Reunion delivers sweet sounds

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Yes, you can go home again!

By Michael Marshall Brown

            BELLOWS FALLS, VERMONT – My friends and business colleagues here in Ohio can’t comprehend the energy, passion and unique pride that goes into the annual Alumni Association Reunion weekend hosted each June in Bellows Falls.

            It almost defies description among people who perhaps have only one or two high school classmates connected on facebook or whatever.  This is the reality check in Bellows Falls on what are the true face to face social network connections.

We  have an all-class party on Friday night (EVERY year), then specific class dinners (we just celebrated our 40^th class reunion party) and then on Father’s Day everyone enjoys a giant parade of fabulous float, bands and marchers in front of at least 5,000 people.

            All of this in a tiny little village where less than 3,000 hardy souls live year-round?  Yes, it’s amazing by any level of participation.

            The best way I can describe the incredible spirit is to describe not just the sights of the weekend but the sounds.

            While pictures tell a thousand stories, so say wise men centuries ago, for a modern-day “flatlander” from far away now, the most beautiful and enriching way to connect were the sounds absorbed during the alumni weekend.

            My thoughts, focused acutely about sounds, started on an early Saturday morning, sitting in an old wooden rocking chair on a porch.  Most of Bellows Falls was sound asleep and recovering from the annual Friday night dance and party where BF alumni ranging from 18 to 88 gathered  to celebrate the good life.

            I had driven 12 hours from Ohio the night before, didn’t party too overly late, and so was wide awake sitting on this porch.  The first sound I noticed was the creak of the old chair that Mother Mary Hadley favored for decades before she left this world of incredible musical and community giving earlier this year.  It was my honor to stay at her house with the Hadley family and to sit quietly and respectful in her chair.

            The sound of a train coming up the big river reminded me of the old-days when Steamtown was one of the biggest tourist attractions in the state of Vermont.  What a loss that was to the regional economy (the largest collection of steam engines in the world)  and why can’t we get it back?

            A flock of geese flew over.  Vermont is so nice most of the year they don’t migrate.

            Then I heard little children out front, a short bike ride from Central Elementary School.  This is the brick school where I was selected to play taps the week John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  That is a sound I’ll never forget.

The little kids last weekend were giggling and asking each other what country this car with an Ohio license plate came from.  They struggled to say O-H-I-O.

            There were frequent sounds of domestic abuse; angry and ugly talk from up on the hill.  Bellows Falls is far from a perfect place to live and grow up now.  It was indeed almost perfect back in the good old days.

            The St. Charles church bells chiming reminded me of so many funerals, weddings and special events over the many years.  But all these sounds were not about mourning and being sad.  It was a time of celebration.

            Later that same day, I met with classmates at the famous Ms. Bellows Falls Diner.  For a moment, I could hear the sounds of Big George Kiniry, my father Richard E. Brown, and Richard Comtois, coming in for the first-morning of deer hunting season in Vermont.  These were sounds burned into my memory about 50 years ago.  The diner hasn’t changed a bit; food was still good, so were the people.

            Our breakfast party of two Hadleys and one incredible Sue Stack left for a little road trip.  We visited some very important people and their spirits at Oak Hill Cemetery.  Yes, sadly, our little town of Bellows Falls has endured more than its share of early and tragic deaths.  The sound of our light laughter mixed with some tears made pleasant and respectful sounds at that hallowed setting.

            After we paid our respects, we drove through Saxtons River and Grafton, and we chattered and rambled on like young school children.

Vermont never looked more beautiful with its spring green thanks to a late warm-weather season and much rain.  The startling damage to houses, roads and bridges was still apparent long after the ravages of Irene. We stared quietly and in awe of the power of nature run amuck.

            But on this day, the clear waters of the Saxtons River made peaceful babbling sounds.  In my mind I could hear the sound of my pal Don Bruce’s spinning real as he battled a big brown trout in the deep waters near the Village of Saxtons River.  That was only 44 years ago.

            In Grafton village by the Inn we stood amid the beautiful outdoor setting and wondered quietly and then verbally why so many other people from around the area, the nation and the world were not also with us here in this cherished setting.  We thought out loud how our classmate Don Bruce had a wonderful opportunity now as the new Inn Keeper in Grafton.  We’ll be back in the future.

            Driving back, the giggles of little kids caught our attention.  They were offering a car wash to raise money for a class trip to some far-away place.  Sue, plus Ken and Aynn, didn’t need to say anything as we watched the kids spray themselves, laugh, and do their best in washing a stranger’s cars.  What were we hearing and watching?  They were us a long time ago.

            Life goes by so quickly.  The next time you wash your car, do something radical in this fast-paced techno world.  Do it yourself, and spray your spouse, neighbors, kids or grand-kids just a wee bit.  There’s nothing better than the sounds of giggles over a car wash.

            The alumni parties were non-stop conservation; such a natural buzz to listen to so many good stories old and new.  It wasn’t about how fancy a car you drive or how much money you make.  It’s about what have you done for fun lately.

            At our 40^th Class Reunion dinner, we all stood for a champagne toast to salute the 14 classmates no longer with us on this planet.  It was a happy, respectful and emotional moment all in one.  All of those we lost gave us so much value then and they continue to do so now.

            As we toasted, I heard the sounds of long-lost classmate Scott Semonite tinkering with the wind speedometer on his bicycle.  The sounds of Jane Cote’s laughter filled my head.  Paul Stack’s quiet and strong way of “making right” was a memory as fresh as yesterday.  These are just some of the enduring classmates we lost so early.

            At the parade, I wore my original purple graduation gown and my 1973 class ring from way back when.  A stranger at the parade (there really aren’t any strangers on Alumni Weekend) came up to me and asked to take a photo.  She told me I looked a little mature to be a BF High graduate!

            Halfway through marching with what would become the Grand Prize winner as best float in the famed parade, I stopped on my old street corner of Henry and Atkinson.  My Dad was there to watch for the 62^nd year in a row.  And he didn’t even graduate from BF!  He came from the “big city” of Brattleboro.

My Dad and I posed for a group photo with classmate Paul Obuchowski, who literally is Mr. Bellows Falls these days, making sure the Alumni classic remains strong.

