the disloyalty? When we arrived, we cruised the temporary, tented stalls set up on cobbled Market Way, mainly local growers of organics, heirlooms, gigantic cabbages and romaines, hybrid oddities, and so on. Just to see what they had. One young Vietnamese couple offered huge bundles of basil at less than half the cost of those in the permanent stalls, so we guiltily hid those when we went to Sosio for garlic, onions, heirlooms and such.
The roar of Angels over the island didn’t spoil the mood as the kitchen filled with rich scents of basil, cheeses, wine, garlic and oil. This morning, my hands still faintly echo all that.
The basil this year was not from Sosio’s, where I have been a regular fruit and vegetable shopper since living in the market for a couple of years before Ann and I married. Sosio’s is the best in the market – knowledgable, friendly, great merchandising of top quality produce, irreverent. One day, Ann sent me off with a list, more like a directive. George read over my shoulder, spotted Ann’s admonition “good peaches”, and announced to the crowd in his gravelly barker’s voice “Oh My God, Fletch is not shopping for bad peaches today.”
Why the disloyalty? When we arrived, we cruised the temporary, tented stalls set up on cobbled Market Way, mainly local growers of organics, heirlooms, gigantic cabbages and romaines, hybrid oddities, and so on. Just to see what they had. One young Vietnamese couple offered huge bundles of basil at less than half the cost of those in the permanent stalls, so we guiltily hid those when we went to Sosio for garlic, onions, heirlooms and such.
Off to DeLaurenti’s for parm and romano (and some fresh mozzarella for a caprese dinner.) Their romano fuldi was chosen for its pungency; the parm is an Argentine – but Italians made up the largest bloc of Argentine settlers, so that’s OK.
The roar of Angels over the island didn’t spoil the mood as the kitchen filled with rich scents of basil, cheeses, wine, garlic and oil. This morning, my hands still faintly echo all that.
Lunch was bread dipped in fresh pesto… and wine… and music… and grins. Another milestone of summer….
Friday, July 23, 2010
Travels with Granddaughters
Ann and I spent the last half of June travelling through Austria with granddaughters Corriell and Liza. In early July, we took granddaughter Ella and a friend on a short sail in the San Juans. What a contrast!
Liza and Corriell are 16 and 18. Cee is emotional, empathetic, intuitive. Liza, in her quirky bicycle hat is cerebral, analytic, questing for information. Both are open, interested, curious and confident. 
They made for delightful travelling companions as we explored together the vestiges of Austro-Hungarian Empire; the baroque excesses of the Roman church; the creative tumult of Vienna’s fin de siècle renaissance in art, music, philosophy, architecture and psychiatry; the charm of the Tyrol. And how well they related to one another, noting and sharing, each in their own way -- not a h
arsh word between them. (But what they could do to a hotel room! Each stop looked like a luggage bomb had gone off five minutes after check-in.) Amy and Jeff observed that we have given the girls a set of shared memories at a time when their lives are about to diverge into adulthood; a nice insight for us.
They made for delightful travelling companions as we explored together the vestiges of Austro-Hungarian Empire; the baroque excesses of the Roman church; the creative tumult of Vienna’s fin de siècle renaissance in art, music, philosophy, architecture and psychiatry; the charm of the Tyrol. And how well they related to one another, noting and sharing, each in their own way -- not a h
arsh word between them. (But what they could do to a hotel room! Each stop looked like a luggage bomb had gone off five minutes after check-in.) Amy and Jeff observed that we have given the girls a set of shared memories at a time when their lives are about to diverge into adulthood; a nice insight for us.Ella and friend Nina are 9 and 10. High energy and short attention spans cooped up on a small sailboat make 
for moments of delight, moments of frustration. The beauty of the islands, the mountain views, the passing pilot whales and seals had to compete with cocooning in the V berth to read, plot pranks, pig out on purloined chips and cherries, and immerse themselves in Nintendos and
I-pods. (If you want interaction with grandkids, banish that Nintendo!) They put on after-dinner musical reviews on the foredeck, braved the 48° water, hiked ashore, and eagerly awaited return to Frappuccino land. Ellas’s dad, Grant, who had sailed these waters when he was nine, provided the parental heavy hand, leaving to Ann and I the boat handling and guilty pleasures of indulging kids.
for moments of delight, moments of frustration. The beauty of the islands, the mountain views, the passing pilot whales and seals had to compete with cocooning in the V berth to read, plot pranks, pig out on purloined chips and cherries, and immerse themselves in Nintendos and
I-pods. (If you want interaction with grandkids, banish that Nintendo!) They put on after-dinner musical reviews on the foredeck, braved the 48° water, hiked ashore, and eagerly awaited return to Frappuccino land. Ellas’s dad, Grant, who had sailed these waters when he was nine, provided the parental heavy hand, leaving to Ann and I the boat handling and guilty pleasures of indulging kids.
Travels with grandchildren – perhaps 18 is too late, maybe nine is too early. I regret not having done it with Peter and Frank. I hope I have the energy to do it when Christopher, Ella, Max, Molly, and Parker reach 13 or so… only time will tell.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Arts Governance #4: Creative Tension
Arts orgs require a more complex leadership structure than do service orgs. A service org, such as Horizon House which I serve as a Trustee, needs one chief – an executive director, CEO, managing director, whatever s/he might be called. But an arts org needs a two-person leadership team to be fully effective – one to provide artistic direction, the other to manage the resources and logistics of delivery.
To be fully productive usually means managing tensions between the two. The artistic leader provides the creative vision, pushing the envelope to stimulate and challenge both the audience and his or her musicians or actors or artists. And since the artistic product is the raison d’etre of the enterprise, the artistic director inherently has the initiative.
But unless there is counter pressure, that artistic reach can sink an arts org in a sea of red ink or a steady loss of audience left too far behind. It is the tough job of an arts executive director to provide “elasticity” of the envelope while protecting it from tearing by reefing in the creative dreams to suit what is feasible in terms of time, money and manpower. And that makes for tension. Where that tension is tolerated, respectful and creatively resolved, an arts org will thrive.
