Waiting for Sweetpea

Part 1 -- Annunciation

In spring 2018, our daughter, Julia, and Matt, her husband of 18 months, conducted an ambush on my wife and me.

Julia and Matt drove up from Arlington, Virginia, to help Marie and me declutter our suburban home. We had sold the house a month before to fulfill a longtime dream of moving into the big city of Philadelphia. We were empty-nesters, having married off our two kids in a 10-week sweep in 2016. Now we were selling off or donating loads of goods, as we were bound not to have enough room in our (not-yet-found) new home to accommodate it. Marie had already retired, and I was hatching a plot to escape my employment in mid-June. What was the point of retirement if we were bound by the same old possessions?

So Julia and Matt rented a truck to pick up our castoff furniture, garden tools and other goods for their home in Virginia. It was a busy day. Matt did a lot of heavy lifting. Julia rummaged through the memories that Marie had dutifully saved for her throughout her life. they included cards that accompanied baby gifts when she arrived in the world. Papers from her elementary and middle school days that foreshadow her career as a writer. Books, lots of them, more than I could imagine reading in a lifetime, but Julia made short work of them. Again, that foreshadowing thing.

Reading the cards and other congratulatory notes from her many years of youthful accomplished, Julia observed that she received a lot of love over the years. Indeed she 
had. Even as a little girl, Julia was loved for her loving nature and admired for her intellect and drive.

She winnowed those items by about 80 percent.

We finally sat down to eat, all four of us tuckered out from the day’s work. Marie prepared a favorite Italian American meal of pasta, meatballs and sausage, and a green salad. I presume there was wine.

Julia decided to take advantage of the fact that we were together to make an announcement. While she had us together, she wanted to tell us her plans for my wife’s annual Christmas Eve feast of seven fishes (also known by its Italian nomenclature, “La Vigilia”). The event is well attended and much anticipated. A seat at the table is a hot item, so Julia surprised us with this request.

“I want to bring a guest to La Vigilia this year,” she announced.

I was surprised, even somewhat annoyed, and protective of Marie, since the seating around the table is tight. I was a bit miffed that she would impose on her mother that way, even months in advance.

“Who is it,” I asked. “Somebody we know?”

“Well, you don’t know the person yet, but I can guarantee you it will be small and not eat very much fish.”

I got it right away. I jumped up, put one hand out to Matt who was close to me, and I put my arm around him. “Congratulations, Matt, I said. In a burst of male empathy, I added, “Good job.”

It took a few moments longer for Marie to grasp that Julia was announcing her pregnancy. (It’s not usually like that. I’m traditionally the denser of the two of us.) Still, she stood up and asked plaintively “Are you telling me what I think you are?” 

Their eyes welled up (business as usual for these two). They hugged. This announcement was a moment that we were not entirely sure would come, especially this soon into Matt and Julia’s marriage. Julia did not know just how easily she would get pregnant in her mid-30s. Not that she had any reason to worry, but she was also not taking it for granted. That was why she decided to tell us so early, just four weeks into the 40 necessary to bring this child to full viability. 

“I wanted you to know now,” she said, “because I didn’t want the first news from me to be that I had a miscarriage.”

I asked one of the essential questions. "How big is the baby so far?"

Julia laughed. “It’s only about the size of a lentil.”

She was right. The baby had a long way to go before being able to eat fish on Christmas Eve.

We laughed our way through the remainder of dinner. Uncertainty be damned; this was a happy occasion, goddammit. Wine flowed for Matt, Marie and me, though not for the mother-to-be. Beside laughing, there wasn’t much else to say. This was a baby in theory only. There was a long stretch of road ahead.

Marie and I walked Julia and Matt to the door, hugged them over and over again and told them how happy we were. We watched them get into the car, and then we waved as they pulled away to return home.

When they were out of sight, I closed the door and set the latch. I turned and looked at Marie. Then I jumped up and down and stomped my feet on the foyer floor, pumped my hands in a celebratory motion.

“Yea!” That’s all I needed to say to Marie.

Sold our house after a week on the market. Retirement for Marie. A planned retirement for me. A new home at some point. Now to be first-time grandparents.

Yes, 2018 was going to be a big year.

Stardom Doesn't Matter on a Team

I am watching the Phillies play the Mets this beautiful Sunday afternoon. Cole Hamels is pitching a terrific game; he is allowing few runs, and his strikeouts are in double digits. But the game is at risk for the Fightin' Phils because they are not hitting.
Hamels is a Cy Young caliber pitcher, and he was MVP the year they won the World Series. But not of that matters if the whole team doesn't produce.

All We Need to Know

I am preparing for an assignment with a major education-related company, helping them as they create a test for professional school counselors. Here is just a sampling of their desired characteristics:

• Is familiar with basic methods of analyzing student behavior
• Knows major theories regarding physical development, cognitive development and emotional development throughout the human life span
• Understands their own biases that may affect their counseling relationships
• Knows how changes in major public policy and laws affect student rights 

Think of how much we need to know to perform our own jobs at a high level. If you write, do you know the various style guides available? If you're in construction, how much have you studied local codes? Police officers need to know the rights of the accused and the definition of "reasonable force."

Such burdens are on all of us, and it illustrates why we need to be lifelong learners. If we stop learning, we stop growing, and there will usually be someone there who can do the job better than we can.

