EOCAWKI: What my dad taught me about patriotism

My father, Gino Mattera, emigrated from Italy to the U.S in 1946, joining his father, Antonio, who had been supporting his family by living and working here since the 1920s. My grandfather, a longshoreman on the Brooklyn docks, sent money back to Italy regularly and went back to be with his wife and kids as often as he could manage. World War Two made travel back to Italy impossible for a number of years,  but they were able to exchange messages

My dad, Gino Mattera, enjoying Manhattan Beach.
He loved living in that neighborhood.

through the Red Cross. My dad used to tell of opening envelopes from his father and pulling out letters wrapped around crisp $5 bills. Those letters and gifts were much needed since times were tough in Italy.  My father and his siblings came of age under Mussolini’s fascist dictatorship when both money and personal freedom were scarce. And the messages from my grandfather were signs of hope for a better future.
      My dad and his brother, my Uncle John, both told me at various times how they were required at school to sing fascist songs and demonstrate their patriotism with fascist salutes. Patriotic fervor was encouraged with beatings for those who failed to sing or salute with enough enthusiasm.  Ultimately, Italy was liberated by English and American troops. When the war finally ended and communication with the U.S. was re-established, my dad readily agreed to join his father in the U.S., land of opportunity and freedom. He arrived in New York on a cold and snowy

The Marine Shark, the Liberty Ship that brought my

       Dad to the U.S. in 1946.

day in February 1946 aboard the USS Marine Shark, a Liberty Ship.  My grandfather met him at the dock. He had a warm coat waiting, placed it on my dad’s shoulders and said, “Let’s go home.” My father said it was strange to hear those words since he was so far from what had been home to him. But it wasn’t long before his heart and his home were American.
     My father never took for granted his freedom or the opportunity this country gave him to be successful. After serving in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, he bought a fruit and vegetable store in Brooklyn. After a couple of years, he sold it and went to work in the fashion industry.  He and my mom, Gilda, eventually owned, operated, then sold a well-regarded firm that imported women’s clothing. Ultimately, they retired comfortably in Manhattan Beach, a neighborhood in which my dad always aspired to live and where he was very happy and comfortable.
    A couple of weeks after 9/11, I went up to visit my folks. Like so many others they were traumatized by what had happened. They were glued to the TV. The smoke rising from Ground Zero was visible from the end of their street. My dad and I took the subway into the City to get a first-hand look at the horror. From the moment we exited the subway at Fulton Street, the smell of smoke and death was with us. My father held a handkerchief to his face the whole time. The devastation was horrendous, but I think what hit him hardest that day was the sight of soldiers carrying automatic weapons in Lower Manhattan. Armed soldiers on the street in his city, in his country! This wasn’t supposed to happen here. It must have brought him back to a time he had left far behind. He told me, “This doesn’t feel like the country I came to.” Yet, he loved it here to his dying day, in large part because he knew what it meant to live under an authoritarian regime.
    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my dad and the compulsory patriotism of his youth under Fascist rule. I don’t for a single second say or even imply that we’ve descended to that level in our country. I do, however, get concerned when I hear people complaining about how others choose to display their patriotism in public — or choose not to.
    I inherited my dad’s love for this country.  I learned from him what it means to live in a country that isn’t free. So, I cherish what we have here. I get chills when I hear our National Anthem at the Olympics and I stand and sing it proudly at ballgames. And one reason I do is because I know that in this land of the free, no one can force me to do that if I don’t want to. And if this truly is the home of the brave, no one ever will.

EOCAWKI: Now I Know What I Shoulda Said Then

We’ve all had the experience of failing to come up with a witty or amusing response to something and then realizing much later what we should have said under the circumstances.  In my case, it took 44 years.
     I was a sophomore at Brooklyn College, enrolled in a theater class that included an improv component.  Our instructor was a professional actor — a middle aged man with slightly gray thinning curly hair.  He was assisted by two grad student TAs — a guy named Roy and Leah, a stunningly pretty young woman with long, red curly hair. I admit that as a healthy 19 year old heterosexual male, 

Brooklyn College days. Or daze?

