MUSINGS BY JOAN #16

Cuts to the State budget mean little until they suddenly touch something you consider important. Florida’s money problems are threatening Public Radio’s little known on-air Reading Services to the visually impaired.

How do I happen to know this? Because I’m a new “reader” at WLRN, Miami’s public radio station. That means once a week I show up at the station in downtown Miami to read the Miami Herald to Dade County residents, or the Sun Sentinel to Broward County residents, who are unable, for various physical reasons, to read for themselves. It’s proven to be an interesting addition to my ongoing quest for meaningful ways to fill up my days in my new retired status.

My significant other has been a WLRN volunteer for years. He guides tours through the TV and radio station areas for school kids and is the guy they always call on when they need a tall, distinguished looking host for one of their fund raisers. My interest in reading on air was actually sparked by a businesswoman friend named Virginia Jacko who lives in my condo. Virginia enjoyed a successful career as a top administrator at Indiana University until she started losing her eyesight about a decade ago. Today, she is totally blind, but if you met her, except for her ever present guide dog, Gibney, you would never guess.

Singlehandedly, she has raised the local chapter of Lighthouse For The Blind from a small, sleepy charity, to a vibrant and meaningful organization that serves sight impaired clients ranging from small children to senior citizens. If you’re not careful Virginia will enlist you in one of her many Lighthouse projects before you know what’s hit you. She’s a remarkable lady.

But back to my on-air reading. The Herald gets read from 9-10 every morning. The Sun Sentinel from 10:30 to 11:30. USA Today gets read for an hour on Thursdays and a guy who could double as a stand-up comedian reads the grocery ads on Sunday morning. Don’t laugh. It’s one of the most popular items on the reading services agenda.

I read with another volunteer and we alternate reading for the entire hour. First, however, we have to select what we are going to read. Such editing power! Armed with scissors, we spend the first hour culling and cutting in the following order: the first fifteen minutes are devoted to front page and local news; the second 15 to national and international news; the third 15 to business and editorial; and the final 15 to sports and entertainment. Except for the Sun Sentinel, whose listeners demand a full reading of the daily horoscopes. Try leaving that out and the phones start to ring I am told.

I’ve got it down to a science now. I bring my own scissors, a shiny gold pair I bought in Spain years ago, because I’m left handed and the station’s huge Office Depot-style cutters hurt my hand. I bring three Hall’s Menthol Eucalyptus lozenges that I carefully lay out on the desk in front of me along with a Styrofoam cup of water, in case, God forbid, I feel the need to cough. I remind myself to turn off my cell phone. I clear my throat, suck on lozenge #1, and adjust the microphone to the correct height, keeping a nervous eye on the engineer behind the glass wall in front of me. When his hand drops, it’s show time, folks! One of us reads the "intro" and the other launches into the first article of the day.

My new claim to fame? After the first week I found that I am just about the only reader who not only likes to read the sports page

, but actually understands what they are reading. So far, I am the only one who cares that Jason Taylor has returned to the Miami Dolphins, or that Dwayne Wade’s bad shoulder is what caused the Heat to lose in the first round of the playoffs. I like to feel that there are some sight-impaired listeners out there who are grateful for my expertise.

My fellow readers are an interesting bunch. Mostly women and a few men. . all retired professionals and business people, ranging from school teachers to lawyers, doctors and dentists. While we cut apart the paper in the hour before we read, I've gotten to know quite a few of them. I’ve also learned the art of reading and watching the digital clock at the same time in order to switch subjects at the 15 minute intervals and, most imortantly, end up exactly at 58 minutes after the hour for the station break. Now I know how the real pros do it. It’s a whole new world!

I think I may sit down and write a letter to Governor Crist urging him not to cut the funding for reader services throughout the State. If you’re a Floridian, you might want to do so also.

Can’t hurt.

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Caption: WLRN, Miami, my home away from home for Reading Services.

ADDENDUM TO MUSING #15

ADDENDUM TO MUSING #15





Hi, everyone. . .I don't usually write addendums to my blogs, but I received this e-mail from my surrogate daughter Cathy and thought I would pass on the information to you.

Mea culpa. . .I did not realize the writer of the book I am reading was a woman! Thanks for the update, Cath. Love you too.


Hi Jo,
FYI- I knew you would want to know that Merrill Markoe is a very talented WOMAN. She is a long time comedy writer and former neighbor in Malibu. She had a long term relationship with David Letterman as well.
Love you,
Cathy

MUSINGS BY JOAN #15

So long, Borders. Bye bye, Barnes & Noble. My apologies, Amazon.com.

I have rediscovered the joys of the public library and no longer need you. Not only am I the proud possessor of a highly plasticized, extremely colorful new library card, but I also have a little thingy on my key chain with a bar code just like the one I have for the pharmacy and the food market.

