PR Straight Talk

The anniversary of my late Dad’s birthday was just a few days ago.  Though he was not a concentration camp inmate, Dad was nonetheless a Holocaust survivor and a decorated war hero.  He was a strong man, and yet a kind man, and I learned from him that strength and kindness were not incompatible bedfellows.

I remember as a child watching a movie starring actor Bob Cummings.   His character made a statement I never forgot:   “Never mistake kindness for weakness.”   He could have been speaking of my Dad.

My dad’s name was Owen, but he was born “Oskar” in a poor section of Dortmund, Germany – in the Ruhr Valley, in the north of the country.  My mother Sonny, born as “Sophie,” was from the same city, though she lived in a wealthier community on the “opposite side of the tracks.”  We are Jewish, but to have been Jewish in my father’s and mother’s time and place – in the 1930’s and 40’s in Germany - was perilous and often catastrophic for those whose only “crime” was their religion.

My father and his brother Ellis somehow escaped the wrath of the Nazis, and fled Germany through Holland and Belgium.  They were often persued by the SS, and as they fled through the Belgian Forest, were chased by Nazis with growling German Shephards at their heels.  Dad somehow got onto a ship in Antwerp headed for New York.  He was a stowaway, as he had no money.

When the ship arrived in New York, Dad slept on benches in Central Park, as a hobo.  He had no family in this country.  He was penniless and he didn’t speak English.  He had left behind his mother, father and six brothers and sisters.  His intention was to earn money to bring them to the USA.  But good intentions were not to be realized.

The first act of kindness my father experienced in this country was from the Salvation Army.  Dad heard about a halfway house they ran at the time on Tenth Avenue and 23^rd Street.  There, he was provided room and board at no cost until he could find work.  He did - in the Garment Center - where he made enough to survive.

Not much later, Dad received word that his mother had been murdered back in Germany. During a sweep of the Jewish sections of Dortmund by the Nazis, as Jews were rounded up into trucks to be transferred to the freight trains destined for places like Auschwitz and Treblinka, his beloved mother Henny had been bayoneted and killed in the street in front of her house.  She refused to board the truck and tried to fight off the assailants.  To a painful and tragic end.

Henny was a short woman, less than five feet tall.  She was slightly plump, with black hair and strong shoulders and a cherubic face.   She and her husband – my grandfather Sam – were poor people with a large family.  Often, there wouldn’t be enough food on the table, but somehow Henny made food stretch, as the time when a skimpy chicken embellished with homegrown vegetables would constitute the evening meal for six days in a row.

My Dad loved his mother with all his heart – and it broke his heart to see his Mom work so hard in the kitchen and in the house, with so few resources.  Henny was a feisty woman, but my Dad only remembers her kindness and her love for her family.

How devastating for her to bear witness not only to her own attempted capture, but the capture of her children on the same day.  Four of them had been grabbed by the Nazis alongside her, and word came back that they perished in Auschwitz.  No doubt that her attempt to fight off her attackers was motivated by a vain attempt to save her precious offspring.

But growing up, I rarely heard Dad speak of that time and of those events.  Years later, in a place called Fleischmann’s, New York, a rural town in the Catskill mountains where my parents often vacationed during the summertime, I found myself sitting with Dad on the porch of the cottage that he and Mom rented each year.

It was early evening, about six o’clock.   The sun was beginning to set.  The sky was lit a pale orange with hints of faded blue.  The air was still save the sound of birds chirping gleefully in the background.

I asked my father, “Tell me about your mother.  How did she die?”

From nowhere, a wale erupted from inside him, as if the pain of what he had endured, and the deepest part of his grief around the loss of his mother, had suddenly released itself after more than thirty years.  Dad was not a crier, but this cry encompassed a pain held for decades.  After sobbing relentlessly for nearly ten minutes, Dad finally looked at me and said, “She refused to board the truck.  So they bayoneted her in the street.”

