As I sat in a doctor’s office a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but notice the parade of well-dressed, attractive young businesspeople who entered every twenty minutes or so, each carrying a briefcase.
And though each of them tried to speak very softly to the receptionist – obviously in the hopes that the waiting patients wouldn’t hear – we did hear. The brief conversations always involved a new “must-have” product or tool (medical or administrative). And they always began and ended with an invitation to lunch from the briefcase-carrier to the doctor or his nurses or staff.
As I watched the other people in the waiting room that day, I could see that they – we – were all thinking the same thing: There’s something very uncomfortable about this process. (Particularly if you’re aware that, quite often, the incentives are a hell of a lot bigger than a free lunch.)
When I read about Johnson & Johnson being accused of dragging its feet on recalling products that smelled moldy from possibly-tainted wooden pallets (and that had made some people sick), I couldn’t help thinking about the doctor’s office. And when I read the complaint accusing J&J of paying millions of dollars in kickbacks to Omnicare, a company that sells drugs to nursing homes, it sickened me. This money was (allegedly!) paid in the hopes of getting Omnicare to persuade nursing homes to use J&J medicines on our most vulnerable patients. And I thought about the doctor’s office again.
Johnson & Johnson owns the Tylenol brand. And, for those of us in the Public Relations business who are old enough to remember the early-eighties, Tylenol remains the symbol of the greatest crisis-communications response ever.
In 1982, seven people around the country died from Tylenol that had been intentionally tainted with poison, and thousands of others were sickened, some very seriously. Obviously, the company was not to blame; some sociopath was.
Yet, the company responded in a way that I still use to teach PR students the best response to a corporate crisis. Tylenol took every bottle of its products off the shelves…in the entire country. In every drug store. Every supermarket. Every convenience store. In the country.
Tylenol showed tremendous sensitivity in the face of this crisis. It encouraged its executives to speak openly to the media. And they did, in heartfelt ways, expressing obvious heartbreak about the deaths and sickness, concern for their employees and the stores that carried their product…and a determination to learn something from the incident.
Tylenol’s response had been immediate, not waffling. The response was “up-front” – there were no “no comments,” no committees that would have to study the problem for 60 days. And – in what seems an increasingly nostalgic episode in today’s world – the company actually put people above profits.
Next time you open a bottle from the drugstore, and read the label about not using the product if the bottle has been “tampered” with, you can thank Tylenol. Because they were the ones who pioneered this concept, in response to the poisoning tragedy.
I couldn’t help but think of the 1982 Tylenol incident as I read about Johnson & Johnson’s (alleged!!) cover-ups and kickbacks. And I couldn’t help but think of the doctor’s office.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
MARK McGWIRE'S DOG-AND-PONY SHOW
Here we go again.
Last week it was basketball’s Gilbert Arenas brandishing his six-shooter in the locker room. The week before it was football’s Plaxico Burress, receiving a prison sentence for his own private little shoot-out (with himself). The week before that it was golf’s Tiger Woods for his extra-marital escapades. The week before that…who the hell can remember?
Now, of course, baseball’s back in the news, with former home-run “King” Mark McGwire (at least, until his title was taken away by another reputed steroid-user) making the media rounds to “come clean” about his own steroid-use…and his years of denying it. (Of course, it’s just mere coincidence that McGwire’s about to start a new job as a coach for his old team, the St. Louis Cardinals, and could have expected a white-hot media grilling had he not “come clean” before then.)
McGwire’s been crying on TV. He’s apologized to pretty much everybody in America…his family, his fans, his friends, the city of St. Louis, his old teammates, Major League Baseball, the Commissioner of Baseball, etc.
It’s fitting, in a way, that Mark McGwire’s becoming a coach. Because he’s got one of the best PR coaches in the business – former Bush White House spokesman Ari Fleischer and his crisis communications firm – coaching him through all this.
I saw Mark McGwire cry yesterday on ESPN. But I’m not sure these are not crocodile tears; the man’s been guilty of – at the very least – evasion, for years. I heard him say today that he had good years without taking steroids, and bad years while taking steroids. Again, hard to believe, since his greatest years – 1997-1999 – were apparently at the peak of his steroid use. And that brings to mind another question: If he did, indeed, have some bad years while using steroids…why did he continue using them?
To me, the whole thing has been scripted better than any Broadway play. It's the same old story. Everybody's sorry afterward...when it's easy to be sorry, and easy to apologize. As for McGwire, he's already evaded the truth for years. So why would I believe he's sincere now?