Awards or Rewards

The favorite to win the Academy Award for Best Picture this weekend is "The Artist." That is fine recognition, but let's look at it another way:
The film has grossed $61 million worldwide so far. The number one grosser of 2011, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," earned $1.33 billion -- about 21 times as much as "The Artist."
Similarly, the 1977 Oscar went to Annie Hall, which earned $38.3 million over time. The first "Star Wars" was released the same year, and that has earned $797 million, nearly 20 times as much. Furthermore, "Star Wars" changed the dynamics of the film industry, both in how films are made and how they are marketed.
When we measure our own efforts, what are our yardsticks? Are we looking for applause, financial payback, fundamental change, or what?
Any measure you choose can be the right one, but be honest about the value.

It is Mid-Year; Do You Know Where Your Goals Are?

The year is now half over. It is a good time for us to review our goals and objectives for the year and mark our progress.
What, you don't have goals and objectives for the year? If not, how will you know if you have advanced in 2011 and made personal progress? I keep two "To Do" lists posted: one for every day, and one for the year. My daily "TO DO" list is an ongoing challenge, but as I step back, I'm doing well for the whole year. I have already read as many books as I planned, I created a new keynote address for my repertoire, my retirement plan is finally on track, and I have reviewed the Italian language for an upcoming trip. (Forgive me if I don't share the other items on my list. I take the advice of self-help guru Derek Sivers that you should not share your goals with others, because that automatically decreases the chances that you will achieve them.)
Over the years, my annual list of goals have enabled me to accomplish a number of interesting things, such as hitting certain income goals, learning a new language, paying off my mortgage and publishing my first book.
If you haven't yet put together your own list, don't fret. Better to finish the year with a smaller list than one at all. The more important thing to remember is to work at actually reaching your goals by prioritizing them, putting them on schedule, focusing on them and eliminating the time wasters that get in your way. One could find no better role model than a mother on public assistance who became one of the richest women in the U.K. J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, told the Harvard graduating class that "achievable goals are the first step to self improvement."

When Planning Your Career, Rage Against the Machines

I came across an interesting opinion piece in today's Philadelphia Inquirer. The author wrote about how machines are doing much of the work that people used to do. We saw that in the last century, as robots could assemble cars more cheaply and efficiently than people do. It does make sense, as a machine can the work that eliminating jobs. (UAW members saw that, too, as rank-and-file members like my Dad fought against the encroachment of machines that would do the work of humans.)
I have discussed this very point in my book, The Six P's of Change, and I often mention it in my speeches: Those who are tied to a specific technology or type of work are often doomed to obsolescence. However, my own take is less fatalistic than that of the author of this article. I contend that such changes also bring opportunity. For example, while the auto industry once provided one in every seven jobs in the U.S., that ratio now belongs to the computer industry. (The automobile industry now accounts for one in every 16 jobs, still a significant number.) So, as the saying goes, fish where the fish are, and work in those areas that are not only in demand but which cannot be taken over by machines.
For example, how about a return to the trades, such as plumbing, carpentry and the like? I have not yet seen a machine that can cut pipe to length or crawl under a sink. There are also creative endeavors that no machine can do, such as writing, art, design and consulting. And if you can't beat 'em, join 'em: Since the auto industry produces more computers for their cars than IBM does, young people would be well served to learn the high technology of the car industry. t look That enmity was not limited to heavy industry.
Elbert Hubbard once note that "One machine can do the work of fifty ordinary men. No machine can do the work of one extraordinary man." When we seek to be extraordinary, we can beat this trend and even make it work in our favor.


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Short-Term Thinking Leads to Long-Term Losses

I know two businesses that have made decisions based on today, and I predict their actions will come back to haunt them tomorrow.

Both have decided to stop their marketing communications for distinctly different reasons. One suffered a big loss recently when it lost a competitive bid that would put the company in a strong competitive position for years to come. The other company curtailed their marketing when a few projects came in unexpectedly as a result of referrals. Company #1 canceled their marketing because they perceive they do not need it. Company #2 says they cannot afford it. Both of them are likely to pay for these decisions later.

What happens to #1 when there are no fortuitous references in the future? There must be work in your pipeline. Similarly, #2 will also not build customers over the long haul with this type of thinking.

(Businesses are not the only entities guilty of this type of thinking. Certainly, many of our current government concerns have arisen because of the lack of forethought given to expenditures versus outlays. Many Americans do not have proper retirements planned because they did not plan in advance. Even much of our personal health problems can arise from seeing only the immediate.)

Jonathan Swift once said that vision is the art of seeing the invisible. Marketing and similar planning looks for those invisible tomorrows before they become the dire todays.

Ranking the 2011 Oscar Contenders -- My Own Choices for "Best Film"

Wow, what a variety of films in the following list of Best Picture nominees. Consider the different story lines: A film that takes place largely in a dream. A classic western. A young man and woman conflicted about their biological heritage. A woman of privilege faces adversity. A beloved yet shy figure faces a personal struggle. Characters face the consequences of being separated from home. A snapshot of the issues of the time. Simple country folks fight the economic odds against them. A struggle to regain riches that were taken.

Yes, this year's nominees share many of the qualities of the 1939 nominees described above. Those movies were, respectively, The Wizard of Oz; Stagecoach; Wuthering Heights; Dark Victory; Goodbye, Mr. Chips; Love Affair; Ninotchka; Mr. Smith Goes to Washington; Of Mice and Men; and Gone with the Wind.

