Eli’s Birthday

Today, a fanciful game of “Connections” about the fate of American marketing and advertising.

Eli Whitney was born on this date in 1765 in Westboro, MA. Whitney invented the cotton gin and developed the concept of mass production of interchangeable parts. We can blame the cotton gin for a lot of problems, but the idea of interchangeable parts – that’s the springboard of the Industrial Revolution and the start of today’s game.

Of those Americans who might be able to answer the question, “Who invented the automobile?”, most would say Henry Ford. But Henry Ford didn’t invent the automobile – he married the already-invented motor car to the techniques of the assembly line.

Mass production demands mass consumption. How to get you the masses to consume? Advertising…eventually. His concept of mass production put American on wheels, his advertising urged Americans to buy cars, and the Ford Motor Company became one of America’s industrial behemoths.

As early as 1928, Herbert Hoover was campaigning for President with the slogan, “A chicken in every pot and and a car in every garage.”

Along with the readily available automobile, Henry Ford is also credited with inventing the American middle class. Last week, one portion of the middle class, in the form of the American Family Association, seems to have “forced” Ford to stop some of its advertising, for the Jaguar and Land Rover marks, in gay magazines.

A number of people are writing about market forces and their effects on advertising – like Alan Murray in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal (page A2).

So today, the anniversary of Whitney’s birth, serves as a reasonable occasion to look at how advertisers and advertising agencies respond to public pressure. Our American freedoms give every group an opportunity to persuade corporations to behave the way the group wishes. It’s part of our way of life.

In the wake of our industry’s craven response to the apparent furor of non-smokers over the success of the Joe Camel advertising campaign, I’ve been looking for a chance to tell our industry, “Grow a spine.” Today’s the day.

These connections are a real stretch – I admit it. This is a blog after all and only rarely splenetic. But happy birthday anyway, Eli Whitney.

Whitney engraving from Wikipedia.com with thanks.

USS Arizona

“A US battleship of the Pennsylvania class, commissioned in 1916. It was sunk at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. It sank so rapidly that of the 1,400 men on board, 1,103 were lost (over half the total casualties suffered by the entire fleet at Pearl Harbor). Now enshrined as a memorial, with her crew considered buried at sea, the Arizona remains in commission as the senior ship of the US Pacific Fleet.”

Quick, John, Dictionary of Weapons & Military Terms, McGraw-Hill, New York, 1973. Official US Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.

Tyson Offers

Through one of my SoFlow discussion groups, Dawn Douglass (whose Web site here is worth more than one look) pointed the way to an AdAge.com news item that begins:

“Tyson Foods has launched a faith-based marketing initiative that is offering consumers free downloadable prayer booklets at the same time the company has placed 128 part-time chaplains in 78 food-processing plants across the country.”

Felt this is pretty brave of a company these days, no matter what you think of the poultry industry. So I went here to take a look. Sure enough, there’s a booklet on offer, “designed to help you discover (or rediscover) the joy and power of saying a word of thanks at mealtime.”

The on-line excerpts are very broad-ranging, so I have taken the liberty of showing you some – it’s good for the spirit:

“Thank you for the food we eat; Thank you for the friends we meet; Thank you for our work and play; Thank you, God, for a happy day.”

“Cristo, pan de vida, Ven y bendice esta comida. Amen. Christ, bread of life, Come and bless this food. Amen.”

“Hail, hail, hail, may happiness come. May food come. May corn come. Just as the farmers work and look forward to the reaping, So may we sit again as we are sitting now.”

“Bénedic, Dómine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Chritum Dóminum nostrum. Amen. Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Rub-a-dub-dub, Thanks for the grub. Amen.”

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz. Blessed art Thou, Lord our God, King of the universe who brings forth bread from the earth.”

“Some hae meat and canna eat, And some would eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

“For what we are about to receive, May the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen.”

“Good Lord - Bless these sinners as they eat their dinners. Amen.”

“Great God, accept our gratitude,
For the great gifts on us bestowed.
For raiment, shelter and for food.
Great God, our gratitude we bring,
Accept our humble offering,
For all the gifts on us bestowed,
Thy name be evermore adored.”

“God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food. By his hands, we are fed. Let us thank him for our bread. Amen.”

And from the US Coast Guard Chaplain Program:

“Our Father, we are mindful of those who have friends but no food...and those who have food but no friends. We thank you this day we have both. Help us to befriend the friendless and to share our substance with those who hunger. Amen.”

It’s good to be thankful for the things we have – and say so out loud, especially when we share our blessings with others. This Tyson initiative (one of many) is another way to build community...which is always a good thing. I, for one, intend to ask how their program is playing out. More about this as the season progresses.

Logo and excerpts are from Tyson Foods, Inc. Thank you for the loan.

Christmas Poaching

“How about an egg-poaching toaster?” she asks. “It’s against the King’s law to poach the royal eggs,” says I, wondering what she was talking about. Barbara winces as she often does at my jokes and continues, “No, I’m talking about this Egg Poaching Toaster in the new Hammacher Schlemmer catalogue – right here.”

Ah, the catalogue: “Offering the Best, the Only and the Unexpected for 157 years.” One of the official starts of the Christmas shopping season. It like Neiman Marcus for the upper-middle-class, filled with shiny gadgets to catch the eye and empty the pocketbook. More than the early seasonal displays, more than the often-clever TV commercials, the constant arrival of the catalogues in the mailbox advertising all mod cons for gadget garages throughout the Western world still signals the March of Shopping Progress – despite the Internet.

I have decided against the poacher, despite the arresting fact that “this countertop device makes a complete breakfast sandwich in just four minutes…” Although my eye was caught by The Children’s ATM Bank shown directly underneath, this is the kind of marketing I can now resist.

This is hardly the first or only time that someone will remark on the drive to make the Christmas shopping season profitable for retailers everywhere. Gadgeteering is part of the American psyche, maybe humanity’s psyche, but I have run out of room for these things, I guess. Consumables (like holiday candy trays) are probably to blame in my case: carrying around the gifties in caloric form rather than having them clutter up the household landscape.

Yet it is a constant battle, isn’t it. I noted in the September 6 number of Family Circle (page 81), that one cannot “speed your weight loss results” without stocking up on the shiny plastic Cheese Grater, the chromed Vegetable Steamer, and the handy Olive Oil Sprayer. Say, did you know that “you’ll use about half as much cheese if you shred it first?”

Let ‘em roll on, says I. ‘Tis the season to be merry, and if the definition of “merry” includes getting a breakfast sandwich in four minutes, go for it. The retailers will thank you, the economy will thank you. And I, who make a better living in a boom economy, will thank you. (PS: The Egg Poacher’s stock number is BX-72727 – and thanks to Hammacher Schlemmer for the photo.)

Apologies, Eh?

In an earlier post, I wrongly identified Toronto as the national capital of Canada. A brief and amiable reply corrected my error. Canada’s SOG is Ottawa, in the Province of Ontario. This year 2005 marks the 150th anniversary of the establishment of Ottawa as a city. On January 1, 1855, the town of Bytown became the City of Ottawa.

I hereby apologize to Ottawans – and to Leigh and Loren Lerner, and to Peter Francey, who are likely quite ashamed of me at this point. Here's to a happier Sunday for all Canadians.

Tiny Timberwolves

Welcome to branding gone wacky. Driving behind a family van in my neighborhood, I realized one of its bumper stickers identified the driver as the parent of a kid attending Terrace Elementary School, one of more than 30 elementary schools in the Spring Branch ISD system.

It’s the same elementary school that two of my children attended. But somewhere along the years, it has adopted a new mascot. Now, this elementary school’s teams are called Timberwolves – complete with a wolf’s head with fangs showing.

