39 Hours in 2001

Monday - 9/10/2001: 9:00 PM PST

Susan and I had been invited by our friends, Barry and Kathy, to a charity event at Nola’s Restaurant in Palo Alto.  Both floors of Nola’s were filled to capacity early as guests stood with their drinks sampling hors d’oeuvres.  The drawing card that Monday evening was the attendance of the San Francisco 49ers, together with their cheerleaders.  

Perhaps eight 49ers attended.  They sat by themselves at a couple of tables drinking beer, talking shop, and doing their best to ignore their surroundings.  Having run many events to which I’d invited sports celebrities, I knew this to be typical.  Athletes are gently pushed by the front office to make these appearances, and do so reluctantly.  They are bored by the familiar questions and unsolicited advice, keen to fulfill their obligations and depart.

The cheerleaders were an entirely different matter, many of whom attended.  Each was dressed identically: revealing red and white halter with sleeves, mini skirt in red with white accents, white boots, and stockings that give the appearance of legs turned copper brown from hours in a tanning salon.  Each carried gold pom-poms.  For reasons unknown they each wore heavy camera makeup, giving each of them a decidedly Fellini-esque appearance.  It was not flattering.

By 8:30 the football players were long gone, and we had grown weary of cheerleaders making an obvious point of passing by tables so that they could be admired.  We finished our meal and left for home.

Tuesday - 9/11/2001: 5:30 AM PST

San Francisco’s KCBS 740, the all news station, came to life on the clock radio.  I liked to listen to the news before getting out of bed, so just lay on my side snoozing as I soaked in the updates.  Having drifted back to sleep, I woke up to hear Stan Bunger report a breaking story: a small (sic) aircraft had just crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

As I lay there I recalled see photos of the B-25 that had lodged into the Empire State Building in 1945, and imagined a similar event.  Having flown privately I thought to myself: how could a single-engine aircraft even get close to a building in Manhattan without ATC stepping in to alert the pilot? 

Seeing that it was 5:50 on the clock, I knew I’d miss my 6:30 start time at the office, so quickly got out of bed, then went into the bathroom to shower and shave.  As usual, I closed the bathroom door so that I wouldn’t disturb Susan.

After showering, I opened the door to better hear the 6:00 AM news that would soon come on.  I immediately picked up on the reporting by a mildly excited Stan Bunger who was now confirming that a commercial airliner had struck the North Tower of the WTC, and done a devastating amount of damage.  Bunger told listeners that he was watching these “horrific images” live on television, inviting us to turn on our sets.

I woke Susan and told her.  My hair still wet, I quickly dressed in my sweats, went downstairs, and turned on the television.

9/11/2001: 6:02 AM PST

The black smoke from the North Tower, taken from a closely positioned camera, is much larger than I expected.  As I click through the channels, I can see the coverage on all the networks.  I stop at one, and within moments hear the anxious voice of the at-the-scene reporter, “Oh my God, there’s another plane coming!”

The TV camera, probably a few hundred feet from the WTC, is pointed at the North Tower, as nearby screams come through the set’s speakers, followed by the approaching roar of jet engines.  At 6:03 AM PST, the doppler effect from the engine noise abruptly ceases.  I can’t see what is happening as the camera is fixed on the blaze from the NorthTower, but I hear a muffled explosion.

The camera shudders, then more screams, and panicked voices competing to be heard.  “Another plan has hit the Trade Center,” yells the on-scene reporter.  Within seconds the operator jerks the camera away from the scene of the North Tower, sets it on the South Tower, roughly adjusting for wider angle.

One airliner can have an accident.  But, two?   At the same building?  Impossible.  This is something neither I, nor the broadcast commentators, can readily explain.  I surf one kaleidoscopic image after another, staying moments before clicking the remote to the next channel.  Then I hear the words, “There appears to be an attack on the WTC.”

I hear and understand the words.  The reporter is frightened and confused, I think to myself.  Herbert Morrison’s tearful account of the 1937 Hindenburg disaster, “Oh, the humanity,” unexpectedly enters my mind.

Processing information on autopilot, I become consciously aware that my fight-or-flight response is squeezing me.  I don’t like the feeling, but choose not to ignore it.

In moments I take the stairs two at a time, yelling to my wife, “Susan, a second plane’s just hit the World Trade Center.  You’ve got to go downstairs and see this.”  I awaken both my boys, aged 12 and 14, and excitedly tell them to get downstairs and join their mother, that terrible catastrophe has just occurred in New York.