Is this year’s crop of contenders for the top prize also classics? Only time will tell. However, while I felt that last year's list was a bit padded, I believe the 2010 nominees are of sufficient quality that the Academy needs not be embarrassed that they doubled the number of competitors for the awards that will be given this Sunday, February 27.

Here is how I rank the ten nominated films, in descending order. These are not my predictions, but my judgment as to their quality, innovation and uniquely cinematic quality. In other words, when I evaluate a film according to these three standards, I expect to see a work that contains a high level of competence in its craft, a film that is unlike others I have seen, and a work that I could not experience in another medium. As Roger Ebert has demanded, I think the best film of the year should make me look at film differently.

10. True Grit — Joel and Ethan Coen made a few improvements in this remake. The setting and lighting of their Old West looks more realistic. The stilted and more proper language of Charles Portis's eponymous novel (the source of the material) lends a new authenticity. The Coens restored Portis's sobering, original ending, and the casting of Matt Damon as Texas Ranger LaBoeuf was a winner (immeasurably better than the execrable Glen Campbell). They also discovered the remarkable Hailee Steinfeld to play Mattie Ross. In a just world, she would win best supporting actress over The Fighter’s Melissa Leo, she of the braying "pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd" accent. Though I like this film, it is last on my list simply because it is a remake, one that does not add much cinematically to its predecessor. I look for more in a "best film."

9. The Kids Are All Right — This is an entertaining, insightful portrayal of a family far from the nuclear stereotype we abandoned as “the norm.” Laser and Joni, the son and daughter of Nic and Jules (Annette Bening and Julianne Moore), find Paul (Mark Ruffalo), their biological father, and this discovery creates a series of events that raises many questions about identity. Jules learns a new trade with Paul and then a new way to love (an aberration that is never really explained well, which weakens the story). Meanwhile, the controlling yet fragile Nic sees her whole world crumbling. The performances and the story-telling are all well-drawn, natural and effortless. A nice film with a somewhat unorthodox story that somehow did not excite me. (Alert: If anyone can upset favorite Natalie Portman for Best Actress, it would be Bening. )

8. The Fighter — Dicky Eklund was a promising middleweight before his undisciplined ways led him to crack addiction. His half-brother, Micky Ward, wants to win the title Dicky never could. The Fighter’s major characters are all endearing in their own ways. Producer Mark Wahlberg plays Micky with the same earnestness it must have taken to green light this film. Amy Adams brings a previously unseen toughness to Charlene, Micky's barkeep girl. Melissa Leo, as the boys’ slatternly mother, keeps her seemingly endless brood of loser children on a tight leash. Christian Bale is likely to win an Oscar more for the volume of his over-the-top portrayal of Dicky than for its quality. While this film is entertaining and well-intentioned, I felt that I have seen this all before in films, whether boxers, runners or otherwise.

7. The Social Network — The Social Network successfully captures our zeitgeist by telling the story of the creation of Facebook. David Fincher, displaying his versatility as a director, tells this story with more zip than it deserves … which brings me to what really bothers me about this film. Aaron Sorkin's wordy script begins with a scene well-acted by Jesse Eisenberg, as Mark Zuckerberg, and Rooney Mara, as girlfriend Erica Albright. Sitting in a bar, Erica tells Zuckerberg that he is a self-centered jerk who will always be lonely. This scene establishes Zuckerberg's character, and it is totally false, a contrivance. I believe that artistic license is one thing, but character assassination is quite another. It has made me wonder how much more of this film I can believe, and that doubt pushes The Social Network down my list.

6. Winter's Bone —Ree, at 17, bears the burden of the world. She is raising two younger siblings in loco parentis for their mentally ill mother, while her meth-making father is on the lam. We soon learn that he used the family home for collateral on his bail bond, on which he will soon default. As Ree's family stands to lose their only piece of paradise in a hardscrabble world, she decides to look for him. Her search sets off a series of setbacks and resistance that test her will and her resilience. Jennifer Lawrence (as Ree) and John Hawkes (as Teardrop, her father's brother) give star-making performances. Yet the main character in this small gem may be the unforgiving Missouri setting. Director Debra Granik gives Winter's Bone a gun-metal patina that embodies the monochromatic lives of its inhabitants. Like last year’s Precious, it is an unflinching glimpse into the lives of people we rarely see.

5. Black Swan — This was hands down the most daring film I saw this year. It is clear from the start that ballerina Nina Sayers is insane as she drives toward her goal to be cast in the lead of Swan Lake. Director Darren Aronofsky leads us into Nina's psyche, blurring the distinctions between delusions and reality with a cinematic slights of hand -- an errant reflection here, an ambiguous love scene there. Like a shadow boxer, Aronofsky feints, bobs and weaves enigmatically from start to finish. My one considerable reservation about Black Swan is its relentless pace, which becomes exhausting to the point of tedium. (Spielberg, for example, knew to lighten Jaws with occasional humor.) Still, I'll take this film over any safe rom-com or Blind Side that comes along. I’d rather be challenged than patronized.

