The Management Mythbuster

Ten years on - I wrote this on 9/15/01 - the day I turned 40

September 7th, 2001 - New York City

   I hate being in New York on a Friday afternoon.  The traffic is horrendous. By three in the afternoon the streets are gridlocked as people head home early; the masses throng the subway stations, limo’s heading for the airport make their way across Manhattan at a snails pace and the affluent seek to escape to their mansions in the Hamptons.  The ride to La Guardia is a lottery, taking anywhere from one to three hours and almost always screwing up my journey home after a long week on the road.  To cap it all I am sitting in a draughty booth in the monolithic and soul less Jacob Javitz Convention Center waiting to give a speech at a computer conference.  Judging by the sparse crowd in the exhibition hall most of the delegates have already made tracks for home or the nearest bar. 

   Well I was right. An hour later I face an attentive audience of four people gathered to hear my pearls of wisdom—why did I ever agree to do this speech? It remains a mystery to me; never agree to be the final speaker at any event, particularly on a Friday afternoon.  Still, as they say, the show must go on and I try to do the best job I can over the next ninety minutes.  At the end all four people clap enthusiastically and stay behind to talk further—they probably felt sorry for me. I quickly make my excuses with stories of planes to catch and jump in a taxi to the airport.  Ninety minutes later the taxi pulls up in front of the terminal at LaGuardia and I am in good time for my flight—which is about the first piece of good luck I have had this week. We take off only fifty minutes late, which counts as an on-time departure for New York on a Friday evening.  Our route takes us initially to the east before the plane makes a 180 degree turn to the south and west and we head west over the southern end of Manhattan passing almost over the top of the twin towers of the World Trade Center below. 

    The benefits of frequent flyer elite status manifest themselves in my first class seat and the couple of gin and tonics I sip on the ride back to Cleveland.  We land around 7.30pm and I make it home just after eight. I’m still in a pretty foul mood at the wasted day as I walk through the door.  Donna senses my grumpiness but thoughtfully provides another cocktail and suggests we sit on the patio, as it is a beautiful late summer evening.  I acquiesce. No sooner have I sat down and taken my first slurp when four people jump out from behind the wall in front of me.  Stunned surprise washes over me as my best friend (and best man) from England, his wife and two children emerge grinning, to join us on the patio.  The reason for their surprise appearance is that next Saturday the 15^th I turn 40. I think they are here to celebrate or though it could be gloat at my aged state. My mood brightens considerably and many more drinks are consumed for which a price is paid the next morning.

September 10^th, 2001—California

    After a relaxing weekend, Monday dawns and I head off the airport and board the morning flight to San Francisco; an afternoon meeting beckons and then a short flight to Los Angeles followed by another meeting Tuesday morning and a return to Cleveland that afternoon—leaving plenty of time to celebrate my four score years in style.  All goes smoothly and I make to the Torrance Marriott just south of LAX for dinner on Monday night. Sleep comes easily. 

 September 11th, 2001 - Los Angeles

     The next morning dawns bright and clear and my 6am alarm call shatters my slumber; as is my habit I pick up the television remote and switch on what I think is CNN.  In my semi-conscious state I only half notice the pictures showing smoke emerging from a skyscraper.  I reach for the remote certain that I have tuned into the wrong channel and am watching a rerun of the Towering Inferno.  At that moment my mobile rings. It’s Donna and she’s shouting at me: “Have you seen what’s happening in New York?” I mumble an incoherent response and she goes on: “a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center.”  I slowly begin to comprehend and put down the remote as my eyes start to focus on the pictures on the screen.  At that moment I hear the reporter shout that another plane has just hit the South Tower.  It’s 9.02am on the east coast and it’s September 11^th 2001. 

    For the next hour I stare transfixed at the events unravelling just a few blocks from where I was just four days earlier.  At 9.58am the South Tower collapses; this can’t be real—but tragically it is.  Just a minute later I head downstairs for a breakfast meeting at which little business is discussed. Our conversation consists of a series of incredulous comments and speculation as to what is happening—terrorism is near the top of our list.  After breakfast I return to my room to hear that the North Tower has just collapsed.  What the hell is happening? 

