Wednesday, June 17, 2020

Table of Contents

Click on Title to Link to Story

Travels on my own

Travels with Margie
Blue Man 1975

Growing Up in Los Angeles
My Long Time Part Time Job 1965 -1970

Avron and Elvis 1970 and 2005
Cultivating My Own Garden
Vietnam on My Mind 1964 - 1992
The Hooker Book 1992 - 2005
At Work

Memorable Clients

1963 - 2009

From my first job selling The Ladies Home Journal and Time Magazine door to door when I was seven through my executive coaching career I've had clients who looked to me for advice and service. Is that service as in servant. I don't know. Maybe. 

Here are four memorable vignettes. 

I was naive when I went to work for Follick Leader in 1962 at his souvenir store on the Venice Beach boardwalk. He taught me skills like helping customers, engraving medallions and taking care of cash.

For July 4th, a week into my tenure, Follick asked me to man his small souvenir booth inside a nearby amusement park, Pacific Ocean Park. 

Around 5 o'clock I heard something that could have been "say whaddya get fo these shayes?" 

A young black man was asking. I didn't quite understand. The word 'shayes' was foreign to me as was his accent. Follick had told me the park would be crowded with kids from the ghetto that day. Not the usual clientele. I was momentarily a stranger in a strange land. Strange to me, that is. 

As I worked through the sale, including some unexpected, uncomfortable bargaining, I grew up a little bit. Maturity that prepared me to deal outside another ghetto. The ghetto I had grown up in. 

Fifteen years later I was an Account Supervisor at the Ogilvy & Mather ad agency office in Toronto. We had just won the NCR account and I got assigned to manage the client relationship. 

We had won the beauty contest because of our strategy recommendations. Client liked another agency's creative idea but gave us the business while telling us to use the loser's ad concept. Oy vey. Ominous. 

My direct client was Les Friedman. A bit of a tyrant. I soon learned that was inevitable since his boss, Paul Lappetito, was a lot of a tyrant, or shall we say a hard charger, who knew what he wanted, visibly impatient while people around him adopted his point of view. An  American assigned to Canada whose prime directive was "just tell them what to do". 

But I won. The product was NCR's entry in the new minicomputer segment. The ad idea we were directed to use didn't work and I had to stage manage the war between our brilliant creative team and our never wrong client. People used to joke about whether I carried a gun to meetings. Me against the tyrants.

One wonderful lesson I learned was when Lappetito told me that his computers were not invented to save people money. Their purpose was to help make people more money. Wisdom that I still convey to clients.

Around the same time American Express was also a client. I managed their direct mail credit card acquisition program. I pulled the strings to research, design, print, computer customize and mail about 3,000,000 invitations to get the American Express Card each year. 

My client was the director of marketing, Bob McConachie, who also ran their large TV advertising budget. I learned something special from Bob. The American Express Card was expensive compared to its competitor Visa. Not good for business. One day Bob led an incredible discussion during which every product disadvantage the Amex Card suffered was reframed as an advantage. A building block for strategy development I still use. 

My direct mail venture ran well. And I was constantly selling Bob on new programs which led to extra spending and more profit for the agency. Bonus time eh!

One cold Saturday in February 1979 I was awakened dark and early and summoned to an extraordinary meeting in Mike Sugarman's office. He was the president of American Express Canada. Hmmm

When I arrived the president of my agency, Graham Phillips, was there. Bob McConachie was not . Hmmm

Mike explained to us that McConachie had been spending hundreds of thousands of dollars without authorization. All our invoices would be paid. McConachie had been let go.

As Graham and I walked out to the parking lot he turned to me and said "I'll not be surprised to see you drive off in a Ferrari." I think he was joking.

Sobeys became a big client of my current company, The Coaching Clinic, in 1996. Our work for them has included soft skill workshops, elearning and executive coaching.

One particularly interesting coaching assignment was to sort out a disturbing conflict between two senior managers.

During my initial meetings with each man it was obvious they were battling in part because of the differences in their ages. One was a traditionalist, the generation before baby boomers, and the other generation x. It was a testosterone battle. I had to gently convince each man that they were just fine but they had to recognize the other was different and could be brought around with more respect for their age and ideas. That simple idea worked. 

Soon after the meetings I received a handwritten note from the HR manager who had hired me. His short handwritten note read

'Jerome, you gently laid hands on their shoulders and each thought the other had been healed.' 


December 2019






First Taste of Independence


1957

On day one I became the fourth of four busy children my mother governed while my father was building a business and together they suffered survivor’s guilt; having lived in Canada while parents and siblings were murdered in the holocaust. 