I held Dad’s hand, and simply sat there with him as we looked out at the setting sun from that back porch.  Just the song of birds filled the air now.  Then, Dad said, suddenly, “I should have saved her.”

I realized in that moment that he carried a guilt, a guilt that had lived inside him for years.  I continued to hold my father’s hand, and gently whispered into his ear, “It wasn’t your fault, Dad.  You could not have saved her.  You could not have foreseen what would happen.  You have to know that.”

Dad whispered back, “Thank you son.”  Then he held my hand harder, and declared out loud, as if not only to me, but to humanity:  “Kindness, son.  Kindness is the only answer.  Kindness towards each other.  Tolerance for each other.”

This declaration by my father had not only been shaped by the oppression of the Nazis, but by war.  During World War II, as if what he endured in the Holocaust was not enough, Dad chose to serve in Patton’s Army and as a soldier in Darby’s First Ranger Battalion.  He and his buddies hit the beaches of Anzio on the first wave assault (he was one of only a small number who survived that landing).  Interestingly, Dad always used to talk about how The Salvation Army were the only ones who were in the foxholes with the GI’s at Anzio.  “They were there,” he said.  “For the second time in my life, “they were there to help.”

Dad knew that tyranny must be fought.  He detested war, especially after his own experience, but he also knew that sometimes war was a regrettable but necessary option.  He did once, however, say, “Wars must be chosen very carefully and only when there is no recourse.”

I once videotaped an interview of my father, asking him about his war experience.  When he reminisced about that Anzio assault, he cried again.  This time it was for his buddies, many of whom were killed at his side as the Rangers made their way up the beachhead.  “They fell all around me, and I never understood why I was saved.  I could even hear the bullets whiz by my ears,” he said.  “There but for the grace of God…”.

With all this, Dad chose to see the glass of life as half full instead of half empty.  He was always one with a deep appreciation for life, in spite of the horrific tragedies he personally suffered through.  I remember him as a grateful man, who while he recognized and sometimes grappled with life’s bittersweetness, also viewed that same life as so very precious.

I never remember my Dad saying an unkind word to any person he ever met, irrespective of his or her race or religion.  I actually even think he had ultimately forgiven his persecutors and the slayers of his family – and that would be a mastership that one can only view with awe.  In my Dad I remember a man who bestowed his kindness and unconditional love and acceptance towards everyone he encountered.

 That he inculcated these values in me is undeniable.  And when it came time for my father to leave this Earth, I remember how hard he held onto the life he regarded as so precious.  He fought the ravishes of a blood cancer that ultimately took him, which perhaps on a metaphysical level had transposed physically into the manifestation of all the cruelty he had borne witness to.  For Dad, while strong, was also a deeply sensitive person.

In the hospital, on the last day I saw him alive, I recognized that he had surrendered to his fate, but I also remember that he was bathed in an aura and glow that I can only call sacred.  He could not talk.  I whispered to him in his ear, “I love you so much Dad.”  He mouthed the words “I love you.”

I feel that my Dad departed this world with a deep reverence for Life, a reverence that had been deepened by his ordeal.  I could see in his eyes a sadness, too, for he had lived through much, and seen much of man’s inhumanity to man – both during the Holocaust and then during war.  Perhaps the most painful memory he held onto was the loss of his Mom and the cruelty that had been heaped upon her.

It was perhaps because of his losses, and his hard-earned lessons of life’s fragility, that he understood that this same life was a rare and utterly valuable gift:  a gift worth embracing in a world that so desperately needs healing and deep reconciliation between its many peoples.

Media placement is an art.  Practicing it often requires as much attention to approach and style as it does to the focus of your story.