            So when I was driving far west back to Ohio after the Alumni weekend, there naturally wasn’t much chance to close my eyes.  But my ears and memory banks are infused with fresh sounds and great memories old and new.

           

           

Rollin’ down the river

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Passage of time measured

By Michael Marshall Brown

            LEWISTON, NEW YORK – A wild river, big fish, two sons, and good friends.  That’s a winning formula for sharing a great new adventure but there’s more to this story.

            Country music legend Kathy Mattea many years ago shared with me personally her views connected to the great music she made.

            Dreams drift away like leaves on the water …they roll down the river and slip out of sight. Too many times we do what we ought; put off ‘till tomorrow what we’d really rather do tonight.

            People pass on … At the drop of a tear they’re gone. Let’s do what we dare; do what we like … And love while we’re here before time passes by …

            Time passes by … Aren’t those good words to live by these chaotic days?  So it was earlier this month with our long-awaited Christmas gift to my adult sons Shane and Cody.  We don’t spend as much time together as we should, and we don’t get to hunt and fish together like we once did.  So the perfect gift was a scheduled guided fishing trip with Captain Joe Marra at the famous fishing waters of the Niagara River.

            It turned out to be the best fishing trip of my entire life.  Check that; one of the best days of my entire life on this planet.

            There were many reasons; starting with the quality time with my sons.  Time has passed by so quickly and it’s hard to believe they are no longer toddlers scuffling up their chins and knees doing dare-devil stunts in the many driveways of their youth.  

            We spent hours and hours talking about all kinds of stuff.  Mostly, we talked about dreams for big fish.  Our dreams came true.

            Cody had never caught a smallmouth bass in his life.  He got the first big fish of the day and what a whopper it was, a beautiful smallie about seven pounds.  Many serious anglers struggle their entire lives to catch a smallmouth bass this big but Cody’s first was a giant.

            The best was yet to come.  I had positioned myself in the bow of Captain Joe’s boat, knowing the anglers in the back tended to catch the most and the biggest fish in the raging waters as we drifted. 

            But this logic didn’t hold up.  It was me hooking into giant fish although Shane and Cody both caught big lakers and several nice smallmouth bass.  My day was beyond belief. 

            The passage of time comes to mind again.  After more than 50 years of angling not once have I ever caught a musky, the giant and toothy cousins of the northern pike.  But on eight-pound, light line and tackle set up for trout, with a ton of luck and little bit of skill, a 44-inch, 17 pound musky was hooked, battled, and netted.  It was a breath-taking experience for the four of us in the boat because the powerful runs not to mention the huge teeth of the musky made it unlikely we’d get this monster in the net.

            But we did; got some amazing photos, and released the huge fish back into the water.

            Later my catch included a ferocious-looking male steelhead trout about 15 pounds plus a laker that was the largest I’d ever caught anywhere.  It weighed 20 pounds.

            Clearly, the reputation for Lewiston and the Niagara River not far from the famous falls continues to grow.  I’ve been coming there as an outdoor writer and photographer for 15 years and this trip was the best one ever and what a joy to share it with my sons.

            Cody had never fished there and Shane had visited once when he was a young teen-ager.  It was a trip they will never forget, whether we never do it again or hopefully get there every May together for the next 40 years … I told them I expected to still be fishing and playing basketball when I’m 98 but every day is the best day because it might be my last.

            The passage of time never seemed clearer than on this trip.  Another passage was learning that Andrea and Bruce at the Riverside Motel, right on the river in Lewiston, have decided to sell their pristine little property.  Family obligations with their kids in sports and music, and after 15 years of hard labor, make the decision a good one.

            All these years later they have hosted hundreds of outdoor writers and of course other visitors from all over the world.  Think of the impact they made on so many.  Thank you.  The people of Lewiston should put up a plaque on a rock thanking them for their efforts to promote the region’s hospitality and sport fishing.

            So, how are you on the passage of time with your life and your family?

            There’s no better way to measure that passage than on a river, in a boat catching giant fish, and with your family.  I highly recommend you book a Niagara River adventure as soon as possible.  The fishing is great every month of the year.  Contact Captain Joe at NRCharter@hotmail.com or 716-754-0951.  Call the Riverside Motel at 716-754-4101 or via email at rsmotel@aol.com.

            See you on the river in real time or in our dreams.   Remember, time passes by quicker than you might think …

           

On the Road Again for Fishing

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First time never forgotten

By Michael Marshall Brown

            LEWISTON, NY – Do you remember the first time your children giggled and were in awe when they gleefully caught their first big fish?  I do.

            That spirit connected to nature will be rekindled this weekend when my “Christmas Present” to my adult sons Shane and Cody is delivered in style. We’re together on a road trip this weekend to the raging waters of the Niagara River, seeking trophy fish not far from the famous falls.

            It will be Cody’s first trip there.  Shane loved the fishing there a decade ago.  I’ve been taking anglers with me there almost every year for more than 18 years. 

            The fishing is the best anyplace in the nation with the exception of Alaska.  In mid-may the big fish we’ll be catching with professional guide and captain, Joe Marra, includes lake trout, steelhead trout, maybe king salmon, and very large smallmouth bass. 

            The biggest freshwater fish of my life have been caught in these very same waters.  I’ve  landed lake trout, walleye and steelhead all over 10 pounds.  Mix in a 30-pound king salmon and a seven-pound smallmouth bass and you get the hint that we’re pretty excited to get up there.

            Want to go with us sometime soon?  Captain Joe Marra can be reached at 716-754-0951 or via email at NRCharter@hotmail.com.  There’s also a great little family-owned motel where we like to stay that I highly recommend.  It is the Riverside Motel, right on the big river in quaint Lewiston and you can reach them at 716-754-4101 or rsmotel@aol.com.

            So, back to that first time with your son or daughter.  Fishing is an incredible, binding force.  It seems hard to believe for most parents, I suppose, that the little kid with a tiny fishing rod has somehow grown up and is not too far away from age 30.  But the day my oldest son Shane hooked into a big rainbow trout, at his grandfather’s Pals Forever camp in Vermont, it was a day we  both will never forget.