First-graders named Timberwolves? Like after the large gray wolves (Canis lupus) that used to be prime carnivores throughout northern North America and Eurasia? I happen to like wolves. But there’s something…aggressive…in the mascot name; it doesn’t exactly represent the kind of environment I’d want to dump young kiddos into.

Now, if Terrace Elementary School adopted its mascot to honor the US Army’s famous 104th Infantry Division, then I’m all in favor – that’s the unit patch pictured to the left. Somehow, though, I doubt it. This adoption of aggressive beasties as mascots has become epidemic in the American school system and it has descended to the elementary school level. I guess the more appropriate Timberpups never came up.

A quick local check has turned up Cougars, Lions, and Tigers; Bears, Bulldogs, and Huskies; Falcons and Eagles (both good raptors); even a Gator or two. These outnumber the Mustangs and the Dolphins – and Pandas (which at least deliver a warm, fuzzy feel) by a wide margin.

Shucks, when I went to Marist School in Atlanta, we were the Cadets, because we were a military school after all. Curiously, long after I had graduated and the school became a co-ed general education institution without a National Defense Cadet Corps program, the mascot became the War Eagle. Go figure.

Will this trend continue its bloodthirsty advance? Do we look forward to Cobras, Hyenas, Killer Whales? (These probably exist by now.) How about John F. Kennedy Elementary’s Fifth Grade soccer team becoming the “Bloody-Fanged, Prairie Dog-Rending Wildcats?”

Oh, for the days of Crickets and Chipmunks.

Don’t Shout

Clients change advertising and PR agencies for a variety of reasons…the agency-search consultants tell us so. You can check out consultants’ Web sites, you can talk to (or read interviews with) big-scale agency executives. The reasons will appear to be different depending on fashion. Maybe the old agency’s creative is “stale.” Maybe one party is just plain tired or fed up with the other.

There are as many different reasons for changing agencies as there are people who do the changing…because, I think, of the “quality of the interaction.”

This is a double-barreled challenge.

First, agency executives say clients are not looking for better creative so much as they are looking for changes in the quality of the interaction between their customers and their messages. You may choose to define this change any number of ways, which is what companies large and small are doing by cutting budgets for traditional media (radio and broadcast TV) and exploring new media – everything from hot cable shows to word-of-mouth or “guerilla” marketing.

In a recent Wall Street Journal interview, Lowe Worldwide Chairman Mark Wnek said that “…many creative executives are not ready for change. There is a profound love affair between creative executives and the little 30-second Hollywood films they create.” (That’s p. B28, 11/30, for non-subscribers.)

Improving the interactions between the clients’ messages and prospective customers, as demonstrated (for example) by the multi-media work for the Mini automobile and redefining quality-of-life a la Target department stores, suddenly makes for better sales, and therefore better client-agency relationships. Or at least better relations between the client and whomever is the trendy purveyor of the apparent solution.

Second is the old “interface” problem between the client people and the agency people. Good relationships in this context are worth their weight in gold. Bad ones lead to more changes.

In a post that’s meant to be relatively short, I don’t know how much detail you need about this part of the client-agency relationship. But I suggest that good chemistry is far more important in the selection and retention of marcom suppliers than most professionals credit.

In both cases, Miss Manners would perhaps say, “Stop shouting.” Amiability is perhaps worth more than some people think.

What do you think?

© Photographer: Peter Hansen Agency: Dreamstime.com

More Canuckery

See what happens when you pay more attention to politics than to marketing and advertising. No sooner does the Canadian Liberal Party lose a vote of confidence in the country’s House of Commons – that would be in Toronto – than Leigh Lerner sends another story from Montreal:

A city boy, Jean, moved to the country and bought a donkey from an old farmer for $100.00. The farmer agreed to deliver the donkey the next day. The next day the farmer drove up and said, “Sorry son, but I have some bad news, the donkey died.”

Jean replied, “Well then, just give me my money back.” The farmer said, “Can't do that. I went and spent it already.”

Jean said, “OK then, just unload the donkey.” The farmer asked, “What ya gonna do with him, eh?” Jean replied, “I’m going to raffle him off.” The farmer was shocked. "You can't raffle off a dead donkey!” Jean said, "Sure I can. Watch me. I just won’t tell anybody he is dead.”

A month later the farmer met up with Jean and asked, “What happened with that dead donkey?” Jean replied, “I raffled him off. I sold 500 tickets at two dollars a piece and made a profit of $898.00.”

The farmer asked, “Didn't anyone complain?” Jean answered, “Just the guy who won. So I gave him his two dollars back.”

Jean grew up and eventually became the Prime Minister of Canada.

The Liberal Prime Minister who lost the vote and will have to stand for re-election is Paul Martin. It sounds like he could use a good advertising agency.

Short Endorsement

It is way too easy to complain these days – perhaps it always has been. Moses was reported to have been extremely upset with the contractors for delays in building his ark: I’ll post that story someday.

Since Signalwriter has just acquired a second computer, the “executive offices” have known the joys and the frustrations of dual access.

And as several of you know, I have been having connection problems, with intermittent access to the Internet this past week, starting just before Thanksgiving. (“Intermittent” is Texas slang for “the dang thing don’t work right!”) After trying a number of fixes, the problem has been narrowed down to the connection between the Time-Warner cable and the outside wall of our premises.

I have heard from friends and colleague innumerable times about difficulties with the cable company (ies) and the Internet service providers. I’d simply like to balance those remarks with the ongoing friendliness and helpfulness I have experienced with the EarthLink technical support people – with whom I’ve been on the telephone three or four times in the last few days.

While the experience is angryfying, and the problem is not yet fixed, my conversations with EarthLink have been pleasant and encouraging. “A soft word turneth away wrath,” so ‘tis said. Until something truly aggravating happens, I’d like to thank the TSOs at EarthLink for their telephone demeanor.

Something else to be thankful for, I guess.

Do-Right Red

First, Leigh Lerner e-mailed from Toronto, “We, too, celebrated Thanksgiving because it gives Sasha [Leigh’s daughter] an anchor in the midst of a sea of Canuckery. At that time of year, every true blue American longs for a table groaning from heavy food and grandpa’s bad jokes.”

I responded, “As a Republican, I of course prefer ‘every red-blooded American’ versus ‘every true blue American.’ So much for what the Red State-Blue State divide has done for our clichés.”

What I got back was a lesson from the Frozen North: “I don’t know where this red/blue stuff started. Reds were always leftists, except the Bosox. Oh, and don’t forget the Cincinnati Reds, who had to be Republican: ask the Tafts who broadcast their games.

“Up here, where even American red stuff coagulates in the veins at this time of year, Red means Liberal. The Liberals produce a Red Book for every election, telling you in advance where they’re going to spend all the money they tax away so prolifically, and even some they intend to print.

“Blue means Blue Jays, as in T.O., or Blue equals Conservative, and that means Alberta. Alberta’s blue is more toward the black, like that refineable liquid in the ground. Blue Collars always vote Red in these parts, New Democrat and PQ kind of red, which is redder than any pink-o down there can imagine.

“They even give every Quebecois a red card to give to the doctor for free service 90 days after you need it. Up here, Red also means RCMP, which you don’t mess with, even if they look like Dudley Do-Right©, even if you’re from Texas. Also, Red means $50 bills, which you want a whole mess of, and no matter how many you have, it's only 85% of what your Houston buddies’ green ones can buy.

“Now what's this about Red States and Blue States?”

Photo courtesy Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Thanks, eh.

Bakers Saddened

Steve Collier sent this: “I hope this does not break your heart. I hope that you can pull yourself together. Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community.” The news item is all over the net by now – one source has attributed it to a Mr. Joseph White in Indiana. I have added information from my own historical records.