• Always tell the truth.  Make sure your product or service does what it says it does and your information is accurate.  If a question is put to you that you do not have an answer for, indicate to the reporter you’ll get back with the information.  If you don’t, the info will come from someone else–and not necessarily from a source that will help your organization.  Never “imagine” or “fudge” an answer.  Remember, candor equals credibility.  If your organization has taken an action that has reaped negative consequences, counsel your client to admit the mistake (unless the client is constrained from doing so by legal counsel).  Negativity can also be mitigated if you can anticipate a reporter’s tough question, and frame an answer that puts the action into historical perspective; or by developing a positioning statement that lessens the harshness implied in the question.  (For example, when a poisonous substance infiltrated Tylenol bottles, the company issued the statement that “we are victims too”).
• Know your outlet before you call.  Have you read the magazine or newspaper in advance?  Have you watched the tv program? Have you listened to the radio show?  With print media, do you know the specific beat of the editor or reporter you intend to make contact with?  Have you read his/her stories?  It’s fine to cold call but don’t cold call blindly (unless there really is vagueness about that person’s turf).
• Attitude.  There are some p.r. people whose emotional lives seem to count on an editor’s acceptance; and who feel like failures when the editor says “no.” “Unattachment” is the best attitude.  ”Unattachment” doesn’t mean “detachment” or “apathy.”  It means coming from a centered place, with self-confidence in yourself and your ability to communicate a story effectively - but without being attached to the outcome.  You’ll find this a liberating approach, one that disallows you from becoming intimidated by an editor or producer, and one that enables you to return to the same person in the future with no regrets. When an editor perceives that you are not overly emotionally invested in a story, you may actually get a better hearing.  Be warm & polite, professional…and clear.  See that individual as a peer and colleague.  If they’re brusque in the moment, they may be having a bad day.  Simply ask if there’s a better time to get back to them.
• That said, believe in your story and believe in yourself.  The best p.r. people see themselves as resources of news and information who work with journalists to fill valuable time & print space.
• Be more empathetic than sympathetic.  Being empathetic enables you to build on what was said and respond with alternate approaches.  Being sympathetic means you’ve agreed with the journalist’s conclusion and have foreclosed the possibility of an alternate approach.
• Get out of the reporter’s way.  When you’re providing a reporter, editor or producer information where the story is time-sensitive, relay the information and get out of the way. There’s a time for pitching an idea, and there’s a time for simply relaying information.  In the case of the latter, act like an editorial assistant. Do your job and get out.  You’ll earn the journalist’s respect when you do so.
• Don’t waste their time.  When you call, communicate in sharp and crystallized fashion, the essence of the story.  Keep it brief, respect deadlines and ask in advance if the moment is ok for that editor/ producer.  NEVER call when you know an editor is under deadline pressure.  Keep your message on-point and as brief as possible, but craft it in a compelling and creative way that will earn attention.
• Personalize.  I’ve seen too many impersonal, photocopied pitch letters, whether via e-mail or snail mail.  If you send something in advance to a call, or as a follow-up to a call, personalize.  Don’t be overly chummy (unless you’ve been on good terms with that journalist for a long time).  But keep sensitive to the fact that you’re a human being, and you’re communicating with another human being.  For e-mails, craft a provocative phrase in the “subject” area.  Too many e-mail messages get unread without a compelling lead.
• Get out from behind your desk.  If you’re in the same city as the journalist, take them out to breakfast, lunch or dinner, if they’re amenable.  If not, make sure you acknowledge them anytime they give your placement coverage - minimally by e-mail, best by snail mail card.  Occasionally, but sparingly, when you see them produce something not necessarily connected to your own client, but noteworthy, acknowledge them for the story as well.  Cultivate the relationship in a friendly and professional way - but do not inundate them or make yourself obnoxious.  Timing and tastefulness are key here.
• Listen to the editor.  It’s as important to listen as it is to talk.  Be sensitive to any verbal feedback, cues or clues that can assist you in fine-tuning your pitch.  Keep your antennae fully extended.
• Respect the ‘no’ and be prepared for it.  Ask quick, important questions: What is it about this story that doesn’t seem right for you?  Is there anyone else for whom this story might work better?  Suggest how the story can be adapted to the outlet’s needs.  Best of all, suggest three to five different angles in advance.  This reduces chances for rejection.
• But when you get your final no, let it go and release it.  YOU haven’t been rejected, just your story.  And if you’ve handled the approach professionally and cordially, you’ll always be able to come back with another story at another time.  Regard your list of cultivated contacts as resources and investments for the long-haul, not for quick fix purposes.
• Contact another editor with a different beat within the same outlet.  Sometimes, if you receive a “no” – you can pitch your story with another editor with a different beat at the same outlet, if the story you’re presenting has applicability to that person.
• Occasionally, pass along an item of interest that lies outside your own sphere of self-interest.  Be someone who’s not always out to get something.  Also, supply your most important contacts with your home phone number.
• Getting beyond voice mail.  I like to try to reach a producer or editor directly, live, on the phone.  If I’m able to reach them, I give myself less than 60 seconds to pitch the story.  Skill in encapsulating the story in very brief but provocative terms is essential.  Based on the feedback, if there is an opening, I then send an e-mail.  If I get voicemail, I leave the same succinct, provocative, targeted message, then follow-up with e-mail.  If I don’t hear from them in two days, I either send a forwarded e-mail back on top of the prior original e-mail pitch (“Tom:  did this story interest you?”) or I call early.  Sometimes I leave a message with an editorial assistant or colleague, live or by voicemail, and follow-up again in a day or two if the message was via voicemail. Call back that other person to learn if your message was received and if there’s a return message.  