The best example I’ve seen was as a trustee of Pacific Northwest Ballet back in the ‘90’s. I worked with executive director Arthur Jacobus and with Francia Russell and Kent Stowell, co-artistic directors, to prepare a five-year plan for a Ford matching grant application. The ambitions of Francia and Kent for an expanded corps, more performance time, and expensive new productions were gently, supportively, but firmly reined in by Arthur. They provided the yeast while he leavened the dough. And that productive tension yielded season on season of creative initiatives, audience and board support and operating surpluses. It was when Arthur left to become Exec Director of the Oakland Symphony and the board (unwisely in my opinion) appointed Kent and Francia co-artistic and co-executive directors, that the org lost its rudder, over-reached and soon was awash in red ink.
Another good example is Seattle Chamber Music Society’s team of artistic director Toby Saks and executive director Connie Cooper. They operate in a healthy, mutually respectful collaboration that has brought SCMS more than fifteen years of artistic excellence, solid finances, increasing audience sophistication, and growing esteem among chamber musicians.
For some arts orgs, SRJO being one, the early years and initial small scale mandates that founders fill multi-roles – artistic director, executive director, development and marketing director and more. But there comes a time when too many hats inhibit one or another of the roles and/or the effort simply becomes too draining. What the board then needs do is to put two in tandem, a strong artistic director (or co-artistic directors) and an equally strong managing director. The first, to continue to stretch and dream of what product is to be produced; the other, to define the feasible, develop and deliver the needed resources, and – sometimes -- to challenge the artists to dream in new directions.
Tension is inevitable within such a team, but when respectfully and properly balanced, and monitored and moderated by an alert board, it is a productive tension that keeps an arts organization vital, vibrant, and capable of serving its constituents.
To be fully productive usually means managing tensions between the two. The artistic leader provides the creative vision, pushing the envelope to stimulate and challenge both the audience and his or her musicians or actors or artists. And since the artistic product is the raison d’etre of the enterprise, the artistic director inherently has the initiative.
But unless there is counter pressure, that artistic reach can sink an arts org in a sea of red ink or a steady loss of audience left too far behind. It is the tough job of an arts executive director to provide “elasticity” of the envelope while protecting it from tearing by reefing in the creative dreams to suit what is feasible in terms of time, money and manpower. And that makes for tension. Where that tension is tolerated, respectful and creatively resolved, an arts org will thrive.
The best example I’ve seen was as a trustee of Pacific Northwest Ballet back in the ‘90’s. I worked with executive director Arthur Jacobus and with Francia Russell and Kent Stowell, co-artistic directors, to prepare a five-year plan for a Ford matching grant application. The ambitions of Francia and Kent for an expanded corps, more performance time, and expensive new productions were gently, supportively, but firmly reined in by Arthur. They provided the yeast while he leavened the dough. And that productive tension yielded season on season of creative initiatives, audience and board support and operating surpluses. It was when Arthur left to become Exec Director of the Oakland Symphony and the board (unwisely in my opinion) appointed Kent and Francia co-artistic and co-executive directors, that the org lost its rudder, over-reached and soon was awash in red ink.
Another good example is Seattle Chamber Music Society’s team of artistic director Toby Saks and executive director Connie Cooper. They operate in a healthy, mutually respectful collaboration that has brought SCMS more than fifteen years of artistic excellence, solid finances, increasing audience sophistication, and growing esteem among chamber musicians.
For some arts orgs, SRJO being one, the early years and initial small scale mandates that founders fill multi-roles – artistic director, executive director, development and marketing director and more. But there comes a time when too many hats inhibit one or another of the roles and/or the effort simply becomes too draining. What the board then needs do is to put two in tandem, a strong artistic director (or co-artistic directors) and an equally strong managing director. The first, to continue to stretch and dream of what product is to be produced; the other, to define the feasible, develop and deliver the needed resources, and – sometimes -- to challenge the artists to dream in new directions.
Tension is inevitable within such a team, but when respectfully and properly balanced, and monitored and moderated by an alert board, it is a productive tension that keeps an arts organization vital, vibrant, and capable of serving its constituents.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Oil? Cold Turkey Time
My sweet cousin-in-law, Sylvia, wrote on her Facebook page "My heartfelt apologies on behalf of the incredibly short-sighted, greedy, never-learn-from-our-mistakes human race to Mother Earth for the horrible damage we have wrought upon the gorgeous Gulf Coast."
To that I can say Amen! ... but apologies are not enough. It's time to act. Our leaders (are there any in sight?) must marshall this nation's will to break our dependency on cheap petroleum from tin-horn autocrats (friends or foes) by going cold turkey.
What does that mean? Perhaps a $3 tax on gas at the pump; tax deductions for trading in petrol cars for electrics or converting to natural gas; subsidies for natural gas storage, transport and neighborhood stations; excise tax on all but domestically produced crude oil; subsidized research into alternative, renewable sources; and subsidies for bio-diesel engines. And immediate cancellation of all continental shelf oil drilling. The gas tax and excise tax revenues are to be pledged to these energy habit-changing programs and not to fund other federal goodies.
Will it hurt? You bet. So does going cold turkey off alcohol or heroine -- and our habit is just as destructive as those.
Now, Mr. Obama, Now....
To that I can say Amen! ... but apologies are not enough. It's time to act. Our leaders (are there any in sight?) must marshall this nation's will to break our dependency on cheap petroleum from tin-horn autocrats (friends or foes) by going cold turkey.
What does that mean? Perhaps a $3 tax on gas at the pump; tax deductions for trading in petrol cars for electrics or converting to natural gas; subsidies for natural gas storage, transport and neighborhood stations; excise tax on all but domestically produced crude oil; subsidized research into alternative, renewable sources; and subsidies for bio-diesel engines. And immediate cancellation of all continental shelf oil drilling. The gas tax and excise tax revenues are to be pledged to these energy habit-changing programs and not to fund other federal goodies.
Will it hurt? You bet. So does going cold turkey off alcohol or heroine -- and our habit is just as destructive as those.
Now, Mr. Obama, Now....
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A Death of Kodaly
I was reminded this morning, upon hearing some Kodaly, of a short tale that came to me suddenly and full blown while listening to Kodaly's Duo for Violin and Cello at a Seattle Chamber Music Summer Festival concert a few years ago. I don't know how such things happen, but just for the hell of it, here it is....
A Death of Kodály
The Nazi patrol must have heard it, too – the sinuous keening of a violin snaking its way through the moonless forest; we all held our breath.