Actually, I think the one-week-blitz media confessional may indeed be an idea that's here to stay...but not because it's a good model. The way things are today with sports stars, it's a pretty good bet another one will be caught cheating on his wife, or doing drugs, or brandishing guns (or pulling a Plaxico Burress and shooting himself) in the next week or so...to be followed by another scripted "apology."
And then McGwire's dog-and-pony show will instantly become old news.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
Last week it was basketball’s Gilbert Arenas brandishing his six-shooter in the locker room. The week before it was football’s Plaxico Burress, receiving a prison sentence for his own private little shoot-out (with himself). The week before that it was golf’s Tiger Woods for his extra-marital escapades. The week before that…who the hell can remember?
Now, of course, baseball’s back in the news, with former home-run “King” Mark McGwire (at least, until his title was taken away by another reputed steroid-user) making the media rounds to “come clean” about his own steroid-use…and his years of denying it. (Of course, it’s just mere coincidence that McGwire’s about to start a new job as a coach for his old team, the St. Louis Cardinals, and could have expected a white-hot media grilling had he not “come clean” before then.)
McGwire’s been crying on TV. He’s apologized to pretty much everybody in America…his family, his fans, his friends, the city of St. Louis, his old teammates, Major League Baseball, the Commissioner of Baseball, etc.
It’s fitting, in a way, that Mark McGwire’s becoming a coach. Because he’s got one of the best PR coaches in the business – former Bush White House spokesman Ari Fleischer and his crisis communications firm – coaching him through all this.
I saw Mark McGwire cry yesterday on ESPN. But I’m not sure these are not crocodile tears; the man’s been guilty of – at the very least – evasion, for years. I heard him say today that he had good years without taking steroids, and bad years while taking steroids. Again, hard to believe, since his greatest years – 1997-1999 – were apparently at the peak of his steroid use. And that brings to mind another question: If he did, indeed, have some bad years while using steroids…why did he continue using them?
To me, the whole thing has been scripted better than any Broadway play. It's the same old story. Everybody's sorry afterward...when it's easy to be sorry, and easy to apologize. As for McGwire, he's already evaded the truth for years. So why would I believe he's sincere now?
Actually, I think the one-week-blitz media confessional may indeed be an idea that's here to stay...but not because it's a good model. The way things are today with sports stars, it's a pretty good bet another one will be caught cheating on his wife, or doing drugs, or brandishing guns (or pulling a Plaxico Burress and shooting himself) in the next week or so...to be followed by another scripted "apology."
And then McGwire's dog-and-pony show will instantly become old news.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
COULD PR HAVE SAVED SAAB?
As I drove home from the dealer that day, some years back, I couldn’t believe the magnificent machine at whose controls I was sitting was really mine.
I had dreamed about owning a Saab since I was in my late-teens. While my buddies at the 7-11 would fantasize about Camaros and Chevelle Super Sports (both of which I actually ended up owning), I was somehow taken by the quirky lines and strange shape of this mysterious import from Sweden. It turned out that you either hated the Saab (my buddies) or loved it (me).
Yes, its unusual lines were antithetical to the sleek lines of the American muscle cars of those days. And, yes, the people sitting behind the wheels of Saabs were – let’s face it – sort of dorky, often with horn-rimmed glasses and tousled hair (whether male or female) and, perhaps, somewhat “intellectual” and a bit strange. But I didn’t care.
I loved that car from the first time I saw it. To me, those weird, curvy slopes and angles were cool. I thought the Saab was “funky” before anyone I knew had even muttered the word. And I was thrilled as, during the late-nineties and early part of this decade, the car took on some sleeker, racier lines, while still (I thought) managing to preserve everything that was quirky and wonderful about it.
As it turned out, however, not a lot of other people ever loved the car. And eventually, during the past few years, hardly anyone loved it. At one point last year, American car dealers were selling less than a thousand Saabs a month.
Now Saab is closing up shop, orphaned by the Swedish government, a potential suitor from Holland, and its Ford corporate parent. And I’m very sad. Because the jet-black Saab I owned until seven years ago was the best car I’ve ever had.