            Cody’s first big fish was a funny story.  We had a little sunfish baited up on his little frail rod and left the rod on the wooden dock of a Marietta area pond.  Typical of most kids, he got a little bored and decided to check out the frogs in the nearby corner of the pond.  Not long after we left, I heard an unusual noise.  It was the sound of the rod and reel being dragged across the wooden dock.

            We raced back to the dock, I set the hook, and Cody had a blast fighting and then reeling in a nice big catfish.

            But Niagara River fishing is an entirely different ballgame.  The raging river, deep and cold waters, and huge freshwater fish, dwarf Shane’s first trout in Vermont or Cody’s first catfish from Ohio waters.

            We hope to make this an annual excursion.  A dear friend and a great outdoorsman, Glenn Libby, made a fine comment earlier this week.  He has a sense that somebody three generations of Browns will share future adventures chasing after big fish in the Niagara River.

            Ready to go along?

           

Branding still misunderstood

Is your personal brand real?

By Michael Marshall Brown

            COLUMBUS, OH – The perceived brand of a college, corporation, basketball team and naturally your own personal and individual brand is a crucial factor in today’s world.

            Yet branding remains an incredibly misunderstood factor.  So often the hype and the blown out of proportion brand perception comes crashing down with bad consequences.

            On the positive side, the power of television marketing and branding has rarely been as clear as how tiny Florida Gulf Coast’s basketball run in the NCAA tournament showed the world.  Two weeks ago, this little university that was just a swamp in 1997 was not known to the vast majority of people.  But constant TV attention, as Gulf Coast won games few people expected them to win, instantaneously pushed their brand to what will be a sustained high level for years to come.

            The Monday morning after Gulf Coast beat top-seeded Gonzaga; there were 489 emails on a Gulf Coast coach’s computer to scan. It was the baseball coach!  The college bookstore had constant waiting lines, and more money was spent at that bookstore for logo clothing ($100,000) than was earned the entire previous year.

            A month ago, the basketball coach of Gulf Coast was making about $140,000 per year and was far out of the spotlight.  This week he was quickly signed to a seven-million-dollar contract by USC on the west coast.

            Yes, television is amazing. What the basketball team did for future Gulf Coast recruiting of students and fund raising success in future years is also going to be remarkable.

            That’s why it boggles my mind to see so many corporations and colleges not recognize and take advantage of the power of TV and associated branding assets.

            But brands can be inflated, poked, and then crash just like what happened to the Ohio State basketball team.  Can you say over-rated?  As much as those of us who love the Buckeyes and basketball in general enjoyed the dramatic last-second shots that saved the Buckeyes in the earlier rounds, we cringed watching the final game when all the weaknesses of the Buckeyes were exposed.

            The lack of defense and weak scoring skills killed the Buckeyes against a Wichita State team that will lose by more than 25 points against mighty Louisville this weekend.   But the massive Ohio State brand caused millions of people, and many media experts,  into thinking the Buckeyes were good enough to win the national championship.

            As for NBA basketball, despite the long winning streak that ended recently for the Miami Heat, the brand for Lebron’s team is getting over-blown.  They are not even close to the great teams of the past like the Lakers, Celtics or Bulls.  Need a specific reason?  Shaq was far past his prime just a few years ago and when current Heat center Chris Bosh was a big star in Toronto, it was the over-the-hill Shaq who overpowered him for 42 points.

            The same is true in the workplace.  Reputations and brand identity get out of whack.

            How many of us have watched a chatty young woman and man in the office, with very little raw talent, enamor themselves to superior officers?  The “brand” gets inflated and the wrong people get raises and promotions and others hoping to win their positions are told “you’ve got awfully big shoes to fill and I don’t know if you can handle it.”

            The same situation is true in most job searches these days.  Those picked for interviews and ultimately offered the job typically have two things in common and it is not talent or who might best help the company.  The people who get the job most often have a connection to the decision makers.   And they are most always not going to be a job security threat to the middle-level managers making the decision.

            The people with the high brand awareness as candidates, especially if they have a connection, will almost always get the job now over those with better credentials and potential to  boost the brand of a college or company.

            Why is this so often true?  I believe since the 2007 and 2008 meltdown of our economic strength (caused by Obama?????!!!!!!) that many colleges and companies are still in a bunker mentality.  The middle and upper level decision-makers, for example, are reluctant to expand and embrace creative change because of so much uncertainty.  Specifically, most major American companies and colleges these days have enormous endowments and investment money just sitting in a bank somewhere.

            I have personally watched state agencies, colleges and companies avoid hiring people with new ideas and bold ambition.  They talk the game of wanting to grow the brand and find new marketplace success.   But they hire somebody they know is younger with lesser credentials.  It’s safer, they say.  Safer?

            It would be as if Rick Pitino the brilliant coach at Louisville was having trouble scoring against Duke; he’s got this fast kid named Smith sitting on the bench, and yet Pitino decides to play another guard because he is the cousin of the campus president.  Seriously, that scenario would never happen with Louisville but it happens elsewhere with enormous frequency.

            Does any of this comparison of sports brand and reputation modeling compare to the workplace where you are these days?

            I was in a workplace a few years ago where a committee decided the best candidate out of 110 others was a young woman they had never previously met, a person who failed miserably during the interview and writing process evaluation, and yet she got the public relations job.

 Why was that?  The committee knew her family from way back, and the family owned and operated a nearby marina on the river.  They liked this young woman.  She had local connections while much more qualified finalists didn’t have this personal edge despite the fact it was really not relevant to the job search.

            To me in an overall sense regarding branding, Abe Lincoln’s logic and wisdom is lost on our  place in time and space.  He was right when he said something along the lines of … you can fool some of the people some of the time, and you can fool some of the people all the time.

            When it comes to building your brand for yourself, perhaps it would be good to know the family who runs the nearby marina on the river.

            Finally, and in earnest, don’t forget the power of television and how humans recall images they see on TV far more than any other communication tool including the web these days.   I’ve got friends and family who can sing the entire Beverly Hillbilly TV show theme song and that tune hasn’t been on television in 40 years …

            Come and listen to a story about a man named Jed …

           

           

Gotta’ love basketball!