“Merde!” whispered Kostan, in his international patois of swearwords, “what the hell is that?” in his native Hungarian. I said it sounded like the theme from Kodály’s duo for violin and cello. “Tres merde!” He spat out orders to Bela and The Knife (we never did learn his name): “go, get him before the basta Boche do!” They melted away in silence. “All we need next is a fucking (in English) cello.”
We waited in silence, eleven of us and three mules loaded with plastic explosive and detonators. The crying violin ceased. Another interminable wait, then three figures, like wraiths emerging from the ground, Bela and The Knife, pushing forward an older man – perhaps 50 or so, it was hard to judge these Hungarian country folk, so ground down since the mobilization of ’42 and the abduction of Horthy in Fall of ‘44.
He was not peasant, after all, Kostan’s interrogation revealed, but a teacher. “Of music?” “No, of languages. The violin is just my companion.” “Which?” “German and English.” ”Shit” spat out Kostan, “Western, decadent shit.”
“Hungary is a bridge” bravely answered the old man, “a bridge between East and West – between the culture of the West and your new society coming from the East.” He had correctly sized up his guardians/captors as red partisans. “We need to know many languages to play our role in the new Europe.”
“The dawn comes from the East, old man” said Kostan sardonically. “Now Hungary is to be for Hungarians; we need know only Russian.” “What was that you were playing?”
“Only folk themes. No real piece.”
“It sounded like Kodály” I interjected in my painful Hungarian. “That’s because Kodály sounds Magyar”, said the oldster. “Where are you from? Not Hungary. What brings you here?”
“Right, I learned Hungarian from my parents in Pittsburgh. I’m American.”
Kostan: “Shut up, both of you. I ask the questions here.”
“Many Hungarians went to America”, said teacher in his English. “Our loss; your gain.”
“Yes, teachers like you, and mathematicians and musicians and just steel-workers like my Dad. Our gain; maybe that’s why I’ve come back to help.” What indeed brings me here? I thought. Dropped into Transdanubia with two Tommy sappers to help harass the German retreat from besieged Budapest, to blow rail lines and impede escape to Vienna and Bratislava. Now we were just eleven, eight red partisan and the three of us, survivors, never sure whether we were harassee or harasser.
I went on: “My mother loved Kodály; I grew up with him.”
Kostan: “This Kodály, the composer, right? One of the toadies of the Austro-Hungarian Empire allied with the Kaiser, right? Now a Budapest parasite, right?”
Both teacher and I reacted. “No, no, a great Hungarian”; “a cultural asset”; “his music is timeless”; “his views are very liberal”; “he translates Magyar music for the world”.
“For the Western world” Kostan disdained. “He sells our folk arts to the wealthy, an exploiter of native culture, one who works to keep us ‘native’ and in chains. He is a collaborator, an enemy of the people.”
“You can’t politicize his art.” “The Nazis weren’t even born when he wrote that theme.” “He composes for the world.” “He writes from the soul, not to serve some political plot.” “Art is art; politics is politics.” I can’t remember clearly who said what, teacher’s and my protests tumbling forth.
Kostan coldly looked at us. “Art.” He spat. “All art is politics. Art is rooted in its society. You judge art by who creates it, to what use it is put, then and now…. And now, we must move.” To Bela and The Knife: “This teacher is of no use to us and good use to Germans. Get rid of him. No shooting.”
“No! You can’t!” I protested, but the three were disappearing into the wood even as I started up. Moments later, Bela re-appeared with violin in hand. “What do I do with this?” “Bury it”, said Kostan, ”it’s just a violin.”
I stared open-mouthed.
Kostan paused; then in his Hung-lish: “Americanski, you too bourgeois for health. You good go west when Red army comes. I no can longer protect you after kill Nazis.”
His chill words crackled with truth.
The Nazi patrol must have heard it, too – the sinuous keening of a violin snaking its way through the moonless forest; we all held our breath.
“Merde!” whispered Kostan, in his international patois of swearwords, “what the hell is that?” in his native Hungarian. I said it sounded like the theme from Kodály’s duo for violin and cello. “Tres merde!” He spat out orders to Bela and The Knife (we never did learn his name): “go, get him before the basta Boche do!” They melted away in silence. “All we need next is a fucking (in English) cello.”
We waited in silence, eleven of us and three mules loaded with plastic explosive and detonators. The crying violin ceased. Another interminable wait, then three figures, like wraiths emerging from the ground, Bela and The Knife, pushing forward an older man – perhaps 50 or so, it was hard to judge these Hungarian country folk, so ground down since the mobilization of ’42 and the abduction of Horthy in Fall of ‘44.
He was not peasant, after all, Kostan’s interrogation revealed, but a teacher. “Of music?” “No, of languages. The violin is just my companion.” “Which?” “German and English.” ”Shit” spat out Kostan, “Western, decadent shit.”
“Hungary is a bridge” bravely answered the old man, “a bridge between East and West – between the culture of the West and your new society coming from the East.” He had correctly sized up his guardians/captors as red partisans. “We need to know many languages to play our role in the new Europe.”
“The dawn comes from the East, old man” said Kostan sardonically. “Now Hungary is to be for Hungarians; we need know only Russian.” “What was that you were playing?”
“Only folk themes. No real piece.”
“It sounded like Kodály” I interjected in my painful Hungarian. “That’s because Kodály sounds Magyar”, said the oldster. “Where are you from? Not Hungary. What brings you here?”
“Right, I learned Hungarian from my parents in Pittsburgh. I’m American.”
Kostan: “Shut up, both of you. I ask the questions here.”
“Many Hungarians went to America”, said teacher in his English. “Our loss; your gain.”
“Yes, teachers like you, and mathematicians and musicians and just steel-workers like my Dad. Our gain; maybe that’s why I’ve come back to help.” What indeed brings me here? I thought. Dropped into Transdanubia with two Tommy sappers to help harass the German retreat from besieged Budapest, to blow rail lines and impede escape to Vienna and Bratislava. Now we were just eleven, eight red partisan and the three of us, survivors, never sure whether we were harassee or harasser.
I went on: “My mother loved Kodály; I grew up with him.”
Kostan: “This Kodály, the composer, right? One of the toadies of the Austro-Hungarian Empire allied with the Kaiser, right? Now a Budapest parasite, right?”
Both teacher and I reacted. “No, no, a great Hungarian”; “a cultural asset”; “his music is timeless”; “his views are very liberal”; “he translates Magyar music for the world”.
