The National Museum of Health and Medicine

This is my favorite museum in the world. I doubt you've ever been there. It's inconveniently located at Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington, DC. While it is a public museum, you are still required to show a photo ID at the guard gate to get on the base. Then, you have to wind your way through a maze of stately buildings to find the museum tucked away on the ground floor of the Armed Forces Institute for Pathology.



As part of an effort by Congress to trim military costs, and consolidate resources, Walter Reed is closing. More accurately, portions of it are moving and other portions are being what I call "decommissioned." In other words, put out of business.



A couple of years ago I was invited to assist the museum in formulating a strategy to keep it open. That was the beginning of my love affair with NMHM. First a little history . . .



NMHM was founded during the Civil War for the express purposes of collecting body parts and studying battlefield injury for military medicine. NHHM is one of only two facilities in the world that serve all the branches of the US military. They have millions and millions of relics and artifacts including the bullet that killed President Lincoln. Currently on display, you can walk through a field hospital that housed the most seriously wounded of our fighting men and women in Iraq.



NMHM is more than a museum. It's a working lab. It's had a role in the development of every prosthetic device used by the military from an old tree limb to modern day bionics. NMHM had a significant role in the development of body armor, which is saving thousands of lives on the battle field today, and it even has direct video hook-ups, to offer guidance in medical procedures to the field hospitals where some of our bravest and most seriously wounded military personnel are treated.



Working with NMHM has been a humbling and emmensely satisfying experience. Yes, I've been paid at times to provide my expertise, but I consider it a patriotic duty to stay involved, and as such, have volunteered my time, when necessary, to participate in a museum strategy session and voice my views regarding the museum.



When making the case for keeping the museum as it is, rather than breaking up the collection and distributing it to other parties, I make two points:



1. Every American should appreciate the solemn obligation we have to the valiant people who served our country and are now laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery. Those heroes gave the ultimate sacrifice for their nation and our freedom. Equally as important, those people whose remains are represented in the collection of relics and artifacts at the NMHM gave the "ultimate sacrifice" twice. Not only did they die in service to their country, their remains have been given over for scientific, historic and research purposes so that others may be spared the same fate, and in other cases, so the injured are spared undo suffering and hardship.



2. We lost 54,000 Americans during 14 years of the Vietnam War. If one compares the seriousness of injuries between that conflict and what is happening in Iraq and Afghanistan, the death toll would be significantly higher in the current conflicts were it not for the advances, such as body armor, developed or advanced by the people connected to NMHM. Simply put, more of our brave fighting men and women are surviving the most serious injuries because NMHM exists.



Within the next year or so decisions will be made in Washington as to where NMHM will move, who will control it, and what shape its future will take. I can only hope that the powers that be see the importance of NMHM and its immense potential.



Rather than being housed at a single, out of the way location, NMHM has the potential to expand its mission by expanding and forging alliances with a wide variety of medical and technological entities, to form satellite facilities, traveling exhibits, and forward thinking agreements to access loaned elements of the collection. It is critical that the main public facility be located in or around Washington, DC. A national treasure of the significance of NMHM deserves to be showcased in our nation's capital, and not relegated to some obscure military base without convenient public transportation, or adequate recognition. We owe the great patriots whose remains are part of the NMHM collection nothing less.



Visit the web site linked above to see for yourself.

Upheaval in the House

Please, June, hurry up and get over. You'd think the graduation of your oldest child would lend itself to a month of bliss and fond memories. This has been both the longest and most stressful month in memory. Sure, my daughter had a lovely graduation, dear family and friends came in to share the occasion with us, and all, but that event triggered a series of other events like a line of dominoes, each tumbling into the next to the point where I am numb from the weight of change.

My little girl no sooner got her diploma than she was off to DC to begin her internship. Her mom spent the first few days with her to get her settled and acclimate her to the transit system and the routes from the dorm where she is staying to the office. I arrived a few days later and combined a couple of days of work with a visit.

Then I headed back home to find my son about to leave with his cousin to visit with his aunt who owns a resort in Upstate NY. My daughter popped in for a brief visit over the weekend but spent most of her time at her boyfriend's belated graduation party. Now she's back in DC ready for work in the morning. My wife is working and away for three days.

