My first new set of wheels was a forest green, 1996 Jeep Cherokee. It’s been most places I’ve been and brings up many memories. Back in a North Carolina snowfall, I once locked the keys inside when it was still running. My Dad and I drove it across country with my cat. My cat, so distressed about an outing to the vet, once peed in the passenger’s seat. I made countless efforts to do away with that stench. Loren, during our second date, pretended to ignore the scent while sitting in the same spot. My Jeep performed amazingly well during its 173,500 miles on our road of adventures.
My Dad recently took ownership of the Jeep and decided to put it up for sale. We hadn’t sold a vehicle in many years. My Mom talked about parking the Jeep with a for sale sign on a street corner. That seemed to go against my philosophy of knowing your target audience. My Dad talked about placing an ad in the newspaper. I told him fewer people read the papers since the last time he sold a car. We also discussed websites specializing in selling cars. Ebay Motors was mentioned.
I recommended trying social media first. Tell your friends and family first, right? Tell people in your network. I told my Dad to shoot pictures of the Jeep. I would publish the pictures on social media. If the effort failed, we would have a go at more traditional methods.
I tried LinkedIn and Twitter first. Shortly after 9:30 Friday morning, I posted the following message on LinkedIn. “Please let me know if you are interested in buying this 1996 Jeep Cherokee Sport for $1,200? Contact me for details. Thank you.” I included one picture, the same photo you see above. The first reply arrived in my in-box two minutes later. I exchanged e-mails with a number of people. Thirty-five minutes after I posted the orginal LinkedIn message, I received a reply with the following words: “I’ll take it.”
Using social media, I sold a 15-year-old car with 173,500 miles in 35 minutes. And I sold it for the asking price of $1200.
Some of my former co-workers mocked me for driving such an old vehicle. An old friend on Facebook asked me jokingly if I still locked The Club on the steering wheel. My Dad gassed up the Jeep at Costco and someone who saw the for-sale sign asked to look under the hood. He then offered $1200 and said he had the cash at home. He was second in line to the LinkedIn buyer. An owner of a local restaurant wanted to visit and look at the Jeep, but she was third in line. The guy on Facebook who said he’d pay full asking price was fourth on the waiting list.
Maybe I got lucky. Maybe there’s something about an old Jeep my cat and I never appreciated. But using my social media network, I speedily found people who I never knew had such interest in cars. The following line is worth repeating:
Using social media, I sold a 15-year-old car with 173,500 miles in 35 minutes.
I spent a portion of the weekend watching Mr. Mom. I’m convinced the movie is on a list of films cable TV plugs in when schedules need to fill a cinematic hole. I’ve watched Michael Keaton play Mr. Mom more times than I’ve seen him dress up as the dark Cape Crusader. But this experience affected me differently.
This time I tuned in more to the movie’s message about difficult, economic times. I connected to the father who, to the theme music of Rocky, eventually approached raising kids and running a home with the same strategic tenacity as he approached his job as a car engineer.
I once dreamed of appearing on television as a network correspondent. I imagined myself based in a sophisticated city living off laptops and hotel rooms, occasionally looking at life through the window. But during my last few years as a TV reporter, I began to realize the number of times I missed a family moment while I covered a story (or sat in a meeting) that provided little passion for me. Something struck me. No matter how good I was or how good I got at my career, the achievement would bring minor fame and respect from colleagues. Then they would move onto the rest of their lives.
Even the most renowned members of our industries gain brief notoriety and if they really hit it big, might be remembered by pop culture or by insiders who appreciate the nuances of their field of interest. Woodward and Bernstein are legends, but I don’t daydream about them on a regular basis or find serenity by contemplating their achievements. My path in local news was not about to disrupt government corruption at the highest levels and leaping to a network would ensure I would miss years of family time. I might travel the world and meet leaders as a network journalist, but in the end, I would be a legend in my own mind.
My true legacy will live on only with family. They learn from me. I learn from them. Like many men if not most, I once feared earning the lesser of two salaries. I once feared not meeting manly standards. But after years of conference room meetings, covering big stories, being recognized and watching office politics swirl around me, I was done with that scenario. I proved I can survive and excel in that environment and it bored and frustrated me.
A friend told me, even if financially feasible, he could not stay home with the kids. He wasn’t built for that. I laughed inside. That’s all I wanted. My work achievements quickly paled in comparison to teaching children values and being beside them for the simple things in life. While I build my new business under my rules and by my time, my schedule is flexible for family. I’m probably more passionate about work than in years because I found the balance I desperately sought. I don’t need a rush hour drive, a desk, daily meetings and live shots to define who I am. What’s more manly (or perhaps crazy) than turning down a regular two-week paycheck to blaze your own trail?
While building The Flip Side, I might also turn into a mom taxi or start cooking some dinners. I might take pride in an organized house with the same zeal I take pride in writing a perfect script. I’ve already learned the challenge of a corporate job and maintaining a household are equally daunting. Mr. Mom eventually shaved his beard, dumped the old T-shirt, stopped feeling sorry for himself and learned building a family was as or more important than building a car. If being manly is succeeding at a good job with a good salary, then I earned my man card long ago and played the role of stud. And if sometimes playing dad, Mr. Mom and business owner aren’t enough to meet society’s and my own expectations of being a man, I’ll go cut down some trees, change a high up light bulb or drive around the family taxi while wearing my Miami Dolphins cap and rubbing the stubble covering my face. Instead of building a false legacy, I’ll be manly my way. Just don’t ask me to buy a mini-van.