Passion for basketball

By Michael Marshall Brown

BELLOWS FALLS, VERMONT – The advent of cable television and the deep national passion with NCAA March Madness basketball is an amazing media phenomenon.

It’s hard for many people to believe how much has changed since some of us grew up madly in love with basketball during the late 1960s. The basketball world was so much more local and regional in nature and most often far from the national spotlight.

But the passion was still all consuming for those of us fortunate to have tasted the basketball madness.

Please enjoy a few personal memories from the 1960s when basketball was emerging in such a big way, players wore crew cuts and short shorts, and the best hoop shoes money could buy cost less than $20.

My first basketball memories as a little kid in a little town were my father taking me to wait in line for a chance to buy a ticket to watch the varsity basketball games on Friday nights.  The old gym — that seemed large to me in 1967 — actually only held about 600 people but it was always elbow-to-elbow.  It was high drama, it was sweaty and gritty on and off the court, and it stamped a determined level of passion in me that this was something I wanted more of in future years.

But getting there wasn’t easy.  There were no youth leagues like now, and it wasn’t until seventh grade when Lover Dexter our coach started trying to convince me that a jump shot was better than a set shot.  I can hear his incredible gifted voice now, trying to teach me how to spin or float a layup softly off the backboard.

Our passion was already strong.  We cut off the tips of our winter gloves and played basketball in the snow-covered drive ways every chance we got.  At my parents’ house, we had an old carriage barn when we put a cut-out peach basket on the sliding, wooden door and played dunk ball.  We would slam each other around and pretend we were Lew Alcindor, John Havlicek or Bill Russell.

It wasn’t pretty but it was passionate basketball.

Forever more all these years as both a basketball player, sometimes a coach, and often a sports writer covering thousands of high school, college and NBA games, the core success all came down to quality coaching.  The good ones really stand out as do the bad ones.

Dale Perkins was our town’s junior high then freshman year basketball coach.  He was terrific.  We had a freshman class with nobody over six-feet-tall but Perkins forged a really good team that won 80-percent of the games and often defeated teams from far larger towns and with much taller players.

On Sundays there would typically be a college basketball team on television, likely the only game all week on three available networks.  Coach Perkins would invite us to his house, we’d chomp on tons of popcorn, and study the TV game that usually had UCLA featured during their run of so many NCAA championships.

As much as my first two coaches were great and inspiring, my varsity basketball coach in high school was a dud.  There was just a few big opportunities to shine and our varsity team won 14 games but we had so much more potential.

My personal highlights came after high school, when first I made the highly-competitive college basketball program as a non-scholarship player.  The enduring personal highlight was the summer after my first year of college hoops.  My nameless high school coach who held me back rather than take me to a higher level was the player/coach of the Bellows Falls summer basketball league team we faced in the playoffs.  Somebody you know had redemption in mind when his team won and he rang up 40 points in that memorable game.

Another name that influenced me way back was Pete Maravich. He averaged 44 points per game on an LSU team that didn’t offer much support and opposing teams often double-teamed the magically-talented Pistol Pete.  There wasn’t a three-point line and if there was Pete would have averaged 50 points per game.

What has amazed me over the years is the decline of skills on the court ala Pistol Pete even as the level of strength, size and speed greatly increased among all levels of basketball players.

Clearly the three-point line and its supposedly sexy appeal has changed the game for the worse.  Today’s local varsity teams here in Columbus suburbs spend most of their time and energy trying to circle the outer limits looking for open threes.  There is very little skill taught or learned in this modern era for the mid-range jumper, drop steps, hook shots, and clever and deceptive creative passing plays.  Seldom does a star player score more than 20 points.

The talent was better back then and there’s no debating the fact.  The most recent Sports Illustrated special edition listed the top ten players in the entire history of the NCAA basketball tournament.  Thank goodness the researchers and writers for SI had the  nerve and good sense to list Alcindor, Bill Russell, Jerry West, The Big O, Bill Walton and other oldies but goodies as the best ever in this history.  The only “modern” player to make the list was Christian Laettner of Duke fame.

Those of us who grew up with basketball in the late 1960s were taught and encouraged to be creative and all-around players in the mold of Jerry West or Bill Russell.  We all were expected to be quality passers, rebounders, defenders, scorers.  It’s amazing to me now to see a seven-footer like Amir Williams on this year’s surging Ohio State Buckeye basketball team have so little skill to do anything other than take up space.

During a recent Big Ten tournament game, a close victory for the Buckeyes, Williams didn’t score a point the entire game.  How can it be that such a big dude, a long and skilled athlete, has been taught so little about the game?

Back in the day, I vividly recall coach Dale Perkins telling me my 22 points scored against big-school Brattleboro was impressive but I only got five rebounds, blocked two shots, and should have played better defense against the six-foot-four guy I was guarding most of the game.

My passion for basketball runs deep and has endured.  As a young sports reporter I covered Michael Jordan in his rookie year for the NBA Chicago Bulls. When they played the New York Knicks, call me silly, but I asked Michael in the locker room why he had gone all out on a sprained ankle to outplay the veteran Knicks.  After all, it was only an exhibition game.

“Did you ever play basketball,” Jordan snapped back at me in response to my question.  “If you did then you know that you never play the game just to play the game.”

Amen.  Basketball translates to an incredible competitive edge that clearly carries over to personal and professional levels of excellence.  I can attest to that.

The other day at the YMCA, after playing two-on-two with teenagers in a very competitive pickup game, there was an interesting scenario. One talented young teen asked me, with respect, because my two-player team had won all three games we played against his team, if I was over the age of 40.

The young boy asking the question, when I wouldn’t answer quickly but only smiled, said his father was 37 and hadn’t played hoops in years.  When I admitted my age his eyes widened and he said, “Wow, my grandfather is your age.”

Well, the game is a passion that just won’t fade away.  Call me crazy and thank God so far so good for good knees!