The dynamics of the house and family have really changed with everyone coming and going. Unsettled seems to be the word of the month. July can't get here soon enough.

LeBron James Dilutes His Brand

I admit it right up front, I am not an NBA fan and I would not consider paying to attend a game.

To this "non fan" the product offered by the NBA seems dominated by characters with whom I cannot connect. Tattoo covered bodies, "ghetto sheik" attitudes, and under-educated, over-paid man-children are not elements with which I can identify. In the end, all branding is about creating an "I see me" bond with the intended audience.

A prime example of everything I find distasteful in the NBA is personified in Cleveland Cavs star LeBron James. I admit he has become one of the biggest names in the league, and I am told, is considered by many to be the best player in the league, which no doubt has added immeasurably to his own brand advancement. Brands can sometimes be fragile things. Speaking strictly from a brand perspective, I believe he severely devalued his brand by refusing to shake hands with his opponents after losing in the league playoffs, which resulted in a firestorm of negative publicity.

Depending on which side of the argument you stand, he either advanced or detracted from the NBA brand value as well. There are those people who believe the league works hard to both embrace and control its "ghetto sheik" reputation because it draws urban crowds, and suburban "wannabes." Every "monster jam" is now followed by a demonstration of "monster" antics. The snarling, chest thumping, and primal screams by players get more and more theatrical and detract from the sport for me. I would never consider bringing my teenagers to an NBA game. There are exposed to enough ill-mannered examples in life without me appearing to endorse that kind of behavior.

Finally, Mr. James' actions reminded me of something someone else said, "Sports do not create character as much as reveal it." Perhaps Mr. James' actions will serve as reminder to all of us to examine our own behaviors and recognize examples where our own best character can come forth.

The Two Most Important Lists

I read an interesting piece the other day by Alan M. Webber, blogging on Harvard Business Publishing. He poses a challenge to create arguably the only two lists you'll ever need at work to keep you balanced and your priorities straight:

Things That Keep Me Up At Night.
Reasons I Get Up In The Morning.

Here's what I came up with:

First, the TTKMUAN:
As my son says, "Dad, we eat what you kill. Get out there and kill something!" Hard to find enough "meat" in this economy. How will the bills get paid?

On average, a person can expect to live 75 years. Reflecting on how much of my life has past without distinction, or accomplishment, I wonder if this last third will have any significance. Am I becoming obsolete? Are my most useful years behind me? Do I now merely take my place among those people whose voices diminish with age, and gracefully abandon any thought of having an impact in the world?

As my daughter leaves home, goes out into the world to find her place, will she be safe? Have her mother and I prepared her properly for what awaits? How will the dynamics of the family be altered with her gone?

As my son enters manhood, have I been enough of a role model for him? Will he keep the loving, thoughtful and inquisitive nature I love in him so much, or will he begin to resemble the grumpy, worrisome old man I have become?

How was I behaving today so as to diminish the twinkle in the eyes of my children? I've defined myself through fatherhood for so many years, and taken such daily joy from it that I find myself denying there can be anything beyond this pinnacle.

Finally, I question how I can reinvent myself constantly.

Seriously, I think this stuff.


The RIGUITM:
Unquestionably, the admiration I have for my wife of 20 years who has weathered everything life throws at us and remains the unswerving force in both our marriage and our family. Her job sometimes has her rising in the wee hours of the morning, driving to a bus stop ten miles from home to then take an hour and a half bus ride to the airport where she will hop on a flight to the west coast. She turns right around and is back in the house about 16 hours after she left, only to repeat the schedule later that second day. This pattern repeats four times a month. Never once have I heard her say "I think I'll just call in sick and stay in bed this morning." When her schedule calls for her to leave in the late afternoon and spend the night away from home, I can sense the hardship it is for to leave the family at a time when we are all gathering from our daily pursuits.