On day one of the fifth grade my father had recently died, my mother was unexpectedly a tired working mom with one married daughter, two teenagers and me, 10 years old with a Dennis the Menace personality bargaining for attention and affection in our busy family. 

A defining event was my mother having a temper tantrum in response to me crossing some line making life harder for her. I remember her in a blue dress face down on the kitchen floor crying and beating her hands and feet like a two year old unfulfilled in a Walmart toy aisle. She was fifty.

In retrospect I'm sure her complaints included more than me but I was alone with her in the moment. My tool box was bare. I couldn't begin to help. I was paralyzed, powerless, weak.

A first taste of what it meant to be a person.

March 2020


Friday, March 27, 2020

Sweet Moments With Avery


2009 - 2015

Do you remember the closing line of the The Sopranos' first season when Tony says to his kids during a spontaneous family dinner; "someday you're gonna have children of your own and if you're lucky you'll remember the little moments like these that were good".

I have four adorable little moment memories of my grandson, Avery. He is a warm, affectionate kid. I especially like his luxurious bear hugs.

The family was at the Deerhurst Resort in the summer of 2009 when Avery was about one and a half years old. Seven of us; me and Margie, my wife, my daughter Amy and her husband Aaron, Avery’s parents, Avery and my son Stephen. Avery was the center of attention, the only grandchild at the time. He had been walking for about three months, still teetering somewhat, but able to move around zealously with his new skill. 

One evening in our suite when we were sitting around talking and eating appetizers Avery gave us a thrill. I was at one end of the circle and Stephen was opposite me about 15 feet away. Stephen asked me to pass him a slice of something. At that moment Avery was with me so I jokingly asked him to take the slice over to Stephen. And he did. Well that was the first time we saw Avery understand and do such a complicated request. I noticed and got excited and then like rolling thunder my delight moved around the table until it got to Avery who launched the cutest smile you ever saw. Adorable.

Back in the city around the same time I was about to walk into a library when I felt a slight tugging at my pant leg. I looked down and it was Avery. He had approached from another direction in the care of his nanny Ena. They had seen me  before I saw them and Ena encouraged him to overcome his shyness and come to me. 

Avery barely came up to my knee at the time,   so picture Avery reaching up and looking up to get my attention. He wasn't talking yet so the tug was his voice. Adorable.

About two years later Amy, was on mat leave spending January with us in Florida with Avery, then almost four, and three month old Brooke in tow. 

Our rented condo was about a half mile from the Atlantic Ocean beach with a spacious park in between. Avery and I played in the park regularly. He was high energy and I liked to chase around with him. There was always a ball of some sort involved in our play.

One day as we walked towards the beach we spied a baseball game in progress at our park's little league baseball diamond. When we got close we discovered eight kids aged four to ten playing under the guidance of one experienced adult, maybe a coach. We sat in the bleachers at first. I wanted Avery to witness an actual game in progress. That didn't last long. Avery was invited to join in; to bat as best he could and to play in the field when he wasn't at bat. He had little idea of what to do but he participated as best he could. Like the others he  responded to yelled directions and encouragement every step of the way. 

When the game ended and we started to walk home Avery yelled out, to no one in particular something like, "If you ever need another player I live in an apartment over there". Adorable.

When Avery was seven Lego was his go to hobby. Occasionally Avery and I worked as a team on his projects. I helped as he struggled his way through. My jobs were to read the instruction book and find the correct pieces which Avery had sorted into bowls in some orderly fashion. Avery's jobs were to interpret the instructions based on his lengthy experience, interlock the pieces into whatever spaceship or monstrosity he was building and to lightly brush his elbow against mine as we sat close together. Electrifying. 

Avery is about to cross over into his teenage years. He'll be awful busy. I'm lucky.  There are three granddaughters following in his footsteps for me to adore. 

March 2020



Traveling Without Reservations


1971 - 1984

Since I started travelling as an adult, in control of my destiny, I often have not known where
I would sleep when I woke up. This included hitchhiking in university days and driving
holidays afterwards.

There are many fringe benefits to traveling without reservations.

Here's some examples of what I'm getting at.

I woke up to a sunny landscape near Athens in July 1971. After breakfast I stuck out my
thumb. At that moment I would not have imagined I'd be detained in a murder investigation
15 hours later in Lamia, northern Greece. I was innocent but no amount of planning and no
travel agent could have produced that story which I've told at least one too many times. It
was the result of a random combination of hitchhiked rides I took that day. So one possible
benefit of no plans, the willingness to go with the flow, is the possibility of experiences that
are way outside the box.