“For the Western world” Kostan disdained. “He sells our folk arts to the wealthy, an exploiter of native culture, one who works to keep us ‘native’ and in chains. He is a collaborator, an enemy of the people.”
“You can’t politicize his art.” “The Nazis weren’t even born when he wrote that theme.” “He composes for the world.” “He writes from the soul, not to serve some political plot.” “Art is art; politics is politics.” I can’t remember clearly who said what, teacher’s and my protests tumbling forth.
Kostan coldly looked at us. “Art.” He spat. “All art is politics. Art is rooted in its society. You judge art by who creates it, to what use it is put, then and now…. And now, we must move.” To Bela and The Knife: “This teacher is of no use to us and good use to Germans. Get rid of him. No shooting.”
“No! You can’t!” I protested, but the three were disappearing into the wood even as I started up. Moments later, Bela re-appeared with violin in hand. “What do I do with this?” “Bury it”, said Kostan, ”it’s just a violin.”
I stared open-mouthed.
Kostan paused; then in his Hung-lish: “Americanski, you too bourgeois for health. You good go west when Red army comes. I no can longer protect you after kill Nazis.”
His chill words crackled with truth.
Zoltan Kodaly stayed in Budapest throughout the war, and became an important part of Communist Hungary's arts and teaching communities. He is regarded as a national hero by Hungarians of all political stripes.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Directing or Managing ... or Meddling?
“If you’re managing, you’re meddling.” So said a lecturer in a Chicago conference; he was talking about trustees of retirement communities. I was there in my role with Horizon House. But it’s true for all boards, large or small, corporate or non-profit. His admonition is right on -- when trustees or directors begin to manage, it signals there’s something wrong. As a trustee of Horizon House, Seattle’s leading continuous care retirement community, I hear his admonition ring in my ears when I feel the urge to tell staff how to do their job.
Directors should be stepping in only
- when staff has asked for help
- or when a job must be done for which staff is unavailable
- or when management must be changed in order to carry out the org’s mission.
But in each case, directors should be asking themselves ‘what is the underlying problem indicated by a need to step in?’
Directors of small, young theatre, dance and music companies often have no choice but to help manage, for they are chronically understaffed. So is that “wrong?” No, not wrong, but unsustainable over time. Committed, volunteer directors and part-time staff can keep an enterprise moving for a time, in some cases for years. But eventually they wear out; if an org is to sustain itself, the time comes for adequate staff resources and professional management systems.
That’s been the case with SRJO: we have reached that awkward stage of being too big to run out of a part-time Exec Director’s back pocket yet too small to afford a full time staff yet too large and complicated to run out of someone’s back pocket. Our directors have stepped up to undertake management tasks in order to get everything done. Our season brochure and concert programs have been produced via collaboration between staff and directors; our fund raising letters are director-written; our terrific new SRJO blog is produced by Bruce Moore, a director; our Jazz Scholars project is mainly director-managed by Susan Jenkins.
But long term, this isn’t healthy. Such shared project management may strain the trustee/executive director relationship as well as compromise the objectivity and independence that trustees must protect.
It’s a stage of growth with all the strains and emotions of a painful adolescence. And like adolescence, it is best grown through and put behind one.
Jim Tune, President of ArtsFund, has seen a number of arts orgs founder by failing to get through that transition. Whether the problem is lack of funding to afford professionals or resistance to change on the part of long-term directors and/or founders, the “problem” is best viewed as an opportunity to arm the organization with the professional staff and systems that will enable it to reach more audience and become a sustainable contributor to the community’s arts culture. Sustainability demands change and growth.
So, what are we doing at SRJO? Setting about to fund supplemental staff – no mean task in this economy – and recruit executive talent. But with transition to executive staff, directors should be able to withdraw from managing (or meddling) and focus on directing, on mission and vision once again.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Scenes of Exuma
Friends from the sea -- that's bro-in-law Tom on the right
Santana's -- beach-fresh seafood with rice and beans
The National Family Islands Regatta: Bahamian smacks can really move
Santana's -- beach-fresh seafood with rice and beans
Jerry, the basket weaver lady
Sam, the conch man. Conch salad made on the spot.
The National Family Islands Regatta: Bahamian smacks can really move
The after-regatta parade, where the kids march and dance....
... and folks come to see and be seen.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Dateline: Hooper's Bay, Great Exuma, The Bahamas
Hooper’s Bay -- a long arc of w
hite sand, framed in green palms and sea grape, lapped by crystalline aquamarine waves, empty save for green turtles and us – Ann, Jan, Tom and I. Balmy air – all a balm to body and spirit.
In truth, this is being written from Seattle, for I so easily had succumbed to Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s admonition: “The beach is not the place to work; to read, write, or think.” All I had gotten on paper was “Dateline: Hooper’s Bay, Great Exuma, The Bahamas.”
The Bahamas lie amidst the bajamar, the Spanish called it, the shallow sea. The land so stingy, the sea so fruitful.
Poor Bahamas. Its sine wave history of exploitation, booms and busts, exploiters moving on but always the blacks left in patient struggle to survive. The brown natives, the Lucayans, did not survive, driven into extinction by 1520 through Columbus’ gifts of servitud
e and desease. Came 17th Century seagoing entrepreneurs -- privateers, in war, pirates in peace -- who berthed in Nassau until the Crown drove them away after the Spanish wars. Then the Loyalist Tory’s taking refuge from the revolution of ‘76, bringing cotton and slaves. The plantations were wiped out by 1820 – the “worm” and the thin soil. The planters left, their slaves left behind. Next the boom of Civil War blockade running, with cotton transshipped to the mills of Britain for gunpowder and manufactures returned. The shallow draft, beamy Bahama smacks ideal for running blockades and landing in Confederate coastal estuaries. The peace of Appomatox killed that boom. Then wrecking and salvage – gifts from the sea -- until the era of steam and better navigation. But along came Prohibition, and bootlegging via Bahama smacks, until repeal ended that too. Today? Tourism and tax havens … and always the sea.
I was last there ’68. Paradise Island was Hog Island then. Lyndon Pindling had just become PM, the 1st black PM. The rush of black power, the echos of Carmichael and Malcolm X made for an uncomfortably self-conscious visit.
This trip was so different, as were the Exuma locals. Conservative, deeply religious, patient. Not hostile to touring white visitors, but with a reserve that makes one self-conscious in another way, that makes me wonder whether they accept my respect or suspect me of
insincere condescension. And which of us is the exploiter now?