4. The King's Speech — What a lovely film! Prince Albert of England needs a speech therapist because he is incapacitated by his stammer. Enter the uncertified, yet eminently qualified, Lionel Logue, who begins to succeed where others have failed Albert. The story takes an historic turn when Albert is thrust onto the throne after his ne'er-do-well brother, King Edward, abdicates for the sake of the harlot he loved. Albert wonders aloud how he could lead a nation when he cannot even speak to them. Tom Hooper’s direction is spare and subtle, evident in sly camera angles and tracking shots that symbolize Albert's personal journey. This film excels mainly in its performances: Helena Bonham Carter exuding loving concern as the Queen Mum; Geoffrey Rush as Logue, so devoted to Albert's well-being that he would never capitalize on his patient's royal stature; and Colin Firth as Prince Albert cum King George, in the performance of his career. The King's Speech covers a wide variety of themes (personal validation, integrity, courage, self- actualization), but ultimately I believe it is about the value of loyalty and friendship. I expect that the very accessibility of this film will lead it to the Oscar.

3. 127 Hours — Here is a surefire formula for box office poison: Lead a hiker to a ravine, trap him, and then wait for him to escape by cutting off his arm. Oh, by the way, the audience knows the story already. But under the inestimable Danny Boyle, this film, like its main character, emerges triumphant. Boyle takes us from an adventurer’s world of pools and landscapes to a view of the visceral. While Boyle captures the vast beauty of the expanses of Utah, he also narrows his focus to the small space occupied by Aron Ralston (played gloriously by James Franco). From there, both men go even more deeply into the soul of a troubled man who finds his way out of more than one confinement. The unfilmable becomes gloriously cinematic because of Boyle's guidance and Franco’s contribution. It is a breath-taking cinematic achievement that I am confident will stand the test of time.

2. Toy Story 3 — While I believed this franchise had nowhere to go, the brilliantly creative minds of Pixar resuscitated these characters, which were nearly abandoned by both their onscreen owners and their audience. Woody (Tom Hanks) and his cohort seem to have reached the end of the line as their now grown up owner, Andy, goes off to college. In a Keystone Kops-like turn of events, the toys mistakenly end up in a day care center instead of the attic, as was intended. At first, their new home looks heavenly. They even find a new leader at the day care, the seemingly avuncular bear toy, Lotso, brilliantly voiced by Ned Beatty. But all is not as it seems, and Woody leads the other toys to escape, a new adventure that is, at turns, exciting, frightening, funny, tense, creepy and more. Critic James Agee once wrote in a famous essay that the most remarkable thing about Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was not that it had moving images, but that it had images that moved people. The same could be said about Toy Story 3, as it leads us to its well-earned heart-warming and touching conclusion. I don't care that it is a cartoon.

1. Inception — To paraphrase the old radio show, The Shadow, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Inception does. Director/screenwriter Christopher Nolan created a unique concept for his film: A process called "Inception' gives a person the ability to invade another's dreams in order to learn what is contained in that person's deepest thoughts. Furthermore, Inception also allows its users to implant thoughts that will influence the mind of the encroached.
Fantasy is difficult to pull off in film, as evidenced by the sheer number of expendable movies of this type that hit our multiplexes and quickly disappear with nary a trace of impact. It requires a great director to make them work, such as William Friedkin (The Exorcist), Stanley Kubrick (2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange), and Peter Jackson (The Lord of the Rings trilogy). In Inception, Christopher Nolan has produced a stunning piece of work that once again displays his mastery of film, and that is why I pick it as the best film of the Oscar nominees.
Nolan's visual imagery seems sprung from the mind of M.C. Escher. Staircases tilt into circular, never-ending designs. Cityscapes bend improbably toward the screen, and reflections give way to new realities, all without the slightest hint of artifice. Nolan is also solidly in command of the various crafts that go into film-making, using them not merely to dazzle, but also to inform his story. The sound design matches what we would expect to hear when a street tilts perpendicularly, with all the asphalt and infrastructure giving way to this freak of nature. The art direction created environs that confuse us, because they seem so real yet bear a touch of the incredible. There is particular attention to the cinematography as we enter a variety of dreams, each distinguishable from the others because of their unique color palette, whether it is the stark white of a hidden snow resort of the beige of concrete. (As my daughter pointed out to me, Nolan deserves an Oscar for the hallway fight scene alone.) The fabulous editing makes all of these elements blend together (or perhaps more accurately, helps them coexist distinctly so that the viewer is not confused). Not the least of Nolan’s talents is his ability to draw outstanding performances from his cast (Leonard DiCaprio, Marion Cotillard, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ellen Page, Ken Watanabe, Cillian Murphy and the much-missed Pete Postlethwaite). As the actors bounce from scene to scene, they all seem to stay in the same film because Nolan can coordinate their performances — an overlooked skill in a medium that nowadays often depends too heavily on the technical. Inception also stays cohesive with the help of Hans Zimmer's evocative and insistent score, which creates a wall-to-wall bed that unifies the film.
Nolan also serves as the anti-James Cameron, as he has the ability to create a literate and labyrinthine screenplay that intertwines with a love story. (For further evidence of his skills, I highly recommend his masterpiece, Memento.) Inception has a Nashville-like ability to tell several stories at once, and Nolan knows how to write images to accomplish this. He doesn't talk his audience to death as Aaron Sorkin does in The Social Network.
For all the artsy-fartsy references to directors as the "sole creative force" behind a film, Nolan's omission from the Best Director nominees is evidence that many film snobs wouldn't know an auteur if one fell on them. This oversight shows how inadequate the Academy (and other award bodies) can be in evaluating the ability to helm a film. It is no wonder that Inception was the highest-grossing live-action film of the year, as its visual artistry was able to cross both cultural and language barriers not only in America but around the world. Not only do I consider Inception the best of this lot, but I also believe it is a singular achievement in creating a uniquely cinematic film.

