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February 21st, 2012
Few business people are actually aware of how much time they and their colleagues lose to gripe sessions. By committing to resist the temptation to be drawn into the group gripe sessions, you will notice two things: first, that it is culturally very popular to be “one of the gang” when the whining starts; and second, and incredible amount of time and energy is wasted when a team engages in what we at Carnegie refer to as “driving the BMW” (beefing, moaning and whining.)
In one of my most successful initiatives ever, a decade ago, I gave up for Lent grumbling, griping, and whining of any kind. I made the public commitment t on Ash Wednesday, and proceeded to spend the next six weeks studiously revisiting the urge to join negative conversations and whining sessions.
Over the weeks I was involved in a number of very complicated, contentious, stressful strategy meetings. It was challenge enough to stay focused and get productive work done; and the second any one at any boardroom table started driving the BMW, all progress would grind to a halt as meetings disintegrated into whining sessions.
“I’m very sorry,” I was forced to apologize on several occasions. “I gave up grumbling, griping, and whining of any kind for Lent. I’d love to join you in this conversation, but I’m afraid it’s against my religion. Would you mind if we just got back to work?”
In 100 per cent of situations where I brought up my Lenten sacrifice, everyone in the room took it completely seriously. A few fellow Catholics would nod their heads and murmur gravely, instantly understanding that such a commitment had to be respected and honoured. Who could go on griping and whining when it violated such and obviously sacrosanct religious belief? No one! And on we’d go, getting back to the business at hand, BMW parked for the duration.
My Lenten sacrifice worked brilliantly on two levels: it signalled clearly and immediately to all concerned that I would have nothing to do with the whining session; and, it actually worked to make me aware of how much BMW-driving I did myself, and helped me break the habit almost completely.
I have to confess that not only now give up grumbling, griping and whining of any kind every Lent (I will have to find something new one of these years) but I frequently re-state the commitment at the start of very big initiative. During one important election campaign I ran, I put a “loonie jar” on the table and asked staff to hold me accountable by making me put a dollar in the jar every time I engaged in any negative talk or whining.
I carefully typed up a label for the jar which read: “I am personally and professionally committed to: maintaining a positive attitude, leading by example, working with enthusiasm, and spending absolutely zero minutes in a day criticizing, condemning or complaining.
“I need your help to maintain this commitment. If you catch me driving the BMW, nail me on it and I will put $1 in this jar. All funds will go to finance beer or other refreshments on suitable occasions. Thanks for holding me accountable. “
I brought the labelled jar into the campaign office and with great ceremony, read the label out loud to my assembled team and then signed my name to it in front of them.
Imagine my surprise and delight when one of my most negative and argumentative volunteers stepped forward and declared, “I want to sign it, too!”
“Wow!” I responded, thinking fast. “I was expecting to apply this only to myself – but if you want to get on board, so much the better!”
He signed his name to the loonie jar label in thick, dark magic marker. For the first few days, whenever he fell back into the habit of grumbling, other campaign workers would leap on the opportunity to tell him “You’re driving the BMW!” and insist he put a loonie in the jar.
Within a short while, however, his entire tone and tenor improved to the point that we could go days at a time without having to listen to the negative tirades that had been commonplace before the advent of the loonie jar.
Even our candidate got into the spirit of things and dropped in a loonie one night on his way out of the office.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked. “You haven’t been griping.”
He paused to think, then explained: “Guilty conscience!” he exclaimed.
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February 17th, 2012
“Man invented language,” comedian Lily Tomlin observed astutely, “to satisfy his deep need to complain.”
Tomlin can usually be counted on to provide amusing insights on life (“Growing up, I always wanted to be somebody,” she once remarked wryly. “I can see now that I should have been more specific.”)
Her comment on complaining as the motivation for language, though, hits particularly close to the mark. After all, just about the first thing human babies do after birth is scream with unhappiness. Some people, it seems, just go on screaming in misery from the doctor’s first slap on the butt in the delivery room until a different doctor ties a tag on their toe decades later.
Actually our Vice PresidentDave Matherhas a great visual analogy for the concept of those people who are forever dissatisfied because they believe Life owes them a living, and that Life is doing an inadequate job holding up its end of the bargain:
“They’re like babies whose umbilical cords were cut but the cord is still attached to their navels. They walk around for the rest of their life, holding onto that cord and looking for a new person to ‘plug it in’ to.”
These people – you know several of them – have yet to figure out that not whiny complaining dependence but cheerful self-reliance is the secret to happiness.
“If a half century of living has taught me anything at all,” Carnegie wrote in ‘Stop Worrying,’ “it has taught me that ‘nothing can bring you happiness but yourself.’
“Milton in his blindness discovered that same truth three hundred years ago:
‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven.’
