True To My Word

Dave

Windsor, Ontario
Thanksgiving Weekend
One ex ago

The Asian district looked like the China Town of any major North American city. Restaurant. Restaurant. Grocery store. Restaurant. Gift shop. Restaurant. We randomly selected a place for dinner and hoped for the best.

We were aiming for Chinese, familiar and safe. What we got was a Vietnamese Karaoke bar and restaurant. The owner’s daughter, one of the few women visible and the only person willing to attempt English, seated us at a table and handed us menus. Even if there had been any light, we still would not have been able to decipher our choices. I looked her in the eye and said, “Three courses. No heads. Surprise me”. She repeated my order. I smiled. The ex looked worried.

Ernest young men sang Vietnamese songs of love and loss. Some of their choices had English subtitles. The words and pictures flashed across a large screen that filled almost an entire wall. Dinner, most of it unrecognizable, was delightful. We appeared to be good sports, so they asked me to sing. I told them that I would sing Locomotive Breath from Jethro Tull. They offered Locomotion. I politely declined.

Why Locomotive Breath? Who knows? But for over ten years I have stuck to that offer. If Locomotive Breath would ever be an option, I would perform Karaoke. Needless to say, I have avoided public humiliation for years.

There have been close calls. The Beachwood Chamber of Commerce has sponsored a community pancake breakfast for years. Larry Weissman, the self-anointed Karaoke King, was one of our featured attractions. Knowing that as president I participated in everything, Larry approached me about performing. I promised, at a Board of Directors meeting, to sing. Luckily, he never added the song to his system.

I like Karaoke. Sally and I have been asked to judge competitions. I simply respect my audience too much to inflict my singing on them.

My streak ended Tuesday evening. Dreams Punta Cana has nightly entertainment. Tuesday’s was billed as “Dreams Got Talent”. This sounded like a perfectly harmless guest talent show. We figured that they had rounded up performers during the day much the way this had been organized on the cruise ship. Nope, it was Karaoke.

The first few singers had more moxie than talent. Then Evie took the stage. A polished performer who sang in French, her talents and ego were wasted on a show that had no judges or prizes. She wowed the crowd and chased away some of the more casual participants. The staff worked the audience looking for performers. They asked me if I would sing. I offered to look at the book, secure in the knowledge that my song wouldn’t be there and that I was still safe.

The book was HUGE. I could sense danger. There were over a half dozen Jethro Tull songs. Did I really want to sing Locomotive Breath? What about Cross-eyed Mary? Check and mate.

A day and a half in the sun, a couple of cigars, and G-d knows how many rum runners had already taken their toll on my voice. It was 10 PM and I was drinking coffee. It didn’t matter. If I didn’t do this, if I didn’t get up there on that stage in front of a couple hundred strangers and sing Locomotive Breath, then I had been lying for over ten years. I wrote my selection on the blue paper and handed my choice, and my dignity, to a young woman wearing a Super Girl costume.

There were no judges. There were no awards. I neither finished first nor last. The stage was massive. Tie lighting, intense. All I could see was the monitor in front of me. I grabbed the microphone and apologized to Ian Anderson.

Some of the performers were caught unawares as their songs started abruptly. I smiled as the album version, with its long piano introduction, began to play. I had enough time to gather myself.

The audience didn’t know the song. I was dressed conservatively. As the quiet piano played, they may have thought that I was about to sing another Sinatra-like song of the early 60’s. I thanked them for coming and joked as if I was about to leave the stage. As the intro switched tempo and grew in power, I ordered “louder” to the DJ. I couldn’t sing if I had wanted to. Instead, I growled a sing-song dramatic reading. Caught by surprise, the crowd gasped at the intensity. The MC made a point of thanking me as I returned to my seat after my performance.

What took the most courage this vacation? Was it swimming with nurse sharks and giant sting rays? Hell no. I had done that before. What took the most courage was to keep my word.

Freedom

Dave

Freedom.
When thinking about breakfast, it is important to remember that the chicken is involved, but the pig is committed.

The government in Tunisia has fallen. Hosni Mubarak’s reign of Egypt has abruptly ended. Forty-two years of Colonel Muammar el-Qaddafi’s dictatorial control of Libya may have ended by the time you read this. Bahrain is in play. Other Arab dictators and kingdoms are in jeopardy. Freedom is in the air. The Arabs are demanding honest voting and real representational government.

The last two months have taught us the meaning of commitment. The people in Cairo were committed. They took to the streets, peacefully, and protested for change. Mubarak’s secret police, riding horses and camels(!) and wielding clubs and swords, charged into the crowds. The people stood their ground. The government was toppled.