Regardless of the time I went to bed, and the fact that both my high school age children are capable of getting themselves up and out in the morning, I feel compelled to kiss them goodbye, wish them a good day, see them out the door and watch them board the school bus that stops in front of our house. Some mornings their mom is home and she gets them going, and I oversleep, only to carry that disappointment with me all day.

With a "yappy," hyperactive dog, and a noisy overhead garage door to announce my arrival, I know that whatever time of day I enter the house, whoever is there will drop what they are doing to welcome me as I come through the door. It's a habit instilled in the children by their mother, and one I find extremely gratifying. Regardless of what has happened to any of us during the day, the reception is always the same warm hug and kiss. Even the dogs have learned to race to the door and await their turn in line for pat on the head.

It's an oddly short and narrow list isn't it? I don't lose sleep over business matters. As much as I enjoy my work, and passionately try to bring real value to my clients, it is not how I define myself. As many nonprofit roles as I've had, I don't lose sleep worrying about how to better the world through the various causes, nor do I view my work or avocations as reasons to get up in the morning.

I found this to be a fun exercise. Try it for yourself.

Fr. Pflager: The Upsidedown Flagger

I want to make two points right at the start:
1. I believe Fr. Pflager has every right to fly his flag upside down. Let's not pretend the flag is exempt from use as a political statement. People wrap themselves in flags, burn flags and have demonstrated with it from its introduction. Why shouldn't he be afforded the same rights? While I fully respect their service and contribution, Veterans who are complaining that he is somehow insulting their effort have no greater claim to the flag than does any other American.
2. Children are being killed at an alarming rate, and if instead of bullets, it it was as a result of being hit with swine flu darts, the nation would be enraged and taking action.

I've dealt with Fr. Pflager and I have no respect for him. He is a showboat, self-serving, a media grandstander, and often seems more interested in getting his Pompadour on TV than leading meaningful action. Frankly, if any other pastor, or a more generally respected individual had hoisted their flag in this manner, I doubt there would be the level of outrage expressed by those who are opposed to his action. As usual, he shows his indignation, and bellows about injustice in America, but he has the equation as upside down as his flag.

He hangs the flag upside down, but offers no solution. He intends to keep the flag inverted until? Well, on his rounds of the radio stations today, he kind of stumbled through a vague response that didn't really answer the question. When asked exactly what action he'd like to see taken he blubbers and mutters some gibberish about "America protecting its children."
Why doesn't Fr. Pflager use his enormous community influence to identify real methods of ridding his community of drugs and gangs, which are the real causes of the violence?
Why is Fr. Pflager so reluctant to challenge the two real causes of despair in his community -- lack of personal responsibility and parental influence?
Father absence is the greatest social crisis we face in America, and it is no more evident than in Fr. Pflagers neighborhood. Why doesn't he instigate a campaign for men of his community to "man up" and take the responsibility they should for their children which includes discipline kids, teaching character and serving as good role models?
Why doesn't Fr. Pflager take responsibility for seeing that every child in his neighborhood is claimed and guarded by an adult male. Think of it as a "house by house" campaign to rid the neighborhood of any influence that tolerates illegal drugs, guns, gangs and violence. He doesn't do it, because he knows the majority of his community won't actively support it.

You see, while Fr. Pflager talks about kids dying all over America, the killings are essentially confined to the urban areas where fatherlessness, and father absence run at about 80-90%. In the state of IL as a whole, 35% of children are born without a father listed on their birth certificate. 40% of ALL children in the state of IL have no adult male in their household. These numbers skew most heavily toward the urban areas and speak to a lack of responsibility by the people in the very communities Fr. Pflager contends need America to wake up.

Want to stop the killing in your community Fr. Pflager? Teach adults not to make babies for which they are not willing to be active, daily parents. Teach parents to actively raise their children with high moral standards by setting a daily example for them. That would be real. Instead, Fr. Pflager would rather tilt the image upside down and blame "them" instead of us.

MLB - America's Tainted Pastime

Manny Ramirez of the LA Dodgers can add his name to the Baseball Hall of Shame. MLB and its brand reputation are fast approaching a point a no return. MLB = performance enhancing drugs (PED).