Poppin’ Fresh, the Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Fresh was buried in a lightly greased coffin. The grave site was piled high with flours. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The eulogy was delivered by Aunt Jemima, who lovingly described the Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.

Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.

Well known for doing his own stunts, Fresh was badly burned in a microwave oven accident on a movie set in the early ‘70s. He also became the subject of off-color jokes over the past several decades, such as ‘Yo’momma like the Pillsbury Doughboy: Everyone gets a poke!’ Despite being a little flaky at times and frequently pie-eyed, he was still a crusty old man and considered a roll model for millions.

According to a source close to the family, Fresh is survived by his wife Play Dough; two children, John Dough and Jane Dough; Fresh and his wife had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart. Piping hot rumors, though, credit Fresh with a girlfriend of many years, Poppie; a son, Popper; another son, Bun Bun; a cat named Biscuit; and Flapjack the dog.

The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 12 minutes.

RIP, Poppin' - you were the toast of the town.

Pillsbury and the Doughboy character are trademarks of The Pillsbury Company. Photo from www.pillsburybaking.com.

Thanksgiving Past

This post’s subtitle could be The Incredible Lateness of Thanking. This is due to a disagreement between the original computer and the new one, which pair I networked on Monday evening using a router. The combined system worked reasonably well ‘til Wednesday afternoon – then started acting up. (Please: all Macintosh users forego the usual criticism.)

Late this afternoon, before our Thanksgiving sit-down, I took the router out of line and plugged one computer into the EarthLink modem…and it connected. So I’m posting this to wish you all a happy Thanksgiving – just a little late in the day.

There were eight for the feast: Barbara and I; Doug and Donna and Maddy (son, daughter-in-law, and grand-daughter respectively); Rose Slavik (mother-in-law); and Elisabeth and Steve Lanier, friends from Galveston, where they own the DesignWorks gallery on Postoffice Street.

Barbara outdid herself. Plenty of turkey and dressing with gravy, mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, sweet peas, cole slaw, rolls. Desserts included Barbara’s traditional pumpkin, pecan, and mince pies – the mince was particularly fine this year. You’ll notice that I have never suffered from my wife’s cooking; rather, the reverse.

The evening ended with a fairly intense discussion of branding, of all things. Steve used to teach Branding for the Arts years ago…so the topic covered everything from non-profits to department stores. Elisabeth won’t set foot in a Wal-Mart, but readily admits to frequenting Target (but shopping is limited on Galveston Island).

I originally intended to dedicate this year’s Thanksgiving post to friend and blog-watcher Susan Kirkland because she lives in North Carolina: oddly, the largest producer of turkeys in the US. However, for everyone who wished us well for this particularly American holiday, and whose e-mails I missed because of computer outages, I return best wishes…a little past due as I said but very warmly meant and sent. I have much to be thankful for, friends and colleagues near and far.

More tomorrow.

Photograph of President Truman receiving a Thanksgiving turkey from members of the Poultry and Egg National Board and other representatives of the turkey industry, outside the White House. Thanks to www.whitehouse.gov.

Chilly? Alaska.

Thanksgiving is also when we think about family and friends far away. You can’t get much farther away, in terms of the continental US, than Alaska. I was a little surprised to get this from Scott McKinley: friend, former marcom client, and demon cyclist.

“Congrats on the Lantern awards! I accepted a job in Anchorage, Alaska (still with ConocoPhillips) as a Commercial Analyst – economic analysis. Got a phone call the evening of Hurricane Rita's appearance in Houston asking me to report at the Anchorage office on November 1st. It's been a whirlwind ever since. After the 2005 hurricane season, moving to Anchorage was the major strategy of my ‘hurricane evacuation’ plan.

“Should you and Barbara ever wish to have a ‘home base’ while exploring the Last Great Frontier, know that a guest bedroom with y’all’s name awaits you.

“P.S. 22 degrees and falling....and here's the view from my ‘backyard’.’”

It’s possible he accepted the job because it puts him that much closer to the mountain named after him, in the Alaska Range. That’s where you get Alaska’s most famous mountain, Denali, also referred to as Mount McKinley – North America’s highest peak at 20,320 feet…which is about as tall as Scott.

Happy Thanksgiving, Scott, and to all far-away friends.

Familial Goose

Wanted to post this feedback from Lynn Slavik, Minnesota-based sister-in-law (who's married to Greg, who is Barbara's...oh never mind - she's family).

“Wonderful photo of Barb... I, too, noticed the fridge decor even before you brought it to our attention. Well, Greg lost (won?) the coin toss, and he picked up Rose Mary after work and got her to Tom and Peg's last night. I think her flight leaves here around 10:45, so soon she will be all yours! I worked late and didn't have a chance for a visit with Tom and Peg, which has become somewhat of a tradition as well.

“We had her and the Musils over for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday. Greg introduced the clan to the game of Dominos. It took Rose Mary a bit to catch on, but the cribbage board never came out, so that must mean something. I learned it when I visited my aunt and uncle who winter in Florida. It's all the rage with the senior crowd, I guess. She'll need a cribbage fix, so I hope you'll have the board all set up upon her arrival.

“My mom and dad are hosting Thanksgiving in their apartment this year. We will be close, but then, we always have been. We're having our traditional goose, dumplings and sauerkraut. (Turkey breast for those who have not fully embraced the Hrabe tradition.) I'm sure you're looking forward to the holiday as much as we are. Enjoy your time with the family. We'll be thinking of you.

“Greetings to all... Love, Lynn and Greg.”

Tradition, Tradition

It is the modern era – it’s always the modern era. Families change and grow. Traditions often change too, and it’s rarely more evident than at Thanksgiving.
Understand, in some cases, that one or another “family tradition” may no longer be possible. At Signalwriter’s home, however, we’re holding onto these traditions with a grip of steel.

Example: Barbara’s reluctance to be photographed, as you can see in this dramatic demonstration, photo by Rachel Elizabeth Baron from last Thanksgiving’s dinner preparations, ©2004. It is an honored custom in the Baron kitchen.

Note the very traditional refrigerator decor. The fresh-baked mince pie in the foreground. The colorful apron. The firmly upraised palm. She's not asking for permission.

Perhaps your entire extended family can't gather together at your house. Instead, find new ways to celebrate together from afar, such as sharing pictures, e-mails or videotapes. I’m sharing this picture of Barbara with you, as one more way to wish you a Happy Turkey Day to come.

Runeous Communication

Meet the Elder Futhark. I learned about it from a crossword clue recently, and had to Google it. For someone interested in communication, runes are the first language – and the first symbology in the European heritage.

Runes are a Norse alphabet (even though they aren't really an alphabet, are they?) developed around 200 BCE, from characters used for magical purposes. According to Nordic legends, they were discovered by Odin as he hung upside down and wounded for nine days on Yggdrasil, the World Tree.

There are three commonly known rune sets: the Anglo-Saxon futhork; the Danish short-twig or script alphabet; and the Younger and Elder Futhark. It’s obvious that JRR Tolkien knew all about ‘em.

The Elder Futhark is the oldest. There have been as few as 16 and as many as 33 runic characters at various times. Runes have been used as a divinatory device from the beginning. Some scholars believe that at one time, a special class of diviners who dealt exclusively with rune-reading. The word “rune” literally means whisper or secret.

As currently accepted, the Elder Futhark has 24 runes. It consists of three sets of eight letters. This “runic alphabet” got its name after the sound of what is traditionally held to be the six first runes in this alphabet: F - U - Þ - A - R – K. Listen to how they're pronounced here.

Looking at these runes as symbols, a simple transliteration of my initials would allow for a divination. “R” is raido. “L” is laguz. And “B” is berkanan.