We watched the National Family Islands Regatta, where islanders r
ace those colorful smacks. We bonefished with Garth, who could see fish afar that we did not see until almost landing them. We walked the beaches and ate conch and drank rum and accepted the peace of the shore.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh said it best:
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach — waiting for a gift from the sea.”
hite sand, framed in green palms and sea grape, lapped by crystalline aquamarine waves, empty save for green turtles and us – Ann, Jan, Tom and I. Balmy air – all a balm to body and spirit.In truth, this is being written from Seattle, for I so easily had succumbed to Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s admonition: “The beach is not the place to work; to read, write, or think.” All I had gotten on paper was “Dateline: Hooper’s Bay, Great Exuma, The Bahamas.”
The Bahamas lie amidst the bajamar, the Spanish called it, the shallow sea. The land so stingy, the sea so fruitful.
Poor Bahamas. Its sine wave history of exploitation, booms and busts, exploiters moving on but always the blacks left in patient struggle to survive. The brown natives, the Lucayans, did not survive, driven into extinction by 1520 through Columbus’ gifts of servitud
e and desease. Came 17th Century seagoing entrepreneurs -- privateers, in war, pirates in peace -- who berthed in Nassau until the Crown drove them away after the Spanish wars. Then the Loyalist Tory’s taking refuge from the revolution of ‘76, bringing cotton and slaves. The plantations were wiped out by 1820 – the “worm” and the thin soil. The planters left, their slaves left behind. Next the boom of Civil War blockade running, with cotton transshipped to the mills of Britain for gunpowder and manufactures returned. The shallow draft, beamy Bahama smacks ideal for running blockades and landing in Confederate coastal estuaries. The peace of Appomatox killed that boom. Then wrecking and salvage – gifts from the sea -- until the era of steam and better navigation. But along came Prohibition, and bootlegging via Bahama smacks, until repeal ended that too. Today? Tourism and tax havens … and always the sea.I was last there ’68. Paradise Island was Hog Island then. Lyndon Pindling had just become PM, the 1st black PM. The rush of black power, the echos of Carmichael and Malcolm X made for an uncomfortably self-conscious visit.
This trip was so different, as were the Exuma locals. Conservative, deeply religious, patient. Not hostile to touring white visitors, but with a reserve that makes one self-conscious in another way, that makes me wonder whether they accept my respect or suspect me of
insincere condescension. And which of us is the exploiter now?We watched the National Family Islands Regatta, where islanders r
ace those colorful smacks. We bonefished with Garth, who could see fish afar that we did not see until almost landing them. We walked the beaches and ate conch and drank rum and accepted the peace of the shore.Anne Morrow Lindbergh said it best:
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach — waiting for a gift from the sea.”
Friday, April 9, 2010
Arts Governance 2 -- Trustees as ATM’s
By coincidence, the day I roughed this out, The New York Times wrote on the subject of boards as fund raisers. What a distance ‘twixt MOMA and SRJO!
Many arts orgs unabashedly use board seats as ATM machines. It is the socially prominent orgs that can get away with being heavy-handed about it, not only in New York but here in Seattle, too. I dare say the trustees of Seattle Symphony or Seattle Opera don’t have laid on them the $10 million expectation of MOMA or the Metropolitan Museum of Art – that’s right, $10 million! -- but the principal holds: you want to sit with the prominent in this community, either give or get. Check the roster of names the next time you attend SSO or the Opera or the Rep. I don’t want to sound too resentfully proletarian; at bottom, I’m really jealous of their ability to lasso big hitters in support of the arts they love.
In truth, all of us do it to one degree or another. Boards have a responsibility to generate the resources an arts org needs, and unearned income is needed. Typically, earned income from ticket sales and contract performances, from sales of CD’s and those souvenirs in the lobbies, account for only some 40% of total revenues needed to survive and serve the community. (This year, our earned income from performances will be over 51% of total revenues, a high proportion that may say we’re not generating enough elsewhere.) The other 60% or so comes from foundation grants, corporate sponsorships, and individual donations. Grantors are pinched in these days of shrinking investment and endowment accounts. So it comes down to individuals taking up the slack.
As a result, some arts orgs pad their boards way beyond what governance experts say is an efficient size – around 15 active members. Operative word: active. Seattle Opera has a board of 61; the Symphony, 43; Seattle Repertory Theatre, 69. Even smaller orgs pump their boards. Seattle Chamber Music Society, for example, has 36 trustees. These huge boards are there to give and get. Many arts orgs rely on their board’s personal gifts for over 50% of total individual giving.
That’s not SRJO’s way. Not that we’re better or worse – just different. We have a board of 17 (and are actively recruiting for a few more who care and want to work on jazz preservation, presentation, and education – interested?) who are expected to “generate” annually at least $1,000 of revenue – gifts, sponsorships, donations, whatever. Their own gifts account for under a third of our total individual contributions. But padding the board with ATM seats just runs against what egalitarian SRJO stands for – the preservation and presentation of what Jimmy Heath calls America’s “most democratic music”, large ensemble jazz. If some big hitter comes along and wants to join our board that’s an entirely different matter -- blessings upon you, chum.
Same for a corporate sponsor. Didn't you love the way half a mill was raised in one day in response to the threat of cancelling the Lake Union July 4th Fireworks? Maybe that's what we should try? Who’d notice if SRJO threatened to cancel our annual Ellington Sacred Music Concert? Well, by our standards a lot of folks would – SRJO and Earshot sold out Town Hall last holiday season.
Many arts orgs unabashedly use board seats as ATM machines. It is the socially prominent orgs that can get away with being heavy-handed about it, not only in New York but here in Seattle, too. I dare say the trustees of Seattle Symphony or Seattle Opera don’t have laid on them the $10 million expectation of MOMA or the Metropolitan Museum of Art – that’s right, $10 million! -- but the principal holds: you want to sit with the prominent in this community, either give or get. Check the roster of names the next time you attend SSO or the Opera or the Rep. I don’t want to sound too resentfully proletarian; at bottom, I’m really jealous of their ability to lasso big hitters in support of the arts they love.