One of my life ambitions?  When I am age 90, I want to be shooting hoops in the drive way with my great grandchildren as my wife at age 80 sits in a nearby rocking chair. With a sweet smile on her face, I can hear her now saying to nobody in particular, “Look at that old fool out there playing basketball, he’s going to get hurt!”

Treasure discovered in Florida

Florida adventure revealing

By Michael Marshall Brown

DUNEDIN, FLORIDA – Most people I suppose take vacations in Florida primarily to spend a ton of money at famous places and get their faces sunburned.

To me, it’s always been not about the places but the faces met along the way of all lifetime adventures.  My Florida trip last week was focused on spending quality time with my wife, father and my mother-in-law but bonus gifts were the many other interesting people we met along the 2,200 mile round-trip drive.

The chance encounters with friendly strangers bolstered my faith in people.  We remain inherently a good people despite so much anger, frustration and focus on the trivial stuff out there.

Leo by chance or perhaps fate sat next to me when my Dad took me to a show band night of entertainment surrounded by 300 people with an average age of about 80.  Leo is 97.

Leo danced more and with more style than I did, and he agreed to reveal his WWII experiences that as you know is not easy for most veterans.  He did so with a smile on his face, despite a neck brace protecting injuries from a fall following a stroke.

Leo says he can run not walk on water.  He was a soldier in the Philippines when he landed on a hostile island.  They were there for weeks and there were no battles to be fought.  It was like Hawaii he said, palm trees and beautiful tropical water.  After waiting idle for weeks, he couldn’t take it any longer.  Leo the young soldier stripped down and waded far out into the beautiful water.

At that precise time, a Japanese fighter jet roared overhead and started strafing his fellow soldiers on the beach. Moments later, the U.S. ships far out in the water started exploding anti-aircraft shells right over Leo’s head.  He said he literally ran on top of that water to get back to shore, and he dove under the first shelter he found, a big truck.

Leo frantically waived at his buddies to join him under the truck but for some odd reason he didn’t at the time fathom, they refused to join him.  Alas, they were cut down by the shrapnel.  When the battle stopped, Leo was thankful to be alive.  He crawled out from under the truck that had sheltered him and looked up. The truck was a gasoline carrier.

That story is almost 70 years old yet so fresh, told with precision by a man who came from our greatest generation. That’s the true treasure discovered in Florida.

Then there was a Cracker Barrel waitress in Georgia, at one of many stops for food and coffee along the long drive.  She was literally glowing.  I asked why and with little hesitation she pulled out a photo of her man and young son during a recent visit to Disney World.  She had so many reasons to be so happy.

In fact, we had four stops at Cracker Barrel restaurants thanks to the amazingly great and consistent customer service.  Sure good to see this at a time when customer service is often a lost art in this high-tech world.

A significant highlight of our Florida trip made on short notice and with little money took place on our last night in Dunedin.

Just call me Peter Pan because I refuse to grow old amid a culture of sports, entertainment and the workplace that tends to think anybody over 40 is old and washed up. For years, I have been thinking that eventually moving to Florida would mean that I would immediately be old.  But perhaps that’s not true.

On our last night we went out for a drink in beautiful little Dunedin that is far different than the fast pace of Tampa, Miami or Disney.  It’s got New England charm, it’s right on the ocean, they host the Toronto Blue Jays spring training baseball games, and the mixed and engaging crowd could care less what kind of car you drive.

We met two people (age 27 and 35) at Kelly’s restaurant and for some reason, call it fate, they both came not once but twice to our table and poured out their passion for Dunedin.  They raved about all the annual music festivals (25 of them), the open-minded people, the location close to  so many things to do, and the simple yet really good stuff like paddling a kayak, catching a fish, and having a cookout on a little island.

The lady had lived in California and in Ohio in previous years and was now in love with Dunedin.  She bought a nearby home for a reasonable $90,000.  The man said he had lived in Toronto and Connecticut and there was no better place to live than in Dunedin.

What were they telling us?  We pondered that question as we spent Monday afternoon and our last hours of the short vacation on nearby Honeymoon State Park beach in the ocean waves. It was 81 degrees and sunny.

Our first morning back in Ohio, I was scraping ice and snow off my windshield, a bitter cold wind blowing in my ears.  But I was smiling.

The Florida trip was a lot of driving yet with tons of quality face time with people most important to me. The bonus was meeting many new faces who prompted us to ponder new ideas.

The cost of this quick trip?  Priceless.

Vermont Town Meeting!

Vermont is a special place

By Michael Marshall Brown

BURLINGTON, VERMONT – There is something very special about my native state of Vermont that is timely to share today with others not blessed to have been born there or perhaps others who have not yet visited the Green Mountain State.

Here in the Midwest and in many other areas of the nation we’re facing a time when people are too often shy, reticent or outright not encouraged to stand up and state your case on sometimes delicate, complex issues.  In Vermont, especially today on March 5, there is a radical difference.

Today is the age-old Town Meeting Day in Vermont.  Even in this digital age, one of my favorite native Vermonters named Matt (a star political consultant in Columbus  now) reminded me online recently that there are patriotic Vermonters filling up wood stoves in town halls, and brewing coffee, for the coming visits of such a diverse group of town folks.  The school board budget, the snow plowing issues, the tax base, development concerns, you name it; Vermonters will be standing tall today and talking about the issues and finding solutions.

My sister and brother-in-law gave me the famous Norman Rockwell “Four Freedoms” artwork and it proudly hangs on the wall in our dining room.  One scene is a tall, rough-cut man who looks like a young Lincoln, standing up in a crowd during a long-ago Vermont Town Meeting Day.

That scene makes my Vermont pride as well as the big green state of Vermont and the red ribbon tattoo on my shoulder saying “Made In Vermont” swell to large proportions.

I haven’t lived in Vermont since 1977.   But not a year has passed when I haven’t been back to visit old friends, stand in awe among fond places in the heart, and of course visit hallowed cemeteries where family and friends in spirit are found in abundance.

But the thing that is most special about Vermont is not the beautiful five seasons including Mud Season, the green mountains, the maple syrup or the downhill ski action.  It is the spirit of the people.

It’s considerably different than here in the Midwest that is a place for the record I am very proud to say has been home since 1996.

