Colorblind

They say that women dream in color and men dream in black and white. That may be true. But do you remember in color or black and white?

Because when I close my eyes and try to recall the images that have made the greatest impression on me I see nothing in color, just black and white. 

   —Worn, discouraged, haunted-looking people in the dustbowl during the '30s.

   —Couples in Times Square, joyfully embracing in celebration of the end of World War II.

   —Little John Kennedy Jr. saluting his slain father.

   —A young Vietnamese girl running naked on a road, screaming, her clothes and back having been burned by napalm.

   —A Viet Cong guerrilla executed by a pistol shot to the head.

  —The last U.S. helicopter to leave Saigon perched on the top of a building, with an impossibly long line of desperate South Vietnamese hoping to board it.

There are many more just like them. Each capturing a defining moment and conveying powerful emotion. And there isn't a single colorful Kodak moment among them. 

All I see is in vivid black and white.

You'd think that with all the rich, vibrant color film people have burned through over the years there might be something that stands out in my mind's eye. And with digital cameras so omnipresent today, you'd think that great color photos would be all over the place. A dime a dozen. 

But no. Somehow color doesn't leave a lasting impression for me. If anything color seems to detract—or distract—from the essence of a photo. 

Try to think of all the photos that have left an impression on you. Do you remember in color? Or black and white?

George Cruz

I drove into my parking garage one day only to learn, sadly, that the gentleman who managed the day shift had passed away suddenly over the weekend. The crew was in shock and so were many of us regulars.

George was a decent human being, the epitome of someone who put everything he had into doing things correctly and well. He wasn't a big shot. In the New York masses he was just another guy who went to work every day and put everything he had into making his garage better than the rest. He was outgoing with a ready smile and a positive view of life. How could you not like him and respect him?

George's guys also told me he left behind a wife who spoke little English and an adult daughter, both of whom were devastated. Entirely by coincidence, I had taken pictures of George and some of his people just a few weeks earlier, not sure what I would do with them. So when I went to the office I created this poster the guys could put up in the garage where patrons could see it, learn what happened, and maybe offer condolences to his family. It was the least I could do

It's a good idea to thank good people just for being who they are whenever you can. Someday it may be too late. 

I am a rock

I am a rock ... person. 

Totally.

You know how when visiting a place, people often follow a tradition of leaving a stone behind, as a silent witness to their visit? 

I've got a reverse tradition going. Wherever I travel I often bring a rock home with me, as a souvenir of my visit. 

To me, rocks can be interesting. Some have incredible character, shape, coloration. And they last forever. Everything, with the possible exception of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, is pretty much fair game in my book.

My collection includes examples from Thoreau's cabin at Walden Pond, the Monterey Peninsula, Florida, Maryland, Colorado, Pennsylvania, good old Cape Cod, the UK, France, Italy, you name it. I once found an interesting boulder in a stream while fly fishing in New York State and struggled knee deep in 40º water to work it loose just so I could lug it God only knows how far to my car. That was very nearly a hernia-inducing event.

So what do I do with these durable souvenirs?

Put them in my garden. Nothing blends better with plants than interesting rocks and boulders.

Garden gnomes are for wimps.

No doubt I've broken innumerable laws in my ceaseless quest. Perhaps, someday very soon, a surveillance drone will spot me in flagrant derocko, report my GPS coordinates to the authorities and there'll be hell to pay. Fines no doubt. Community service even.

My only hope is if they make me turn big rocks into little ones, I'll be happy.

I may even be able to sneak one or two home with me.

                               (Incriminating photo with a new friend.) 

Control what, exactly?

Recently I came across one of those many Top Places to Retire lists. It featured Holland, Michigan, (pop. 30,000), praising it as a wonderful small college town on a lake with a Dutch influence and its very own Tulip Festival, yadda, yadda, yadda. You've seen this stuff a million times. The Holland Chamber of Commerce must be delighted.

So guess what I found in the local news from charming little idyllic Holland, Michigan?

"The Tulip City" has a crime problem: Their very own Holland Latin Kings, two branches of them, violent and well-armed. The Feds just indicted 31 suspected leaders and members. 

What's interesting is that "the gang possesses 'nation guns,' which can be kept at various locations. They are also traded for other firearms with Latin Kings in Grand Rapids and Chicago, records showed."