The people of Bahrain are committed. They may not, however, know the first rule of dictatorships. A couple of days ago, a group of protestors, when approached by the army, took off their shirts, fell to their knees, and dared the military to shoot them. Here’s the rule: Don’t dare a guy with a gun to shoot you! The people of Bahrain are committed. They are willing to risk their lives to be free.

We don’t bother to vote. We don’t bother to even register to vote. We in the U.S. are free enough to not give a damn.

We may not over-achieve in the pursuit and maintenance of our own freedom, but we, the U.S., believes that we are the arbiters of who is free as well as who can or can not handle democracy.

We are thrilled to see Qaddafi overthrown. We exercised our G-d given authority to decide right and wrong and took out Saddam Hussein. But the repressive regime next door to Saddam, headed by the Saudi royal family, is our BAFF (Best Arab Friend Forever).

I am always amazed to hear people speculate as to whether the Arabs or Muslims can handle democracy. Who can? The cradles of democracy are Italy and Greece. Their last two thousand years have had many high and low points. Democracy has always been in the eye of the beholder. Remember, we had to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1965. We had to. A sizeable portion of our current population would not have experienced democracy without it.

Thanks to the Voting Rights Act of 1965, minorities now have the right to ignore Tuesdays in November the way the rest of us do.

We’re involved, but we are not committed.

Coach C.

Dave

 

“Gentlemen, you are not jewelry store managers.  You are businessmen who happen to be in the jewelry business.”

The speaker, Burt K., a tall imposing man who looked like a New York Jew but sounded like a man who had lived in Dallas his entire life, delivered that line as if he really meant it.  He didn’t.  He was a terrible supervisor, possibly the worst I ever had.  But, he was proof that you can learn something of value from anyone.  You just have to pay attention.

A young businessman, a self-employed guy in his early thirties, heard that I mentor several entrepreneurs.  Most of the people I’ve coached have been insurance agents, but I have also worked with other professionals, such as doctors and attorneys, as well as retail establishments and not-for-profit agencies.  What really attracted this guy, a service provider, was my price.  FREE.  I refuse to charge for my advice.  Of course, it may only be worth what they are paying.

Our guy, we’ll call him Rob, asked for my help.  The problem was that I had already been coaching him for three months.  He hadn’t been paying attention.  Since I refused to begin every sentence or every email with the words “Rule One or Remember This”, he had missed everything.

I brought out the 2 x 4 Friday morning.  Below are a few rules I shared with Rob.  Bluntly.  I also let him know that this would all appear in my next blog.  Many of you will find the following self-evident.  Indulge me.  I know that Rob isn’t the only small businessperson that needs to read this.

1.  The customer/client/patient you are with is the most important person in the world.  Believe it and live it.  If you don’t believe it, pretend.  If you can’t pretend, do something else.

Every meeting with a customer is like being in a restaurant while on a first date.  If you are checking out the room instead of focusing completely at the person across the table, you are doomed to failure.  Unless your spouse is about to go into labor or a parent is at death’s door, put away the cell phone.  You don’t need it.  Don’t even put it on vibrate.  It’s a distraction.  Your customer deserves 100% of you.

2.  Ask More Questions.  Most businesspeople fail to ask enough questions.  You may know what you want to sell, but you may have no idea what your customer wants to buy.  Stop.  Throw away that script.  Talk to your clients.  They have made time to meet with you.  Why?  You can’t solve their problems until you know what their problems are.

I recently told a vendor exactly what I wanted.  He didn’t understand and he didn’t ask any questions.  He had no idea how important this was to me and how much I was willing to spend.  He underestimated my needs and wants and lowballed the price.  Total failure.  I didn’t get what I really wanted and he left hundreds of dollars on the table.

3. Communicate.  Some appointments can’t be made.  Some deadlines will be missed.  Blizzards happen.  OK.  Call your customers and let them know.  Don’t force the client to track you down like some escaped convict.  We will understand and forgive errors if you disclose them.  Skip the excuses.  Just tell us what happened and how you will fix it. 

Rob was surprised that the first three rules had nothing to do with his particular business.  They don’t.  These basic rules apply to all businesses, even law firms.  Paying attention, listening, and treating people properly won’t guarantee success.  They are simply the foundation.  I need Rob to master these basics before we can move on to more difficult assignments.

There are lessons to be learned from the most unlikely of sources, if we are paying attention. One of my most important rules came from an unpleasant bully who managed by fear.  Are you paying attention?  We are surrounded by teachers.