“Napoleon and Helen Keller are perfect illustrations of Milton’s statement,” Carnegie points out. “Napoleon had everything men usually crave – glory, power, riches – yet he said at Saint Helena, ‘I have never known six happy days in my life’; while Helen Keller – blind, deaf, dumb – declared: ‘I have found life so beautiful.’”
“You are not what you think you are,” Norman Vincent Peale said, “but what you think, you are.”
And I would add, what you think manifests itself in your words. The words that come out of your mouth describe the reality you are creating for yourself, and often for others. If they are words of complaint, you have automatically framed your reality as bleak and your character as helpless.
If they are words of hope and encouragement, you are framing your reality as one of accomplishment and your character one of strength.
Why not use language to create instead of complain? Human beings are still evolving, after all. Here’s your chance to support evolution! Stop crying because the doctor slapped your butt at birth and go do something productive. And say something encouraging to someone just for the sake of it, while you’re at it.
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February 14th, 2012
Attractive women can face special challenges in business.
My smart and beautiful neighbour Vicky returned from a Maple Leafs’ game with clients, exploding in frustration.
“And then, one of our customers said to me, ‘My goodness, aren’t you flirt?’” she recounted furiously.
“I am so sick of it. I laced into him. ‘I am being friendly and outgoing, which is part of my job. I am not doing anything you aren’t doing. And listen,’ she spat, ‘I could be home with my family right now. I don’t need to be here watching you guzzle beer. I don’t need you. I don’t need your business, and I don’t need your referrals.’”
“Whoa, whoa!” I cringed. “Hang on for just a second!” I was imagining this poor guy’s shocked reaction to her tirade. “Maybe he thought he was paying you a compliment. Men can be thick, especially after several beers.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But all these men know I’m married. Most of them just make inappropriate remarks, but some of them actually hit on me. Why should I have to put up with this junk just to do my job?”
“Because they know you’ll rise to the bait,” I pointed out. “If you had the confidence to laugh off that remark, or return fire with a funny quip, men would stop doing it. Or, they’d do it but you wouldn’t notice or care. It’s the fact that you both notice and care that motivates them to press you.”
“Hmmmm,” she mused. “That could be true.”
“Create some lines ahead of time so you always know what to say,” I suggested. “And then change the subject. If a man tells you you’re beautiful, tell him, ‘Thank you, my husband tells me that every morning’ and then ask him about product pricing.”
She laughed, and we spent a few minutes having fun devising some all-purpose lines, like “I bet your wife loves it when you say such nice things to her! How about those Leafs, eh?”
Walking home thinking about which Carnegie principles I would recommend in a situation like Vicky’s, it occurred to me: maybe what she needs isn’t a dose of Dale. Maybe she needs to adopt some of the iron-clad confidence and unstoppable attitudes of one of Dale Carnegie’s contemporaries, one of the smartest businesswomen of the 20th century.
This woman was brilliant, ambitious, and so attractive that her name literally became a dictionary definition.
She began performing when she was 7 years old. Later she wrote her own plays, and when no men would produce them, she financed them herself and made a fortune.
A single one of her films was credited with saving Paramount Pictures from bankruptcy. In 1935, she was the second-highest paid person in the United States, after William Randolph Hearst.
She was one of the earliest supporters of gay rights, and when once her landlord balked at allowing her black boyfriend visit her apartment, she solved the problem by buying the building.
Her enormous productivity and effortless wit were legendary; she has never been equalled.
I am speaking, of course, of Mae West. Surprise!
Most of western society recalls Mae West for one attribute only: her sexiness.
But she was also one of the sharpest minds – and the best writers – of her age. She didn’t just project confidence, she personified it. No man could fluster her, although legions of them tried (including morality groups, politicians, and law enforcers. She was actually jailed 10 days for allegedly ‘corrupting the morals of youth.’ While in prison, she dined with the Warden and his wife, and got two days off for good behaviour).
What does absolute, unshakable business and personal confidence sound like? A lot like Mae West:
“One and one make two; two and two make four. Five will get you twenty if you know what you’re doing.”
“Keep cool and collect.”
“An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises.”
“A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.”
“Don’t ever make the same mistake twice, unless it pays.”
Man: “When it comes to you, I’m dynamite.”
Mae: “And I’m your match.”
Man: “I wonder what kind of woman you are?”
Mae: “Sorry, I don’t give out samples.”
Man: “Can you handle it?”
Mae: “Yeah, and I can kick it around, too!”
Dale Carnegie said, “We are evaluated and classified by these four contacts: what we do, how we look, what we say, and how we say it.”
Mae West said, “It isn’t what I do, but how I do it. It isn’t what I say, but how I say it. And, how I look when I do and say it.”
I think Vicky and all women in business could use an ounce of Mae West, along with their pound of Dale Carnegie.
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February 10th, 2012
Every year, Valentine’s Day reminds me that commitment to improving human relations can help overcome even the hardest situations.