When I turned the key and the engine emitted that low, throaty roar, I was in paradise. When I cruised at unbelievable speeds along the highways (only on very long drives!), I was thrilled. When I rubbed my hands on the wood along the dashboard and near the seat handles, I was thrilled. When I raced around country roads as if the car was attached to them, I was thrilled. And when I looked at (and fooled around with) the dashboard – which was the closest thing to a jet cockpit I had ever seen – I was thrilled. (Saab, after all, started out as an aircraft company. And the company still makes planes for the Swedish air force, as well as commercial jets that see service in many countries, including ours.)
In what other car, for instance, did your radio automatically reset to the stations in a distant city to which you had driven? In what other car could you have a station pre-set to the local National Weather Service station, so that you could be warned of natural disasters that might be occurring ahead of you? And in what other car was the ignition key located on the console, instead of the steering wheel?
Now it’s gone. But, as a public relations professional, I always wondered a bit about Saab’s PR approaches. I always wondered why, for instance, they constantly seemed to be appealing to a “hip” audience that loved racy-looking cars, rather than the core audience that had loved the car for so long. I always wondered why they didn’t make their perceived weaknesses into strengths.
I always wondered why, for instance, they didn’t publicize the car’s classically-funky lines, instead of making those lines “sleeker,” like everyone else. I always wondered why they didn’t promote the car’s “funky” factor, instead of using the same promo lines everyone else was using. Why weren’t Saab’s marketing campaigns aimed at the people who had loved the car in the first place?
Why wasn’t the car promoted for the things it did well, instead of pushed with sleek ads as if it were like every other car? For example, why didn’t the company run ads noting that the police department in Vail, Colorado – one of the wealthiest towns in America – used Saabs? (As one officer told me, “That thing takes a mountain like it was born to run. Incredible speed. And it hugs those curves. On these roads, nobody can outrun us.”)
Would these strategies – pitching to the choir, instead of commoditizing the product – have ultimately saved Saab? I doubt it. Increasingly, in today’s world, “mass appeal” survives, while niche products often don’t. But at least the car would have stayed true to its principles.
I must really like Swedish cars…because I now own another one. But there’ll never be another Saab.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
I had dreamed about owning a Saab since I was in my late-teens. While my buddies at the 7-11 would fantasize about Camaros and Chevelle Super Sports (both of which I actually ended up owning), I was somehow taken by the quirky lines and strange shape of this mysterious import from Sweden. It turned out that you either hated the Saab (my buddies) or loved it (me).
Yes, its unusual lines were antithetical to the sleek lines of the American muscle cars of those days. And, yes, the people sitting behind the wheels of Saabs were – let’s face it – sort of dorky, often with horn-rimmed glasses and tousled hair (whether male or female) and, perhaps, somewhat “intellectual” and a bit strange. But I didn’t care.
I loved that car from the first time I saw it. To me, those weird, curvy slopes and angles were cool. I thought the Saab was “funky” before anyone I knew had even muttered the word. And I was thrilled as, during the late-nineties and early part of this decade, the car took on some sleeker, racier lines, while still (I thought) managing to preserve everything that was quirky and wonderful about it.
As it turned out, however, not a lot of other people ever loved the car. And eventually, during the past few years, hardly anyone loved it. At one point last year, American car dealers were selling less than a thousand Saabs a month.
Now Saab is closing up shop, orphaned by the Swedish government, a potential suitor from Holland, and its Ford corporate parent. And I’m very sad. Because the jet-black Saab I owned until seven years ago was the best car I’ve ever had.
When I turned the key and the engine emitted that low, throaty roar, I was in paradise. When I cruised at unbelievable speeds along the highways (only on very long drives!), I was thrilled. When I rubbed my hands on the wood along the dashboard and near the seat handles, I was thrilled. When I raced around country roads as if the car was attached to them, I was thrilled. And when I looked at (and fooled around with) the dashboard – which was the closest thing to a jet cockpit I had ever seen – I was thrilled. (Saab, after all, started out as an aircraft company. And the company still makes planes for the Swedish air force, as well as commercial jets that see service in many countries, including ours.)
In what other car, for instance, did your radio automatically reset to the stations in a distant city to which you had driven? In what other car could you have a station pre-set to the local National Weather Service station, so that you could be warned of natural disasters that might be occurring ahead of you? And in what other car was the ignition key located on the console, instead of the steering wheel?
Now it’s gone. But, as a public relations professional, I always wondered a bit about Saab’s PR approaches. I always wondered why, for instance, they constantly seemed to be appealing to a “hip” audience that loved racy-looking cars, rather than the core audience that had loved the car for so long. I always wondered why they didn’t make their perceived weaknesses into strengths.