I'll bet.

Now this is just a wild guess but does anyone believe that solid, upstanding people like members of the Holland Latin Kings—and similar groups around the country—give a crap about any of the gun laws most law-abiding people follow much less any new ones?

Acts of Love

A few months ago, as I was working on completing an outdoor project, showing it off to my daughter, she admired it, somewhat predictably, ... "very nice, dad" ... and then casually mentioned that there was a stain on the seat of my pants. "A brown stain" in her words.

It didn't register with me at first. The khakis in question are my work pants. Of course they have stains all over. There's a hole in one knee as well. The cuffs are fraying. Work pants. Stains. Stains. Work pants. Is there a problem here?

"Did you have an accident?,' she asked gently, quietly.

THAT caught me by surprise. She nurses people who are largely unable to care for themselves. The aged with dementia, Alzheimers and other problems. And children—even infants—tragically injured in accidents or abused by adult monsters. She cares for them with enormous compassion. She knows about brown stains.

"No, I didn't have an 'accident,' Emma," I replied with more than a little sarcasm.

That didn't stop her one bit.  

She suggested gently that maybe I should change my pants.

I told her I was wearing the appropriate pants for yard work. And I had more to do.

But she persisted, again, quietly. 

And that's when I realized that she was protecting me. We had house guests and she didn't want anyone to overhear—or to see her dad with a brown stain in the seat of his pants. Not if she had anything to say about it.

My heart jumped into my throat as I saw that my daughter was now caring for me the way my wife and I had cared for her. All those thousands of little acts of love that parents just do for their kids. She was now doing the same for me. She didn't want anyone to see me as weak or helpless. She didn't want me to be embarrassed in front of others.

I went and changed my pants. There was no "accident." The stain was so small I could barely see it. But she saw it. It had jumped out at her in a flash. And she responded in a way I will never forget. 

When my parents reached their later years I felt that a baton was gradually passed from them to my brothers and I. While Mom and Dad never relinquished their independence, they did permit us to do more for them and ultimately care for them when they couldn't care for themselves. We took on a parenting role.

Now I saw the very first sign that the overwhelmed, confused and frightened little kid we carefully scooped up off the plane from Korea so many years ago was reaching for that baton. Gently. Quietly. Protectively.

Another generational shift was beginning. Ever so gently.

President? Or role model?

Last night Mitt and Ann Romney were interviewed on Fox and according to Mitt, he says he's not going to disappear.

I hope not. While he failed in his bid to win the Presidency he may be infinitely more valuable to our nation as a role model in how to live a decent life, be a productive, caring citizen and in so doing achieve personal success.

At the risk of sounding like that lowlife John Edwards, there really are two Americas today. Charles Murray has spelled it all out in his latest book, Coming Apart. 

There's one America where people follow the traditional and possibly boring path that usually includes things like attending school, studying and graduating from high school then going on to university or technical school in the hope of developing worthwhile and marketable skills. 

Marriage might follow, and after that, a family—kids. It means being a good parent—a BIG job. And being a good husband or wife—not just when times are easy but when they become tough and trying. You can get through life without developing spiritual faith or believing in God. That's a personal choice. But people who possess a strong faith tend to have a durable set of values they can carry with them throughout their lives. That can be a source of strength when times do get rough—and they most certainly will. It can also help them be better citizens in their communities and do a better job raising their children while giving them their own set of values to live by. 

Being a good citizen means more than paying your taxes and showing up at the polls to vote every so often. It involves things like volunteering as a firefighter, a soccer coach or scoutmaster. It means showing up at parents' night, school board and borough council meetings (boring though they may be at times). It means being a good neighbor and noticing if something seems amiss in the house across the street or in the behavior of the kids on the block and then doing something about it. It might even require you to take enough interest in your country that you decide to serve it directly in the military or working in a government agency or even—God bless you—running for public office yourself.

In the other, non-traditional America, people are more likely to drop out of school and fail to get both an education and marketable skills. They are more likely to have children out of wedlock and not be around to provide the homework help, guidance and values only parents can. Instead of contributing to society, they are more likely to become dependent on society. Their chances of personal success are slim and as a result their children carry a greater burden in their own struggle to succeed. 

By all accounts, Mitt and Ann have lived good and decent lives. Instead of holding them up for ridicule, as some people have, America should be looking to them as examples.

