News that Steuben Glass will close its only factory – in Corning, NY – at the end of November offers another reminder that the free market is Darwinian Theory played on the economic stage.  That’s a good thing if you think markets act rationally; not so good if you like fine art and rare craftsmanship. Which explains why I’m conflicted about the news.

Here are two interesting passages from an AP news story covering Steuben Glass’ plight:

“They totally lost their way,” sniffed Jeff Purtell, a Steuben dealer in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. “If your design department is pathetic, your costs are prohibitive, and your marketing — and vision for the future — is not successful, then you’re doomed whether you’re making Steuben glass or Twinkies.”

 And:

“If you took away the understanding that it might never make money and sold it to somebody for whom it had to make money, that was the beginning of the end,” said Mary Jean Madigan, author of “Steuben Glass: An American Tradition in Crystal.”

The first passage is a classic analysis of a business failing to meet the demands of the marketplace.  The second passage suggests that the venture was never equipped to be a participant in the free market in the first place. 

I suspect both passages are accurate to some degree.  But what’s most likely the case is that the style of the day no longer has as much shelf space for Steuben’s works of art, as summed up rather nicely here:

“I often wondered why the last generation, maybe two, cut down on Steuben,” mused collector Thomas Dimitroff. “The young folks don’t want it. Same thing with silver. There’s a different attitude. Every year we’re getting further away from the Victorian love of clutter, quality or not.” 

Few benefactors will indefinitely sink money into an artistic venture against the headwinds of changing tastes.  And that’s the hardest thing for any artist to appreciate; they, too, participate in the free market of trends, styles and tastes.  One day you’re making art, the next day it becomes clutter. 

 Some of the artists in the colony may make a good buck for a while, but sooner or later they too will have to adapt just like any free-market type to keep the gravy train rolling.  Unless they prefer starving for their art, which, of course, they are free to do as well.

Steve Jobs’ passing prompted more than a moment of reflection for me, and the contemplation took a few interesting detours. It started with the sad awareness that the light of human greatness has been dimmed and dead-ended with a sense that these days the world is disinclined to restore the lost luminosity.

Our media has a bad habit of cheapening words, such as genius, brilliant or exceptional. Few people deserve these labels; we should be assessed a penalty for language abuse whenever we employ them without merit. Jobs deserved every superlative that distinguished him from other celebrated contemporaries. Put it this way, Bill Gates is smart, but Steve Jobs was mystical. Spock vs. Merlin.

Ultimately, Jobs’ legacy is one of striving for excellence, pursuing a vision, and working tirelessly to deliver value to society through the mechanisms of the marketplace and the magic of invention. Imagine the number of obstacles he encountered throughout his professional life, especially early on. Yet, he persevered, and in so doing provided thousands of people employment and millions of people new ways to connect with the world.

Then there are the Occupy Wall Street denizens. If we are on the lookout for the next Steve Jobs, don’t bother looking among them. To borrow their slogan, Jobs was a 1 percenter. Funny how so many of the 99 percenters have no problem using the gifts of his creativity and productivity.

A little over a week ago the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) issued new communication guidelines that established tighter control over the agency’s external messaging.  In other words, they instituted what all properly managed communications functions have already put in place to ensure that official company messages are being delivered through the proper channels at the appropriate time. 

Reporters and the media in general may not like this practice, but it’s preferable to quoting individuals who may have no authoritative knowledge about the company’s positions, or how the company arrived at those positions. Sure, the official company line may be editorially sterile, but it has the virtue of being, well, official.

Of course, those who harbor political animus towards the current administration and particularly the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, otherwise known as Obamacare, find the new HHS policy contemptible.  One web post at nro.com was titled “Health and Human Service (sic), Pravda Style.”  This article  references a “Soviet-style power grab.” 

I’m no fan of the current administration, its policies or the bureaucratic creep taking place under its watch, but the reaction to this sensible HHS policy is overdone.  In today’s world of social media and the proliferation of citizen journalism, organizations increasingly need to maintain and manage processes and official channels to deliver authorized messages.  Rogue communications present a host of reputational, market and legal risks, which no organization should willingly or unwittingly enable.

So, yes, communications policies are about managing the message.  For those of us who work on the corporate side of the ledger, that’s becoming an increasingly more difficult challenge every day.