Just yesterday at a delicate meeting of wise men, the tone and course of discussion was reluctant as all the men in the room remained seated.  When the timing was right, my nature was to stand up, be bold, and I described a work place situation (and solution) connected to a true and compelling story about trout fishing in Vermont.

I got some strange looks.  What did trout fishing in Vermont have to do with anything in today’s modern business world?

But most of the men in the room were suddenly smiling, nodding their heads, and they understood my point.

Vermonters are different no matter where we live.

They cherish freedom of speech.  Here in the Midwest over the years I’ve noted a passive-aggressive style that is often not very productive.  People are smart and have lots of opinions, of course, but they are often reluctant to be bold and blunt and get right to the heart of the issue.

Also over the years, my Vermont bold, blunt and insightful style, even if delivered with the sweetness of Grade A Fancy maple syrup, has occasionally been perceived as cocky and arrogant here in the Midwest.  I’ve noted that impact and tried to cope but it’s a challenge with other people often not comfortable with eye to eye contact.

Most people today are intimidated or not eager to tell it like it is under the banner of helping other people.  Others talk all day but say very little and often miss the point. My Vermont grandfather favored a timely phrase greatly valued by native Vermonters saying, “we don’t suffer fools wisely.”

In reality, this Vermont style also helped me forge my award-winning skills and rare if not sometimes unorthodox instincts for public relations success stories.

There are countless times where I think back to Vermont and my family and friends being confronted with tragedy, tough economic times, and personal challenges.  Nobody reacted by hiding in a cave. We were raised to listen closely to our hearts and minds, have a sense of long-term vision, and never by shy about standing up and speaking our mind.

For instance, my sister Karen and brother-in-law Mark are two of the most proud Vermonters I’ve ever known.  But faced with challenging economic times, they made an incredible decision many years ago.  They left Vermont’s green mountains for the pleasant hills and warmer climate of North Carolina.

You think that was an easy decision?  It wasn’t.  But true Vermonters make tough decisions and take brave action if there are long-term benefits.

I tried for years to go back to my native Vermont.  But the political and economic as well as the winter climate that lasts most years well into April were major barriers.

Vermont had more dairy cows than they did people when I was born in Burlington.  We were very conservative and close-knit to family and a sense of community.  It was about $8 a day to ski any of the great ski areas such as Bromley, Stratton or Smuggler’s Notch.  Now it’s a $100 day entertainment cost and much of Vermont’s value is only at the reach of wealthy “flatlanders” who have relocated from Boston or New York City.

I was able to buy a nice home here in Ohio for $115,000 and that same property framed by hardwood trees at a similar setting in Vermont might have a price tag of $500,000 or more these days.

The liberal, sometimes off the wall politics of Vermont now is not my cup of tea but it wasn’t like that growing up there back in the day.

Facebook has helped keep so many Vermonters living in other states connected. We all adored our childhood growing up there.  But we found better opportunities for our careers and families elsewhere.

My late mother gave me many gifts in many ways.  One of her last material gifts was a book of glorious Vermont photographs.  Inside the cover, she wrote in her perfect hand writing, “Once a Vermonter, Always A Vermonter.”

That is profound.

So when you read something I’ve written in my blog, on Facebook, or perhaps spoken in a group, please understand.  We Vermonters are proud, bold and insightful people.  We are not cocky and arrogant.

We just know that standing up and speaking our mind is a healthy habit of being proud and free.

Happy Town Meeting Day to one and all where ever you are!

 

Secret for success revealed

Just Listen is magic!

By Michael Marshall Brown

COLUMBUS, OH – If you are a public relations pro, a high-level administrator, a sales expert or perhaps a parent, do you know what your magic potion is to handle often difficult people or troubling circumstances?

It is not what you say, how many emails or Text messages you send, but instead it is what you hear from customers, co-workers, and other connections including family members.  Are you listening?  That’s the magic potion and formula and it is really that simple.

Are you prompting simple body language or a kindly-delivered short question to help other people, often under high stress, talk openly with you?

That magic is artfully outlined in a fabulous book called Just Listen written by author Dr. Mark Goulston.  It is a must read and a valuable learning tool in how we all continue to find better ways to cope within a high-tech, complicated world.

I have been testing the techniques featured in this book, centered on listening, and the results are fantastic.  It’s the L Word.  Just listen.  That legendary song that says the answers are blowing in the wind was not quite accurate.  The answers are directly from the mouths of potential customers, co-workers, family, or perhaps the janitor working the night shift.

The answers to complicated questions come not from sheer reliance on a long sheet of analytic data but rather from listening.

Some of the techniques shared by author Goulston are revealing.  For instance, in a highly-competition job interview, at the end, most HR or administrative leaders typically ask the candidate if they have any questions.  Today’s generation of people often in a petty, selfish way ask how much vacation time will I get?  Goulston is brilliant and says why not say something far more meaningful like, what kind of measurable company success would you expect a year from now if we are working together?”

Goulston describes the human brain and how many people during initial interaction will be dominated by mammal or reptile response mechanism.  They are virtually impossible to get through to at any level.  So find a way to get past these two levels to the human/primate side of the ledger and then communication and good results will flow.

The day after I read this particular chapter, I was working in sales and a visibly angry lady stomped up to me and with teeth clenched told me how much she disliked my company.  My response?  I smiled and asked her where she bought that expensive-looking designer handbag on her shoulder.  In a nano-second she smiled, looked at me a little awkwardly, and then her entire demeanor changed for the better.  Her reptilian brain shut down and out came a very pleasant, sensitive human component.  Five minutes later, we parted with a good sale, a warm handshake, and a big thank you from the customer and from me!

People say so much before they say a word.  Are you watching their body language, their eyes and how they are responding to the world around them?  One of the reasons for my many success stories and awards in public relations and marketing came from understanding things or circumstances that were not apparent to people not very good at listening. The success stories were cultivated even while other people would not or couldn’t imagine how the new venture or product was going to make any sense or make a difference.