    I regroup with my colleagues and we debate as to whether our meeting will actually happen.  Having no means of contacting the client we head over to the offices.  The meeting does take place after a fashion; however no one is really paying much attention.  After about half an hour we all jump as a loud bang is heard from outside; given our proximity to LAX we decide to call it a day.   I make my way back to the airport still thinking about catching my flight back to Cleveland.  The radio quickly disabuses me of this notion as it reports that the FAA has grounded all planes and reports that another plane has crashed into the Pentagon possibly en route to a different target—The White House, and another one has apparently crashed in Pennsylvania.  Donna calls again and pleads with me not to go near the airport as it maybe a target – again more in disbelief than anything else I head in the opposite direction and try and call some colleagues who I know are in meetings somewhere in Manhattan; however the circuits are all busy.

   The rest of the day unfolds like a Tom Clancy novel. Later in the afternoon I check into the LAX Marriott rationalising that with no planes still in the air I should be pretty safe.  The area around LAX is like a ghost town. Very few cars are on the roads and of course no planes are moving at the airport. In the early evening I drive down to one of my favourite Irish bars in Hermosa Beach. Hermosa Beach is a classic California beach town, pretty girls, sun, sand and the usual accoutrements of California life. As I sat nursing the first of quite a few beers, President Bush is addressing the nation. Unlike most Presidential broadcasts the bar went completely quiet as everyone listened intently. As the President finished a subdued round of applause broke out and whispered murmerings of American resolve filled the bar as the magnitude of what had happened began to set in. Estimates of the death toll range as high as ten thousand and as a mixture of news, rumour and ill-informed speculation poured out of New York, heart rending stories of people calling their loved ones on their mobile phones from the airplanes or the Twin Towers began to emerge. I couldn’t help but be moved by the stories, in fact there were misty eyes all around the bar. Most chilling was the apparent calmness with which so many of these people seemed to be facing the certainty of their imminent death.  It was not an easy night’s sleep.

September 12^th-14^th 2001—Los Angeles/Las Vegas

    The next two days were spent glued to the television screen as further information emerged.  Perhaps the only good news was that the death toll estimates were falling as the missing people were being steadily accounted for.  Scenes of what was now being called Ground Zero looked unreal as smoke and charred, twisted metal littered lower Manhattan. There was little to do but sit and wait for the planes to start flying again. Selfishly I began to bemoan the fact that my 40^th birthday would more than likely be spent alone in a hotel room. By the morning of September 13^th there were rumours that some flights might start flying again the next day though it was unlikely that any would leave from Los Angeles. I spent a few hours online researching options and formulated a game plan. I booked seats on two flights out of Las Vegas and then another two out of Denver.  I would keep driving east until a plane left or I made it back until Ohio.  Thankfully I had not returned my rental car so I packed up and headed east across the Mojave Desert.  It was about ninety degrees but the air-conditioned made it bearable as I listened to more heart-rending stories as I drove. On entering Las Vegas, I found a ghost town—there was even a tumbleweed blowing down the Strip.  Very few cars were on the road. Most of the people who had been stranded in town were either at the airport or had started driving.  I checked into the nearly empty Mandalay Bay Hotel not far from the airport. Walking through the casino that evening I could have picked my own table to play at never mind my own chair. I have never seen Vegas so quiet, even the few people who were around were understandably subdued.

    One of my possible flights was a 6am nonstop flight to Cleveland on September 14^th, so I made sure to be at the airport by 4am.  I made someone’s day when I returned my rental car.  I drove into the lot and there was not a car in sight. Outside the office was a line of over forty people all waiting patiently for the means to start the journey home.  My car was gassed up and gone before I boarded the shuttle bus. The concourse was teeming with people trying to get home. There was not much activity at the check-in counters so I suspected flights were not going to be leaving anytime soon but on looking at the departure board, one flight, mine had the two words “On Time” next to it amid a sea of cancellations. I went to the counter and the agent informed me that if the FAA released the plane in time they expected the flight to leave on time.  I tried not to get too excited as I happily passed through security.  At the gate boarding was already starting and I claimed my seat, hoping but not really expecting to leave.  The pilot came on the PA system and advised us of a twenty-minute hold; surely not an air traffic delay, there were no planes in the sky after all.  Remarkably we pushed back from the gate, taxied to the end of the runway and took off for Cleveland, one of the very first planes to return to the skies after 9/11.  I made it home with just a few hours to spare before the start of my birthday. 