My most indelible memory of September 11, 2001, is of silence and stillness.  I worked in a suburban office building in northern New Jersey, far enough from Manhattan to consider it a half a world away, but close enough to see the New York skyline in some detail from nearby heights.  The building was nestled along the southbound lanes of the Garden State Parkway, but you would only know that by the sound of traffic that was otherwise hidden from view by a narrow strip of overgrown woods. 

With word of the attacks spreading throughout the office, people trying to contact loved ones, and the growing realization that this was a day unlike any other before in our lives, work ceased.  Gradually, numbers of us made our way to the building’s ground floor, where a conference room was commissioned to show the coverage of the day’s carnage and chaos.  We watched wordlessly, with occasional gasps and sniffles articulating the collective shock and grief.

In times of stress, trauma and grief, routine serves as the mind’s protective insulation. Come noon, routine delivered me to lunch, where I was joined by two of my colleagues.  We ate outside on the patio, the area nearest to the parkway.  We soon realized that the parkway was virtually empty. 

We didn’t say much during our lunch and once we were finished with our meals we just sat for a while, each deep in our thoughts under the bluest possible end-of-summer sky I had ever seen before or have ever seen since.  That’s when I noticed hearing….. nothing.  No cars, no planes, no yard equipment whining in the distance.  No bird songs, rustling leaves, zipping bees, barking dogs.  Nothing but a gentle breeze that brought more texture than sound.   I wondered if this is how the deaf experience the world.  

The stillness of those moments registered in stark contrast to the horror that had occurred 30 miles to the east, and in Virginia and Pennsylvania. It was as though the world has a finite quantity of sound at any given time, and those three points of the earth required the full quota that morning and afternoon.

That evening, I said “I love you” to my son, not in the robotic way people say “Have a good day,” but meaningfully while looking directly into his eyes.  Every now and then I still say those words to him the same way I did back then.  Ten years ago too many people never had that last opportunity to express their heartfelt love to spouses, children, parents and siblings.  Remember and honor those we lost by saying those words like you mean it to the ones who deserve to hear them. 

At the height of summer I took a leave of absence from tweeting, blogging and following others within my extended online social network.   I had already virtually abandoned Facebook, and except for one recent post apologizing for my inattention to a number of friendvitations, I remain absent from the Facebook grid. 

I would have had misgivings about the hiatus if I suspected those who follow me on one platform or another would pine for my Solomonic contributions to the practice of communications or for my other haphazard musings.  (Cue chirping crickets sound effect.) Yep, just as I thought.

That’s alright.  As much as I enjoy my work, I’ve found that I have considerably less enthusiasm to write about it these days. I’ve had a few kind responses to some of my posts and these encouraged me to continue plunging ahead for a while. However, writing about communications is like narrating sea slug migration: once you’ve described the first inch of the journey, you’ve pretty well covered the next hundred miles.

Here and there I’m sure to find some communications-related topic to comment about. But I sense that I’ll be veering toward the random thoughts that tumble through my mind.  It’s certain to be a capricious, meandering journey, one that will feel as purposeless as a personal diary.  Hopefully, it will be of some interest and amusement to those who share my road. 

That said, chances are good that I’ll soon abandon Tumblr and this blog as my platform of choice.  I once referred to Tumblr as a temperamental supermodel. That analogy was overly generous; however prickly she may be, a supermodel at least has some good days.

See you down the road.

According to this article, Richard Edelman, CEO of Edelman (public relations), says that the current state of public trust in business and government is “dire.”  Through its thought leadership on the topic, Edelman (the firm) has elevated the concept of trust into one of its primary brand platforms, so I pay attention when Edelman (the CEO) has something to say about the topic. 

In the article, Edelman is quoted as saying: “Re-characterize your business as a public engagement business” to improve the way stakeholders perceive your organization.  Further, he says, “What people want in terms of corporate reputation is honesty, transparency and trust.”  That sure sounds good, but I admit to being underwhelmed.  Perhaps that’s because parsing the words reveals ideas that are great in theory, but difficult to achieve in reality.

 “Engagement” suggests some sort of civic kumbaya in which the public is consulted or directly participates in an organization’s decisions or activities.  That is like a dinosaur deliberately seeking a tar pit in which to become mired.  Unless your franchise to operate hangs in the balance, it’s better to advance your plans and tell people when and as necessary, rather than ignoring the sentiments of an engaged public whose expectations have been raised. 