As some of you may have by now surmised, this is more than a public relations blog; for no human being is entirely circumscribed by his or her profession.  We are all citizens of Life, and we all share the events of birth and death – and in between we each experience the light of the same sun, the same moon, and we breath the same air.  Each of us partakes of  life’s blessings and challenges, each of us strives to fulfill our uniqueness, learn the lessons we’ve come here to learn, and if we’re lucky, we learn about love – life’s greatest gift.

A long time ago, as I was walking down lower Fifth Avenue in New York City, it occurred to me that the two greatest blessings are love and freedom.  It struck me that real “love” is a state of feeling and being that comes without condition, without attachment or obligation, without stress.  Love comes freely and it comes through the heart.  Inside love is a simple value:  kindness and reverence for life.  Not just my life, or the lives of the people I’m closest to, or people exclusively – but all life.  Love reflects an understanding that we’re all connected – humans, trees, blades of grass, dogs, cats, elephants, ducks, insects, whales and swans.  We’re all expressions of Life’s longing to express Itself.  We’re all of the One, as individualized creative manifestations of that One.

So love is a state of being where I recognize myself, and of my essence in you, and in all living things.

Freedom is the gift of breath.  Of breathing the breath of life easily and effortlessly.  Freedom is the gift of being naturally and organically myself, of self-acceptance and self-love.  It is the gift of tolerance for others, and their right to be their natural selves.  Freedom is about savoring each moment as one in which I can make my own choices without control or constraint from others – as long as I respect others’ rights to make their own choices. Freedom lived is lived without worry.  It is about complete and natural self-actualization, moment-to-moment.  It is a completely organic creative joyous state of being.

I think that to be blessed with love and freedom, coming to us from the inside out, is a high state of being.  Whatever your religion, it seems to me that in the essence of any spiritual practice are the messages of love, kindness and freedom as manifested by love for self, love for one’s fellows and all life, and the freedom to be our truest and most authentic unique selves as God made us.  True love will spiral up to love of God and the sense of “His” presence everywhere.

Whether you’re Christian, or Jewish, or Buddhist, or Hindu, or Muslim – or walking your own unique path – to the extent that you live unconditional love in your heart, and in a state of freedom from the inside out – then you hold the Keys to the Kingdom.

Surely, the child born in the manger came to be the bearer of the good news that unconditional love is God’s gift to all of us along with the freedom to be the precious beings we each are.  The essence of that same message must be at the heart of every religion, and to me that is the litmus test of authenticity.  That is why this is a season we cherish, whatever our religious or cultural affiliation – because the messages of love, kindness and freedom are universal, and embraced and recognized  deep in the hearts of all peoples – and all life – everywhere.