We would all be better for it.

Sick cities

Yesterday I saw Forbes list of America's Most Miserable Cities and got to thinking, there's something significant going on here.

Detroit topped the list since it's governance will any moment now be taken over by the state. (I wish their governor luck since there were two other Michigan cities in the top 10.) Chicago came in at #4 and New York at #10. (I love the boundless energy, excitement and diversity of NYC, but there's no doubt that it is also beset by many seemingly intractable problems.) Further down the list were St. Louis, Atlanta and a bunch of others. 

Apart from the silliness of Best and Worst lists, it seems obvious that most of these cities share a number of traits. Most are in dire financial straits and have lost much of their tax base. Virtually all are saddled with unsustainable public-union payroll, pension and healthcare costs. Their public schools are uniformly underperforming—with only a few exceptions in their systems. High crime is a major concern for most of them. And just about anyone in the middle class with a family who can afford to move elsewhere has already bailed out.

Having the state take over Detroit may prevent its declaring bankruptcy but won't make it a much less miserable place to live for most people. New Jersey took over the management of Newark's schools years ago, and despite pumping vast amounts of additional taxpayer dollars into the city through a number of channels it remains a basket case. Most of their schools are definitely miserable. 

America's cities used to be held in high regard. So what the hell has happened to them? And how do we fix them?

Unemployment and failing schools go together. High rates of illegitimate births are typical of these cities and many more communities not on the list. Crime and drugs are heavily concentrated in urban areas. People point to gangs as a major source of violence. (I once belonged to a gang—the Saxons—and we had a few fights; we even tried to fabricate our own ZIP guns. Hah! But it was mostly a social rite of passage; a brotherhood. We never committed a criminal act beyond street fighting, or wanted to for that matter. We grew out of it rather quickly, too. These gangs have jacked the violence level all the way way up to murder and their members range in age from early teens way into their 20s and 30s—if they manage to survive. These aren't gangs, they are a lifestyle.) 

We could easily find this discouraging. Yet if we give up this will only get worse and will damage us all, no matter where we live. It's already damaged us.

So do we pump even more money into our sick cities? Or do we put them on a sustainable financial path? The answer is obvious though not without pain and discomfort. Politically easy this isn't. That's why political leadership is so important. Without public support nothing will change the trajectory of this suicide bomb.

Are cities exploited and plundered by their surrounding communities and their state, who take more than they contribute? Perhaps. New York City sends more money to the state than it gets in return. But the city is unlikely to change that equation. Newark, yet another basket case, receives far more money from outlying areas and the state than it sends the other way. The simple truth is that all of these cities have to do more with the dollars they do have. Because we've all run out of money. We've finally reached a critical financial tipping point.

Good schools are critical; we can't afford to lose a generation of kids on top of those we've already lost. Our nation's children deserve better. Yet we already spend enormous amounts on public schools. So we need to fix them without spending more money. That's a call for major reform if there ever was one.

Will raising the minimum wage to whatever help spur employment or at least improve the lives of many? The majority of economists don't hold out much hope for either of those outcomes. Most forecast the opposite.

Is there any doubt that violence, crime and unemployment are inexorably linked? Do these stem from a sense of hopelessness, that the future holds no promise? Perhaps. But it goes against all my instincts. I've met few people who didn't dream of good things down the road and who didn't work toward that dream—often against great odds—to create a better life for themselves. Life wasn't exactly easy for any of us and the struggle helped us earn a sense of pride. I recall a study that revealed how some kids who dropped out of school and started selling drugs did so in part because school held no interest for them and dealing drugs challenged them and was more stimulating and interesting. It demanded more of their minds. Maybe failing schools need to expect more not less from their students.

Have cultural factors turned vast swathes of America into an entitlement society? Have we spawned a culture where unwed, serial mating and illegitimate birth is the norm? The illegitimacy rate in the US today is an astonishing 38%—and much higher among some groups. If this isn't a prescription for disaster, what is? When exactly did this lifestyle become "okay"? I vaguely recall in grade school that some older boy, a local basketball star, got some girl pregnant … and all of a sudden they both disappeared. Whoosh. Gone. Not just her, both of them. They were a glaring exception to the societal norm then. Not so much today. Today they could wind up on Jerry Springer along with a others like them. They may even get a show of their own. 