I considered Leah’s presence in class an inducement to attend every session.  Plus, she really seemed to know her stuff. When Leah and Roy demonstrated improv we marveled at how they were able to come up with such funny material with so little apparent effort.  As I was to discover, it’s even harder than it looks. The three of them taught us the basics of improv, including the most fundamental tenet, never disagree.  It’s always, “Yes, and...”
     Our “exam” required us to take part in an actual improv on the stage at the George Gershwin Theater on the BC campus.  On exam day, a number of theater classes were combined, then split into groups of about 5 or 6 students, each group led by one of the TAs.  Two groups would perform each improv. I was in a group led by Roy. The TAs gave each group a scenario to start with but did not share the other group’s scenario.  My group was told that we were on a road trip and had run out of gas in front of a large house. After talking it over, we agreed that we would begin by ringing the doorbell, explaining that we had run out of gas and asking to use the phone. I was tapped to begin.  So when we were given our cue, I stepped up to an imaginary door, and rang an imaginary bell while one of my group members said, “Ding Dong.”

George Gershwin Theater at Brooklyn College.

In very short order, the entire other group opened the imaginary door.

     “Hi, there,” I started.  “Sorry to bother you, but my friends and I have run out of gas and I was wondering if we might use your phone.”
     It threw me for a bit of a loop when the group gathered around me and grabbed me by the arms. One of them said, “Sure, but first you have to come in and meet grandma.”  Bearing our lessons in mind, I said, “Yeah, sure.” And they literally pulled me to center stage where Leah was lounging across a table in a manner I can only describe as alluring. I was still processing all this when I heard someone say, “Say hello to grandma.”  So I stuck out my hand and said, “How ya doin’ grandma?”
And this extraordinarily attractive young woman with the amazing red curly hair took this 19 year old heterosexual male’s hand and placed it squarely on her perfect left boob. Then looked me right in the eyes and grinned.
     Yes, and...
    Well, I knew I should say something. Something!  But I was so stunned by this turn of events that, with my hand still resting happily where it had been placed, I turned slowly toward the audience where our instructor was seated in the front row.  My eyes were wide and my jaw slack.  It was an unintentional but perfectly timed and highly effective comedic take, and it brought down the house. Even the instructor was laughing.
     It took a while for the laughter to subside, but when it did he let me have it. I flopped.  I failed to advance the improv and I even came out of character. And he said it in front of everybody.  Not good.
      But it was good — for me, anyway.  I had an experience that I’d venture to say most males in that class were dreaming about and then I got a great laugh to boot. And it’s something I remember to this day. So, maybe it stunk as improv but as it was pretty damn terrific as a real life experience.
      So, what should I have said and done? It occurred to me the other day while watching Tina Fey demonstrate improv with David Letterman.  She’s so clever, so quick and so funny that I found myself wishing I had another chance to cultivate that kind of wit.  And it was at that moment I realized what I should have done and said when that beautiful TA took my hand and placed it on her boob.  I should have left it there for a long moment, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “If I’d known you wanted me to use the knocker I wouldn’t have rung the bell.”

EOCAWKI: Delivering the Goods and Bringing Home the Bacon (Literally!)

I cranked out baloney
for corporations for 40 years.
How different can sausage making be? 

It seems like yesterday that I was bringing my sons to work with me on special days. Today, we swapped roles. I spent the morning tagging along with my oldest son, Chris, who is co-owner of a company that makes artisanal sausage here in Richmond, VA.  Along with getting a first hand understanding of the myriad chores, regulations and responsibilities that come with small business ownership -- and helping to prepare bacon for smoking -- I had the eye-opening opportunity to ride along on a series of deliveries to a few local branches of two large supermarket chains. One chain’s been around for a while; the other is a relative newcomer to this market.

