The Jackie Robinson Factor

The current US presidential campaign is arguably the most historic in modern history. It has all the elements that makes political debate in this country our true national pastime. We’ve had youth vs. age, conservative vs. liberal and men vs. a woman. For the political punditocracy their cup runneth over.

I confess, I’ve watched enough talking head commentary to claim a carbon footprint the size of Sasquatch. Some of the comments have been thoughtful. The vast majority has been inane, particularly multiple comments that run over the top of each other like a family dinner table discussion gone bad.

But there was one comment that shed a very different light on the campaign. It was during one of the most heated moments of the “D” primary. Barack Obama was navigating his way through the Rev. Wright controversy and Hillary Clinton was starting to really turn up the heat. There were lots of calls for Obama to take off the gloves and come out swinging, as if politicians can’t find a way to beat each others brains out without removing their gloves.

On CNN, network analyst Donna Brazile, an African-American Democratic party activist and former 2000 campaign manager for Al Gore, theorized why it wasn’t going to happen. Brazile explained that Obama had to avoid at all costs showing any anger. “If he appears to be an angry black man, the campaign is over.” she said. Her comment spoke volumes about the current state of race in the US and a double standard at play in the campaign. If Obama bristles, he shows signs of being an angry black man. And that would terrify some white voters. But if his competitors do the same, they’re usually viewed as seasoned, ready and tough.

These are extremely delicate waters for Obama to travel. But we’ve seen this before. In the late 1940s, Branch Rickey, club president and GM of the Brooklyn Dodgers, signed Jackie Robinson as the first player in fifty-seven years to break the baseball color line, a segregation practice dating to the nineteenth century. Rickey had to have a man who could restrain himself from responding to the ugliness of the racial hatred that was certain to come. When initially informed of Rickey’s requirement for the signing, Robinson was aghast: “Do you want a player afraid to fight back?” Rickey replied that he needed a player “with the guts not to fight back.” Robinson knew he would face tremendous racial animus, and couldn’t take the bait and react angrily. He agreed to abide by Rickey’s terms. The rest is baseball and civil rights history.

As the general election campaign begins, the attacks on Obama are sure to escalate. Not just the ones rooted in true discourse, like his experience or policy positions, but the ones carefully veiled or even blatant and ugly. Obama knows that if signs of confidence are characterized as arrogance, a single moment of anger will bring down the roof.

Race continues to be a tender point of discussion in this country. We are probably not as racially polarized as the left feels or as reconciled as some on the right claim. But one thing is certain, if Barack Obama is elected the first African-American President of the United States, it will be the result of his restraint, composure and dignity. And it will be unrivaled in political history. Why any man would want to subject himself and his family to such an ordeal is beyond me. The only person alive who may know is Rachel Robinson, Jackie’s widow.

Back to Cupertino

I lived in Cupertino, CA back in the 60’s. That was a long time ago. The Santa Clara Valley was wall to wall orchards and every housing tract had an an elementary school and a park. Ozzie and Harriet didn’t live on our street, but they could have. It was downright placid. This was the calm Cupertino, before the storm, the Interstate, silicon valley tycoons and long before Apple built their interplanetary headquarters.

So when our IT Director, Kevin Glick and I embarked on our maiden voyage to the Apple campus for a seminar, it was part homecoming and part pilgrimage. I’m not sure which I was anticipating more, the current height of the tiny palm tree my mother planted in front of our home almost 50 years ago (at least 85 feet), or the house that Steve and Steve built. Probably, the Apple campus.

Not a big surprise, considering my lifelong affinity for all things Apple. You name it and I’ve owned it. With the single exception of a Lisa, I believe I’ve owned every major model of Apple desktop, laptop and handheld ever made. I owned Apple when it was cool, not so cool and then cool again. I bought thousands of dollars of gear when Apple’s market share had dropped below 2%. I had it bad.

Several years ago I visited the computer exhibit at the Smithsonian in DC. Someone has cleverly assembled every one of those bad boys. It was a trip down depreciation alley.

Perhaps my most anticipated purchase was the original 128K Mac. I think I paid $3500 for the computer, printer and software. That was in 1985. You could call me a loyalist, enthusiast or sucker. John Sculley, former Apple CEO, would probably say sucker. He once described the first Mac as a Ferarri with a one quart gas tank. I am loyal and as if 25 years of uninterrupted brand loyalty wasn’t enough, I remain a shareholder.