Is it time to adjust the social safety net and public welfare programs and demand social responsibility on the part of would-be recipients? How many illegitimate kids are too many? Do we turn to workfare and possibly restore some measure of pride in those who earn a paycheck while developing marketable skills? Are we doing the unemployed a favor by extending benefit payments? In good old socialistic Norway they discovered that by extending unemployment benefits, folks took longer to find work. And by ending the benefits sooner, the unemployed found work sooner. They adjusted the length of benefit payments accordingly. That didn't go down without some screaming. It took courage. Maybe our political leaders could borrow a little of it.

None of this is news. Our elected political class has played large role in creating this situation. But so do we the people who elected them. The folks in Washington have done much to divide us over the past four years and little to unify us. The next four are already shaping up as more of the same. So I don't look to the federal government or any level of government to solve these problems any time soon. Only we can solve them.

Maybe it's time for us to take stock of ourselves and our country. It's time to look unflinchingly at what we've become. Maybe then we can agree on what we want America to be and set out on a path that will get us there.

One thing's for sure; this ain't it.

I'm really not despondent or discouraged and I don't mean to ruin your day. I'm still a glass half full guy. But I'm sure as hell tired of seeing American cities filling some damn Most Miserable List. Save that crap for Moscow, Pyongyang, Kabul and Mogadishu. We put men on the moon. We can do whatever we set out to do if we get enough people on board. Our parents did it. We can do it. We just need to get going. 

Sound naive and simplistic? You bet. Impossible? Hah!

Teaching old dogs

My father-in-law is 88, stubborn as a mule and drives without wearing a seatbelt. (You do have to love him. But that's a dangerous habit.)

Oh, we've told him more times than I care to count that it is UNSAFE, AGAINST THE LAW and just plain STUPID. Especially since if he is hurt or killed in an accident he will be directly responsible for sending my 88-year-old-mother-in-law right into a nursing home where she will surely die without his continuing care and love!!!

It has done no good. We have wasted our breath. Admittedly, he has a hearing problem and wears a hearing aid—sometimes. But his is basically a listening problem. He doesn't.

My mother-in-law is the local hospital at the moment and when we visit today, if he's there, I'm going to place this little WARNING I created on his car.

It's worth a shot. 

And if it works, maybe I'll create another to keep him from snacking on cookies and candy and anything loaded with sugar when he thinks no one is looking. Yep, he's diabetic.

UPDATE:

The seatbelt warning notice failed. Not that I expected a miracle. My father-in-law is a hard case.

Back to the drawing board.

I always liked science lab

Maybe that's because I liked to blow things up. Or combine those two liquids that would expand rapidly, changing into a sort of smelly foam rubber. Who knows, if I had stuck with it, I might have been the guy who invented that mattress material that when you get out of bed looks like the invisible man is still sleeping there.

But I went into advertising instead.

Good move. I say that not because we blow things up around here. At least not that often. But because this business is just like science lab. We are always in a state of experimentation. Working with clients and helping to solve their unique challenges means we have to invent new things. Stock answers just don't work in this business. There's no one size fits all. None of that off the rack stuff that might work at Target or at your Ford Dealer. We're always peeking into the dark unknown. And wondering what would happen if you mix one of these with two of those and shake vigorously.

Is advertising scientific?

Some parts of it certainly are. We are incredibly disciplined and rigorous in analyzing situations and thinking problems through. There are no formulas. But along the way we've developed a body of knowledge about business and human behavior that allows us to bring our prior learning to every new challenge.

Yet there is more than science to it. There's instinct. Gut feelings. And pretty soon you develop an appreciation of just how crazy wonderful the human brain truly is. Because it can somehow absorb an enormous amount of information, let's say a gazillion data points, and then reach down deep into itself and pull out the most remarkable—and simple—solution no one on this planet has ever seen before.

So consider this blog an invitation into a kind of lab. We'll be experimenting here. Holding things up to the light to examine them closely. Letting our minds loose and sounding off on a variety of subjects that interest us, watching to see what happens. Be sure to wear your protective glasses and sign the brief 10-page release form. (The lawyers insist on it.) Don't be afraid to combine a few ingredients yourself. You may be happily surprised at the result.

Just don't blow your freakin' arm off.