Cornered

Dave

 
Occupying more space than ever
Looking out at a vast expanse

I’m cornered.

My error
My doing
No one to blame but me.
Too trusting
Delegated
   When I should have taken control.

What once was two
Is now three
What once was good
Is now
   Not.

I’m cornered.

Partnership was once revered
Now its just passé

I’m cornered.

My future
Now past
No way to reclaim what is gone.
Stopped worrying
Felt safe
   My timing could not have been worse.

What once was two
Is now three
What once was good
Is now
   NOT.

I’m cornered.

I Go, You Go

Dave

New readers of this blog may be shocked to learn that I can be a bit of a jerk. The truth is that I can, at times, be a real ass. As previously noted a few months ago, I can be judgmental, self-righteous, and unabashedly opinionated.

I can be rather intolerant when it comes to bad grammar. My mother reflexively corrected my grammar as a child.  It didn’t matter where we were.  No sentence could end with a preposition. Lazy words, such as Like, were not accepted. This is not a complaint. I never resented her interruptions. I didn’t welcome them. I simply understood that these were serious errors that needed to be addressed.

Did my children resent my policing of their language and grammar? I don’t know. I never asked.

I raise this issue because I have the devil of a time restraining myself whenever I hear adults misuse certain words. The biggest offense, the one that drives me nuts, is the substitution of goes for said or says.

There are days when people close to me completely abandon words such as said or says. The entire retelling of a conversation might include a half a dozen or more goes. Some sentences may include two or three offenses. It takes all of my self-control to remain silent.

Worse, this misuse of the word goes is becoming more common. Today, however, may have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I was at a seminar hosted by a major insurance company. The speaker, nationally known and respected, was funny, informative, and capable of ending on time. All three are very important. Unfortunately, his grammar was atrocious. Among other things, he repeatedly substituted goes for said.

Sitting there, working hard to absorb the valuable parts of his message, I was doing my best to ignore the goes. But he wouldn’t stop. My mother might have interrupted his presentation. I simply repositioned myself in my seat. Again and again and again. The people behind me probably speculated that I was suffering from either hemorrhoids or poison ivy.

So, if a professional, a best selling author and educator, stumbles through the difficult terrain of the English language, how can I judge harshly average Americans who trip over the usage of goes vs. said? I promise to grit my teeth, shift my weight, and to work harder at remaining silent.

I’ll still be a jerk. It just won’t be as obvious.

A Brief Respite

Dave

“Enough with the politics. How about food? Why don’t you give us another recipe?”

This is a full service blog. Ask for another recipe and that’s what you get.

Regular readers may remember that I like to create Kosher, low carbohydrate meals and desserts. Past posts have detailed my pumpkin pie, my version of Chicken Cordon Bleu, and mashed cauliflower, a great substitute for mashed potatoes. Kosher meals do not mix meat and dairy so I may use fake meat and real cheese or real meat and fake cheese. Low carb diets, whether for weight loss or diabetes, require that we eliminate as many unnecessary carbs as possible. This isn’t a search for absolute zero. Some of you on stricter diets may choose to eliminate one or two of the ingredients.

Today we tackle White Chicken Chili for two.

1 pound        Skinless, boneless chicken thighs
2 T                  Vegetable Oil
1                     Small Onion, chopped
2                     Small Crimini Mushrooms, sliced
2                     Cloves of Garlic, chopped
4 ounces      Diced Green Chili Peppers (small can)
1t                    Oregano
1t                    Cumin
½ t                  Cayenne Pepper
14.5 ounces Low Sodium Chicken Broth (can)
15 ounces     White Kidney Beans, drained (Cannelloni)
1 slice             Tofutti (fake Mozzarella Cheese)
4                     Saltines (very optional)

1. Clean, trim, and cut the chicken into large, bite size pieces. Cook the chicken. I stir fried mine in the wok. Feel free to bake or boil if that is easier for you.

2. Heat some vegetable oil in a large saucepan. Slowly cook the onion and mushrooms. Stir in the garlic, chili peppers, cumin, cayenne pepper and oregano. Cook till tender. Stir in the chicken soup and beans. Add in the chicken and bring this to a light boil. Reduce to a lower heat and simmer for 20 minutes.

3. I served this hot over a couple of crunched up saltines. Each bowl was topped with half a slice of the fake cheese.

We enjoyed this with a salad of mixed greens, carrots, and cucumber. I found this to be a great cold weather meal. The chicken thigh meat gives it much more flavor.