Sometimes there are rewards for letting fate take the helm; you know, let go, let God. On a
driving holiday around England in 1984 my wife and I woke up one bright morning in Canterbury and toured the cathedral as planned. After lunch I was anxious to get to London to see the sights and theater. Margie agreed but was concerned there'd be too much traffic into London and, by the way, where would we stay. With some trepidation we agreed to let go and let fate take charge. Well the traffic wasn't too bad and we found a room near a railway station, as I expected. On our way to dinner we passed the box office for Starlight Express which was new and hot at the time. We got in the rush ticket line behind about 10 students. When a pair of 16 pound seats near the front came up we were the only people in line who could afford them. We had karma to thank for that. 

A different kind of benefit is fulfilling an addiction to tension. I can tell you from personal experience that hitchhiking at the side of a busy Moroccan highway long after dusk because there is no play to stay nearby causes tension. Very unpleasant tension. But you know that's the sort of tension that can be addictive. If you survive. Skydiving anyone?

So what's the hole in my head or my heart that gets filled by travelling without reservations?

Well first off I've learned that nothing terminally bad will happen. I've had to sleep rough, outside that is, or in really pathetic hotels a few times, but hey I'm still here. So that's a comfort. 

Secondly, I fill a need to feel more heroic. I think that's a genetic thing since we're all descended from people who had to be heroic to survive when the world was much more dangerous. So I think I'm programmed to take risks which just aren't available they way they used to be. 

Thirdly, I think I'm addicted a bit to risky behaviour. Maybe I got some attention from my parents when I took risks as a kid. That's addictive.

And lastly, and this is a longshot, I'm not sure I've ever totally accepted my father's death. I was nine and at summer camp when he passed. No goodbyes. It is possible that subconsciously I think he is still alive. So if I arrive at places where I'm totally unexpected, he might be there, and my subliminal soul seems to think I'll be able to sneak up on him. That's something to discuss with my psychiatrist.

February 2020


My Vagabonding Sitcom

1971

When I left New York flying Pan Am to Lisbon in June 1971 my plan was to meet a woman
in the first class cabin who would escort me around the continent for the next three months. 


I didn't have much money. So I needed help. The first step of my plan worked as expected.
I got bumped up to first class as I checked in. I'm lucky that way. 


I only had three months to travel. Business school was starting in September. This trip
was my swan song transition from childhood as a child to childhood with an MBA. 


But my plan fell apart. I left the plane a solo traveler. So plan B, backpacking and
hitchhiking. I had a book that said I could do it on a dollar a day. 


Here are some memorable events which could become episodes if someone wanted
to do a sitcom about my trip.


Outside the Lisbon terminal I was befriended by an American sailor looking for someone
to share a cab downtown. They were on a two day shore leave and knew Lisbon a bit
so we went to the same cheap hotel in the hilly district overlooking the downtown. An
episode where nothing happened. Seinfeldian. 


In Seville in Spain I met three French guys who introduced me to the idea of going to
Kathmandu, Nepal, a place I had never heard of. I saw them in a few places on the
road. Supporting actors in my sit com. 


Across the border in Perpignan, France I picked up a ride with a family in a crowded van
going all the way to Genoa, Italy. So my new plan to meet a rich woman in Monaco was
thwarted since we drove right through. A road trip episode.


Florence and Rome were artistically interesting but nothing out of the ordinary happened.
The three coins I threw in the fountain fell on deaf ears. 


On the ferry from Brindisi, Italy to Corfu, Greece I made a nuisance of myself. It was an
overnight ferry and I was still asleep when we docked. On my first attempt to disembark I
forgot to pick up my passport. A brouhaha ensued. Very funny.


Several days later I hitchhiked into Athens with a ride to the front door of the Acropolis.
After a 90 minute tour I walked over to the American Express office and met a young
woman who agreed to hitchhike to Istanbul with me. Around midnight we were arrested
for murder just outside the city of Lamia. This would make a good episode. 


Four days later in Istanbul, alone again, I boarded a bus for a four day ride to Tehran.
On the bus I met a young Brit on her way to visit school friends. On the last nite of the
trip we were canoodling when she suddenly became ill and had to leave the bus in a
rush . . . to vomit. A blow to my manhood based on the hysterical reaction of the Iranian
men travelling with us. A humbling episode.


In Tehran I went to an ancient bathhouse to clean up. I expected to see a pile of warm
towels when I got out of the bath. The owner expected me to have my own. A brouhaha
ensued. Very funny. 