While my career success has been hinged to instinctive listening, I can trace some of my failures to times when I was not listening closely enough.  A good friend and sales pro named Vince recently inspired me to listen more when I fell for a few weeks into a trend of talking way too much about far too many details about a new product we had just introduced on the market.

If you are listening more closely and more often you will have better judgment on many things.  Another case from my past was encouraging college administrators to do many things differently “than they did in past years.”  I listened to potential customers, and for instance, started a new campus tradition of live radio broadcasts that connected to customers.  Those “listening sessions” were connected to targeted special registration days and convenient times that better fit potential customers.

Previous patterns were colleges asking expecting 28-year-old adult students with families and jobs to be on campus prior to 4:30 p.m. to register with admissions/financial aid staff members who always went home about 4:30 p.m.  There wasn’t much listening going on!

The success our teams at colleges in New York and Ohio achieved was hinged to listening skills to better understand the heartbeat, the trends, and the wants and needs of potential customers.

Another Goulston stroke of genius is the chapter focuses on filling in the blanks.   Ask a short, simple question that requires the person on the other side of the table to calm down, think, perhaps look away for a second, and then respond.  That leads to engaging dialog.

Our frequent narcissistic society of me first tends to taint relationships, too.  The book details that people need to be interested in the company, the issue, or taking on a challenge rather than constantly trying to be interesting … managers, job applicants, PR and sales people need to be interested in the core issue rather than verbally or otherwise trying to make themselves seem interesting …

As for family life, I tried the listening technique with a family member this past weekend.  We sat down and my short prompts verbally led to me listening closely … and my son and I talked about delicate and personal matters with a rewarding level of depth and duration we perhaps have never before experienced.

The Just Listen book also supports my lifelong quest to convince people that Facebook is good but face to face is much greater.  We do too many things without listening and instead rely on a long stream of emails, tweets, facebook messages, etc.

A real-time example of this is the new female CEO of a struggling Silicon Valley company that has experienced stock prices go from $400 a decade ago to about $20 today.  She wisely wants more employees not working at home and often away from the office; instead she understands that coming back together is supported by good research.  Multiple studies show that creativity and productivity rises to much higher levels with the synergy of face to face interaction.

Goulston displays several timely quotes from wise people in his excellent book.  “Don’t find fault. Find a remedy!” is from the great inventor Henry Ford.  That thought today is vital because online it’s easy to text a stiff, cold line or two finding fault about something going on with your campus, your company, or your family.

Finding a remedy starts with listening.  It’s not quite a lost art and it’s overdue for a comeback.

The biggest problems in the nation and the world can be mitigated or solved if people simply get inside the same room, shut the door and check egos at the coat rack, then share and listen to the issues.  Once people are listening, the natural result is going to be solutions both short-term and long term.

But what do we do most of the time?  We either don’t listen to the people most connected to customers or the core issues, or we rely on a long stream of emails, analytics, tweets, or facebook messages.

So a technique that I appreciate so much from the Just Listen book is something I hope more people will embrace.

In sales, PR, family or internal corporate matters it has now become comfortable and routine for me to say something as short and simple as “I’m looking forward to listening very closely to your concerns and what you might need …” It is a little awkward at first, the mutual silence after my prompt, but it works.  Just Listen.

Who Concert revelations

Who the (*&#! are you?

By Michael Marshall Brown

COLUMBUS, OH – In a gut-wrenching, shake you upside down, yet valuable experience, the legendary rock band The Who asked the big question of 18,000 people last Sunday night.  Who are you?

Sitting mesmerized in great seats at stage right with my son Shane (it was his birthday present) and a gigantic cave of rocking faces of all ages, The Who show for sheer musicianship surpassed my all-time previous best-evers by Springsteen, George Harrison and Garth Brooks.

After all these years of loving the rock music of The Who, it has only now dawned on me that Pete Townshend is the best rock guitar player on the planet, still, in his late 60s.  As for drumming, Ringo Starr’s son Zak Starkey is the “fill in” for the legendary and late Who drummer Keith Moon.  Here in Columbus, Starkey delivered the best live drumming performance I’ve ever seen, period.

But the enormous impact didn’t just come from the quality of the Quadrophenia album revisited from the vintage year 1973 when my high school class was pronounced proud and free.  It was the visual screens that accompanied each song and absolutely told a thousand stories.

Townshend and raspy yet still alive and well lead singer Roger Daltrey were portrayed on screen from their early years with struggling families in gritty England devastated by World War II.  The video image of their lives since, including images of American icons Elvis, MLK, and JFK, were portraits of anger, frustration, growing pains, tragedy, and of course on the positive side, overcoming all those trials and tribulations.

Sort of like most of our own lives if you really think about it.

It struck me that their lives mirrored my own and all of us who have in the long-run been fortunate to have experienced so many ups and downs on this Earth since the 1960s.

Music and visual images remains a powerful message delivery tool and The Who surprised me in many ways.  Yes, we all savored a handful of classic Who songs we all know and love at the end.  But the great gift was the montage of images and heart-thumping, inspired Quadrophenia music that went along with that pictorial history lesson.

Who are you?  Who are we?  It seems in many ways we spend all our lives trying to figure this out or reinventing ourselves.

The best take away from The Who concert after waiting all these decades to see them live, is that they survived and they still thrive despite all the tough times.  Besides losing drummer Moon to drug demons, they also lost bass player John Entwistle just a few years ago.

As for images and icons, it struck me that The Who has never received their due recognition and unfairly remain somewhat in the shadow of the Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

I looked over at my son Shane once and he was just in a wide-eyed fog absorbing all of the motions, the music, and the magic of Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey.  It was like we were watching ghosts, almost God-like creatures and together we sensed we will likely never see them again.

We can’t see John Lennon or Elvis these days.  Thank goodness my son and I got to see Pete and Roger.

The aging rock stars clearly struggled at times, especially Daltrey who was born in 1944, but proudly kept things going even when Daltrey snuck off the front of the stage and collapsed behind the drumming ensemble.  He was clearly exhausted but back he came later and when 18,000 people joined him for that classic primal scream toward the end of Won’t Get Fooled Again, it was monumental.  Just stunning.