As a shopper, I never thought much about how the products I pick up off the shelves or pluck out of the refrigerated cases got there.  But it turns out that the process of getting food into supermarkets is more complex than I had imagined. There are strict protocols involved in presenting the product at each store. They involve signing in, presenting the list of product, scanning the product in and, some cases, placing the product in the case.  But most interesting to me was the pivotal role played by “The Receiver,” the person who facilitates this process at each store.  The processes might be similar, but human interaction changes everything.  The differences between supermarket chains and among the stores in each chain was striking.

Getting the bacon ready for the smoker.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the new kid in town has a very slick and relatively painless process, made better by the professionalism and cordiality of the receivers. By contrast, the other chain was a bit less buttoned up and some of the receivers we encountered were indifferent at best and in one case, downright hostile. In fact, I told Chris at one point that that particular receiver was the most unpleasant person I had ever encountered in real life. And that’s after 40 years in the corporate world.

To be fair, unpleasant encounters in the corporate world are mostly just uncomfortable. I’ve encountered some passive aggression and even some overt hostility.  But never have I dealt professionally with someone who was as intentionally obstructive and downright nasty as this particular person.  (Let’s call her Roxy.)  I don’t want to be judgmental; I don’t know what’s happening in Roxy’s life to make her as mean as she seems to be.  And it was actually quite funny to watch the vendors waiting with us -- mostly larger older men -- practically quaking at the prospect of unintentionally unleashing this tiny ball of pent up fury.  It turned out this was not difficult to do.  

After we were kept waiting for half an hour outside a sealed door on a hot loading dock, Roxy finally raised the door and asked Chris who he was with. When he told her the name of his company she informed him in a tone I can only describe as scornful, that this wasn’t his scheduled delivery time and he would have to come back. The thing is, Roxy makes the schedule but doesn’t tell the vendors when their scheduled time is so it’s actually impossible to arrive at the assigned time. Chris kept his composure admirably.  He simply said, “Well, we’re here now. How do you want to proceed?” This produced a loud, disdainful sigh. She returned to her desk for about 30 seconds then agreed to admit us but instructed us to stand several feet away from her while she stared into a nearby bin. Finally, after another minute or so, we were cleared for final approach. I had the boxes on a hand truck for Roxy to scan. I moved them toward her desk but she instructed me to move then “into the light.”  Well, since the whole place was rather dimly lit, I had some difficulty following this guidance and she made her annoyance clear to me. But we cleared that hurdle, arranged the sausage in its case and cleared out. On the way out, Roxy was tormenting her next victim and we scooted by the growing line of waiting vendors who reminded me of nothing so much as the people lined up to get soup from the Soup Nazi in Seinfeld.

It turns out that while Roxy is an extreme case, (as Chris observed, terrifying in the moment but hysterically funny in retrospect), what you see “backstage” in a supermarket might be reflective of the customer experience out front.  Perhaps it’s true that a company culture that is genuine and deeply rooted is reflected not only by those who serve the customer directly but also by those who work behind that door that’s labeled “Employees Only.”  Today’s encounter with Roxy actually has me rethinking where I’ll do my supermarket shopping. And with Lidl, Aldi and Publix joining the already competitive Richmond supermaket scrum, I'm spoiled for choice.

EOCAWKI: Sometimes the hand of God is at the end of your wrist

Recently, Rep. Tim Walberg (R-Mich) told a town hall meeting that if climate change is real then God will fix it. He said in part, "...I believe that there is a creator in God who is much bigger than us. And I'm confident that, if there's a real problem, he can take care of it."
Rep. Walberg's view of climate change reminded me of this old story:

A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help.
Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, "Jump in, I can save you."The stranded fellow shouted back, "No, it's OK, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me."

So the rowboat went on.
Then a motorboat came by. "The fellow in the motorboat shouted, "Jump in, I can save you."
To this the stranded man said, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith."
So the motorboat went on.
Then a helicopter came by and the pilot shouted down, "Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety."
To this the stranded man again replied, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith."
So the helicopter reluctantly flew away.
Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, "I had faith in you but you didn't save me, you let me drown. I don't understand why!"
To this God replied, "I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?"

Climate change is a real problem. The scientific consensus is that it is largely man-made. And God is already taking care of it. Through us. I believe that our Creator endowed mankind with the wisdom, good judgment, skills and science to recognize problems, and with everything we need to correct them. That's what the Paris Accord is intended to do.