Raido-Laguz-Berkanan. According to one divinatory Web site, the first English word in each symbol’s set of meanings may foretell the runic message. In the case of RLB, those words would be “journey,” passage,” and “renewal.” Isn’t that an interesting gloss on my life and career?

The Elder Futhark makes up a fascinating sidebar in the history of human communications. At the same time, it’s a clever starting point to examine shapes and meanings as visual signals, since each of the runes itself stands for an object, just as Chinese characters did originally.

On the other hand, it may be mere entertainment. What do you call a Norwegian paleolithographer wearing a Stetson? A “Runestone Cowboy.”

Happy Monday, y’all. – and best wishes for Thanksgiving to come.

“Tanti Auguri”

Today is the birthday of Rosario Laudicina. We could not travel to Catalafimi, in Sicily, home of his forebears, so 30 or 40 of his close friends congregated at a party last evening in the Heights, hosted by Kelly Melone. She organized. She arranged. She cooked. She threw a wonderful bash – and it was a terrific surprise for Rosario.
There was hardly a bottle of Vino di Sicilia left unconsumed (and no one sprung an extra leg as a result). Hardly a bite of food left on the table: antipasti, pork loin, pasta, side dishes by the dozen.

A giant Italian cream cake was served up in slabs. The official ceremony was marked by our entire group singing “Tanti Auguri A Te”…quite an accomplishment given that precisely two people could actually sing Italian. The rest of us got it quickly enough. Bravo!

Now it’s a funny thing: “Tanti Auguri” is the Italian version of “Happy Birthday.” It literally means “many auguries.” Auguries for a continuing life filled with fulfillment and happiness. (We did not dissect the entrails of the cream cake to read the auguries – we properly presume that the foretellings would be, for Rosario, positive.)

I have known Rosario for 20 years. I look forward to celebrating many more for him and for us all. Tanti Auguri, Signor Laudicina.

Antiwar Democrats

You won’t read much about politics here on Signalwriter. Too uncivil. But I can’t resist a historical opportunity. Listening to conservative talk shows on radio here in Houston over the past few weeks, commentators have had difficulty characterizing Democrats who are violently against the ongoing “war in Iraq.” In one broadcast conversation, between Sean Hannity and former Speaker Newt Gingrich, Gingrich was asked if he (as an historian) had ever seen anything like this sort of opposition.

He mentioned the British appeasement of Hitler and the Nazis prior to World War II. Speaker Gingrich has not dug deeply enough into history, nor had Mr. Hannity.

“Copperhead” is the term they are looking for. It’s a good old American term for the antiwar faction of the Democratic party during our Civil War. While you can easily Google the word, the most accessible explanation is in the James M. McPherson book, Battle Cry of Freedom: “…virtually all those who denounced and resisted the militia draft were Democrats.”

Not only did these Democrats lead the resistance against the then-new draft laws, “The ‘copperhead’ faction of the northern Democratic party opposed the transformation of the Civil War into a total war – a war to destroy the old South itself” and the evils of slavery.

As a group, copperheads vilified President Abraham Lincoln, ranted incessantly against Unionist war aims, accused generals and troops of awful ravages against Southern slaveholders – and you wouldn’t believe the language they used in their newspapers between 1863 and 1865. This segment of the Democratic party even nominated a General, George McClellan, to run against Lincoln in the 1864 election. (Note the engraving above, from the NY Historical Society.)

With good reason, this violent, nasty opposition afforded War Democrats and Republicans the chance to question the loyalty of those who opposed Lincoln's policies, either military or civil (for example, the suspension of habeas corpus). It was not until years after the Civil War that the Democratic party lived down the association.

So if, by some chance, you’re looking for a collective noun to describe some of this over-the-top antiwar activity, “copperhead” should do nicely.

Historical Saturday, y'all.

We're Winners!

Last night, at the Business Marketing Association (BMA) Lantern Gala, 200+ people saw the Landmark Image Campaign win Best of Show [Space Advertising/Campaign, Full-Page or Larger, 4-color, Budget over $100K].

BMA's Lantern show, taking place this year at the downtown Hilton Intercontinental Hotel, is the premier competitive event in Texas business-to-business marketing. It covers the best in over 40 categories of b2b marcom.

This series of ads was created by Landmark’s own Sam Camero and Richard Laurence Baron (that would be moi). We conceptualized the campaign, Sam did the design and production, and I wrote the headlines and copy. It was a great experience creating the ads, for an outstanding client. Communicating business benefits dramatically is the key – awards are icing on the gateau.
The series’ lead “Made to Measure” ad – shown above – also won an Award of Excellence [Space Advertising/Single Ad, Two-Page Spread or Larger] last evening.

Congratulations and best wishes to Sam for his great work. Kudos also to Donna Collum, Kipp Miller, and others of the Halliburton communications team, who took home their own share of Lanterns last night. Couldn’t ask for a nicer group of colleagues.

Made my morning. Thank you.

Stogie Limericks

Going through very old notes, I came across some limericks I created back in the days when Cigar Aficionado was the newest buzzy publication – and I was smoking stogies regularly. I seem to recall I even got the magazine to publish several, but I could be wrong: perhaps limericks lowered the tone. A decade or more ago, I was much less the sophisticate that I am today.

In order to save these for posterity, I present some of them to you here. Consider them a bit of history. Note the George Burns cover photo, which I grabbed here, with thanks: it’s the Winter ’94 number.

The political statement:
While Cuba (Sic semper tyrannis)
Sells the world all its Habanas,
The people down yonder
Have plenty to ponder
And make do while smoking bananas.

The personal comfort view:
Manuel, lost in thought as he felt a
Big bundle of leaves from the Vuelta,
Bathed in sweat head to feet,
Said, “I can’t take such heat,
If it gets any hotter I’ll melt-a.”

The requisite attorney joke:
A bankruptcy lawyer named Meddars
Would smoke anything – even old sweaters.
Rolled ‘em out long and slenda
All wrapped in Candela,
“I smoke ‘em while processing debtors.”

And finally, the biblical approach:
When Moses schlepped down from the mountain,
He took a long drink from a fountain.
Threw the Laws on his bed,
Lit a Rothschild and said,
“It’s my fifth one today – but who’s countin’?

Happy Wednesday, y’all.

Surfeit Bowl

This morning’s Sports section displayed the annual list of college football matchups, along with the marketing schemes that make them sound ridiculous. Yes, there’s the annual Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA – this year, USC vs Texas (yeah!). Stunning in its simplicity.

Alas, the equally iconic Bowl games of yesteryear have gained sponsors: the SBC Cotton Bowl, the FedEx Orange Bowl, the Nokia Sugar Bowl.

Sponsorships have taken over. I counted 23 brand-sponsored Bowl games, which is great news for football fans, although it’s getting too crowded. As a result, the ability of brands to break through the clutter is once again in doubt.

The Capital One Bowl in Orlando clearly shows what the finance company is doing with the interest I pay on my car loan. Barbara should be happy with the Toyota Bowl (though I suspect not)...she thinks of her car as a Prius. Our town gets the EV1.Net Houston Bowl.

Wretched excess reigns. The Tostitos Fiesta Bowl. The GMAC Bowl. The Pioneer Purevision Las Vegas Bowl. The trunk-falling-down-stairs San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl. Champs Sports Bowl. Sheraton Hawaii Bowl. Insight Bowl.

Alongside the Japanese cars, there’s the Autozone Liberty Bowl and the classic Meineke Car Car Bowl matchup between Clemson and South Florida. Eaters get their special events: the Chick-Fil-A Peach Bowl and the Outback Bowl. Perhaps my favorite in an old-fashioned, ducktail-haircut sense: The Vitalis Sun Bowl. I didn’t know Vitalis was still on the market, but with my thinning hair, why would I?