I always wondered why, for instance, they didn’t publicize the car’s classically-funky lines, instead of making those lines “sleeker,” like everyone else. I always wondered why they didn’t promote the car’s “funky” factor, instead of using the same promo lines everyone else was using. Why weren’t Saab’s marketing campaigns aimed at the people who had loved the car in the first place?
Why wasn’t the car promoted for the things it did well, instead of pushed with sleek ads as if it were like every other car? For example, why didn’t the company run ads noting that the police department in Vail, Colorado – one of the wealthiest towns in America – used Saabs? (As one officer told me, “That thing takes a mountain like it was born to run. Incredible speed. And it hugs those curves. On these roads, nobody can outrun us.”)
Would these strategies – pitching to the choir, instead of commoditizing the product – have ultimately saved Saab? I doubt it. Increasingly, in today’s world, “mass appeal” survives, while niche products often don’t. But at least the car would have stayed true to its principles.
I must really like Swedish cars…because I now own another one. But there’ll never be another Saab.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
Saturday, December 26, 2009
MY NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS
For the year 2010, Resolved:
I will no longer insist on being innovative for clients who merely want the same old thing. (And, hopefully, I will no longer sign clients who want the same old thing.)
I will only give “bonus” hours to those clients who really appreciate them…and me.
I will continue to keep learning and keep thinking and keep discussing, in a constant endeavor to be the best that I can at my craft.
I will keep fighting for the integrity of the profession in which I’ve spent the past 21 years.
I will never stop asking “Why,” or “Why not?”
I will always remember that, in our profession – especially at the beginning of a relationship – listening is more important than talking.
I will always continue pushing for a “seat at the table” for PR professionals. And I will always continue to point out that, had we been given such a seat, some of the incredibly-stupid business mistakes of the past few years might never have occurred.
When I do my 6 a.m. run every morning, I will spend more time listening to the birds and the ducks all around me, instead of thinking.
I will spend more time listening to my daughters – 15 and 21 – and less time lecturing.
During our once-a-month disagreements, I will try harder to understand my wife’s point of view.
I will spend more time thinking about what I have, instead of what I want.
I won’t scream as loud at the TV when our beloved – but mediocre – Florida Panthers hockey team is playing.
I will spend less time watching college football. (OK, that one’s not quite true. Hey, you’ve got to allow me one or two broken resolutions!)
Happy New Year!
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
I will no longer insist on being innovative for clients who merely want the same old thing. (And, hopefully, I will no longer sign clients who want the same old thing.)
I will only give “bonus” hours to those clients who really appreciate them…and me.
I will continue to keep learning and keep thinking and keep discussing, in a constant endeavor to be the best that I can at my craft.
I will keep fighting for the integrity of the profession in which I’ve spent the past 21 years.
I will never stop asking “Why,” or “Why not?”
I will always remember that, in our profession – especially at the beginning of a relationship – listening is more important than talking.
I will always continue pushing for a “seat at the table” for PR professionals. And I will always continue to point out that, had we been given such a seat, some of the incredibly-stupid business mistakes of the past few years might never have occurred.
When I do my 6 a.m. run every morning, I will spend more time listening to the birds and the ducks all around me, instead of thinking.
I will spend more time listening to my daughters – 15 and 21 – and less time lecturing.
During our once-a-month disagreements, I will try harder to understand my wife’s point of view.
I will spend more time thinking about what I have, instead of what I want.
I won’t scream as loud at the TV when our beloved – but mediocre – Florida Panthers hockey team is playing.
I will spend less time watching college football. (OK, that one’s not quite true. Hey, you’ve got to allow me one or two broken resolutions!)
Happy New Year!
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
Friday, December 18, 2009
HOW "EDITOR AND PUBLISHER" CHANGED MY LIFE
“Editor and Publisher” is, apparently, on its death-bed. And that makes me very sad. Because, in a sense, “Editor and Publisher” gave me everything I have…
I was sitting in my high-rise apartment in Hartford, CT. It was a gray, miserable late-winter day, shortly after a record-snowfall had tied the city up for days. And it was shortly after my brother in Philadelphia and I had vowed to get jobs in Florida (which he did within a week or two). As I looked out at the downtown skyline, I thumbed absent-mindedly through the latest edition of “Editor and Publisher.”