Who knew??? Even the public library is totally computerized these days. A far cry from the intimidating atmosphere of the Mt.Vernon Public Library where I grew up. Visits to those hushed halls were regular weekly occasions in my childhood. But in all honesty, I haven’t set foot in any public library since I left New York City fifty four years ago. I worked in the City in those days and my office was close to the incredible Fifth Avenue Library. They were always having great exhibitions of one kind or another, and I loved to drop in on my lunch hour, although I don’t remember taking out any books..

The Coconut Grove Public Library is a delightful, sunny, bungalow-style building with a super friendly staff who are more than happy to e-mail you when the book you’ve reserved becomes available. In seconds, they search the computers for some obscure book title. . . anyone remember the long skinny boxes of 3x5 cards that librarians used to paw through when you asked about a particular book???

I have to admit that it took the tanking economy to get me back into the library. I have been living in the Grove for close to 20 years now and have passed the library on my way to the center of town literally thousands of times. I’m ashamed to say I never thought of going in. Now, it’s a regular stop and I find myself taking home some really odd books that I certainly would never buy but just look so interesting, I can’t resist.

At the moment I am reading a book called “Nose Down, Eyes Up” written by the New York Times best selling author of “Walking In Circles Before Lying Down”. His name is Merrill Markoe and I am sure you never heard of him or either book. I certainly never did. The central character in this book seems to be a dog named Jimmy, and according to the Los Angeles Times on the back cover, “it is told with Markoe’s trademark mix of dark humor and quirky vulnerability .” So it isn’t “War & Peace”. I promise I’ll try to read something more impressive on my next visit.

So far, Jimmy seems to have a lot more smarts than Marley and I loved/cried my way through that book and movie. With the state of my stock market account and all the scary news in the daily newspaper, maybe a book about a dog isn’t such a bad thing

Just don’t tell my cats.

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Photo caption: I stole this photo of the Coconut Grove Library off the internet. It doesn't do it justice. It's what we call around here "very Grove".

MUSINGS BY JOAN #14

I was watching Obama’s press secretary, Bob Gibbs, on TV the other night as he was dealing with Joe Biden’s off the wall comment on how to avoid swine flu. Halfway through the press conference, as he tried once again to explain what the Veep really meant to say, I recognized a familiar look on his face. It was what pr people call a “Titanic moment”. That’s when events are spinning out of control and the client’s “ship” is sinking fast. You would like nothing better than to run away and hide.

Like most pr practitioners, over the years I’ve had several of those moments. In retrospect, some were actually funny. Others, definitely not.

First a funny one. Our client was a seafood shipper and he decided to open a very posh retail outlet in a fancy area of Fort Lauderdale. Because he wanted press coverage, we came up with the idea of a black tie opening for what was basically just a fish store. The invites were super sophisticated and the caterer was the hottest in town at the time. The “piece de resistance” was to be the fabulous table centerpieces. . .a series of large glass fish bowls with live gold fish swimming around.

Nobody told us that gold fish can’t live in regular tap water. Ten minutes before the guests were due to arrive, somebody noticed that the fish had quit swimming and were all floating belly up on top of the water. Utter panic! Should we try to scoop them out with our bare hands? Hell, no. We were wearing our fanciest cocktail clothes. Should we ditch all the centerpieces? No way. That would leave the tables looking terrible.

In desperation, my attention fastened on a huge bouquet of flowers someone had sent the client. In seconds, the bouquet was dismantled , stems broken off, and the flowers set afloat on top of the now really dead fish. The effect, we hoped, was interesting, if not exactly professional, and it did manage to cover most of the fishy fatalities. We felt like murderers and spent the evening praying they wouldn’t start to smell.

My not so funny moment came one deceptively calm Sunday morning with a phone call from the editor of our local paper. To set the stage, I had been representing the City of North Miami as Public Relations Director for more than three relatively calm years. My job was to send out positive press releases about all the good things the City was doing and to deal with the press at the weekly City Council meetings.

But back to my Sunday morning phone call. The voice on the other end of the line was a familiar one as I dealt on a daily basis with the local paper and knew the editor well.

“Hi, Joan. . . Anything new happening?” the voice inquired sweetly.

“Not that I know of, Jim. I’m getting ready to leave on a week’s vacation later today. Were you calling for something special?” I replied.

“Just wondering if you had a statement for us on the fact that the City Manager and half the City Council were arrested last night,” came the reply.
“What!!!!”, I screeched. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I’ll call you back!”