This theme’s hardly played out. At the risk of fulfilling prophecies, look for the US Postal Service Bowl (now that USPS is no longer sponsoring a cycling team) – it’s first-class. The Funland Miniature Golf Courses Bowl. The Chinese-flavored Golden Wok Bowl. The Drs. Hemphill & Goldfine Cosmetic Surgery Bowl. The Count Chockula Cereal Bowl. The Luigi’s All-You-Can-Eat Spaghetti Bowl. And, following Signalwriter’s post about the collegiate honor society, the Phi Beta Kappa Society Bowl.

Signalwriter will take nominations for additional post-season football game sponsorships for its readers. Meantime, check your TV Guide for local dates and times.

PS: Look for my profile photo to reappear soon. It’s just stepped out to make a list of the games it wants to watch this coming holiday season.

Empire State

Today’s story is provided by Nora Fuqua. When I told her that I’d first heard this 40 years ago – and was still telling it – she laughed and said, “What goes around, comes around.” I made some minor changes to match my version.

A physicist, a statistician, and a advertising account manager enter into a Mensa IQ competition. Each one is given a stopwatch and an aneroid barometer and told to find out the height of the structure at 350 Fifth Avenue in New York City: The Empire State Building.

First to return is the statistician: “It’s 1,225 feet high,” he says. “How did you find out?” he’s asked. “Well,” he says, “I took the elevator to the observation deck and timed how long the journey took. I got the elevator speed from the company who put it in. Then I went out on the observation deck and took the air pressure at the top and compared it to the air pressure at the bottom. The average of my calculations is 1,224 feet.” Not bad, the judges tell him.

Next back is the physicist. “It’s 1,220 feet high,” he reports. “How did you find out?” the judges asked. “I took the air pressure at the base and after using the lift the air pressure at the top. Then I dropped the barometer from the top and timed how long it took to fall to the street below. I also timed how long the sound of its impact took to reach me. I calculated the height at 1,220 feet.” Not bad at all, say the judges.

The advertising account manager finally returned. “It’s 1,224 feet from the 102nd floor observation deck to street level,” he says. “Wow,” say the judges, “that’s exactly right. How did you find out?”

The manager said that he went into the basement of the Empire State Building and knocked on the door of the building’s superintendent. When the super answered the door, the manager said, “Here I have a very fine inlay and brass aneroid barometer and a stainless steel precision Swiss stopwatch. I will give them to you if you tell me the height of this building.”

Nowadays, you could also use the Internet. Thanks, Nora.

Photo: www.esbnyc.com, with thanks.

Veterans' Day

No. 862’3
Ordre Général No. 318

Xe Armee
État-Major
3e Bureau

AuQGA 30 July 18

Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and soldiers of the Third United States Army Corp :

Shoulder to shoulder with your French comrades you were thrown into the counter-offensive battle which commenced on the 18th of July. You rushed to the attack as to a festival. Your magnificent courage completely routed a surprised enemy and your indomitable tenacity checked the counter-attacks of his fresh divisions. You have shown yourself worthy sons of your great country… (Colonel John W. Thomason, Jr., writing about the US Marines at Soissons, France. ©1925, Scribners.)

Today is the anniversary of the armistice (coincidentally, “four score and seven years ago”) which ended World War I, after four years of bloody, awful conflict. It was signed by the Allies and the Germans in 1918, in the Forest of Compiegne.

The hostilities of the First World War ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, 87 years ago. The day began with the laying down of arms, the sudden outbreak of parades, the closing of places of business. People everywhere cheered and thought, this is the end of war – it is too horrible to ever happen again.

The “war to end all wars” didn’t end them. The name was changed to Veterans’ Day by Act of Congress in 1954.

Join me in a thought for American soldiers and sailors who are serving throughout the world, defending our freedoms.

And pardon me for some personal thoughts. Paul Hirsch Baron, Emmanuel Katz, Thomas Biddulph, Sam Slavik, AJ Smith, Paul Hoven. More names from the Gunroom (you know who you are): Paul Johnson, KCMO, and “Charlezzzzz” Muñoz. Herman Eisenberg. Norman Sabel. Hoi Nguyen and Ellis Alexander. Then Phil Slavik and Alan Vera. Nathanael Charles Yonka, Jr. And me.

If you want to add some names of your own (as Peter Yonka has), send a comment - it'll be very welcome.

I'm Keyless

What happened to my letter from Phi Beta Kappa? I never got it. True, I graduated from college more than 35 years ago. Then I joined the Navy. Saw the world. I’ve forgotten a lot of things that happened back then. I may have missed it.

Hey, I’m not blaming America’s oldest collegiate honor society. I hadn’t given it any thought at all until I read the article about the Society’s new marketing effort in last week’s Wall Street Journal. But when I saw all those people – Glenn Close, Francis Ford Coppola, Condoleeza Rice, Jeff Bezos – pictured in the article, all of them Phi Beta Kappans, I shockingly realized I could have been among that crowd.

I graduated the same year as honoree Michael Milken. True, he graduated from UC Berkeley and has made a gazillion dollars. I graduated from Oglethorpe University (the “Stormy Petrels,” for crying out loud) – and haven’t. I’m not jealous of his success. But maybe, possibly, that little dangly thing was the key to his future millions.

I obviously missed out on becoming a Captain of Industry (or a Supreme Court justice or a famous actress) because the letter from Phi Beta Kappa never reached my hands. Okay, leave out the “famous actress” part.

The fact is, the WSJ article may be the best piece of marketing Phi Beta Kappa has done in the last 20 or 30 years. Otherwise, I note that professors at local colleges will be e-mailing and calling students “several times after initial invitations are sent…in an effort to boost enrollment.” Also, the Society is sending alumni to high schools to let graduating students know that there could be a gold key in their future.

It turns out that the Society has done a fine job of defending its trademarks – which is a good thing. It sued Compaq in ’88 to prevent the company from using the slogan “Phi Beta Compaq.”

My lost invitation is water over the bridge – seriously.

I herewith offer my services as an ad guy to the professors and the administrative team who run Phi Beta Kappa. I think they could use my help. After all, of the 10 renowned Society members interviewed in the article, only three read the newsletter on a regular basis; John Updike admitted he read the last issue.

It’s clear these folks need to raise the marketing bar a little higher than a new brochure. Example: the Society appears to mail letters to qualifying college seniors. (I never got mine.) It’s possible that e-mail marketing might be a more contemporary way to get to its audience than the United States Post Office, which, by the way, is raising its first-class postage rate by 2¢ this coming January.

Underwrite some events. A NASCAR sponsorship could be the path to an entirely new appreciation of the Society and its place in the intellectual firmament of our great nation. Or sponsor one of the WNBA teams, a combination of social action and sports entertainment that could be your next big thing.

Here I am, Kelly Gerald. Willing to let bygones be bygones. Just e-mail me or give me a call: I’ll leap into the breach for dear old Phi Beta Kappa.

Home, Susan

Think a particularly bubbly champagne and wish Susan Ellis a happy homecoming. She’s returned to Houston from Dallas, is now working here – and thrilled to be back. She had spent the past year or so working out of the Dallas office of a multi-city agency; loved the people. But she really, really wanted to get back home. Now she is.

It’s the answer to that nagging question, “Where’s Susan these days?”

There are big differences between Dallas/Fort Worth and Houston…lots of pros and cons. We can debate this later. For right now, I am happy she’s back. Her homecoming will put a little action back in the Houston TV arena, ‘cause she’s so good at creating TV spots. And she is absolutely energizing to be around.

Wilkommen. Bienvenue. Glad you’re here.

B-b-blog? Huh?