Can we all finally admit illegal drug use is as prevalent and ingrained in baseball (and maybe all of professional sports) as fighting is in hockey. Baseball and the players union will pat themselves on the back for testing for and "exposing" violations, but they will not do what is needed to seriously curtail drug use. The window of opportunity to characterize PED as a brief, ugly phase in the past is no longer credible. Front office people tsk-tsk, on-field managers hang their heads, and the commissioner's office cranks out statistics on how limited PED use is, and how vigilant they are in ferreting out the offenders. And still, the game is dirty.

The fact that MLB and the clean players have circled the wagons and allowed the union to protect offenders to the extent they have, means everyone in the game must now be considered suspect. Ramirez gets a 50 game suspension. So, while he forfeits around 8 million dollars of his mega contract this year, he's still eligible for the playoffs and a slew of related incentive clauses should the Dodgers qualify for postseason play. Ramirez will hardly miss the eight mil. At this point, he's got more money than he could ever spend. Fining a guy like him isn't a deterrent and far from the greatest damage being done.

At this point, no right-thinking brand can align with individual players as endorsers. Too many heroes have been unmasked. Even those players have submitted to and passed every conceivable drug test is a risk to consider as future endorsers. You can't have it both ways. Singing the praises of your teammate when the team is winning and then trying to distance yourself from a guy who is exposed as a PED user who occupies an adjoining locker only results in the old adage that people are judged by the friends they keep.

A faltering economy and the disenchantment fans feel toward players and the game may be creating the "perfect storm." Attendance, particularly in the "high roller" seats in the newer stadiums, is down. It's still spring, so it's not unusual to see lots of empty seats in MLB ballparks, but I contend the purity of the game, which has always had a mystical hold over fans, has been compromised so badly that those feeling the pinch of the economy most severely will find other ways entertain themselves and their children.

Talk to any group of young teen boys and you'll see the mystical fascination for the game, rabid support for individual players that once was a hallmark of baseball fans no longer exists. A generation exposed to graft and corruption in traditional sports has taken its pursuit of fantasy elsewhere.

Communicating Isn't Connecting: Disney Knows Christmas

Once and for all, let me clear this up. I am not anti-marketing. A good part of how I make my living has to do with marketing. The distinction I make is marketing is a means of expressing a brand, but not the BRAND itself, or even the core of "branding." Branding is the master, marketing is but one many servants. Sales process, product development, organizational development, distribution channels, and a host of other disciplines are no less significant in defining and advancing a brand.

Marketing is all about communicating. Branding is all about connecting. People sometimes confuse the two. Building a brand is done by defining, clarifying, and refining behaviors, practices and policy that reinforces the experience you want with your target audience.

So why is it that people are so quick to hang the full weight of their brand on the hook called marketing? It has a lot to do with the people in marketing who are quick to promise that a spiffy new logo, name change, or revamped collateral materials will establish a brand. Why? Because those are the things they have to sell. As the old saying goes, "to a carpenter with a hammer, every problem looks like a nail." In a sense, marketing people are house painters. They promise you a "like new" home through a splash of paint. Marketing(painting) is a repeatable deliverable that generates revenue for the marketing people. Their income depends on their ability to get cleints to "repaint" frequently.

One of my favorite examples of true branding at work is the way Disney decorates its theme park in Orlando for the Christmas season. If you've ever been there during the Christmas season you know the entire place is transformed into a winter wonderland with garland, Holiday lights, Christmas trees, and poinsettias everywhere. It truly is a spectacular sight.

Twice, I was staying at the park during the change over from "fall" decorations to Christmas displays. Both years, my family and I went to bed late in the evening and woke to find the entire park including every tree, light, plant, fake snowfall, and candy cane was installed while we slept!

Can you image the logistical challenges associated with a task of this magnitude? Why does Disney do it all in one night rather than spread it over a couple of days? The simple answer is Disney's core value is Imagination. To be true to that value, the company insists that every decision be made with the intent of supporting the imagination of the park guests. If a child goes to bed at night and wakes the next morning to step ladders, crates, and workers installing decorations, how would that support imagination? On the other hand, how cool is it that a child can go to sleep after an exciting day in the park and wake the next morning to find that everywhere they look, it's Christmas!