This is the way I saw them. I have no illusions that my number one will be the winner come the Oscars telecast. But I also doubt that I will be disappointed by the outcome, as most of the films on the list of nominees would deserve to be called “the best.” While the 2011 nominees are likely not destined to contain the number of classics that 1939 list did, I'll take it. A few more years like this one, and the Academy will look awfully smart for having double their number of contenders.

BAH! HUMBUG on all-Christmas radio!

I generally hate to add any negativity to this lovely season, but here goes...

I have come to hate all-Christmas radio broadcasting.

There, I said it. I have become a Christmas Crab on this subject. And believe me, I love Christmas. I sing it every year with my group, A Cappella Pops. I have more CDs than my family care for me to have, and I play them constantly. One of my biggest coups in life was getting a car with a multi-CD play that even scrambles the selections. Oh, Joy! Now I can have a wide variety of Christmas music playing during all of my drive time. (Add this to the long list of things that drive my wife nuts.)

However, my idea of Christmas music is not the same as radio programmers. To me, Christmas is about being with family, and believe it or not, I actually believe it is about celebrating the birth of Christ, the seed of the Christian faith. I believe this just as I regard Hanukkah as the remembrance of a miraculous victory rather than eight days of gift-giving.

Yes, I snap my fingers to Mariah Carey singing "All I Want for Christmas is You," but not once an hour. Once a week will do, thank you. And while I believe that the season is captured in the lovely "O Holy Night," I don't think the song was composed so that Celine Dion could pop several arteries proving she can hit the high note at the end.

Now the all-Christmas stations start their assault on Thanksgiving and stop sharp on midnight of Christmas Day. (By the way, people in Europe treat Christmas as a season, not a one-day event. Hello, the 12 days of Christmas? Anyone hear of that?) That's a long time to endure mind-numbingly bad music, such as "Do They Know It's Christmas," or "Grown-Up Christmas List." And please don't get me started on "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

So, excuse me, Radio Programmers, I will pass on your secular selections until you show more awareness of what the season is all about. In the meantime, dear readers, I direct you to a performance of what I regard as one of the greatest Christmas songs of all time, In the First Light, as performed by Glad. Enjoy, and happy holidays.

SWIFT JUSTICE -- This Entertainer has Earned her Leading Status Through Careful, Consistent Image Management

Several years ago, a good friend who lives in the Reading, Pa., area had a visitor to his home. He and his son are both musicians, and a young female friend of the son came to their home. "Would you like to listen to my music?," she asked. "I wrote some songs, and I'd like to play them for you."
He listened, and yes, they were pretty good songs. He also liked the young lady, thinking she was sweet and polite.
A few years later, her parents took a huge leap of faith and moved from Pennsylvania to Nashville to support her dream of being a songwriter. It paid off big, for their daughter, for themselves and for all of us.
The title of this post and the accompanying photo tip my hand, I'm sure. Yes, the young lady in question is Taylor Swift, who has just been named by Entertainment Weekly magazine as the Entertainer of the Year.
I cannot imagine anyone more deserving. Think of her accomplishments in the past year alone: A Grammy for Best Album of the Year, and three more in a variety of categories. A new album, Speak Now, which sold more than a million copies in its first week (PLATINUM IN ONE WEEK!) and for which she wrote all the songs. An appearance in a hit movie, Valentine's Day. Hosting Saturday Night Live, and showing herself to be a pretty capable sketch comedian. A successful tour. Surviving and even deftly handling a zeitgeist moment when rapper Kanye West publicly dissed her at the MTV Video Awards, calling Swift unworthy of her trophy when compared to Beyonce.
Most people view the world through their own prism, and mine tends to communication and marketing. What amazes me most about this artist is the consistency of her vision and her subtle self-confidence. This is most evident in her careful stewardship of her own image and messaging, staying calm in every situation.
Would you argue that she owes that to her handlers? I don't. She stood on that stage alone at the MTV Awards when West dishonored her, and she handled the situation with more grace and restraint than we have the right to expect from a 20-year-old. Also, I was impressed by her calm control during her in the course of her interview with EW. Her expressions were articulate, her words as well-chosen as you would hope from a successful songwriter. She diminished the interviewer's suggestion from others that she saved the music business: "I write music about my life and love and relationships, and...(t)hat's where I have to draw the line as far as what I am and what I am not."
The interviewer also asked how she felt about being linked to Kanye West. She replied, "The one choice that I do have, that I continue to make, is to not talk about it."
The interviewer next asked if she had heard his new record. Underlining her point, she simply replied, "I don't want to talk about him."
End of story. Point well made, Ms. Swift.
I don't own one of her albums, although I listen to her and catch her on the tube when I can. (Let's get real; I'm not part of her target demographic.) But I look forward to watching her grow as an artist and a cultural force. I dare say she is off to an astounding start.

We Need Leslie Nielsen, a Hero for These Challenging Times

Okay, so I was in an airport in Boston maybe 30 years ago, waiting for my plane. I had gone for a job interview, and when it was over, I called my wife, Marie, and told her how it went.