Wired or unwired. Techno-fan or Luddite. Sometimes, it feels as though there are only two kinds of people in my Contact section (no nod to Iain M. Banks here): those who are new-media savvy and those that…ain’t.

I was asked again this past weekend, “What’s a blog?” Simplistically, a blog is an online journal. Go here to see how simple it is to start one. Use your blog in a wide variety of ways: make it personal; make it professional; make it provocative.

Say you’re an agent provocateur. Reporters Without Borders – one of the more ardent blog proponents – says, “Blogs get people excited. Or else they disturb and worry them. Some people distrust them. Others see them as the vanguard of a new information revolution. Because they allow and encourage ordinary people to speak up, they’re tremendous tools of freedom of expression.” You can download the handbook pictured above here. It’s a good one (and thanks again to Susan Kirkland).

Blogs in this sense are the current equivalent of fax machines…the insidious technology that helped destroy the Soviet Union, the easy way to distribute samizdat throughout the entire Eastern bloc. (Combined with things like Radio Free Europe, fax machines let the light in.) Why else does China seek to restrict the use of the Internet among its population. By the same token, political groups here in the US use blogs as commentaries to support their points of view and distribute them widely. This is the blogosphere; the Wall Street Journal calls it the “Internet fever swamp.”

There are kinder, gentler blogs. Funny blogs. Touching blogs. Everyday, ordinary-life blogs. Read more about blogs just by Googling the word. Review a couple of dozen and see if the form is right for you.

Meantime, Signalwriter will just keep plugging away - and hopes that you’ll keep on reading.

Eino's Reprise

This from Susan Kirkland, responding to posts from yesterday and today.

“Eino probably knew Fish Friday was a political arrangement the Pope made with local fisherman when they suffered as a result of a red tide one year. People stopped eating fish for a while and the Pope decreed Fish Friday to boost the local economy and save their only industry.

“I'll be sending my oysters to you via snail mail so you'll know they're coming well in advance…snicker snicker.”

Given where Susan lives, I wonder if they’ll be mountain oysters.

On the other hand, there’s some additional background about fish on Fridays – from nearby Wisconsin. Back in the Year 3, Tanya Gillitzer worked on Folklore 530 Project for Prof. Ruth Olson. You can see the results of their field research here. Since Barbara and I have recently spent a Friday night on Lake Pepin in Minnesota, I’m sorry that we didn’t venture over to the Wisconsin side to see if Fish Fry Fridays were still going on. We didn’t even meet anyone named Eino.

Oysters Exploded

Several posts back, I used the urban legend about only eating oysters harvested in months with “r” in them. I used this to make a point about “r.” This is an urban legend, like giant alligators in the New York City sewers, and I knew it.

Let me ‘splain. Oysters are “in season” during the “r” months, September through April. According to Nobody Ever Tells You These Things by Helen McCully (Holt, Rinehart and Winston, ed. 1972), “Actually, oysters are edible any time of the year, but they spawn in the summer and are, therefore, thinner and less succulent. Further by the very nature of things, if they were not allow this spawning period (enforced by the government), there wouldn’t be any oysters.”

McCully’s book was originally published in ’67. In 1971, NY Governor Nelson Rockefeller (remember him?) permitted the year-round consumption of oysters.

James Trager, in The Food Chronology (Henry Holt and Company, 1995), writes, “The European oyster (Ostrea edulis) tastes gritty in the summer months because it keeps its young within its mantle cavity at that time of year, but the American oyster (Crassostrea virginica) discharges its eggs directly into the water. Pacific Coast Oysters have been sold the year round.”

These days, you are as likely to get farm-raised oysters (depending on what part of the country you’re dining in). Here in Houston, we get sweet-tasting oysters even in May, June, July, and August. Barbara and I enjoy every dozen we eat. Don't like oysters? Good - that means there are more for us.

So Minnesota

Social commentary from our own Bridget Marie Murphy Hoffman, who got it in turn from Marcella Kahn:

Eino, a Finlander from Cook County in northern Minnesota, was an older, single gentleman who was born and raised a Lutheran.

Each Friday night after work, he would fire up his outdoor grill and cook a venison steak. Now, all of Eino's neighbors were Catholic. Since it was Lent, they were forbidden from eating meat on Fridays. The delicious aroma from the grilled venison steaks was causing such a problem for the Catholic faithful that they finally talked to their priest.

The priest came to visit Eino and suggested that he convert to Catholicism. After several classes and much study, Eino attended Mass. As the priest sprinkled holy water over Eino, he said, "You were born a Lutheran, and raised a Lutheran, but now you are Catholic."

Eino's neighbors were greatly relieved until Friday night arrived and the wonderful aroma of grilled venison filled the neighborhood. The priest was called immediately by the neighbors. As the good priest rushed into Eino's yard, clutching a rosary and prepared to scold him, he stopped in amazement and watched.

There stood Eino, clutching a small bottle of water which he carefully sprinkled over the grilling meat, and chanting: "You were born a deer, and raised a deer, but now you are a walleye.”

Illustration by Duane Raver, courtesy of the US Fish & Wildlife Service.

Delta R

What a difference an “r” makes. Without it, the word signalwrite is my Web address. With it, signalwriter is part of my blog address. (You have to add a dot and a “blogspot” to it, plus the usual “com,” etc. See above.) Get the distinction?

That one-letter change, the delta as we say in physics and chemistry, will help you distinguish between my Web site address and my blog.

What is the distinction, you inquire? Well, “write” is the verb form; cleverly, it takes both transitive and intransitive forms. It really means “to express or communicate in writing” – just the kind of thing I do for clients. It is the writing that helps clients market to their customers, to send the right signals. I can write up a storm, write off a debt (which doesn’t happen too often), write in my journal…but never write down to my audience.

When I “express ideas in writing,” I am a writer: “One whose occupation is writing” for client marketing communication programs. Add the “r” (technically, the suffix “-er’), and I differentiate myself as a person from the object of my occupation. Writer, thinker, presenter, creator – okay, that’s an “-or,” but you get the idea. I am also “taller,” although this is really a comparative adjective.

Somewhere along the advertising line, “creator” became “creative” – here, a noun describing the bead-wearing casual dressers around the advertising agency that came up with the weird (and often award-winning) ideas.

I’m partial to “r” since it appears so frequently in my name…four times altogether. It has more meanings than you imagine. Not too long ago, for example, you were only supposed to eat oysters harvested in months with an “r” because those are the colder months – you didn’t want summertime oysters because you might croak.* Which would make you a frog.

Write is what I do. Writer is what I am. Surprisingly, there is no “r” in “ad guy.” I can live with it.

*Urban legend, to be exploded in a later post.

Icon Story

Just received this AM from Rob Schoenbeck in San Antonio: "This is what happens when you leave your computer on at night...and you thought it was just sleeping."

Ya gotta see it. Ta.

Skeleton Release

Tonight you’ll respond to “Trick or treat” in the usual way: fistfuls of candy and a friendly wave to the parents who will stand on the curb while their kids ring the doorbell.

There’s one more thing you could do today – check out one of the skeletons that inhabit your closet. We all have them, I think. This would be a good day to set an old sin free, right a wrong, or apologize for some regretted action.

Think of this "Skeleton Release Program" like a combination of celebrations. A bit of Halloween, a contraction of the evening of All Hallowed Souls, the night before All Saints Day. A spoonful of the Hispanic Day of the Day, when those that have departed this life are remembered. A dash of Yom Kippur, recently past, a Day of Atonement.

Have a skull session with yourself. Approach the day with a sense that there is something more compelling about Halloween than the worry you might run out of single-serve M&Ms packets. I’m intrigued by the idea of committing random acts of kindness. But today, maybe a look in the skeletons in your past will be a better motivator.