In Kabul I met a man so down on his luck, economically and healthwise, that his only
way to get around was to crawl. A poignant episode. 


I crossed the border between Pakistan and India when they were at war. Thankfully not
where I was crossing. A border guard confiscated half of the rupees a German girl
ahead of me in line was trying to smuggle into India to circumvent currency controls. I
was trying to smuggle a hockey puck sized hunk of hash. Lost half to the guard. An
ironic episode.


At the Red Fort in New Delhi I was jumped by a playful child beggar who wouldn't let go.
A brouhaha ensued. I was saved by an embarrassed local businessman. I needed to
bathe again. 


At the airport leaving Kathmandu I discovered along with some border guards that I had
overstayed my visa. They let me go. If they hadn't we would have an episode filmed in a
prison cell. 


The flight from Kathmandu took me back to New Delhi which this time was just a stop over on my way home. I was back in Toronto a few days later where I started generating stories for a new sitcom. 

















Tuesday, December 3, 2019

Costa Rica Holiday

2004

Margie and I had a bit of money left after our daughter's wedding in August 2004. So we decided to use it and our 113,000 Aeroplan points for a Christmas vacation treat. To go anywhere the points would take us. There wasn't much to choose from when we called Air Canada. But as usual I was lucky. They had return flights to San Jose, Costa Rica that fit our window. 

Most of our previous travel was fly and try. That is we'd fly in, rent a car and try to find a nice place to stay each night. It was a leftover idea from my Europe hitchhiking days when I could not know where I was going to sleep when I woke up. 

For Costa Rica we used the Rosedale strategy.  We booked an expensive all inclusive beach resort on the west coast for the first week and a hotel in the suburbs of San Jose and four rounds of golf for the second week. 

On the flight to San Jose we ran into an acquaintance on an ecotourism tour. Bed ‘n breakfasts. Birds. Jungles. Rivers. Volcanoes. Mosquitoes. 

To get to the resort we had to grab a puddle jumper for a forty minute flight to the west coast. It took us about an hour of chasing to find that the puddle jumper didn't fly out of the shiny concrete San Jose jet terminal but from an adjacent shack that looked like it belonged in a Humphrey Bogart movie. The jumper was a crowded 8 seater. It took us to another shack outside Tamarindo, a beach and surfing town. We caught a cab to the resort and discovered  the lousy back roads of Costa Rica. 

The resort's main gate and reception area was elevated so that the resort spread out below on a plain down to the coast. It was an extraordinary vista - ShangriLa, plunked down in the third world. 

That was the last notable thing about the resort. Everything was good but nothing was worth writing about. 

Our touristing from the resort included a volcano tour, a river tour, a coffee plantation tour and jungle zip lining. The zip line adventure was enlightening. It was advertised as edging on dangerous what with soaring for a quarter mile atop the jungle canopy. The ride to the zip lines was an hour over more bone crunching roads.

We could only howl with laughter as we arrived. The parking lot was filled with two tour buses  full of geriatrics, average age 80, who had arrived before us. No fear in their eyes. There was more chance of getting hurt by the safety harness than falling into the jungle and being eaten by a rabid leopard.

The trip back to San Jose included a visit to Tamarindo with lunch on the beach. The little town had the feel of spring break lurking under a veil of humidity. I sense the atmosphere had a faster pulse at night. 

During the San Jose portion of our holiday we met a nice retired couple on a golf course and made a connection strong enough to have dinner in their gated community home. They were from Dallas and had retired in San Jose for the half price expat life there. 

They were a catholic couple and the subject turned to the midnight mass they would attend Christmas eve. They invited us to join them. I agreed to go to my first ever mass. Their church was relatively small, not a cathedral. It was in the countryside away from the city.

The church held a few hundred souls. Everyone was dressed to the nines. The men in upscale cowboy gear or business suits. The ladies in their modest Sunday finest. We had terrific seats near the pastor. The solemn ceremony complemented by some outstanding music left me comforted at having witnessed one of the world's great rituals. 

The next evening at dinner our hostess revealed that she had been born jewish in Madrid, Spain. That was shocking. She told us her story of family upheaval and change that ended with her living in Dallas as a catholic.

It's a life lesson reminder that most people have an interesting story to tell if you can wring it out of them.

The climax of the trip came after golf on our penultimate day in San Jose. We went to the hotel bar for a beverage before dinner and were gobsmacked by the tsunami news on CNN. A stunning, sad story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A riveting hour. 

So our holiday had nothing we had planned that was notable but delivered memories of people met, transcendent ritual experienced and history witnessed. 

November 2019