When I got off the phone, I was wandering the concourse when I looked over and saw a crowd of people staring at a man who was sitting alone. He was tall, grey-haired and pretty handsome. It was Leslie Nielsen, star of the movie Airplane! and the TV show Police Squad.

People were just looking at him, poking each other and not doing anything in particular. But no one was talking to him. I thought What the Hell, and I walked up to him and stuck out my hand.

"Mr. Nielsen, I know you have no idea who I am, but my name is Pat Rocchi, and I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your movies and how much pleasure you have brought into my life."

He was taken aback at this. I don't know if it was the audacity I had to just walk up to him and tell him how much I liked him or if it was the frank admiration of his work. He gathered himself for a moment before he rose and said, "Well, thank you; thank you very much.'
He paused for a moment and, groping for something to say, he told me, "You know we have a new Police Squad movie coming out." He was referring to his then-upcoming film, The Naked Gun.

Being a movie buff and a fan of the TV show, I was aware that it had been in production. "Yes, I was aware that you were working on it. How is it?" (Such a small-talk thing to say, as though he would respond with, "It sucks. Don't go see it.")

His eyes lit up. "It's very funny, very funny. I think you'll enjoy it." In fact, I did. It is still none of my favorite comic movies of all time, just for the sheer silliness of it.

I had to ask him about his foray into comedy at a later part in his career. "Mr. Nielsen, I remember you as the Swamp Fox (an old Disney show about the American rebel, Francis Marion), and you were always so upright and serious. How do you like this new role in comedy?"

With that, he broke into a big, broad, absolutely sincere smile. "I love it," he said, quickly adding with a sly wink, "I like being dumb and stupid for people!"

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and, not wishing to overstay my welcome, I shook his hand and thanked him for his time. But one thing disappointed me. "You know, I just got off the phone with my wife, and she is also a big fan. She will never believe I met you."

He thought for a moment and then said, "Well, let's see if we can convince her." With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. I was thinking, "Will he give me a quarter, and I must tell Marie that it came from Leslie Nielsen?" But he poked around the objects from his pocket, and pulled out a lapel pin that was a replica of the badge he wore in his TV show, Police Squad. He handed it to me and said, "Here. Give that to your wife, and she will know that you met me."

I was incredulous, gratified and delighted, all at once. I shook his hand again, laughing, and said, "Well thank you very much, Mr. Nielsen. I will always treasure it."

And I have. Never more than I do today. I wear it occasionally to an event just as a conversation starter, and the story never fails to get a laugh, as well as some appreciation for Mr. Nielsen's graciousness that day. He really has given me a lot of enjoyment over the years through his work, but that little encounter with me, an average fan of no particular import, makes me remember him very specially. I'm glad we had him, and I will miss him. Thank goodness for the permanence of film and video.

By the way, if you can, I suggest you search for the six-episode series of Police Squad on video, either streaming or by purchasing the DVDs. As my personal friend Leslie Neilsen told me, "It's very funny, very funny."

Leslie Nielsen died on Sunday, November 29, 2010, in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., of complications from pneumonia. He was 84 years old.

127 Hours -- More Than a Disarming Film

Many years, someone I knew who had seen The Deer Hunter, Michael Cimino's Oscar-winning film allegory on Vietnam, was asked what it was about. "Oh, it's about a soldier who blows his brains out," was the succinct reply.

Well, actually no, The Deer Hunter was about much more than that, if one cared to analyze it beyond the obvious. But many films over the years have become known for a single aspect or scene (think "Bob&Carol&Ted&Alice" or "Portnoy's Complaint"), overlooking the work's deeper attributes.

There is a similar shorthand about a film currently on the local screens. Danny Boyle's 127 Hours tells the story of Aron Ralston (shown above), an adventurous hiker and outdoorsman whose arm is pinned between a canyon wall and a rock. He is trapped there for several days until he rescues himself in a most agonizing, courageous and unthinkable way.

I will skip the obvious story detail for now. I want to tell you instead about how the film begins, with Ralston's hurried exit from his job and his home to go off into his own little world, the outside world of rocks and trails and pools of water. In this beginning, Ralston encounters a couple of young women hiking the same Utah rock formations that he is. Ralston introduces them to a shimmering underground pool that they would not have found without him. Yes, this is Aron's world, a world that exists only in the exterior. The pool is cool and deep. Aron, on the other hand, appears to be quite shallow.

Soon after leaving the girls, Aron fins himself in his dilemma. He climbs into a deep crevice. He first tests the footing of a rock at the entrance. It seems secure under his feet -- after all, as he had observed earlier, these rocks had been there for millions of years. But as the poet Robert Burns noted, the best-laid plans of mice, men and climbers gang aft agley. The rock falls into the crevice and improbably traps him against the wall by his arm. He is stuck there for days, facing a seemingly certain death, until he frees himself by cutting off his arm -- as it turns out, ingeniously so -- with a painfully dull knife.