I tend to perceive the Deity in terms of an all-present and loving parent who is the source of our life and who instills and nurtures in the children of this planet the sense and capacity to set things right when they head in the wrong direction.

Everyone likes dramatic, highly visible miracles and sometimes those do occur. But most often miracles arrive in plain brown wrappers placed right under our noses. Consider just how miraculous it is that nearly every country on this war-ravaged planet came together to form a consensus around climate change and agree on the way to address it. Even North Korea! The only nations that didn't sign on initially were Nicaragua and Syria. And now President Trump says the United States will make it a trio of outliers.

Yet despite this latest development, I am confident that mankind ultimately will fulfill our responsibility to care for and heal the one planet God gave us. After all, it's what a responsible child would do to honor a Loving Parent.

EOCAWKI: The Power to Offend

It’s been about 27 years since I went on a job interview in which a senior executive of the company for which I was about to work asked me, “What religion are you?” Even back then this was an extraordinary, not to say inappropriate question for a job interview.  But the fact that he asked it amused me so I smiled and said, “Catholic,” to which he replied, “Oh yeah?  You’re a fish-eater, huh? A bead twirler?” And then he laughed uproariously. He explained that he, too, was Catholic and those terms had been used to describe him so it was all right. And you know what? It was.

During that same interview he asked me, “Do you ever put your feet up on your desk?” I answered truthfully, “Sometimes.”  He shot back, “You’re lazy!”  Amazingly, I got the job and soon confirmed what I suspected: this particular exec was a gruff vestige from an earlier age. But he wasn’t a bad guy. Political correctness was already on the march back then but somehow it hadn’t caught up to him. He wasn’t stupid, but he thought and spoke in very simple, stark terms, without guile or pretense. And sometimes his plain insight cut through a lot of corporate B.S. His black and white view of the world and work was shaped in a different, earlier age. It wasn’t meant to offend, and although some were surprised and offended by him, few who knew him were.

The exec who interviewed me made no secret of the fact that he didn’t like it when women went on maternity leave. He considered it a great inconvenience. So, when he suspected that a female executive who reported to him was expecting, he sent his secretary down to do a little subtle snooping. Of course, the female exec saw through this clumsy attempt and called her boss. She told him, “I know why you sent Linda down and I have to tell you something. I can’t have children.”  His response? “Oh, that’s a tremendous relief. Thank you for telling me.”  Insensitive? Yes, indeed, absolutely.  Offensive? It would have been easy to be outraged, but the female exec knew the guy’s background, understood that he wasn’t trying to offend her and laughed it off. Indeed, those who worked for him often found his inadvertent insensitivity amusing and it became the fodder for many good stories.

"One of our biggest problems as a society isn’t the color of our skins but how thin they’ve become."

Today, of course, things would be different. The exec in question would have been chastised, sent for diversity and sensitivity training and maybe even fired or hauled into court. Fortunately for him and all of us, he retired before it came to that. For all of the earnest preaching about tolerance that takes place in the workplace, the reality is that there would be a lot less tolerance for a relic like him today. And I think that’s because we have become more inclined to surrender to others the power to offend us, whether that is the intention or not. In fact, I believe that one of our biggest problems as a society isn’t the color of our skins but how thin they’ve become.

"Who knows what transgressions our self righteous early 21st century society will have committed in the eyes of those who live 100 or even 50 years from now."

We sometimes hear public figures apologizing for using words or phrases that might not have even known were offensive because they've taken on whole new meanings in popular culture. Or worse, how often do people take offense at valid words the meaning of which they don’t understand, simply because the words sound like other words that are considered offensive? (I’d list some but I don’t want to piss anyone off.)  On top of that, our prevailing tendency is to make judgments about people from another age using the standards that are in place today. But who knows what transgressions our self righteous early 21st century society will have committed in the eyes of those who live 100 or even 50 years from now.

"Don’t hand over to anyone else the power to offend you."