With the stage set for a life changing experience, we headed down I280 to the De Anza Blvd exit and on to the sacred asphalt at One Infinite Loop. I have to confess, I’m not really sure exactly what I was anticipating. Something squarely in between HP in Palo Alto and Google in Mountain View. But what I found was the stark separation of brand essence and brand reality.

If you peeled the small Apple logos off the smattering of buildings around the loop and replaced them with any major pharmaceutical bug, or even dare I say it, yes the M word, no one would blink. At best, it’s a collection of identical concrete and glass warehouses. And to add insult to injury, the buildings are numbered. Numbered! Not named after those cool people that made up the classic “Think Different” posters. We have 1 Infinite Loop, 2 Infinite Loop…you get the idea. A stroke of pure creative genius. And we were just getting started. The worst was yet to come.

A brief trip to the mother ship’s Apple store had all the thrill of, you guessed it, going to an Apple store. Nothing unique to buy short of a few items to commemorate the trip to Mecca. My back teeth were starting to ache.

After a brief respite in retail hell, we drove around the loop to building #5 where the seminar is held, It was strategically located between #4 and #6. Apple had instructed us to arrive at least an hour early. We’re from Oregon, so we’re 90 minutes ahead of time. We enter and approach a completely disinterested employee at a large reception desk. “We’re here for the server seminar”, I said. “Go upstairs and wait”, she relied, pointing to an adjacent staircase. No worries, we’ll just mosey on up and relax. Nice idea, but easier said than done.

We head upstairs and quickly discover there are far more people being herded into this area than there is available seating. And we still have an hour and a half to go. Gradually even more geeks are packed in.

After 45 minutes, I head downstairs looking for something to drink. Back to the receptionist. Bad idea. There is nothing to eat or drink, I’m told. But directly behind Miss Congeniality is what appears to be a huge cafeteria behind a wall of glass. “Hey, can I head back there and grab something?”, I ask. “You don’t have a pass. That’s just for employees” she replies. Discretion being the better part of valor, I spare her the speech about my first Apple II. She was born after it was shipped to the Smithsonian.

Back up I go, weaving my way through the Apple employees making their way upstairs with trays of food and drinks from the cafeteria. I briefly consider asking the woman ahead of me if she’d take 10 bucks for her lemonade.  Upstairs I miraculously stumble on a lone water cooler. Relief is just a feet away. Cool clear water and no paper cups. I’m beginning to see a pattern here.

After releasing the cooler from a tearful bear hug, I notice the herd is beginning to move towards an open classroom. Then in a twist they head back down the stairs. Why we were sent upstairs when the meeting is  downstairs is something of a mystery. But pushing through dehydration and leg cramps, I’m ready to head in, grab a seat and get started. Not so fast. We’re not going anywhere. The crowd that was upstairs is now downstairs, packed into even less space. Just as I’m started to get really heated, the crowd starts to move. We’re heading through the foyer and turning right into a large room for registration and then back out to the foyer and a further wait. This is the point at which I usually fake a seizure to clear some space around me. Some of the crowd is growing impatient and restless. The rest seem resigned to the wait as if they had been here before. We haven’t. We’re from Oregon.

Finally, we’re directed into the meeting room. I’d like to report it was spacious and the seats comfy. But pilgrims don’t get leg room. The chairs were so tightly spaced from the row in front that no one could move through without everyone standing. It was so tight, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic and it was far too late for my seizure routine.

The seminar was informative, but the moment was lost. I was a whipped pup. The trip to Mecca had turned a believer into an infidel. I swear, if they were selling copies of Vista in the parking lot I might have bought one.

But there was a lesson to be learned. My return to Cupertino turned out to be more meaningful from a marketing perspective than a technical one. I came away convinced that the true genius that makes Apple hum isn’t at One Infinite Loop after all. The swagger, vibe and attitude I expected was actually 300 miles to the south at 5353 Grovesnor Blvd, Los Angeles, the home of TBWA/Chiat Day, their ad agency. I’m an ad guy. I should have known better.

Polling all landlines…

Today’s Reuters/Zogby poll, based on a sample of 1,089 “likely voters” drawn from listed telephone numbers, conducted Aug. 14-16, 2008, shows McCain over Obama by 46% to 41%. It is creating quite a stir nationally. Sorry to hear they disturbed a thousand napping seniors,  agoraphobic technophobes and residential burglars. Doesn’t it occur to these folks that it is impossible to get a balanced sampling from listed telephone numbers? Another reason, whichever side of the aisle you may reside, to discount polling. Tea leaves may prove to be more accurate.