Yes, they didn’t come out for an expected encore and we missed not enjoying Pinball Wizard, My Generation and other classics like Summertime Blues.  But nobody left unhappy.

So, who are you?

That’s the question.  Are you making a difference?  Are you contributing to a great spirit of adventure and creativity?  Or are you just showing up and punching the clock?

Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey could have called it quits 30 years ago, taken all that money, and bought South Pacific islands, and just coasted through this life.  But they chose other more giving, creative, productive, and vibrant opportunities.

They came to Columbus last Sunday, just one stop on a world tour when they craft their brilliance and give away their energy almost every night.  Shane and I were there with a very large group of other people savoring that classic question …

Who are You?

YES!

Do you believe in miracles?

By Michael Marshall Brown

LAKE PLACID, NY – A few years ago, a well-educated academic leader seriously asked me to detail my association with the Lake Placid featured in a B-grade movie about a giant alligator terrorizing a southern community.

Anyone else amazed at how today’s culture is often so disconnected from history and reality? The Lake Placid reference on my resume is the pride and joy of standing in the press box when the USA hockey team won the gold medal during the miracle of the 1980 Winter Olympics.  It was in frigid upstate New York.

Do you believe in miracles?  I say YES more emphatically than broadcaster Al Michaels famously exclaimed 33 years ago this month of February.

But the Miracle on Ice was more than divine intervention; such success is always about people blessed with a rare, big-picture vision for all the possibilities in sports, business and life.  There are increasingly fewer and fewer of us out there on this level.  The “norm” is the more dominant and acceptable status quo mantra attached to process and procedure.

There are way too many people in business, academia, and sports who really do believe that just hard work and just keep plodding along day by day will make all things so much better.  That’s missing other ingredients that lead to miracles.

Step back this week and look at your company, college or your family.  Did you have any deep, long-term and meaningful conversations?  Or did the conversations center on process and procedure that in the long run are really not so important after all?

The long-term view these days tends to get the short shrift.

What irony that job coaches have told me in recent years that a major highlight on my resume “way back in 1980” should be omitted.  Why?  Many HR people screening resumes were not born in 1980 so ancient history is not appealing to them.  If it was “last week” it’s old.

However, working as a journalist and photographer covering  the Olympics was an incredible and enriching experience as a journalist, as a future PR guy, and as a proud American.  The 1980 USA hockey gold medal is still regarded by most sports historians as the number one sporting event in American history.

Can you believe that the USA skaters, a group of relatively unknown college players put together by the genius of coach Herb Brooks, lost to the Soviets 10-1 in their last pre-Olympic warm-up game hosted?  There was absolutely no way the USA was going to be competitive against anyone in the Olympics, right?

Well, the USA beat everybody including the Soviets on the way to the Gold Medal.  It wasn’t really just a miracle.  It was great leadership, team skills, faster and younger skaters, and a passionate belief that anything is possible.

I’ve lived my entire life and career believing not just in miracles but in that staunch belief that anything is possible.  When some people told me I wasn’t good enough to make the college basketball program as a walk-on, you know I did.  When colleagues told me the creative and unique Lessons for Leno national campaign was silly and a waste of time (as many did), it earned the 2006 award for best media campaign in the nation.

I’ve also grown to understand that there is indeed a powerful spirit involved in most miracles and they are pre-ordained to happen for a reason.

That passion to not just Believe in Miracles but to find new ways to make it happen, in a team sense, remains so vital but is somewhat of a lost art today.

For instance, it was a miracle that Mr. Obama became president not once but twice. It will take another miracle or two for our confused and angry Congressmen and the conservative core of this nation to accept him as our leader trying to make things better for millions of Americans not so fortunate.

Did you know that my nephew Erin Ryan’s research, posted at the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, reveals that the white owners of major league baseball long ago worked ever so hard to convince America that baseball fans would not want to watch Negro League players? The owners told the world the Negro Players didn’t want to play in the Major Leagues, and in fact, the owners said they wouldn’t be good enough.

So I suppose Jackie Robinson was a miracle, too.

When John F. Kennedy looked into the television cameras in 1960 and said within the decade we Americans could and would work together to develop the technology to put a man on the moon, many of his critics laughed.

Ohio native sons John Glenn and Neil Armstrong were  giant miracles, too.

When a couple of “dirt-poor hippies” in NYC had an idea for a giant music festival called Woodstock, even they were struck by a miracle when 500,000 people showed up.

In the decade of many miracles in the 1960s, my father and a tiny minority of village leaders said the crumbling old brick high school was not good enough for our kids, most of the people in our hometown scoffed at that notion. The naysayers said if it was good enough for us, it is good enough for today’s kids, too.

My father Richard E. Brown created many miracles in our hometown to help so many others, much the same way that so many other passionate believers do their entire lives.  So in 1971, we indeed got a sparkling new high school building.

When our four-person delegation arrived in Istanbul to represent Lake Placid and the USA at the 1988 World Ski Federation Congress, we were planning to host all the world delegates including Jean-Claude Killy on a boat ride.  The goal was to win favor and the ultimate designation of several World Cup events to later be hosted at Lake Placid.

Competition was stiff from all over the world.  But we needed a miracle because the boat we thought was perfect from long distance was in reality a filthy, ugly old mess of a disgusting ferry boat.  The miracle was finding 10 ladies of the night at a local hotel and paying them during “off hours” to work feverishly with us to scrub and spiff up the old ferry.

It was a miracle plus some elbow grease that helped us win several World Cup events after a successful cruise.  After all, once you get somebody on a boat if they don’t want to listen to your passionate sales pitch, what are they going to do, jump off and swim into forbidden and icy cold Soviet waters?

Perhaps you don’t think college educational attainment and lifelong pursuit of knowledge is vital for the future of young adults and our nation struggling to keep up with the rest of the world?  Can’t afford college?  Don’t think it’s worth the time? Perhaps you need a miracle, too.  Go find one.  It’s out there just waiting to happen.

Yes, miracles happen all the time.

If you don’t believe, rethink your view.

Combine  hard work, a few good ideas, and creative and good people passionately working together on a good cause, and miracles can happen on a regular basis.  You just gotta’ believe!