In truth, all of us do it to one degree or another. Boards have a responsibility to generate the resources an arts org needs, and unearned income is needed. Typically, earned income from ticket sales and contract performances, from sales of CD’s and those souvenirs in the lobbies, account for only some 40% of total revenues needed to survive and serve the community. (This year, our earned income from performances will be over 51% of total revenues, a high proportion that may say we’re not generating enough elsewhere.) The other 60% or so comes from foundation grants, corporate sponsorships, and individual donations. Grantors are pinched in these days of shrinking investment and endowment accounts. So it comes down to individuals taking up the slack.
As a result, some arts orgs pad their boards way beyond what governance experts say is an efficient size – around 15 active members. Operative word: active. Seattle Opera has a board of 61; the Symphony, 43; Seattle Repertory Theatre, 69. Even smaller orgs pump their boards. Seattle Chamber Music Society, for example, has 36 trustees. These huge boards are there to give and get. Many arts orgs rely on their board’s personal gifts for over 50% of total individual giving.
That’s not SRJO’s way. Not that we’re better or worse – just different. We have a board of 17 (and are actively recruiting for a few more who care and want to work on jazz preservation, presentation, and education – interested?) who are expected to “generate” annually at least $1,000 of revenue – gifts, sponsorships, donations, whatever. Their own gifts account for under a third of our total individual contributions. But padding the board with ATM seats just runs against what egalitarian SRJO stands for – the preservation and presentation of what Jimmy Heath calls America’s “most democratic music”, large ensemble jazz. If some big hitter comes along and wants to join our board that’s an entirely different matter -- blessings upon you, chum.
Same for a corporate sponsor. Didn't you love the way half a mill was raised in one day in response to the threat of cancelling the Lake Union July 4th Fireworks? Maybe that's what we should try? Who’d notice if SRJO threatened to cancel our annual Ellington Sacred Music Concert? Well, by our standards a lot of folks would – SRJO and Earshot sold out Town Hall last holiday season.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Arts Governance -- theory and practice sometimes don't meet
This series on governance of arts orgs has been prepared for our SRJO blog, (which if you care about jazz, you should check out.)
In January, I engaged twenty-some candidates for Seattle U’s Master in Fine Arts Administration (http://www.seattleu.edu/artsci/mfa/) in a discussion of arts governance. Since all of these sharp students have spent two years or more working with arts orgs of one sort or another, they have a pretty good view of staff and executive director matters. But their exposure to trustees and boards typically has been more limited – so that is why I was invited to speak, as President of SRJO’s Board of Trustees.
We talked about theory of board governance – which looks logical and simple -- and then about reality’s disconnects. In theory, a non-profit art org’s board ought to do seven things.
- Define the mission and vision
- Provide resources, i.e., dollars and volunteers
- Select staff leadership, i.e., the Executive Director or CEO
- Approve policies, plans, goals and budget
- Act as fiduciaries, i.e.,
- assure resources are used responsibly and as constituents intend, and
- be accountable for delivery of services that justify the org’s tax-exempt status
- Evaluate and compensate key staff
- Support and encourage, maintaining positive relations with exec director and artistic director
This is governance: the act of governing. Serious business -- important. But all too often, we see it abdicated to a strong executive director or to the organization’s founder. Why? Where does theory get disconnected?
First of all, art org directors are volunteers. What motivates someone to be on a board? First, it is love of the art – whether dance or opera or jazz or children's theatre or whatever. And those lovers of the art may or may not be disciplined in financial oversight or priority setting or fund raising or performance appraisal or planning and strategy…. Sometimes it is the prestige of being on a socially significant board like the symphony or opera. In the case of smaller, less visible boards, directors often turn out to have had some relationship with the exec director or artistic director that led to being invited onto the board. So, between the love of the art, the prestige of position, and/or that relationship, objectivity can get waylaid. Hard decisions and diligence can be undermined.
Governance is work, and in these days of tight money, hard work: arts orgs are struggling to serve and survive. If governing and supporting isn’t fun, a volunteer director begins to ask ‘why am I wrestling with all this?’ One of my challenges then, as President, is to make it fulfilling and fun (and that is tough for old sobersides, here, who gets all uptight about projects, forecasts and due dates.)
Enough for now; I’ll post more later on how reality tests trustee theory.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
What Creates a Responsible Commonwealth?
Last Thursday, at the Olympic Club, a fellow member – a committed Libertarian -- gave a provocative speech on liberty. His views echo the early pioneer creed of self-reliance, freedom to choose, and readiness to take responsibility for the outcomes of those choices. He decries any government mandates – whether to participate in Social Security or wear seat belts or whatever. Thursday night, I pondered a response about the balance of freedom and commonwealth; if not government in our complex, heterogeneous society, what mechanisms constrain liberty from becoming mere license?
Friday morning, I joined the leadership team of Horizon House to have bre
akfast with Geoffrey Black, General Minister and President of the United Church of Christ. (Horizon House, Seattle’s leading continuous care retirement community, was founded 50 years ago by members of Plymouth Congregational Church, a UCC affiliate; we still have ties to the UCC though we are a heterogeneous, multi-faith community of curious, active persons dedicated to creative ageing. I serve as a non-resident trustee.) This was a remarkable coincidence, coming as it did after my musing on the responsibilities of free citizens to a community of free citizens. The Reverend Black talked passionatly about peace and justice and what his community of faith had to be and become to minister effectively in the 21st century.
Friday morning, I joined the leadership team of Horizon House to have bre
akfast with Geoffrey Black, General Minister and President of the United Church of Christ. (Horizon House, Seattle’s leading continuous care retirement community, was founded 50 years ago by members of Plymouth Congregational Church, a UCC affiliate; we still have ties to the UCC though we are a heterogeneous, multi-faith community of curious, active persons dedicated to creative ageing. I serve as a non-resident trustee.) This was a remarkable coincidence, coming as it did after my musing on the responsibilities of free citizens to a community of free citizens. The Reverend Black talked passionatly about peace and justice and what his community of faith had to be and become to minister effectively in the 21st century.The UCC, itself, is remarkable. Formed but in 1957 by the merger of the Congregationalists of my forbearers with the Evangelical and Reformed Church, and small (only 1.1mm and shrinking like so many other mainline denominations), UCC has swung a disproportionate weight in the fights for civil rights, against Apartheid, for women’s rights, for gay and lesbian rights (UCC lost 400k members in 2007 after officially endorsing gay marriage), against nuclear arms proliferation, and so on and on. And these are not merely positions; this is a church of deeds -- showing up, organizing, contributing, calling, laboring, feeding, housing, providing sanctuary, whatever.