9/11/2001: 6:09 AM PST

The family is soon fixed on the images on the television screen.  My wife is seated on the edge of the couch, leaning forward.  Beside her is my older son.  The younger one is curled up on in an overstuffed easy chair, his blanket wrapped around him.  I can’t remember which of the boys asks, “Dad, what’s going on?”.

I answer with what I know: two planes have flown into the WTC, and people are trying to figure out how this has happened.  Increasingly, as I scan the channels, the “unexplained attacks” theme dominates the coverage.  The speculation on the networks - who, what, why - is entering overdrive.

Images of the 1953 War of the Worlds movie with Gene Barry, and Orson Welles' 1938 radio broadcast suddenly - and surprisingly - appear in my mind.  But I know these are simply impossible.  I dismiss the thoughts, disturbed that they are entering my mind uninvited.  I think to myself: Who’s behind this?  Is it Russia?  China?  Why aren’t they using nuclear weapons?  Are those coming next?  Why don’t California homes have basements?  Would it matter?  None of this makes sense.

Then one of my boys, anxiety in his voice, asks, “Dad, is the United States at war?”  He is frightened.

I’m caught off-guard.  Why would he ask this now?  How can I possibly know?  I’m immediately aware that I am powerless to answer, unable to put minds at ease, and mightily concerned that some unfathomable event - a thing of fiction - could conceivably be true.  I simply cannot process the information and assess the situation.

I try to respond matter-of-factly, but hear the gravity in my voice when I answer, “I don’t know.  Just keep watching the TV.”

Forty-five minutes later the unthinkable happened as the South Tower collapsed.  The event was awesome in a visual sense, yet sickeningly transfixing as thoughts emerged of the hundreds of unseen lives that are now being lost.  The war, if there was one, was being waged on the east coast.

I recall a distinct feeling - a mix of awe coupled with resigned acceptance to events I was now beginning to comprehend.  I craved normalcy, and the ease of a knowing routine.  I announced that I had better go to the office, checking that Susan was ok.  She thought it a good idea, suggesting that the boys, likewise, should prepare for school.  

We had all dressed and returned downstairs to the family room.  Minutes later, at almost 7:30, the North Tower collapsed.  Within minutes we were all rushing to capture the normalcy of the morning routine we had only yesterday.

9/11/2001: 7:45 AM PST

As I drove to the office - an easy drive as traffic on CA 101 was uncharacteristically light for that time - I listened to the radio.  Two planes had crashed into the WTC, eventually collapsing both towers.  Another had hit the Pentagon.  A fourth, suspected of being a highjacked airliner, had crashed in somewhere in Pennsylvania.  Announcers were trying to connect the dots for the public as best they could.

Minutes from the office, a special report came over the radio: another airliner was suspected of being highjacked, and was believed to be headed for Camp David.  This was like a spreading, unstoppable plague.  As my car speakers deliver news of unimaginable and impossible things, I briefly considered whether I should take the next exit and return home.

9/11/2001: 8:00 AM PST

A few of the staff had arrived.  I saw some looking conspiratorial as they talked among themselves - they were relieved that a manager had arrived at the office.  Other, working in isolation at their desks, were going about the day as if it was any other.  I could tell they wanted to focus on their jobs and push the thoughts of the morning’s events far away.  I said, “good morning” as I passed by each, the same way I would any other day.  They simply wanted the comfort of familiar routine, as well.

My operations manager was very upset.  Her close friend worked in the WTC, and could not be reached.  Asking what else she should do, I offered that there was nothing, and asked her if she wanted to go home.  As she wasn’t sure, I suggested that she do whatever felt right to her, and that she was free to leave at any time she wanted.  I chose not to tell here that, before entering the building, I had decided to leave myself should bad news continue.

Those with radios listened to broadcasts while the rest of us regularly checked online.  The day continued like that for a couple of hours.  Camp David was a false alarm.  No other planes crashed.  No further buildings fell.  Things at Sun Microsystems began settling into something approximating its normal rhythm. 

Wednesday - 9/12/2001: 8:30 PM PST

We had finished dinner.  The boys were now both watching something mindless on television, happily distracted from events of the day before.  My wife accepted my invitation to share a glass of wine in the side garden.

As we stood there, I asked, “Can you hear that?”  She replied that she could hear nothing.  

Here we were, I said, at the intersection of flight approaches to airports at Moffett Field, Palo Alto, San Jose and San Francisco.  It was one of the business areas for air traffic in the United States - one that had taken us a year to get used to when we had first moved to Mountain View.  At any time you could hear some aircraft making its approach.  Tonight, nothing could be heard.  No slowly flashing red and green lights crossing the sky to their approaches - the FTC’s suspension of air traffic was indeed in effect.