Wine selection? I’m not sure. I suspect John Boehner might recommend orange soda.

Reckless

Dave

There are two types of reckless drivers. Some manage to never have an accident. Their cars have no scratches or dents. Unfortunately, they leave in their wake death and destruction as others are affected by their actions. The other type of reckless driver is more familiar. The daily news features stories of people texting right up to the moment that they slammed into the parked car or school bus.

My Republican friends used to accuse Democrats of hating George Bush. I never met anyone who hated our most recent president. They didn’t like him. They certainly didn’t respect him. But George Bush was too insubstantial to generate hate, a strong emotional reaction. What I often perceived was resentment. People resented Mr. Bush’s ability to go through life oblivious of the affect of his actions, untouched by his mistakes, and seemingly unaware of his place in history. While others stressed about the human condition, George W. Bush appeared to be the living embodiment of the expression that Ignorance is Bliss.

Then there is Sarah Palin. As I am writing this, a young woman, a Congresswoman, is fighting for her life in a Tucson hospital. Eighteen people were shot. Six have already died. One of the fatalities was a nine year old child. One of the fatalities was a federal judge. I can only hope that no one else will have died by the time you read this.

Why did I mention the former Alaskan governor? Up to an hour or so ago, Mrs. Palin was “targeting” Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and other elected officials. Targeting is the correct word. Her site featured a map with bull’s-eyes. Her rhetoric, inflammatory.

There is a campaign to take back our country. This assumes that someone or some group took our country from us. It idealizes some imaginary world, circa 1950’s, where everyone, or at least everyone that mattered, was white, Christian, and middle class. Mom stayed home and wore dresses. Dad went to work. The U.S. was #1 and the biggest question was who made the best cars, GM, Ford, or Chrysler.

That time never existed!

The United States has been a dominant country throughout much of its existence. We are a world power. We can be a beacon of hope. We have also suffered the stain of slavery, Japanese internment, and unequal justice. In many respects, we are a better country today, January 8, 2011, then we ever were before. And we have plenty of room for improvement.

We can not move forward as a country by targeting those who disagree with us. The U.S. Constitution is a living document that has been amended twenty-seven times. It will be amended again as our country’s needs change in the future. We can no more return to 1954 then we can relive 1854. Nor should we want to.

There are 435 members of the House of Representatives. There are 100 Senators. It is probably easier for you to name a half a dozen with whom you disagree, six that you would like to see replaced, than five that you always support. That’s representative government.

You don’t point guns at people. No targets. No bull’s-eyes. No bull shit. Swimming pools have adult only time. We have come to a point where it has become necessary to declare an Adults Only time for public discourse.

We have suffered too long from the actions of the reckless. It is time to escort them from the public stage.

Tearing Up Like John Boehner At A Tanning Booth

Dave

Do you remember your first car? I do. My brother Jeff and I purchased a 1967 Electra 225. My first new car was also a Buick, a 1975 Skylark. It was new. It was blue. And it was a piece of crap that had rust spots within months from that day that I drove it off the lot. My favorite car, so far, was my second Volvo, a red S80 T6. That was a great car.

I think it is funny how much joy we get from some of our possessions. Sometimes, like my Volvo, it is because of the performance of the item. Sometimes it is the back story that creates the value.

My living room television is a 27” Magnavox. The picture is just as great as it was the day I purchased the TV on a Friday afternoon in August of 1991. I still laugh every time I think about how I got it home. The May Company salesman and I couldn’t fit the huge box into my Honda Accord. This was years before flat screens. May Company wanted $30 to deliver the television to my home, three blocks away. I drove home, walked back, and talked the store into lending me a dolly. As I carted the TV on the dolly through the streets of South Euclid, I answered the quizzical looks I received with “They’re looting TV’s at May Company!”

Yes, I can be silly at times.

I was thinking about this habit of rating and categorizing things earlier today as I began the difficult task of packing up my office. A lot is changing in the next two weeks. Jeff and I are adding another partner to our business, changing our name, and moving. On January 1, 2011 Bogart, Cunix & Associates becomes Bogart Cunix & Browning LLC. We move into our new offices next Wednesday.

My current office is my absolute favorite office to date and I’m not completely ready to leave.

Our first Bogart Cunix office was in the Darling Building on Chagrin. It was comfortable. It was functional. And it was inexpensive. That five year lease ended in 2005 and we were ready for bigger, nicer space. We were shown offices all around Beachwood, but we couldn’t find anything nearly as nice as the suite on Science Park. It was one of the first offices we were shown. The building was incredible with lots of glass and granite. But the space was a little more than we needed and a little more money than we wanted to pay.