I’m off to rummage through my closet. Happy Halloween.

Photo from Wikipedia, with thanks.

Howard Sherman

Three years ago, when I could afford to buy art, I met Howard Sherman at a Houston Art Walk event. In the middle of crowds wandering around Houston’s eastside galleries and show spaces, Howard’s quirky art style – part cartoon, part commentary – attracted my curiosity. I purchased one of his pieces, a largish painting titled Moment of Clarity. It’s one of my favorites.

Now comes a terrific opportunity, for me anyway, to see how an artist grows in just a few short years. Friday’s mail delivered material showing his latest work, which is now showing at 416westgallery in Denton, TX. The solo exhibition is called “Scratch That Itch.” Howard’s new work is quite different from Moment of Clarity, but connected.

The signature piece shown above is Capital Gains, a 60” x 61” piece done with oil, acrylic and marker on canvas. (The photo above comes from 416westgallery’s Web site.) This and several other Sherman pieces are also featured in this month’s issue of New American Paintings – the result of a Juried Exhibition-in-Print judged by Fereshteh Daftari of MOMA in New York City.

Howard’s touch has always grown out of his early cartooning: humor versus anger, emptiness versus mass…I’m using these words from the show catalogue, because I don’t have the vocabulary for the art world. I will quote what Daftari says in the opening of the NAP article: “…my top choices presented an element of surprise.”

That’s why I like where Howard Sherman has been and where he seems to be going as an artist. Take a look at the sites – maybe you’ll agree. Meantime, I’ll look at Capital Gains electronically and wish that the piece was actually hanging on my wall.

Branditi Italiani

Selling brand knockoffs is so epidemic, Bob and Edith Fusillo saw warnings throughout Venice, during their most recent visit this past month. Along with attending La Biennale, they sent along these notes.

“These are not exactly ads, perhaps, but they are blanketing Venice. The guys – always twelve feet tall and very black – are all over Europe, selling knockoff handbags. (A recent best selling detective story was devoted to them).

“They are particularly noticeable in Venice because the streets are so narrow that one trips over them – they are legion. The town has newly passed a law that fines tourists for buying them – as much as 30,000 Euro. I did not, unhappily, photograph the free-standing signs, about seven feet tall, that are all about town, with the same design and message as on the enclosed.

“And we have seen several of the illegal sellers spread their sheets and handbags in front of the signs.”

This isn’t just about counterfeiting world-class brands. It’s about child labor and illegals. The Bad Bag campaign is about crime: legal, ethical, and moral.

Every tourist who buys a fake Versace purse or Gucci wallet from one of these “branditi” supports the exploitation of children and illegal immigrants. Sia cura che cosa comprate!

Prism Prizes

Susan Reeves received the following good news for Prism Design on Thursday:

CONGRATULATIONS! Your work has been accepted into the Art Directors Club of Houston 50th Annual Awards Show:
1. Miscellaneous Design - Prism Design Inc. Use You Egg Noggin' T-shirt
2. Identity Logos - Metropolitan Homes
3. Identity Logos - Univ. of Tx Health Care Center
4. Identity Logos - Watson Wyatt and Express Jet Airlines.

Susan sent to her team, “We used our beans well. We entered 5 projects. Got 4 big ones in the show. Great job, everyone.” Ditto from Signalwriter.

Also Wigwagging

Besides the imagery wrapped up in “semaphore,” I confess I was a Boy Scout. I recall desperately trying to earn the Signaling merit badge at summer camp long ago, in North Georgia. Even though we called it “wigwag” in those long, hot summer days, I knew the word “semaphore” – it was in the manual.

Requirements for the Signaling Merit Badge:
1. Know the proper application of the international Morse and semaphore codes and when, where, and how they can be used to best advantage.
2. Make an electric buzzer outfit, radio transmitter, audio oscillator, blinker, or other signaling device.
3. Send and receive a complete message of not less than 35 words in the international Morse code by buzzer or other sound device at a rate of not less than 35 letters per minute.
4. Demonstrate an ability to send and receive a message in the international Morse code by wigwag and by blinker or other light-signaling device at a rate of not less than 20 letters per minute.
5. Send and receive a message by semaphore code at a rate of not less than 30 letters per minute.
6. Discuss briefly various other codes and methods of signaling that are in common use.

Sorry to report, I failed these tasks utterly – despite my Daddy’s help and encouragement. Maybe that’s why the Signaling merit badge (#103) was discontinued by the Boy Scouts of America. On the other hand, maybe it was the fax machines.

Semaphore Guys

So…what’s with the men and the flags? When I went freelance, I wanted something distinctive for the first, all-my-own logo.

One of my eQ friends in Austin, Gayle Smith, had run across the illustrated fellas (see post below) for some ad concepts we were creating. The client didn’t buy that particular concept. But I remembered the “semaphore guys” – unusual, communicative…different. Thanks to all of you for many compliments over the past 15 months.

Once upon a time, there were no “semaphore guys.” The semaphore line was a French signalling system invented by Claude and Ignace Chappe. It is quite a bit different from the naval semaphore system that uses hand-held flags – that came later.

The Chappe mechanism was a tower with black movable wooden arms; the position of the arms indicated alphabetic letters. The wooden arms were controlled by just two handles. It was simple to operate, and pretty rugged. Trying to operate at night though, with lamps on the arms, didn’t work.

Each of the two arms showed seven positions, and the cross bar connecting the two arms had four different angles, for a total of 196 symbols: 7 x 7 x 4. A big innovation was using a group of trained, dedicated men to pass the signals. (Okay, there were semaphore guys, but they weren’t my “semaphore guys.”)

By the mid-1820s. the naval semaphore system had been invented, using hand-held flags. It is still accepted for daytime emergency communication.

In the photo above, US Navy signalmen are sending a message with semaphore flags, on the signal bridge of USS Colorado (BB45), 29 October 1943. Signalman 2nd Class Kenneth Mitchell is working the flags, as Signalman 3rd Class John Wilson mans the telescope.

The mechanical semaphore was eventually replaced by the electric telegraph. Maybe I’ll try a “telegraph guy” someday.

Webbed Up

The official Richard Laurence Baron Web site is in operation. Test-drive it today. Click the tires. Slam the doors.

I am particularly grateful to Paul Leigh, designer and art director, for making the site possible. And to my clients, whose work is an important part of the site’s show-and-tell.

Like most effective marketing communications, the Web site sends a signal about my professional capabilities. That’s why I use the “semaphore guys” as my logo: my work is all about sending the right signals, on behalf of my clients. (No, the semaphore guys are not intentionally designed to look like me, though I admit of a resemblance in retrospect.)

The early bird catches the worm – the freelancer takes a little longer. But it’s here, now. So drop by for a visit.

Never Mind

‘Shoeless Joe the Sock Puppet’ is back in this AM's Chronicle. I suppose, now that the Houston Astros are down two games against the White Sox, we deserve it.

If the puppet actually captures the public's imagination, Hollywood could be the next step: starring in a remake of Woody Allen's movie, retitled ‘Everything You Every Wanted to Know About Sox, But Were Afraid to Ask.’

Shoeless Joe

At the top of the front page of the Lifestyle section in Friday’s Houston Chronicle, a…character appeared next to the Texas star: a sock puppet with an Astros batting helmet on top.

There was a little balloon that said, “Hi! I’m Shoeless Joe, the sock puppet. I will be commenting on the World Series right here each day.” Below the balloon was Shoeless Joe’s tip o’ the day: Never name your team after something you wear in PE class…And remember, White Sox stink!