My first call was to the City Attorney, who needless to say was a trifle busy arranging bail for our fallen comrades. When I did get him on the phone he hurriedly mumbled something about “kick backs on the new tennis complex” and to get over to City Hall as soon as possible. I won’t go into details, but my vacation plans went out the window, as I scrambled to put together a short but pithy statement that the Mayor could read to the newspapers. Not only was the ship sinking, I had the feeling I was going down with it. In the pr business, this is called “crisis management”. I knew it was a crisis, but I didn’t have a clue how to manage it.

It was a bad week, public relations-wise, for the City of North Miami. Actually, it was a pretty lousy couple of months. The City Manager was convicted of a whole laundry list of crimes; the Recreation Director, who was also my best friend at City Hall, turned out to be the bag man for the operation, and half the council quietly resigned. It was not the City’s finest hour and I didn’t get much sleep, but I did learn that the best way to handle the press in the midst of a real crisis is to be as honest and forthcoming as possible.

It’s all about credibility. Obviously, Obama’s press chief has learned that lesson well. I’m not comparing little old North Miami’s problems with the Office of the President, but I sure could relate to that look on Bob Gibbs’ face..

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Photo caption: That is obviously not me at the podium, folks!

MUSINGS FROM JOAN #12

With Mother’s Day coming up this weekend, it occurs to me that I’ve been one lucky
Mother. I got to spend more than twenty years with my daughter as my business partner and loved every minute of it. Andrea and I were reminiscing the other day about some of the crazier promotions and special events that we were involved in during the years we worked together as Spector/Anker Associates. The ones we remember the best were the disasters, when something unexpected happened.

For instance, the time we were doing the Grand Opening of a luxury waterfront condominium called Nine Island Avenue. We decided on a tropical island theme and held the event out on the pool deck overlooking Biscayne Bay. The caterer told us she had an idea for a fabulous centerpiece for the main buffet table that would be located on the far side of the pool, closest to the dock area. In keeping with the island theme, she was bringing her beloved parrot, in his cage, to serve as a very colorful, very live, focal point.

We neglected to mention to her that we had made arrangements for fireworks as an added attraction for the event. As the sun set in the west over the bay, the party was going great, the buffet table looked fabulous and Sailor, the parrot, was a major hit. The time was right to give the signal to the fireworks man standing on the dock to “let ‘er rip”. As the first blast went skyward, poor Sailor keeled over in a dead faint from the concussion. The caterer’s concern for the welfare of our party dropped to zero as she and her entire staff rushed to the parrot’s side to apply mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Ripping Sailor out of his cage, and scattering my artfully arranged buffet to the winds, they were gone in a flash to the nearest vet’s office, I presume, leaving Andrea and me to calm the startled guests and an understandably upset client.

The moral of that story? No live animals on your buffet table. You’d think we had learned our lesson. Think again.

We were handling an important press event for the Sheraton River House when the Food & Beverage Director of the hotel told us he wanted to try something called “Live Food”. “Sure,” we said. “Whatever.” One less detail we needed to worry about. Maybe we should have worried. “Live Food” is a concept that would never pass FDA inspection, I am sure of that. The centerpiece of the buffet table that evening consisted of a very scantily clad young lady reclining on a bed of lettuce. All the food for the cocktail hour was draped artfully around, on and over her body. The idea, apparently, was to snack off whatever body part you preferred. Women guests were not particularly enchanted with the concept, but the men loved it.

Caterers always seemed to be our bête noir. . .we’ve hired more companies than I can count, depending upon the location and type of event. Whenever people would ask why we always hired women account executives, I used to say because you can’t count on a guy to help you when the caterer doesn’t show up.

Exhibit #1 – another sales event for buyers who had already closed on their very expensive condos and were invited to bring a friend to a glamorous cocktail party. When the caterer hadn’t showed up less than an hour before the event was to start, I held the fort while Andrea and one of our AE’s made a frantic run on the local Publix, buying everything and anything that looked potentially edible with a stiff drink. The bartender was told to pour generously as the sweating AE more than earned her money that evening slapping caviar on crackers and creating hors d’oevres out of thin air. Neither the client nor the guests ever knew the difference, but we sure did.

Other caterers have literally saved our asses, especially one night when 150 rsvp’d to our party invites and 500 showed up for the event. (Real estate brokers are famous for neglecting to respond.) That strains even the best caterer’s 10% food overage plans. Not to mention the look of desperation on the faces of the valet parking guys who have long since run out of space for the never ending line of cars. “Great party,” the client gushed at the end of the evening. We were too exhausted to care.

You win some. You lose some. That’s the name of the game in the pr business, but it sure makes for great memories. Remind me to tell you about the time I represented the City of North Miami and the entire City Council got arrested. . . . . I guess I’ll save that for another blog.

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Photo caption: Ready to roll: The all-female staff of Spector/Anker Associates in the 70’s. That’s Andrea, second from the left, and me next to her. (Yes, we did hire men as the Agency continued to grow. . we weren’t that sexist.)