We both listened again.  Dead silence.  It was the absence of sound you become aware of during evenings in the woods, far from the city.  But, it was not a restful silence.  We talked about explanations of the prior day’s events we had learned, and speculated about what might unfold tomorrow, next week, next month.  We simply didn’t know.  Life does not travel in straight lines.

Sometimes, even when I am traveling out of the country, I’ll find myself some place where I become aware of the night’s silence.  I’ll think back to the glass of wine in the side garden, reminding myself that the straight line I traveled on today may change course abruptly when I wake up next morning.

You Just Killed My Dog

In 1973, National Lampoon kicked off the new year with this cover:

The staff at National Lampoon - many of whom would later join Saturday Night Live - liked the dark side of humor.  Both the photo and its warning, If you don’t buy this magazine, we’ll kill this dog, were a cultural shock almost 40 years ago that sent circulation soaring.

The stuff of National Lampoon was parody and satire.  What I am writing about, however, is not.

In working with several non-profits this year, I’ve examined the online practices of other non-profits operating in the same field.  It doesn’t take long to conclude that most of them are hurting in this economy.  Some more than others.  Donations are down.  And, more than a few are showing how anxious they are about it. 

I only had to observe the marketing of 20 non-profits, and sign up for email from a half dozen of them, to see examples of how the difficulties facing some non-profit managements are affecting how they market to their donor base.  

The Tactic of Fear

A typical email I receive (monthly, sometimes more often) follows a now-familiar formula.  I won’t crass and call out names, or charitable objectives.

1. The beginning paints a picture of imminent disaster.  Someone - or thing - is going to do without (and sometimes, die!).  All usually laid out in one sentence.
2. The middle both describes the calamity if funds are not raised, and (compassionately, for the reader’s sake) what the world will look like if tragedy is averted.
3. Not unsurprisingly, at the end the choice is mine: donate and save the dog, or risk having the poor bugger shot.
4. A conspicuous Donate Now button - usually in amber yellow with black letters - sits close by.  Occasionally, there’s a Donate Now button near the top of the email (presumably so that one can spare oneself the torment of reading any further).

As a tactic, all of this would be fine if it worked.  But it usually doesn’t.

Numerous research studies (among them, Ray and Wilkie, 1970) have shown that the use of fear (more typically, threat or anxiety) walks a mighty fine line with an auidence Too little is boring; too much is a turn-off.  Both end up being ineffective. 

How much fear is the right amount to use?  It turns out that it all depends on how familiar an audience is with the subject - or issue.  The general finding is this: the more familiar the topic is to an audience, the lower the optimal level of fear appeal required to work.  In other words, if the audience is sensitized to an issue, a little goes a long way.

So, if I was to learn that the demise of a beetle I’d not heard of would eventually have a devastating effect on the food supply, an amped-up appeal would be in order.  But, as I’m already sensitized to the plight of starvation in some third world countries, it’s careful-does-it on the anxiety control knob.  

Accentuate the Positive

Most non-profits take enormous risk with fear marketing.  It’s hard to do well.  Most aren’t skilled at it.  And also, their email programs typically are directed at an audience that is already knowledgeable about the issue - their donor base.

Their managements may feel their gut churning over the decline in funding, but they do themselves a poor service by carrying that angst into their appeals.  

The best advice parallels that of Seth Godin: lead with benefit and value, and you'll never go wrong.

The best non-profit appeals out there (some are very well-crafted) go the extra mile to construct an appeals around what is accomplished via the good works they do.  Progress made.  Smiling faces.  Happy puppies.

People are more willing to contribute to a cause that makes them feel good inside about what they’re contributing to, than one that shows the glass half-empty.

I’d rather see a photo of a happy dog, than one with a gun pointed at its head.

Warren Buffett wants to Tax the Rich

Warren Buffett’s Op-Ed piece in Sunday’s New York Times has caused quite a stir.  His premise: U.S. tax law since 2000 has reduced taxes for the wealthy, while increasing the burden on the less fortunate, thereby setting up an inequality that will create difficulties for U.S. society.

Following hot on the heels of Washington’s debt ceiling standoff, Buffett’s contrarian view is embraced by Liberals while eschewed by Conservatives.  It is a thorny issue indeed.  Paying taxes is like visiting the dentist: I don’t know anyone who looks forward to either. 

Yet, this is not a new theme for Buffett.  He’s been talking publicly about the structural inadequacies of the U.S. tax system since at least 2007 - notably, in this interview with Tom Brokaw in 2008 (run time: 4 minutes, 41 seconds).