It caught my attention for several reasons. First, this odd puppet is named after left fielder ‘Shoeless Joe’ Jackson, a member of the infamous 1919 scandal that hit the Chicago White Sox – and sports fans throughout the US – like a bomb. The accusations of conspiring with gambler Arnold Rothstein to throw the 1919 World Series to Cincinnati.

It led to a famous expression in the 1920s. During the trial of eight accused Sox players (including Jackson), A small boy outside the courtroom tearfully shouted to his tarnished hero, Jackson, “Say it ain’t so, Joe!”

So reason #1 was, why name a sock puppet “Shoeless Joe?” Just to hit back at Houston’s World Series adversary, Chicago? Seemed tasteless to me.

Second weird reason: the “Shoeless Joe’ puppet hasn’t shown up in the newspaper since. Maybe I’ve overlooked it. Can’t find it on the Chronicle’s Web site, either. So. Maybe somebody complained. Maybe somebody who actually knew about the ‘Black Sox’ scandal tipped the word to the Sports editor.

In any case, the sock puppet is missing in action. And good riddance, too: not only juvenile, but unfunny…especially to people who still revere Joe Jackson.

Which impels me to offer you a Web site: www.blackbetsy.com – that’s where, to this day, fans who remember ‘Shoeless Joe Jackson’ have put up their defense of the Sox hero. (And that’s the source of the terrific baseball photo, the real Jackson, to give credit where it’s due.)

Named after Jackson’s bat, this is a great site not just for baseball fans, but for everyone who’s interested in the impact of sports on American culture. Check it out. And if the sock puppet shows up again, let me know.

Rooms Blanketed

In Thursday’s post, I threw out a joke about Houston’s handling the 2005 World Series and the International Quilt Festival at the same time. I spoke with the same Chicago cousin, quilt enthusiast Miriam Eisenberg, that same evening. She built on the joke, stating that there might not be any hotel rooms available for the baseball fans, since 50,000 quilters from all over the world will be in town and filling up the hotels.

I laughed a lot – influenced no doubt by that third gin-and-a-whisper-of-vermouth at our regular Thursday Martini Night outing.

Turns out this is no laughing matter. This morning’s Chronicle Business Section features an article headlined “Quilters covering most hotel rooms.” According to reporter John C. Roper, hoteliers say that if people haven’t booked their rooms for the World Series by now, they could be staying 40 miles or more from Minute Maid Park.

Stan Skadal, senior director of sales for the Hyatt Regency Downtown here, was quoted in an earlier Chronicle article: “Unfortunately for Major League Baseball, we can’t accommodate them, which we are quite sad about. But contracts are contracts.” The Hyatt is sold out for next week and has a contract through 2010 with the quilters.

Houston’s hotel situation is complicated by the large number of evacuees who are also staying in our hotel rooms, courtesy of FEMA.

Just like the Super Bowl, Houston home-owners are cashing in. For householders near our downtown stadium, nightly rates are going in the $900 range. (I told Barbara we should have moved inside the Loop once the kids left home.)

Hurricanes. World Series. Quilt Shows. This is what happens when marketing meets the synchronicity of events.

Photo from www.quilts.com: Star of East, unknown maker. Hand appliquéd, pieced, and quilted. Embellished with embroidered chain stitch. (77" x 95").

Direct Mail

One of those Internet things – remember when they used to come to you by fax? It’s still good to keep in touch with a friend. For example…

“Dear God: Are you really invisible or is it just a trick? Lucy.”

“Dear God: Did you mean for a giraffe to look like that or was it an accident? Norma.”

“Dear God: I think the stapler is one of your greatest inventions. Ruth M.”

“Dear God: Please send Dennis Clark to a different camp this year. Peter.”

“Dear God: Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother. Larry.”

“Dear God: I don’t think anybody could be a better God. Well I just want you to know but I am not just saying that because you are God. Charles.”

"Dear God: Ditto on that stapler. Richard."

Photo: go.funpic.hu

World Series

We have a World Series. After Monday's heartbreak, last night's game sent people here (and in St. Louis) wild with joy. Positively raucous. I have a new-business meeting today - I may even wear my Houston Astros ball cap with my suit and tie. Congratulations to the Astros!

There is one challenge: one Chicago cousin, Miriam Eisenberg, had decided not to attend the International Quilt Show here. She's quite a Sox fan, and I wonder if she's regretting her decision.

In fact, this is going to be quite a fortnight for Houston: World Series and Quilt Show...the town's gonna be rockin'. How will ordinary people cope with this scheduling crisis? Signalwriter will report the ugly conflict that may, possibly, arise.

Hugh McDonnold

Two of Hugh’s new works will be prominently featured, starting this Friday. ”Deep in the Art of Texas” is the title of an upcoming art exhibit at the Eastman Gallery in the Resource Center, 7026 Old Katy Road here in Houston.

The Gallery is having two openings. The first on Friday, 15 October; the other on Thursday, 20 October. Both run 6.00-10.00P. There’s usually a crush at Eastman, so I’ll try to get there early – more opportunities to get at the bar.

Hugh is talented and generally surprising; I am immodestly proud of the McDonnold that’s hanging on my library wall. This new series is quite a bit different from his work of the past few years – a form of portraiture with a slyness to them that I find attractive.

Now – if I could just get him to create a Web site…

"Kerouac's Publisher" by Hugh McDonnold.

Research Costs

Once upon a time, during a meeting about a marketing survey, a client actually told me, “Research costs too much.” This has likely never happened to you – but for some reason I hear it fairly often.

Turns out one of my long-time colleagues, Mary Jo Martin, has also heard it before. Coincidence? I think not.

Here’s a complaint that needed some answers, we thought. Doesn’t matter if you’re a research supplier or a client, we thought.

We put our heads together and constructed a white paper (which has a green cover because Mary Jo thought that would be neat). In this paper, we examined just why research costs what it does, with a quick look at market research cost elements.

We added some tips about how to control the costs of research and still get it done.

This new “Research Costs Too Much!” white paper is available to interested parties (like you) without charge. Gratis. Free. Drop me a note and I’ll send you a pdf.

There is one modest condition. We would like to solicit your comments – and eventually create a second version incorporating your thoughts, too. So if, after you’ve read this white paper, you have some thoughts of your own to share, send them back to me. I’ll make sure you get all the credit that’s due. And none of the blame.

Danish Prince

When you say, “Prince of Denmark,” you think Hamlet, maybe? Now there’s a new guy in town: Crown Prince Frederick and his Australian-born wife, Crown Princess Mary, have had their first baby – a boy. I’m not a Royal-follower per se. But I do tend to notice when things happen in countries where I have friends and colleagues. According to an Aussie newspaper, Mary and Frederik will name their newborn son Christian. (No “Hamlet,” sorry: the names of Danish kings have alternated between Christian and Frederik since 1513.)

Naturligvis, I sent a congratulations note. To Tine Lysberg and John Grandahl in Hummlebaek, Denmark. They’re old friends and ad colleagues, visited back and forth, and so on. I’ve even run through the precincts of the Danish Royal Palace in Copenhagen – and I wasn’t even being chased.

What I found amusing, even thrilling, was the news from Oz that “bonfires blazed and the Viking wine flowed as Tasmanians last night celebrated the birth of Danish Crown Princess Mary's first child.” Mary (nee Donaldson) is from Tasmania. The same newspaper said, “About 200 people gathered under a full moon at Blackmans Bay for the island state's first official celebrations since their most famous former resident gave birth to the second in line to the throne of Europe's oldest reigning monarchy.”

The fact that two different countries, separated by half a world, can get together for such a celebration is neat. I’m also charmed by the news release from the Danish government, in an aw-shucks kind of way (see the photo). Happy birthday, Chris, Prince of Denmark.

Photo of Crown Prince Frederick: Kristian Juul Pedersen/Scanpix