That branding at work, boys and girls.

Taken to the mat for the last time

The other night, after a tiring day, I found myself sitting in front of the TV in my bedroom. My son came in and plopped on the bed. He almost immediately began pleading with me to give him a back massage, since he'd spent most of the afternoon in weight training for his high school soccer team.

I'm one of those people who loves getting, but never giving massages. But he knows if he begs long enough I'll usually relent. Reluctantly, and somewhat resentfully, I approached the bed.

Instead of the relaxing massage he anticipated I launched into a version of bed wrestling we used to call "Doggie/Kittie Fight." Throughout his and his sister's lives we've had a family tradition of piling on the bed and roughhousing. It usually starts when one team or the other (boys are the doggies, girls are the kitties) screams "Doggie/Kittie Fight" at the top of their lungs to signal a challenge. Everyone in the house drops what they're doing and piles on top of one another on the bed.

Sometimes the purpose of the game is for one team to "pin" the other. Sometimes, we merely see who can sprawl and bounce on the other until they "tap out." It always involves a lot rolling around, climbing over each other, and "house rules." As an example, once a "kitty" can break free and voluntarily leaves the bed, they cannot be dragged back. Usually, leaving the bed was merely a ruse to circle around and attack from a more advantageous point. You get the idea.

It has been sometime since we did this, and as you can imagine, my eighteen year old daughter no longer has any interest whatsoever in this type of behavior. Mom is now considerably shorter and easily overpowered by our fifteen year-old son. Once and a while over recent years, my son and I would do a little "Mano-e-Mano" wrestling on the bed, but even that seemed to been outgrown and relegated alongside Doggie/Kittie fights to the parental fond memory bin.

But to my surprise, there was still some old fight left in the doggies.

When the dust settled, the real dogs in our house had both fled the room in panic and were now in highly agitated states in the family room, the bedding was stripped clear. both of us were winded, complaining of various aches and pains inflicted by the other, fully exhausted and completely overjoyed and relieved that were able to go at it full tilt and not seriously hurt one another.

It wasn't until the next morning that it dawned on me that for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is my son has suddenly grown bigger and stronger than me, that this was very likely the last time we would be able to go at this way without one of us (me) needing medical attention. The Top Dog is dead. Long live the top dog. Long live Doggie/Kittie fights.

"It ain't music if the lyrics don't sing."

My friend Donna is in Chicago and called me from her cell phone the other day. "Hey Jim, how bizare is this? I just got a call from a guy who asked for you. His name is John Brown"

Now, while that is a fairly common name, I know only one John Brown. But why would he try to reach me through Donna? Of course -- Donna was once married to Steve, whose sister and I worked together in NY a lifetime ago with (wait for it . . .) John Brown!

Thirty years since I last saw the first (and one of the best) copywriters I've known, and instantly, I recalled his face and the line for which I will always remember him: "It ain't music if the lyrics don't sing."

It was my first job in advertising and as the rawest of assistant account executives, I was being paid $8750 a year. The company parking lot had reserved spaces where ranking individuals had an engraved nameplate neatly hung on the hedge row at their spot. There sat the Porsches, BMWs, and Jags of agency management. I wasn't assigned a spot when I first joined the agency. My aged, rotted-out mustard yellow and rust brown Ford Maverick resembled a discolored cow, and got towed once from the lot because someone thought it was an abandoned car. Nonetheless, John Brown treated me with no less respect (and at times, more) than he exhibited toward the agency president.

John taught me how valuable words are. His ability to craft a phrase and his respect for the English language was a profound lesson I took from my three years at that firm. I couldn't wait to call him back and dialed the number as quickly as I hung up with Donna.

"John Brown," echoed in my receiver and I smiled thinking to myself, his voice hasn't changed a bit in all these years.

"John Brown, huh?" was all I could think to say before he interrupted me.

"Fuck you, you fucking asshole." Yep. he left no doubt, this was the same John Brown.