The UCC is committed to peace and justice; its congregations are open and welcoming to all of whatever ethnic or social strata or sexual persuasion, so long as one shares belief and commitment.
My home church was Colonial Church of Edina, a Congregationalist church led by Dr. Arthur Rouner, a congregation that decided to opt out of UCC at the time of merger. When I came to Seattle, I was attracted to Plymouth Congregational and its senior minister, Joe Williamson. His was a remarkable intellect; he later served as Dean of religious life at Princeton University. Plymouth continues to live the UCC progressive, activist tradition: Plymouth Housing Group operates 800 units of low income housing; its supports sister church relationships in emerging nations (it was through Plymouth that I was able to go and take a close look at Nicaragua in the Sandinista years); it has persistently protested the Iraq war. I served it for a while as head of adult education, studying and wrestling with the complexities of these kinds of moral and ethical questions.
It wasn’t the church’s activism or stand on issues that ate at me. It was questions of belief and faith. I dreaded a certain question at breakfast with Rev. Black, since I am no longer a member of Plymouth – or of any church. Why, when I obviously admire Plymouth and the UCC?
For years I had swallowed my doubts and salved my conscience by rationalizing that the Apostles Creed was merely poetic metaphor, or by standing silent while my fellow congregants stated their true belief in trinity, in resurrection, in an activist God who would intercede in the affairs of men. My doubt of a ‘loving’ God who obviously did not intercede to mitigate the chaos, the tragedies, the inhumanities of the world grew; along with it, my sense of hypocrisy. And then I began spending more time in Southeast Asia, increasingly exposed to the teachings of the Buddha.
My journey finally arrived at a point where I no longer can call myself a Christian. I still revere the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. We know he would be appalled by some of the deeds committed in his name But also that he would be delighted by others, like those of progressive UCC’ers committed to Acceptance and Peace and Justice. I have come to accept the Buddha's disdain for questions of the nature of God as an unkowable distraction from the problems of dealing here and now with suffering, self control, and injustice.
But the Thursday question remains: what mechanisms should we use, if any, to balance freedom with community responsibility? Is it enough to rely on 1.1mm UCC’ers or ten times as many Methodists or twenty times as many Baptists to handle the demands of 300millions more Americans, many of whom may not be responsible and self-sufficient, who have needs and suffer injustice? What creates a responsible, civil commonwealth? And what is the proper role of the majority, i.e., of a government of the governed?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
That Was Hockey!
There were no losers in that gold medal game. Hockey was the winner. It couldn't have show-cased any better for any more fans the grace, artistry, speed, and organized chaos that hockey is supposed to be ... without the goons and fistfights that NHL owners think necessary to keep beer-swigging dolts coming to games. And the point is, those remarkable players who cared so, who emptied their tanks for pride and country and team, are NHL pros -- the same guys who besmirch their game with gratuitous violence week after week until fans like me give up.
I once relished the old Northstars of Minnesota -- that was super hockey. And at Marriott, Sam Huff and I worked the NHL teams for contract rooms. But then the league began to pander... and now franchises shift about in regions where there is no cultural appreciation for the game. When DC got its franchise (from Minnesota) fans used to scream with delight at showy but fruitless slapshots from the blue line. Pleasing crowds with meaningless drama and fighting became the standard. The owners mealy mouth about fighting, and they get the fans they earn.
Anyway, hats off to the Finns, Canadians, and Americans who gave the world a look at hockey as it was meant to be. C'mon, NHL: take a fresh look.
I once relished the old Northstars of Minnesota -- that was super hockey. And at Marriott, Sam Huff and I worked the NHL teams for contract rooms. But then the league began to pander... and now franchises shift about in regions where there is no cultural appreciation for the game. When DC got its franchise (from Minnesota) fans used to scream with delight at showy but fruitless slapshots from the blue line. Pleasing crowds with meaningless drama and fighting became the standard. The owners mealy mouth about fighting, and they get the fans they earn.
Anyway, hats off to the Finns, Canadians, and Americans who gave the world a look at hockey as it was meant to be. C'mon, NHL: take a fresh look.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Home Again, Home Again....
What a great adventure: Ann was all support; Frank’s initiative made it possible; I supplied encouragement. Neither of us could have done it without the other. Frank and I make a surprisingly compatible odd couple. He has an incisive wit; an explosive disdain for “those idiots” who usually turn out to be authorities, politicians, or drivers of cars in his vicinity; and a charming ability to chat up strangers, developing instant rapport because of his obviously sincere interest in them. As an inventor, his mind is constantly in quest of the better – no matter what the object of his attention.
This probably ends my Olympic quests: I’ve been very lucky: three winter games – Innsbruck ’76, Calgary ’88, Vancouver ’10; two summers -- Montreal 76, Los Angeles ’84 -- and peripheral involvement in Moscow ’80 (as unexpected advisor to Vneshtorgbank on marketing Russian Olympic coins.) I’m sure I won’t be going to Sochi, but wouldn’t it be fun?
The games have changed so. When I fell in love with Winter Olympics, in ’76, stars were made by the games, not for the games. Yes, there were corporate sponsors and broadcasting contracts, but ordinary joe fans drove most of the action. Security was not intrusive until post 9/11– despite the tragedy of Munich in ’72. The venues were small and intimate and manageable w/o daunting transportation challenges. Hell, at Innsbruck, I climbed up the mountain with a guy I met on site, and then, when the guards weren’t looking, we clambered into and out of the bobsled run to make our way to the downhill course (and by dumb luck we hit it at the corner where Klammer went airborne.) Calgary, though larger, still felt intimate. The Summers have always been too large – Rome, Sydney, Los Angeles, Montreal, Tokyo, Beijing and all, but Winters until now have been tight and close. Sochi may return to that pattern.
This is not to say Vancouver was disappointing. Yes, it was too big – three venues at Whistler and six in Vancouver. Yes, it’ll be a flop financially and yes, VanOC m
ade some bonehead moves – scaring away fans, fencing off the flame, creating a unused reversible lane highway ... the IOC didn’t help by bestowing a ticket monopoly on a highly suspect tour packager…. But Vancouverites made up for all that with their delight, their welcomes, their smiles and courtesy. As for sour grapes about how intent they were on podium positions? They’re no worse than any other host people who are proud and determined to show the world what they’ve got. And the beauty of 
the setting – a natural advantage winter games have over summers for, after all, you do need snow covered mountains – Vancouver is hard to beat. Neither Calgary nor Albertville nor Lillehammer had the Pacific Ocean as their front yard.