Suddenly I came upon a half-page ad…for The National Enquirer. (Yes, I know what you’re thinking.) They were looking for an Editor. The salary was outrageous to a young kid recently out of college - $52,000. And then I saw it. Right below the salary, was the address, “Lantana, FLORIDA.”
I quickly got out my atlas, and saw that Lantana was only about fifty miles north of Miami, where my brother was about to move.
I knew, of course, about the Enquirer’s reputation for sensationalism. But I figured, what the hell; for that salary and that location, I’ll send them a resume.
I did. And then I totally forgot about it. So, when they called a couple of weeks later, it took me a minute to even remember the ad. They wanted to fly me down for an interview.
A week later, I sat in a plane on the runway of Bradley International Airport, in the pre-dawn blackness, and watched the icy sleet pelt my window. A few hours later I walked out of the terminal at Palm Beach International Airport…and into 76 degrees and the bluest sky I’d ever seen.
At the end of the day, the folks at the Enquirer told me they wanted to fly me back here again in a few days, for a two-week getting-to-know-each-other period. And they would pay me at the rate of the advertised Editor's position - $1,000 a week. In addition, they’d take care of all my costs – transportation, food, lodging, etc.
I thought about it for perhaps .0000001 of a second, and then said sure.
When I came back the following week, they were very nice. But, by my very first morning of the two weeks, I had a feeling that the Enquirer and I were not made for each other…$52,000 or not. So, at lunchtime, I stopped in unannounced at the Palm Beach Post, and asked to see the Managing Editor. A month later I was in Florida (for a salary of $12,000).
That was thirty years ago. And that ad in “Editor and Publisher” ended up being responsible for everything I now hold dear in life. My two precious daughters. My first marriage, to their mother. My new wife. My career in journalism and then public relations. Friends who are family. The opportunity to do my 6 a.m. run outside, instead of on a treadmill…every day of the year. (And no more icy sleet when I get in a plane to go somewhere!)
It’s funny how the entire course of a life can turn around in one moment. And, in my case, all because of “Editor and Publisher.”
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
I was sitting in my high-rise apartment in Hartford, CT. It was a gray, miserable late-winter day, shortly after a record-snowfall had tied the city up for days. And it was shortly after my brother in Philadelphia and I had vowed to get jobs in Florida (which he did within a week or two). As I looked out at the downtown skyline, I thumbed absent-mindedly through the latest edition of “Editor and Publisher.”
Suddenly I came upon a half-page ad…for The National Enquirer. (Yes, I know what you’re thinking.) They were looking for an Editor. The salary was outrageous to a young kid recently out of college - $52,000. And then I saw it. Right below the salary, was the address, “Lantana, FLORIDA.”
I quickly got out my atlas, and saw that Lantana was only about fifty miles north of Miami, where my brother was about to move.
I knew, of course, about the Enquirer’s reputation for sensationalism. But I figured, what the hell; for that salary and that location, I’ll send them a resume.
I did. And then I totally forgot about it. So, when they called a couple of weeks later, it took me a minute to even remember the ad. They wanted to fly me down for an interview.
A week later, I sat in a plane on the runway of Bradley International Airport, in the pre-dawn blackness, and watched the icy sleet pelt my window. A few hours later I walked out of the terminal at Palm Beach International Airport…and into 76 degrees and the bluest sky I’d ever seen.
At the end of the day, the folks at the Enquirer told me they wanted to fly me back here again in a few days, for a two-week getting-to-know-each-other period. And they would pay me at the rate of the advertised Editor's position - $1,000 a week. In addition, they’d take care of all my costs – transportation, food, lodging, etc.
I thought about it for perhaps .0000001 of a second, and then said sure.
When I came back the following week, they were very nice. But, by my very first morning of the two weeks, I had a feeling that the Enquirer and I were not made for each other…$52,000 or not. So, at lunchtime, I stopped in unannounced at the Palm Beach Post, and asked to see the Managing Editor. A month later I was in Florida (for a salary of $12,000).
That was thirty years ago. And that ad in “Editor and Publisher” ended up being responsible for everything I now hold dear in life. My two precious daughters. My first marriage, to their mother. My new wife. My career in journalism and then public relations. Friends who are family. The opportunity to do my 6 a.m. run outside, instead of on a treadmill…every day of the year. (And no more icy sleet when I get in a plane to go somewhere!)
It’s funny how the entire course of a life can turn around in one moment. And, in my case, all because of “Editor and Publisher.”