This is the plot turn that everyone seems to know. However, if you go to see this film -- and I heartily recommend that you do -- jus for this spectacle, you may overlook the real genius of Danny Boyle's film-making. Boyle's masterpiece and best-known work, Slumdog Millionaire, took viewers on a breakneck view of life in the slums of India. In 127 Hours, Boyle instead takes us on an inward journey of a man who had focused only on the Great Outwards. With his subject confined to a single space, the camera and the screenplay are forced to look at Ralston and his somewhat self-made jail. We learn from Ralston's ruminations about how he has neglected others in his life: The mother whose phone message he ignored. The ex-girlfriend who presciently said that he would be a lonely man one day. The co-worker who was only a blip on Ralston's self-absorbed radar. Ironically, his self-centeredness helped trap him, as other people may have known where he was if he had only reached out to them.

Ever-resourceful, Ralston uses his tools to survive and perhaps even document his ordeal. He records his travails on his video camera, creating a message to his parents, telling them (perhaps for the first time?), that he loves them, just in cse he doesn't survive this ordeal. He scratches his name on the canyon wall, perhaps believing that he would indeed escape this situation.

The smallest conveniences become a treat for him. He comes to appreciate a daily 15-minute does of sunshine on his leg as though he is feeling it for the first time. He looks forward to the daily flight path of an eagle, one of his few companions even over his head. All of these reactions are captured in James Franco's nuanced portrayal of Ralston, a performance that is a revelation of this talented young actor.

But when he rewinds his video camera, Ralston gets a glimpse of what he may have been missing in his life. The girls left a message for him at the pool on his video camera, and he learns that they could see through him almost as soon as they met him. It is an insight he himself has never had.

The actual escape scene is enthralling. Yes, many of us have heard that people fainted in theaters at the sight of Ralston's amputation. However, it is entirely tasteful and artful. Through the use of prosthetics and the craft of film-making (the sound of Ralston's escape may shock you more than the sight of it), Boyle tells you all you need to know about the amputation.

Roger Ebert in his own review that 127 Hours is "an exercise in conquering the unfilmable." That is true in so many ways. While Boyle captures the vast beauty of the expanses of Utah, he also narrows his focus to the small space that Aron Ralston occupies, and then goes even more deeply into the soul of a troubled man who finds his way out of more than one confinement. It is a breath-taking cinematic achievement.

Where Have I Been?

Wow! It's nearly two months since my last blog post. I have been beset mostly by overwork since then, and it raises a reverse important philosophical question: If a Blogger doesn't make a sound, is it because s/he got lost in the forest?

Seriously, I have been much more productive in my work in 2010, having help guide a health care organization through its messaging, contributed to a hospital system's accreditation application, served as COO of my acappella singing group, and in the course of all this, I produced ONE QUARTER of the posts that I did in the previous year. Does this mean I have less to say, and therefore less to contribute?

I have to admit that the answer is yes. Put simply, I am not thinking as much as I had. I have reflected less on all the issues that surround all of us. Oh, some things bubbled to the surface. I was absolutely outraged by the way Andrew Breitbart ambushed Shirley Sherrod. The mid-term elections were shameful in their cacophony, and the bullying of gays and others upset me very much, as it reminded us of how defenseless we all may be. But mostly, I was too preoccupied to feel that I had much to contribute.

I also forgot the mantra for all writers: ALWAYS BE WRITING! I had lost my discipline (or my energy?) to put something, ANYthing down on paper or the ether just to stay in the practice of writing. Sure, I was doing that for my clients, but not for you, dear friends, and I missed it. (I HOPE you also missed me.)

I promise that 2011 will be different. I have a few things on my docket that will give me the opportunity to stay in touch. For example, I hope to finish my second book in the new year, and that will be on organizational communication. Second, 2011 is the centenary of Marshall MacLuhan, probably the greatest communication philosopher of all time. I intend to honor him throughout the year.

Finally, I plan to return to Italy to visit my family. That means brushing up on my Italian, which I learned only a few years ago (and even then, I was speaking on an elementary level). That should contain more than enough fodder on communication.

In retrospect, I am happier that I didn't just babble on these last few months just for the sake of writing. I believe that I will have much more to say that is worthwhile.

Just promise you'll let me know if I'm incorrect. ;-)

What Numbers Don't Tell -- Campanella In Perspective

The Philadelphia Inquirer published a fine article by Rich Westcott on baseball great Roy Campanella. Campy was an exemplary catcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers in the of the early 1950s, and the article brought back a vivid memory to me. However, it was not a memory of Campy's career, as I never saw him play. Instead, the article reminded me of a conversation I had with an old Italian man in 1969 when Campanella was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame with 80 percent of the vote.
"What did he do to deserve the Hall of Fame," he asked me. I certainly didn't know, because I was not a baseball fan as a kid. MOre significant, of course, it was a rhetorical question. In fact, it wasn't even a question; it was an indictment. The statement dripped with the insinuation that Campanella didn't deserve to get in, that he got in simply because...
are you ready?...
because he was black. Because, of course, in the eyes of this old man, all African Americans earned nothing. They were given things.
Even though I was not a baseball fan, I was an accumulater of facts and trivia, as I am today. (Hey, that's why I speak, write and blog.)
"I know that he was MVP (Most Valuable Player) of the National League twice, so I guess that he was a good player in his time." (Actually, I was wrong. Campanella won THREE MVP awards, in 1951, 1953 and 1955.)
The old man literally snarled at my response. "Is that what it takes to get into the Hall of Fame? Win a couple of MVP awards?"
I quit the argument immediately. If Campanella had batted 1.000 and had beaten Lou Gehrig's record for consecutive games played, it would not be enough. I didn't have any more evidence, and obviously I could not never have enough. But I always wondered: Just how good WAS Campanella?
According to Westcott's article, apparently he was well beyond good. He was spectacular.While his lifetime batting average of .276 was respectable, he hit 242 homers and 856 RBIs in just 1,215 games. In his best season of 1953, he led the National League with 142 RBIs, hit 42 home runs, reach a .312 batting average.
But as I said, that was only part of the story. Before he hit the big leagues, Campanella played in the Negro Leagues. (Campanella was biracial, born of an Italian father and an African American mother. In that American era, he qualified as a black man.) In 1941, when he was only 19, he was the MVP of that league's all-star game. A year later, he and other African American players were offered a tryout with the Pittsburgh Pirates, but that offer was suddenly, inexplicably withdrawn. Want to guess why?
Branch Rickey, general manager of the Dodgers, signed Campanella and four other black players. Campanella played minor league ball in New England (achieving MVP status in his league) and finally made it to the bigs in 1948. He had arrived, finally.
Tragically, Campanella's stunning career ended abruptly in 1958 when he was involved in an auto accident, which paralyzed him from the neck down.