"Just answer me one question, and don't lie -- How's your sex life?" As the host for our regularly scheduled porn film luncheons in the agency conference room, and as the keeper of the extensive library from which the videos were shown, I guess I could anticipate a comment like this from John. Was it more than coincidence that John called me within hours of the announcement of Marilyn Chambers passing? Her work made up a large portion of his collection.

Forty minutes later, we'd geven each other a snapshot of our life, and career, the comings and goings of many of our mutual contacts, the girls from the office we both pursued (unsuccessfully), and the state of the world.

As a junior person at the agency, my reputation was that of greenhorn. The agency president once called me into his office to tell me I was being promoted at a management position at the request of the client, but against his better judgement. he summed up my skills as that of "street fighter in the company of ballroom dancers." With a fair measure of satisfaction, I've used that expression to describe myself many times over the years.

"I think you have been elevated to your level of incompetence. I expect I'll have the privilege of proving my point, and calling you back into the office within the next year and firing your ass." Without a hint of insincerity in his voice, that was as close to congratulating me as the boss would come. I couldn't blame him. He was forced to promote me and remove one of his best friends, who by the way, was a very accomplished dancer both literally and figuratively.

He summed up my rapid rise at the agency this way: "See, you wouldn't be promoted this fast if the client didn't think you were the best account executive they'd ever seen. What neither you or they appreciate is that now you will be charged with getting others to perform better than you did."

I'll never forget what he said next. "You'll be charged with taking the client and the account somewhere they don't even know they need to go, and can't see from where they are at any moment in time." That message of the universal truth of management's (and an adviser's) role stuck with me.

A couple of years later, when I moved to Chicago to manage McDonald's national PR business, and I'll admit, in all the positions I've held since, those words of wisdom traveled with me.

"You were young back then, but I liked you and just wanted to see how your life turned out," was how John summed up his reason for reaching out to me. "You proved that you didn't have to be the smartest, the best educated, or the most experienced to succeed. You merely had to be willing to work harder than the rest." John seemed almost as pleased with my life as I've been.

After agreeing to stay in touch, we hung up.

Throughout the rest of the day I couldn't help but marvel at the trail each of leaves in life and how connected I remain to the people and the lessons learned in those early days of my career. I've seldom taken a job because of the company, the position, or the salary. Even as a young boy, I sought out people for whom I just knew could teach me things, and then I found a way to work for them. Being exposed to people like John Brown, who I consider a modern day poet, has been the real secret to any success I enjoy.

Toyota Venza and its meaningless message

Recently, I went on a Twitter rant about the ads that Toyota is running for its Venza model. The voiceover explains that "You are more than one thing, and so is Venza." I find the whole premise baffling. As a current, and longtime Toyota driver, I feel I have the right to react to their messages. Given the current desparate state of affairs that the US auto makers put themselves in, and the government's pleading for consumers to spend, I want to know "business as usual" days within the auto industry are over before I go wading back into the market.

Through this ilconceived campaign is Toyota suggesting that I am defined by different usage occasions? I go to work, I drive at night to social events, I shop. Do they believe these different driving destinations and purposes define me? So in the morning the Venza is reliable work transportation, and during the lunch hour it's a good drive-thru vehicle, and at night it presents me as a "sporty guy" when I pull up in front of my favorite hangout? I don't get it.

Is there some other meaning I've missed?

For Toyota's purposes, I want them to accept I AM ONE THING. I am the driver of an automobile. I do not define myself through shallow things like the model of car I drive. A car provides transportation. Admittedly, some car features lend themselves to certain lifestyles and pursuts. it wouldn't be practical to use a convertible if I intended to use the vehicle for a housepainting business, nor would it seem wise to buy a large SUV for a simple one-mile commute from home to office. But if Toyota can't say anything more meaningful through the tens (hundreds?) of millions of dollars it is spending on this ad campaign then they no longer deserve my business.

It's too bad Toyota decided that appealing to my appreciation of its well-made, dependable and economic to operate cars can no longer be told in a compelling manner. Instead they revert to some bogus, customer ego-stroking gobbligook.

The marketing department and the agency should be ashamed of themselves.