Despite the kleptocratic and sometimes ridiculous IOC (the delegate from Oman awarding cross-country ski medals!), the millions spent, and whatever the venue, all who attend a winter games -- corporate host or guest or ordinary joe or local resident -- all share a single focus and one enthusiasm – the games. In that way, the Olympics truly do bring the world together for a brief moment -- and that is precious, indeed.
This probably ends my Olympic quests: I’ve been very lucky: three winter games – Innsbruck ’76, Calgary ’88, Vancouver ’10; two summers -- Montreal 76, Los Angeles ’84 -- and peripheral involvement in Moscow ’80 (as unexpected advisor to Vneshtorgbank on marketing Russian Olympic coins.) I’m sure I won’t be going to Sochi, but wouldn’t it be fun?
The games have changed so. When I fell in love with Winter Olympics, in ’76, stars were made by the games, not for the games. Yes, there were corporate sponsors and broadcasting contracts, but ordinary joe fans drove most of the action. Security was not intrusive until post 9/11– despite the tragedy of Munich in ’72. The venues were small and intimate and manageable w/o daunting transportation challenges. Hell, at Innsbruck, I climbed up the mountain with a guy I met on site, and then, when the guards weren’t looking, we clambered into and out of the bobsled run to make our way to the downhill course (and by dumb luck we hit it at the corner where Klammer went airborne.) Calgary, though larger, still felt intimate. The Summers have always been too large – Rome, Sydney, Los Angeles, Montreal, Tokyo, Beijing and all, but Winters until now have been tight and close. Sochi may return to that pattern.
This is not to say Vancouver was disappointing. Yes, it was too big – three venues at Whistler and six in Vancouver. Yes, it’ll be a flop financially and yes, VanOC m
ade some bonehead moves – scaring away fans, fencing off the flame, creating a unused reversible lane highway ... the IOC didn’t help by bestowing a ticket monopoly on a highly suspect tour packager…. But Vancouverites made up for all that with their delight, their welcomes, their smiles and courtesy. As for sour grapes about how intent they were on podium positions? They’re no worse than any other host people who are proud and determined to show the world what they’ve got. And the beauty of 
the setting – a natural advantage winter games have over summers for, after all, you do need snow covered mountains – Vancouver is hard to beat. Neither Calgary nor Albertville nor Lillehammer had the Pacific Ocean as their front yard.Despite the kleptocratic and sometimes ridiculous IOC (the delegate from Oman awarding cross-country ski medals!), the millions spent, and whatever the venue, all who attend a winter games -- corporate host or guest or ordinary joe or local resident -- all share a single focus and one enthusiasm – the games. In that way, the Olympics truly do bring the world together for a brief moment -- and that is precious, indeed.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Mother Nature Blesses Whistler... Finally!
A stunning alpine day -- cloudless, warm, barely a breeze, 7cm of new snow dusting the tracks and trails. D'hiller Frank opted for skiing along the women's downhill to see whether Lindsey V's injury was real or a media thrill. He got the answer, and so did all the other women, and some great shots which I will pass along soon. The ancient skate skiier opted for the men's and women's classic sprints.
The Olympic Center, i.e., the sprint course, the sliding center and the jumps, were constructed by VanOC, and they are super -- super fast, supe
r sited, super for fans. And VanOC has set up a Cle$1.5 million for operating support for IntraWest's takeover of the facility. But IntraWest is in bankruptcy (was the auction yesterday?) so no one knows what to expect. But now is the word at the Olympics... NOW.From the stands, awash in a sea of oomlauts and those funny oh's with the backslash through them, I watched 5 heats of qualifications, four quarter finals, two semi and the finals -- twelve races for each of men and women. The sprints are 1.5kms with 95mtrs of altitude gain. They ran it in around 3:40, with the women typically only 8 to 10 seconds slower. It was awesome. I never saw so many Scandanavians in one place before, a sea of Finns, Swedes, and gigantic Norwegians wearing Viking gear, all waving flags and clanging bells. But over their shoulders lurked the Russians -- two golds in the men's in a fantastic finish, way outpacing the bronze Norwegian. Norway d
id take the gold in women's, to everone's delight (except the Swedes and Finns.) But the exhausted Slovene who bronzed stole the attention, for she was in real trouble. Even 7 hours later, she had to have two EMP's helping her to walk and get up on the podium at the award ceremony. Afterward, the organizers got it right; the crowd walked the 3kms to the bus loading zone and were whisked off to Whistler.
id take the gold in women's, to everone's delight (except the Swedes and Finns.) But the exhausted Slovene who bronzed stole the attention, for she was in real trouble. Even 7 hours later, she had to have two EMP's helping her to walk and get up on the podium at the award ceremony. Afterward, the organizers got it right; the crowd walked the 3kms to the bus loading zone and were whisked off to Whistler.We hooked up, had a late afternoon lamb stew, and wandered. There are live performances all about Whistler. Bare Naked Ladies were playing to a tightly massed crowd. Monday, we had seen a First Nations group named George Leech (or maybe Leach) who was so much better a group of musicians -- playing before a so much smaller crowd. What a shame. BNL were really dumb. I blew my way through the crowd to check out tix for the awards ceremony.
The deal is tix are required but cost nothing. Step 2: wait list. Wait list for tix? Well, no...just go stand in what they term a wait list line and usually they let all of you in. So I called Frank and stood in line awhile. He showed up, but we lost one another at the security stations, and just like with TSA, my artificial knees set off alarms. The ceremony was fun;
Lindsey and Mancuso were great. Marte, the Norwegian gold sprinter, was charming. The Bronze Slovene woman proud though clearly suffering. And so off to town on that three lane highway, now with a steady stream of cars heading down off the mountain. And the reversible lanes in the utlimate wisdom of the organizers? Two empty lanes up; one jammed lane down. Oh, and in response to the outcry of protests about fencing off the flame cauldron? They have cut a nine inch slice out of the fence at adult eye level so that one can shoot pictures through the slot. Still can't shoot your kids in front of the flame. No wonder Mother Nature has been dumping on these VanOC goofballs.
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