“Honesty” seems like a given for garnering trust, but how do we decide what honesty means?  Anybody who advocates on behalf of a cause or a company is likely to withhold information deemed immaterial, irrelevant or counterproductive to the goal of earning the public’s approval.  Are these people being dishonest or are they properly representing their organization’s interests?  Certainly, lying is out of bounds, but a PR pro who isn’t polished at AFI (Alternative Factual Interpretation) is better suited for monkhood.

“Transparency” implies a standard of openness few organizations (especially public companies) would agree to, except under subpoena.  Competitive reasons alone dictate a high level of organizational opacity across the landscape of operational matters. 

Finally, “Trust” is predicated on authenticity.  Authenticity promises little more than matching deeds with words (beginning with the organization’s stated values).  In fact, the authentic enterprise operates according to a philosophy that acknowledges its own interests, while recognizing the imperative to do nothing that violates the law, standards of propriety, or the public interest.  Where there may be differences of opinion in matters related to the public interest, the authentic enterprise pledges only to listen with an open mind.

That promises no more than an organization should.  In other words, earning trust doesn’t require genuflection to innumerable groups with narrow and often competing interests (which too often is what the PR industry means when it refers to “the public”).  It does, however, mean being straightforward about what matters to your organization, the standards (including legal and ethical) you will uphold in the pursuit of what matters, and conducting your business accordingly. 

By operating with that type of authenticity, those who disagree with your business model, decisions and actions may voice their displeasure, but they can’t say you violated their trust. 

Sorry to put the brag on, but I have to take a moment to sing the praises of the people I work with.  Our team won the American Business Awards “Stevie” for 2011 Communications Department of the Year last night, representing the fourth consecutive year AECOM has walked away with the honor. 

My contributions are insignificant in comparison to the rest of the team.  Their hard work, long hours and willingness to tackle challenging assignments is a testament to the quality of the people on the team.  I never hear any of my colleagues say no to a request, despite the fact that nothing comes off their plates to make room for the new work.  And the execution of the work is unwaveringly strong. 

The best part, I get to work with truly enjoyable people.  Great job, everyone!  If we were a World Series winning team I would feel privileged if you voted me a quarter-share of the winnings.  Thanks for letting me share the honor you all earned.

As my friends and colleagues know, I’m a passionate fan of Ohio State football. I never thought I would be embarrassed to admit that.  But after reading the Sports Illustrated account of the school’s former head football coach, Jim Tressel, I wrestle with an even deeper problem for someone who keeps his guard up against cheats, liars and con artists: I’ve been snookered.

Tressel became Ohio State’s head coach a decade ago.  He projected a church deacon’s moral correctness, an ethos lifted directly from a Norman Rockwell canvas and an aw-shucks demeanor that allowed him to get away with eye-rolling hokum within the cynical and sordid world of Division 1 football.  After every game, win or lose, he and his players lined up in front of the Ohio State band to sing the alma mater.  He actually taught a course at the school — something like Football 101 — but, hey, they could call him professor.  He made sweater vests the uniform of a winner.

And, of course, he was a winner.  According to espn.com, since 2001, no school made more Bowl Championship Series (BCS) appearances than Ohio State. His teams shared or won seven Big Ten titles and the 2002 national championship. They’ve also won at least 10 games in each of the last six seasons (2005-10).

Most important, his teams had a 9-1 record against Michigan.  For that alone he will earn a modicum of forgiveness among OSU fans despite having completely violated our trust.

It’s a terrible thing to lose faith.  When we invest our loyalties with anybody or anything that isn’t an immediate family member, we make a statement about our social circle, ideologies, passions, preferences and proclivities.  In other words, the people and things we express our loyalty to shape our self image as much as the clothes we wear.  When that trust is violated, we stand like the mark with his pockets turned out while the three card monte operator scurries into the alley.

Those of us in reputation management understand that the bedrock of trust is authenticity.  Sooner or later, your (or your organization’s) authentic self will emerge. If that authentic self runs afoul of what the public has come to expect, prepare for battle stations.  As Jim Tressel now knows, you can manufacture an image (brand), but you can’t manufacture a soul.