September 15^th, 2001—Bath, Ohio

    Turning forty is one of those birthdays, like your 21^st, that is vested with some extra significance.  Due to world events, mine was tinged with relief that I had made it this far, and sadness for those who just last weekend were enjoying life to the full.  I feel guilty admitting it but I had a great day surrounded by family and friends.  My feelings on passing this milestone can perhaps best be summed up by a quote from Winston Churchill when describing the victory at El Alamein: “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Ten years on - my 50th approaches - I just wish those 2,997 could have enjoyed another 10 years...

Half The World Away - what the critics will be saying!

“What do a twelve step program for sex addicts, getting naked at a Schvitz, a convention of plastic surgeons, using a minivan as a bobsled, and George III have in common? Yup – They’re all Half the World Away.”

“Half the World Away is exposes of all that is normal in America.”

“Forget Harry Potter and The DaVinci Code, Half the World Away, sets a new benchmark for modern literature.”

“Bill Bryson with attitude and a bald patch”

“Half the World Away does for Anglo-American relations what Bill Gates did to the typewriter.”

“The British Are Coming – can we please stop them?” 

“Axson wrote Half the World Away? Pity he didn’t stay there!”

0-60 in four seconds, 125 mph and it's electric and made in the USA!

Sitting on the terrace at the magnificent Dolder Grand Hotel in Zurich when what looks like a really cool Italian sports car glides past, but it's got no engine - there is no noise. 

On closer inspection its not Italian, its American!  A beautiful, eco-friendly American car - an oxymoron surely.  But no, the Tesla is sexy and Yankee - sort of the Gywneth Paltrow of cars.  It may cost $100K but it looks worth it to me.  No room for the baby seat or golf clubs but who cares - check it out.

News Flash - America bankrupt, Britain launches bailout, but with conditions

During my recent travels in Europe, the local populace has expressed little regard for the behavior of us humble Americans (yes I had to show my US passport a couple of times) - be it our staggering economy, overheated political process, dubious military prowess or penchant for weak beer - the net result is at best bewilderment and at worst disgust.  In Britain this has led to much hand-wringing as to how our former colony, once such a promising juvenile on the world stage could stumble so badly so my fellow countrymen (when using my other passport) have decided to take charge.  The following proclamation has emerged from Buckingham Palace and is now circulating widely among the Brit expat community stateside. I claim no authorship but simply reproduce it for the benefit of my fellow Americans...

"To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves and given the bankrupt state of your economy, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy).

Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded.

A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.

To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

(You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.)

1. Then look up aluminium, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.

2. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour', 'favour', 'labour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise'. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').

3. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as 'like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize.

4. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

5. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist, then you're not ready to shoot grouse.

6. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

7. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

8. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.
9. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.

10. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.

11. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie MacDowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral, was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.

12. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies). Don't try rugby - the South Africans and Kiwis will thrash you, like they regularly thrash us.

13. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America . Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.

14. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

15. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).

16. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 pm with proper cups and saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season.

God Save the Queen!"

It's offical - there are too many lawyers in America!