So, I would offer this advice:  Don’t hand over to anyone else the power to offend you.  Start off assuming good intentions on the part of others. If it turns out that someone really is trying to offend you, they won’t be successful if you let it roll off your back. That’ll piss ‘em off good and you’ll be happier if you do.

EOCAWKI: Optimize This

As someone who relied on personal relationships with my friends in the media and was accustomed to a high degree of autonomy and creative license in my writing, I confess that the advent of social media sometimes took me out of my “comfort zone" at work.  It’s not that I don’t use social media personally, but I found it harder to adapt to the restrictions it imposed on a professional level. For example, I like nice tight prose but simply could not see how 140 characters could possibly be enough to convey anything meaningful, much less explain a complex matter.  

One of the hardest things to get used to was the requirement to submit much of my work to the “SEO” or “Search Engine Optimization” group for review before it was published or distributed. I certainly understood the need to make sure that our material could be found online easily, but it felt to me a bit like the quality of prose took a backseat to whether it was searchable.  Very often, what I thought was a clever or compelling word or phrase was altered or eliminated in favor of something much more run-of-the-mill but more “searchable.” Since I really liked coming up with funny or unusual ways to say things, it bothered me a bit that that particular skill did not seem to have as much value as it used to have. Yet, since SEO was the goal, I did try to consider it in my writing. I thought perhaps the easiest way to do that would be to deliberately use terms that someone is most likely to search for. But that didn’t pan out.  According to Google, (Who else??) the top 10 search terms last year were:

1. Powerball

2. Prince

3. Hurricane Matthew

4. Pokémon Go

5. Slither.io

6. Olympics

7. David Bowie

8. Trump

9. Election

10. Hillary Clinton

Also high on the list were “Gmail”, “Craigslist”, “Amazon”, “Yahoo”, and “Porn.”  

Since I worked exclusively in the financial services field, weaving those particular terms into a typical press release in a way that made some sense would have required a good deal more creativity than I have. And I don’t think I’d have gotten away with it in any case. So, I decided to retire instead and haven’t looked back. Now I can forget about being searchable and focus on things that are important, like picking the right Powerball numbers or playing Pokémon Go.  Or maybe I’ll sit here and write this stuff and post it online where no one can find it. Then I’ll go swim some laps. After all the 2020 Tokyo Olympics are just three years away.

EOCAWKI: I've Got a Secret. To Tell the Truth

One of the nicest compliments I ever received was paid by a senior journalist at a well-respected publication who observed upon my retirement that I always “played it straight.” I took that to mean that I represented my employers well but never intentionally misled anyone or worse yet, lied outright. That’s not always easy to do when people want information that you have but just can’t share. Walking the sometimes fine line between circumspection and deception can be tough for a PR person, but it’s vitally important because in professional life, as in personal life, trust is the key to enduring and effective relationships, and trust is built on truth.  

I tried to maintain a strict separation between my personal and professional lives but I'm glad to say that they were frequently bridged when trust led to mutual respect, admiration and friendship. In fact, my oldest and dearest friends are people I met at work; many are current or former journalists whom I would trust with my life. Sadly, I suspect it’s a lot tougher today to forge those kinds of bonds.

In a world of “alternative facts” and science denial, where high public officials and their representatives seem willing to lie brazenly, repeat outright falsehoods and viciously attack those who challenge them, it can be much more difficult to discern the truth that underpins trust. At the same time it’s never been more important to do so. For that reason, I offer a few thoughts that might be helpful:

If a flack tells you something that’s new

But you feel that it just can’t be true

Then hold onto your horses

And check out other sources.

That’s always the right thing to do.

When your boss has a tale set to tell

But you know that it’s false, full and well

If he will not belay it

Then refuse to relay it.

It’s something you just shouldn’t sell.

When officials elected to lead

Insist that you pay them all heed,

But their words are so phony

And they’re full of baloney

It’s essential then not to accede.

If the truth is dispensed with wholesale

Then democracy’s destined to fail.

But the answer’s not hate

It’s our own Fourth Estate

Where the truth and the facts should prevail.