Part 3 in a series: Keith speaks to the Phoenix Public Library’s Leadership Academy participants about why if you put on way too much makeup, he may Tweet about you.
When my husband Keith recently spoke to the Phoenix Chapter of PRSA, he talked about how PR professionals can improve their chances of getting reporters to cover stories about their clients. That conversation isn’t complete without a discussion about social media. But Keith also stressed something so simple and obvious: Make friends with a reporter.
Here’s what he means. Someone in PR last week left Keith a voicemail on his cell phone about a client he hopes to get on TV. Mr. PR had no idea but his timing couldn’t have been worse. Keith is at home on paternity leave, plus he’s got a lot on his mind and is on crutches after falling off a ladder and seriously injuring his knee.
Some reporters will conveniently forget about your message even if they’re sitting at their desk doing nothing more than watching the World Cup, Wimbledon, NBA Finals or a copy of their live shot from the day before. But Keith had lunch twice before with this PR contact. They worked on several stories in the past. And they just didn’t talk clients over pasta and Mexican food. They talked about their families, futures and common interests.
So while he sat inside our car outside Einstein Bagels with our newborn in the car seat in back and his leg aching in a knee immobilizer in front, Keith called back. The client’s story was somewhat time sensitive, and considering Keith is unavailable to cover it himself, Mr. PR didn’t want to hand it off to anyone who would just slap it together.
Keith called someone at work he knew would take ownership of the project and most likely you’ll see a special report on the client during a newscast near you. This is what Keith means about making friends with a reporter. With so much talk about social media and picking an email subject certain to grab attention, sometimes good ‘ole fashion face-to-face networking is still the way to go in modern marketing. Is it possible to make the same connection with a Tweet, email or wall post? Sure. But not everyone online invests the time to talk about their kids or dogs when deadlines are on everyday’s calendar.
Most journalists might tell you there’s no time for lunch, but trust me. Many ensure they get one sometimes even when they shouldn’t. (Ever see what happens when free food arrives in a newsroom?) You just might need to be flexible and persistent to get a sitdown with someone. And, at no fault of your own, some reporters just won’t work with you. But it’s worth a try.
Making friends this way (mixed in with some social media) might make clients very happy in the future.
Our guest blogger is friend and former colleague Paul Barton, Director of Internal Communication at Hawaiian Airlines. Here’s what he has to share about employee benefits communications:
There are some unique aspects to communicating employee benefits information to employees and understanding these aspects can help you formulate a more effective communication strategy. Here are five unique aspects of employee benefits communications and ways you might be able to leverage them.
• 401(k), health, dental and vision plans are very personal. The more personally relevant your communications are, the greater impact they will have.
• The families of your employees might be a key audience for your communications. A spouse of an employee might be the decision-maker for what plans to enroll in. Consider sending communications home and inviting families to employee benefits fairs.
• Benefit plan vendors typically send lots of communications to your employees. Coordinate with them. Know when their materials are going out and what messages they’re sending. They might be able to incorporate some of your messaging in their communications. They also might be willing to use your corporate look and feel (typeface and colors) as well as your logo on their printed materials. Ask them. Some use templates and are unwilling to change. You never know until you ask.
• Review vendor contractual commitments. Vendors often commit a specified dollar amount to communication efforts when their contract is first agreed upon. Sometimes, if they’ve been a long-time provider, those commitments fall by the wayside and are forgotten.
• Benefit plan vendors typically have websites specifically for your employees. Review the content and check for consistency with your corporate messages. Find out if they are willing to use your corporate branding on their website. Again, you never know until you ask.
This is the week of goodie bags, last minute RSVPs and a cake from Costco. My daughter is turning three and Saturday is her first birthday party with friends joining the fun. But the art of preparation took two tracks after a phone call Tuesday. My grandmother died. Her name was Dorothy. Our family called her Dodo. I was not only her granddaughter, but her power of attorney.
So after the tears dried, I was suddenly in charge of planning a funeral, one plotted out years ago to take place in Dodo’s beloved old home of Chicago. She would travel one last time back to the Windy City, where she left for Arizona.
Who knew a permit was needed to plan her trip back? Who knew even though she prepaid for this day, the prices of “third party services” increased with inflation and a check for the differences needed to be overnighted to the mortuary? I needed to find a rabbi and gently handle relatives who had their own two cents on how things should be handled. There was the call to stop Dodo’s BlueCross coverage. And arrangements must still be made for her things in her room at her group home. My brother? He lives in Tokyo. Tough for him to help several time zones away. Finalizing Dodo’s finances is a task for a future day. After faxes and phone calls, the service is settled for Monday. And I can’t even go. I’m eight months pregnant.
But before the new week begins, I plan to take a breath. I’ve got goodie bags and pizza to think of. A new doll house and a play table and chairs set must be assembled. Three-year-olds will be judging my party planning skills and probably so will their parents. Two emotionally opposite events in two cities … and all in one week.