Giving up on LIFE

This is my official 911 call to all advertising copywriters. If you’ve ever used the word “LIFE” in any headline, body or web copy, it’s time to turn in your union card and head for Arby’s. They’re in desperate need of cheese slicers.  The ad landscape is awash in LIFEstyle messages. Enough! You’re sucking the LIFE out of life.

Before we tackle some of the most blatant violators, let’s be fair and extend a golf clap to these fine products and pubs that get a pass.

  • Lifesavers
  • Life Magazine
  • Life Cereal
  • Life the board game
  • Life Insurance (just kidding)
  • Life (I only have one to give to my country)

And now, here are just a handful of Hall of Fame LIFEsuckers.

  • LIFE Comes At You Fast – Nationwide Insurance (step aside or we’re mailing a check to your family)
  • Life Beckons. Choose wisely Amstel (pick the wrong beer and die)
  • Life is ticking Timex. (tell me about it)
  • Leading Light for Life. Pfizer (absolutely no clue. Better copy writing through pharmaceuticals?)
  • My life. My card. American Express (my draining cash flow)
  • Shoes for life. Clarks Shoes (wow, one pair that expands and then gets super comfy 75 years later)
  • Healthy, Beautiful Smiles for Life. Fixodent (except when they’re in a glass of water)
  • Where there’s life, there’s Bud. Anheuser Busch (where there’s vomit there’s lost car keys)
  • Take it for Life. Midol (I swear, 33 years of marriage and not an unpleasant moment)
  • Life is a journey, travel it well. United Air Lines (please return your life to its full upright position)
  • Life’s a sport. Drink it up Gatorade (bad news…you’re sweating purple)
  • Soak up life Viva Paper Towels (now that’s what I call absorbent)
  • Grab Life by the Horns. Dodge (grab your wallet. You own a Dodge)
  • Life uninterrupted. Luvs (finally a diaper that never needs changing)
  • Eat Life Up. Wish-Bone Salad Dressing (life over 50 = lettuce)
  • It’s not a hotel, it’s a way of life. Holiday Inn (no it’s a motel)
  • The Way Life Should Be. Sicily (an offer you can’t refuse)
  • Live Life. Stay Free. Poise pads and pantiliners (Pretty sure this isn’t a guy thing)
  • Life is harsh. Your tequila shouldn’t be. Jose Cuervo (harsh is a Curevo hangover)
  • Your Best LIFE Now by Joel Osteen (just cause this guy makes my molars ache)

Last and certainly least…

  • Discover a Healthier Slice of Life! Kingsmill Bread (You’re killing me!)

Front Yard Game Reserve

In front of my house in Jacksonville, OR

Hey fellas, comfortable? Can I get you a glass of lemonade or some macadamia nuts?

Death of the BS Artists

Caustic relationships between Advertising and PR folk date back to the earliest days of modern truth stretching. So, all cards up. I’m an Ad Guy. And I admit, I’ve met some fairly interesting PR wonks over the years. None that I’d take home to meet the family, but good sorts. They snort in our direction about lack of discipline. We return the favor with jabs about tassels and wingtips. The truth of who squeezes truth most effectively may reside somewhere firmly in between the two. But neither is without its baggage. The ad industry is bloated and self-indulgent. The PR world is just a drag. But there may be one thing both groups agree on. Social networking and the rapid growth of the web is a real threat to our livelihood. The gig is almost up boys and girls. Speak with any group of twenty somethings and you’ll find a level of cynicism unmatched in modern times. As they Twitter, Digg, Poke and Tap their way to a new kind of community, there is a deep disrespect and almost fervent disdain for practitioners of the subtle art of truth twist. To this generation, an insincere offer, unsubstantiated claim or bloated statistic smells like week old Thai in the glove box. They’ve heard it all and call bullshit at lightning speed.

At the recent Start Conference in San Francisco, I saw the future of truth mining in action. It was the best social experiment I’ve witnessed in years. As Dot Com wizard after VC genius graced the stage, I stayed glued to Twitter on my iPhone. Words of advice rolled forth from the stage. And instantly, responses were published to the web. The pace at which shots were called was blistering. Some were on the mark. Others were over the top. A few were not kind. But all were there for instant review.

Some of this is not new. The blogosphere has been a petrie dish of opinion for years. But the speed that social networking is growing is matched only by the pace that it moves opinions and analysis. Not today, or tomorrow, but soon the gig may be up. The ability of the current crop of truth squeezers to stay ahead of the tappers may end. Some new, more sophisticated, group of twisters will emerge. PR folk will return to dreams of being novelists and Ad Guys will return to just dreaming.