Apparently the U.S. is the first nation with 200 accredited law schools - bet that surprised you! Currently there are 150,000 people enrolled in law school and shockingly there aren't enough jobs for them all when they graduate.  How can this be?  America has spent 232 years creating opportunities for litigation and the creativity of the legal profession knows no bounds.  I know, I thought that sounded like an oxymoron when I wrote it too. But when you think of Dicky Scruggs trying to bribe judges and Milberg, Weiss paying defendants to participate in class action suits you know times must be tough.  After all where are the next billion dollar settlements coming from now that tobacco and asbestos have been exploited?  Perhaps they will target politicians for fleecing the public by making false promises and taking our money, either in taxes or campaign contributions, under false pretenses?  On second thoughts that can't happen as all politicians are lawyers and if there is not work in law, politics maybe one of the few career options open to them.  Bet you can't wait! 

July 4th and all that

The American part of me (basically my passport) is wildly celebrating my country's 232nd birthday and our heroic defeat of the oppressive colonial power across the pond, while the British part of me (pretty much everything else) is keeping a low profile - we English/British are not wild about celebrating defeats. 

Apparently we should have done all this two days ago, on the 2nd, when the Continental Congress first voted to breakaway from British rule but for reasons I can't fathom everything was delayed for two days to the 4th when a second vote was taken and 12 of the 13 colonies voted for independence. New York apparently abstained which must mean something - damn those Yankees.  Not only did we, that is my fellow Americans, get the date wrong, it is also apparently a myth that Betsy Ross made the first flag, whatever next?  Will we find out that: Kermit is not really a frog; burgers are bad for you; Budweiser has no taste; Kristin didn't shoot J.R.; and Jean Claude van Damme can act? 

At this rate the whole fabric of the American way of life will have crumbled before we make it to 233. On second thoughts - no I better not go there.

So what are you the official sponsor of?

Even after 17 years living in America I still find the the lengths which marketeers will go to get their message in front of the public amusing. I tell a story in my soon-to-be-published book, Half The World Away, of the ACME Brick Company in Texas which proudly boasts of being the official brick of the Dallas Cowboys. I have still not quite worked out the relevance of an American football team needing an official brick, but this is marketing. On Thursday night I was channel surfing and alighted for a few seconds on the Cleveland Indians baseball game. After ascertaining that they were losing (no surprise there so far this season) this being April in Ohio, the heavens opened and the players rushed to the dugout. Immediately we were informed that the rain delay was actually being sponsored by a company that specializes in dry proofing your basement, although I suspect the company may have skills well beyond dry proofing as, after the inevitable commercial break, the announcer welcomed us back with the words, "Welcome back, this rain delay is brought to you by Dry Basement Systems..." implying that a much more influential power was at work. It's good job they weren't trying to sponsor the Arizona Diamondbacks!

To be the official something is a must-have marketing claim and some even make sense, like Nascar having an official tyre (tire) but why does the PGA Tour also need an official tyre? This got me to thinking about some other superfluous marketing tie-ins:

- Victoria's Secret as the official underwear of Britney Spears
- Pepsi being the official soft drink for Lindsay Lohan
- Dominos being the official pizza for Kate Moss
- Virgin as the official airline of Paris Hilton

And some more obvious ones:

- Hilton as the official hotel of John McCain
- Cohiba as the official cigar for Bill Clinton
- Angostura bitters as the official flavouring for Barack Obama
- "Are You Experienced" as the official song for Hillary Clinton

There must be millions to be made. I await Madison Avenue's call...

Obsessive hypocrisy or just the usual sports stuff

This morning George Thomas, a sportswriter for the Akron Beacon Journal (link), wrote a piece complaining about the excessive coverage of the retirement of Brett Favre, the now former quarterback of the Green Bay Packers. Apparently the numerous 24-hour sports networks afforded coverage of the event akin to that of, say, a Presidential primary election in New Hampshire. Thomas lamented the sorry state of the world where we escape from real issues (i.e. war, a plunging economy) and retreat to the fantasyland of professional sports.

He makes some good points but I thought this to be a little disingenuous. After all George makes his living as a journalist - not a news journalist - but one who covers sports. In fact, most of his columns seem to not be about sports but about sports on television. Now there's a potent role don't you think - just what we want from our insightful, informed media.