Still, the office was amazing. All it needed was a fresh coat of paint and new carpet. We finally realized that the suite was too nice to pass up. Five plus years later and I still consider myself lucky to have found this place.

What makes it so special? What makes it home? The view from my desk – trees, and sometimes even deer. The ceilings are high. We talked our way into daylight florescent lights that allow all of the colors in the paintings to be seen. And yes, the art is important.

Our office was featured in the Plain Dealer a few years ago. We don’t have “office art”. Our art reflects Jeff’s taste and mine. Much of it was created by clients and local artists. We have two Strachov prints. We have two Hector Vega’s. No other insurance office in the State of Ohio looks like mine.

Did I mention the bookshelves? Al Franken and Chaim Potok. J. R. R. Tolkien and L. B. J., the former president not the former Cavalier. My office is safe haven. People come here to talk. Religion and politics, nothing is out of bounds here.

Our new office is on Landerbrook Drive in Mayfield Heights. The building is, in many ways, nicer. It is also ten years newer. My personal space will even be larger, an extra thirty square feet which takes me up to almost 350. The build out is based on my drawings.

And yet, I’m not completely ready to leave.

So as I remove the plaques from the walls and pack my books, I will take one last mental picture of this office. I will remember the clients who came here, the conversations we had, and the special moments we shared.

And when it is all over, I will take one last look out the window and hope to see the deer.

Now Is The Time To Bribe Jim Renacci

Dave

Jim Renacci defeated John Boccieri last month in a loud, ugly campaign for Congress. Residents of Cuyahoga County were forced to view countless negative commercials for candidates that weren’t on our ballots. At best, we got to pretend that we rejected both of them.

Mr. Renacci is now accepting cash payments. Let me explain. Congressman-elect Renacci’s campaign raised $1.1 million from individuals and $317,000 in donations from political action committees. You know that that there were more than a million and a half in awful TV ads. Who or what was the source of the other money? Jim Renacci! In what is now a common practice, the candidate loaned his own campaign money, $750,000. The Renacci for Congress campaign spent over $2.2 million.

Jim Renacci is now hosting fund raisers in Washington D.C. He is meeting with PAC’s and lobbyist in an effort to retire his campaign debt. But his campaign debt is owed to one major benefactor, him. If you donate $5,000 to help retire the debt, you are, in fact, donating $5,000 to Mr. Renacci.

Giving money now assures you that your donation will actually go all the way to the target.

Let’s be fair. This practice of legal bribery is common and well publicized. Rich Democrats are just as likely as rich Republicans to loan money to their campaigns. Loan not give. And, this isn’t reserved for federal office seekers. Terri Hamilton Brown, a recent candidate for the new Cuyahoga County Executive, loaned $50,000 to her campaign.

We have established that this practice of lending money to your own campaign is legal, common, and performed by both Democrats and Republicans. May I add that it is also reprehensible?

My Ears Were Burning

Dave

Loshon hora, or evil speech, is strictly prohibited in Judaism.  We are taught, as children, that Loshon hora hurts not just the subject of the gossip, but that harm is also done to the person who utters Loshon hora and the person who hears it.  Truth is not the issue.  Speaking poorly of someone, even a simple, factual recitation of an individual’s most spectacular failures, is wrong and should be avoided. 

Three victims – the speaker, the listener, and the subject.  It is easy to be victimized by Loshon hora in 2010.  I was last night. 

The red light was flashing on my Blackberry.  I had missed a couple of calls during dinner.  One even left a voice mail message.  I quickly checked the voice mail.  What I heard was a conversation between two guys.  At least one of them has yet to learn how to lock his smart phone. 

My golf buddy, Karl, “ass dials” his family and friends all of the time, often while he is on the course.  These two guys were in a far more private setting.  They talked about many of their mutual friends and all of it was clearly recorded on my voice mail.  I knew that it was my responsibility to erase the conversation, but I couldn’t do it.  Like much of gossip, it was banal, self-serving, and boring.  Yet I listened. 

Three victims – the speaker, the listener, and the subject. 

Were they hurt by the Loshon hora?  Yes in that we are harmed by anything that leads us away from being the best people we can be.  Me?  I was both a listener and a subject, a victim who listened long enough to hear my own name mentioned.  I have no one to blame other than myself.

 I can’t tell you what they said about me.  The voice mail ended soon after I became the subject.  And the truth is that it wouldn’t matter.  The harm was already done.