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
www.winstoncommunications.com
steve@winstoncommunications.com
(954) 575-4089
Monday, December 7, 2009
I'M TIRED OF HEARING ABOUT TIGER!
Is anyone else sick of all this?
Is anyone else sick of our perverse – morose! – fascination with the rich and famous? Is anyone else – in a world of hunger and war and poverty and climate change and recession and failing schools – sick of seeing the same name in the headlines for two weeks (until another rich and famous person gets caught in the act)?
Is anyone else sick of wondering whether the media frenzy is fed by the public’s fascination, or whether the public’s fascination is fed by the media frenzy?
And is anyone else in our industry sick of hearing how Tiger Woods can use PR to rehabilitate himself?
That same night that Woods crashed his car, and Elin decided to play golf at 2:45 a.m., thousands of other cheating husbands (and wives) were discovered by their spouses, all across America. That same night, thousands of other couples across America were involved in domestic violence. Thousands of other families were broken apart by the revelations of outsiders. And thousands of other children saw the patterns of their family life snap, but didn’t understand how or why.
Why, then, this morbid fascination with the rich and famous in our society – especially when they screw up? Is it because, as some say, the common man (or woman) takes a secret thrill in seeing famous people brought down? Is it a class-hatred thing? Are we all just voyeurs? Or are we interested out of some sense of justice…because the Tiger Woods’ and the Eliot Spitzers and the A-Rods and the Mark Sanfords and the John Edwards’ of the world bit off more than they could (or should) chew? Or is it because the media doesn’t tell us about those thousands of other people caught cheating by their spouses every day?
I’ve seen Tiger’s house (the one in South Florida, anyway). His wife is beautiful. His daughter is precious. Why, when someone reaches his status in life, does it never seem to be enough? And why do we obsess over it?
Right now, his life is ruined. And he may never be able to put the private side of it back together.
But he needn’t worry all that much about the public side. He needn’t worry about whether effective public relations can rehabilitate his image. He needn’t worry about whether people will buy the products he’ll still be endorsing after the smoke clears. He needn’t worry that people will no longer want to see him play golf.
Because, as sure as I’m writing this and you’re reading it, within a couple of weeks, another celebrity will get caught…at something. Then we’ll obsess over that person. And Tiger will eventually become a distant memory.
I’m sick of hearing about Tiger!!
Is anyone else sick of our perverse – morose! – fascination with the rich and famous? Is anyone else – in a world of hunger and war and poverty and climate change and recession and failing schools – sick of seeing the same name in the headlines for two weeks (until another rich and famous person gets caught in the act)?
Is anyone else sick of wondering whether the media frenzy is fed by the public’s fascination, or whether the public’s fascination is fed by the media frenzy?
And is anyone else in our industry sick of hearing how Tiger Woods can use PR to rehabilitate himself?
That same night that Woods crashed his car, and Elin decided to play golf at 2:45 a.m., thousands of other cheating husbands (and wives) were discovered by their spouses, all across America. That same night, thousands of other couples across America were involved in domestic violence. Thousands of other families were broken apart by the revelations of outsiders. And thousands of other children saw the patterns of their family life snap, but didn’t understand how or why.
Why, then, this morbid fascination with the rich and famous in our society – especially when they screw up? Is it because, as some say, the common man (or woman) takes a secret thrill in seeing famous people brought down? Is it a class-hatred thing? Are we all just voyeurs? Or are we interested out of some sense of justice…because the Tiger Woods’ and the Eliot Spitzers and the A-Rods and the Mark Sanfords and the John Edwards’ of the world bit off more than they could (or should) chew? Or is it because the media doesn’t tell us about those thousands of other people caught cheating by their spouses every day?
I’ve seen Tiger’s house (the one in South Florida, anyway). His wife is beautiful. His daughter is precious. Why, when someone reaches his status in life, does it never seem to be enough? And why do we obsess over it?
Right now, his life is ruined. And he may never be able to put the private side of it back together.
But he needn’t worry all that much about the public side. He needn’t worry about whether effective public relations can rehabilitate his image. He needn’t worry about whether people will buy the products he’ll still be endorsing after the smoke clears. He needn’t worry that people will no longer want to see him play golf.
Because, as sure as I’m writing this and you’re reading it, within a couple of weeks, another celebrity will get caught…at something. Then we’ll obsess over that person. And Tiger will eventually become a distant memory.
I’m sick of hearing about Tiger!!
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