 

While the Brokaw interview has a folksy charm to it, Buffett provided considerably more detail to his arguments when he testified before the Senate Finance Committee on November 14, 2007 (RT 5:18 in length).

 

If you really want to understand Buffett’s views, here is a video shot on August 15, 2011 - the day following the NYT Op-Ed piece. Buffett is interviewed by Charlie Rose (RT 51:18).  It’s a lengthy play, and Buffett makes his attitudes regarding the Tea Party clear.  But, Buffett’s views are clear, and his opinions worth understanding.

Charlie Rose Interviews Warren Buffett  http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/11845

Those of you who follow this blog know that I am an unabashed fan of Warren Buffett.  Yet, I’m about to exclude other views in forming my own opinion.  To that end I offer up a critique of Buffett’s NYT Op-Ed piece written by Jeffrey Miron, undergrad studies director at Harvard and Senior Fellow at the Cato Institute.

The debate on taxation is not going to end this week.  It’s just starting, and should reach full swing by the 2012 elections.

Tax the rich to fund government spending?  Or allow the private market to allocate dollars better than elected officials?  You decide.

The Question of Pro Bono

Last week I was twice asked my point of view regarding pro bono work.  I didn’t have to think hard about my answer.  I support it (at least for myself) under two circumstances.

1. I don’t collect any fees for anything I blog about or generally post to the web.  I write to gain exposure.  I view making my writing freely available as the cost of gaining exposure. 
2. I happily devote 10% of my company’s time to assist non-profits (the Starving Artists variety).  I do it because I genuinely like to give something back to the community.  I don’t see it as a cost.

I don’t provide anything for free if the motive of the person - or the entity - requesting it is profit.  That said, I do get requests from the profit seekers.

No one outright asks me to do something free.  Requests are usually put forward as a quid pro quo: you do this for us and you’ll get plenty of great publicity (reach, exposure, etc.) in return.  That statement is typically accompanied by data and charts that not only show how much attention I’ll receive, but seemingly imply that the scales of good fortune at tipped decidedly in my direction.

Hmmm.

So, I had to smile when I read Seth Godin’s 7/30 blog on the subject of the price of exposure.  I share his view.

In reading it, I couldn’t help but laugh heartily when I watched script writer Harlan Ellison’s video that Godin had included.  It’s a riot!  Give it a look.

Each of us is our own clearing house.  We decide what to put in the public domain, and what to put a price tag on.  We draw our own line between what we do for personal gain ( or simply to eat and pay the bills) and what we do to contribute to society (to the degree that it matters).  Think through where that line is for you.

Koko's Birthday

I've been helping The Gorilla Foundation for the past few months.  Heard of it?  Probably not.  But I'll lay odds that you or your friends have heard of Koko - the 260-pound lowland gorilla who communicates with humans.
Koko was a one year-old at the San Francisco Zoo who was not doing well when Dr. Penny Patterson took her under her care, raising her on a private preserve in Northern California.  A psychologist completing her PhD, Dr. Patterson wanted to study whether gorillas could communicate with us in an intelligible way.  Turns out they can.
Koko proceeded to learn an abbreviated form of ASL (American Sign Language) that enables her to use over 1000 signs to communicate.  She understands about 2000 spoken words, and can read at a corresponding level.  I'm not exaggerating (check it out by viewing the links two-thirds of the way down this page).

Since then, Koko has been the subject of several books, articles and films, and has gained quite a following.  Betty White, Robin Williams, Sting, Peter Gabriel and William Shatner have all met and interacted with her.  So have quite a few of the Who's Who in the Northern California Bay Area.
As fascinating as it is to watch and hear Koko interact and communicate in a genuine way with others, there's also the disquieting backdrop of the perils facing gorillas.  Like so many animals, they are endangered, less so from encroachment on their habitat and more so because of poachers.  Their meat is prized as a delicacy, and their hands for medicinal powers (Diane Fossey's murder in Africa in 1985 is attributed to poachers).
One of the pillar initiatives undertaken by the Foundation is educating governments and people in Africa about this plight.  Their strategy: develop empathy for gorillas by demonstrating the ability of gorillas to communicate with people, thereby pressing the reset button on attitudes regarding the exploitation of them.
Back to the bright side.
This year, on July 4, 2011, Koko turns 40.  She'll get some special treats that day, a cake, and lots of cards from her followers and admirers.  She loves the attention.  There's even a little contest for her almost 1000 Twitter followers of Koko (@KokoTweets) who can submit a haiku in honor of her birthday.  Yes, even Gorillas are into social networks, too.
If you get the chance, send Koko a greeting (she does read them!).  If you have the inclination, submit a haiku.