As a physician friend likes to say when he is pressed for a diagnosis based on prior cases, "Statistics are just numbers." In other words, they don't tell us of the people who beat certain illnesses or succumb to them earlier. My friend is right; many of us lean lazily on mere facts without looking deeper.
In the case of that old man, he not only didn't accept the figures before him, he could not see the backstory or epilogue to Campanella's achievements. Campy suffered somewhat for the color of his skin. If he had been allow to play baseball at age 19, as other white players could, he was likely to have passed many more milestones. For example, if he had hit an average of just 30 home runs in each of those seven lost years, the additional 210 would have brought him tantalizingly close to the magic number of 500, which would have ensured him entry to the Hall of Fame. We also don't know how much more he would have achieved had his career not ended prematurely at age 36.

We Americans are all too often slaves to stats and purveyors of prejudice. How much more charitable would our national conversations be if more of us looked at what people had overcome in addition to what they achieved, more at a person's character rather than their degrees, and placed less emphasis on their age but more on their wisdom.

I wish I could talk to that old man today and present him with these facts. Well, maybe not. As I noted earlier, they probably would not matter, as they would merely be an inconvenience to his conclusion. How many of us don't look deeply enough and choose to rely only on the information that lies before us?

Celebrating the Birth of Christ

It is the morning of Christmas Eve. The neighbors’ houses are brightly decorated, the cards are mailed, and our gifts are wrapped. My wife, Marie, is preparing a seven-fish dinner Christmas Eve dinner, an Italian-American tradition that she has adopted for our family over the last 10 years. But in this moment in the early hours, I find my time to reflect on what this season means to me.

Like many men of my Boomer generation, I struggled with religion, particularly my Catholic Church. I dealt with the inconsistencies and hypocrisies that exist in all religions, yet I found myself always drawing back to church and my desire to lead an ethical life. I saw so-called religious people — many to whom I am related — profess disdain, if not outright hatred, for people who were different from them. When I talked about helping someone who was down, the response that shot back at me was, “Who helped ME?”

Through them, I questioned, “Is this how people who call themselves Christians are supposed to act?”

Finally, somehow inspired, I found I could come to terms with the role of Christ in my life by concentrating on a single passage from the New Testament (John 15:12), in which He says:

“This is my commandment,
that ye love one another,

as I have loved you.”

That single sentence is everything for me. It informs my thoughts and actions. It causes me to ask myself how I should treat my fellow humans, regardless of their colors. Regardless of their facial features. With no mind of their gender. And without judgment of whom they choose to love.

When I am in want, I hope that someone will reach out to me, whether I need a consideration, an opportunity or a kind word. Do I, in turn, give my own gifts to others? Do I give from my abundance or from my leftovers?

When someone commits a wrong, how willing am I to forgive?

Am I even willing to let another car in front of me when I am in a long line?

When I vote, is it in habitual response to an ingrained ideology, or am I really choosing someone who will make life better for all of us through the judicious use of public service?

Years ago, when I worked as a young intern on a local religious program, I had the pleasure of meeting spiritual counselor Tony Campolo. He has always been unlike most evangelical Christian ministers in that he spoke in common language, spreading a message of love and humor. In recent years, I saw him on a national political talk show when the subject was religion in public life. He said —and I’m paraphrasing here, as I don’t remember his exact words — that nowhere in the New Testament did Jesus comment on gay marriage, prayer in school, or keeping our wealth. However, He did speak frequently of looking after one another. No one else on the panel could respond to Tony or dispute him.

As I have experienced more than 50 Christmases and am well past the ephemeral enjoyment of toys, I give much more thought on the birth we are supposedly celebrating. The Jesus Christ I know, love and admire is not a figure of retribution but one of love, a traveler and teacher who reached out to all. I see Him more often in the actions of community workers than in those of politicians, more sincerely in Mother Theresa than in televangelists. I hear His message more strongly in Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror” than I do in many sermons and hymns.

In this year-end celebration that is common to so many of our cultures, let’s reflect on our roles in this imperfect world. If you profess to follow a Perfect Master like Jesus, Buddha or Mohandas Gandhi, this can be a season of renewal and a time to recommit to their principles.

I wish you all a happy, healthy and prosperous new year.