For months now he has breathlessly kept us informed about a titanic struggle between something called the Big Ten Network (apparently an all-sports television station devoted solely to the exploits of teams representing the Big Ten college sports conference which of course has eleven members – this is America after all) and the cable television companies who refuse to show the channel thereby depriving fans of watching Purdue battle it out with Iowa. Clearly this ranks right up there with Darfur and the sorry state of the education system in the league table of hot issues of the day.

I think George needs to insert his tongue very firmly in his cheek the next time he laments the obsession with sports - after all it pays his wages. Interestingly, George used to be the film critic for the Beacon Journal (I always enjoyed his reviews particularly when his young son offered his own opinion as well). I wonder if he considers his sports role to be more or less relevant to society than his film role? One change I noted is that his picture changed from him in shirt and tie to him in a hoodie, which at least proves that the movies win the sartorial contest.

So here we have a journalist who makes his living commenting not on sport but on television coverage of sport complaining that his subjects spend too much time on meaningless things. Let me think about that for a few minutes...

Of course I have spent the last few paragraphs ranting about his hypocrisy, which in of itself probably justifies his existence and makes you question my own!

Have a great weekend. Tomorrow I head to Shanghai where no doubt the front page will be dominated by updates on the status of Yao, the big Chinese basketball player, whose dodgy ankle is apparently putting the whole Beijing Olympics in jeopardy.

The high price of being American

It's getting increasingly expensive to be an American these days and it has nothing to do with rising gas prices - only Hugo C. and the sheiks pay less than we do. The real cost of being American only manifests itself when we leave our borders. Not only do we have to defend our apparent idiocy in areas such as politics, foreign policy and reality TV we also to have to fork out due to the comatose dollar - $7 for a Big Mac, $8.50 for non-fat, soy, triple skimmed, macrobiotic, triple shot latte with extra foam anyone?

Beyond our self inflicted pain many nations love to pile it on. Last year when entering Chile there was a large sign in the Immigration area informing arriving passengers of the bribe, sorry tax, that foreigners must pay on arrival. Americans were the most valued, or is it exploited, as our tax was a princely $61. Canadians got a break at $55, Mexicans only pay $15 while all other nations can enter for free. Who says dual nationality doesn't? I quickly slipped my US passport back in my pocket and re-assumed the nationality of my birth thereby boosting the family budget by at leas the price of a Happy Meal. China has adopted a similar pricing mechanism. A visa for my US passport for my trip next month would have set me back $130; entering as a Brit will save me a cool C-note.

Now if I can only arrange to be paid in Euros while calculating my taxes in dollars I will be well on the way to retirement.

Yanks on tour - NFL hits London

Last weekend American culteral imperialism reached new heights as the Miami Dolphins and NY Giants played the first regular season football game in London. Sadly the game was a sellout marking a further step in the moral decline of my once proud homeland. No longer content with a McDonalds in every town and Bud on draft in every pub we are now consuming American sport. What next? Politicians who make promises they can't keep and then lie their way to re-election? Oops, we already have that, in fact I think that was one of our cultural exports to the "New World" that independence failed to fix.

Thankfully London gave the NFL a typically English welcome - it pissed down with rain for the whole game. Still it was a big success and the commissioner even talked of holding the SuperBowl there one day. Now that would be a shock - the kickoff would have to be at midnight to ensure the advertisers still get their primetime audience. at least the players won't feel jet lagged as long as they fly in the day before. Given the current weakness of the dollar, tickets will sell for astronomical prices and a single beer will be $20 but hey its worth it if another country gets with the program. I used to think a personal foul was some sort of dating faux pas until I got into football.

Any way for me the absolute highlight of the NFL's foreign excursion was a quote from a Miami linebacker which nicely captured the stereotypical view of the American abroad. The charmingly named Channing Crowder has this to say:

"I couldn't find London on a map if they didn't have the names of the countries. I swear to God. I don't know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I know (Washington Redskins linebacker) London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That's the closest thing I know to London. He's black, so I'm sure he's not from London. I'm sure that's a coincidental name."

Channing apparently spent two years at University of Florida but apparently had as much difficulty finding the classrooms as he would London on a map!