When I became Director of Communications for the Minister of Health, my counterpart as Director of Policy was Dr. Jo Kennelly.
Jo is easily one of the most brilliant policy minds in Canada, having worked previously for the Prime Ministers of New Zealand and the United Kingdom. Her Ph.D from Cambridge made my high school diploma look like a piece of Kleenex, and her political connections – especially in the Prime Minister’s Office – were intimidating . Our Minister loved her and respected her opinion above all others. She is a force of nature.
I got off to a rocky start in my new job, beginning with the very first speech I wrote: I had been unable to nail the Minister down to work on it, which left me writing a speech based on guesswork, hoping to get his changes after he’d read it.
At 11pm the night before he was to deliver it, he called Jo and told her he hated the speech.
First thing the next morning, Jo approached me and told me that the speech had to be changed.
“Fine,” I replied. “I’ll change it.”
“No,” Jo said. “There isn’t time. You don’t know enough about the policy. I want someone else to write it.”
My “precious ego” (as Dale Carnegie would describe it) could not possibly allow such a thing.
“Absolutely not,” I insisted. “I am the Director of Communications; I will re-write the speech.”
My balkiness stressed Jo terribly: every line, every word of a policy document matters to her tremendously, and she was frantically concerned that my speech would contain inaccuracies. I resented her lack of faith in my abilities. We eventually got the speech corrected and finalized, but the process was painful and it drained away much of the good will that might have automatically developed between us.
Jo kept us all too busy to think about anything but the task at hand; she was a policy machine, developing new programs, securing funding for new initiatives, meeting with stakeholders. I had to be in awe of her intelligence, her diligence and her energy level.
Every couple of days she would turn up at my desk and say “Hey.”
“Hey” meant: “I’ve finished work on a new policy initiative and I need you to put together an announcement rollout.”
As I had to respect Jo’s brilliance in all things related to policy and stakeholder relations, she came to admire my ability to get announcements approved and delivered. Some of the largest rollouts in Canada’s history – including Canada’s new Food Guide, the Chemicals Management Plan, and the Canadian Partnership Against Cancer – involved the two of us working together in lockstep. We held some kind of record for having the Prime Minister at more of our announcements than any other portfolio, the highest compliment in our industry.
I used to get so many accolades and compliments at these launch events that I had to admit to Jo: “You know, I get all the credit for your work. You slave over the policy for months, then I set up the announcement and get all the credit; it’s like you carry the baby for nine months and then I deliver it and tell everyone, ‘Look what a brilliant job I did!’” Jo loved this analogy.
Along with my 30 Carnegie principles, I posted a quote on my office door by famed speechwriter Peggy Noonan: “Great speeches are based on great policy.”
A major turning point for us took place at a Federal/Provincial/Territorial (FPT) meeting of Health Ministers. I wanted our Minister’s opening remarks to be inspiring and to show leadership. The bureaucrats at Intergovernmental Affairs, however, insisted he deliver the same old boring non-offensive non-remarks every Federal minister had been delivering since the dawn of time.
Knowing my preferred remarks would never get approved, I took a different tact. I wrote up one simple page of ideas, which I handed to the Minister in the car on the way to the airport. He stuffed it in his briefcase, and it was never mentioned it again.
When it came time to open the conference, the Minister pulled out some papers.
“Like you,” he began, “I am an elected politician. Every one of us here was elected by our constituents, not to argue over what can’t be done, but to envision what CAN be done, and to work together to make it happen for Canadians…”
He was using my notes! I was delighted. Then I noticed our Deputy Minister – the highest ranking official in the room – glowering at me. He glared at me with absolute venom in his eyes for several minutes. If looks could kill, I was a dead woman. Uh-oh. My mouth went dry.
Then my blackberry buzzed. It was a message from Jo – sitting across the room, she had seen the Deputy cast me the evil eye.
“How DARE we be inspiring!” Jo wrote. “Great remarks, Rita!” I looked up to see her smiling.
That year, on February 14th, I was at my desk late – and Jo was too. At 8:30pm she showed up in my door.
“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day? Do you want to go out for a drink?”
“That is a GREAT idea!” I laughed. We shut down our computers and flew out the door, the last two people in the Minister’s office, heading out to celebrate Valentine’s Day. We dropped into a local pub, where we talked for hours. It truly was “the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” which endures to this day and has only grown stronger with time, as we continue to work on projects together now that we are both out in the private sector again.
“If you tell me how you get your feeling of importance, I will tell you who you are,” Dale Carnegie wrote. “That determines your character. That is the most significant thing about you.”
Both Jo and I are completely committed to being excellent and professional in our jobs. It is the most significant thing about each of us. Because of this, we were able to overcome our early tensions, and work to do the best job possible for Canadians.
Hey! What could be better than that?
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February 7th, 2012
On October 8, 2005, the front page of the Globe and Mail was horrifying. A major earthquake had hit Pakistan in an area so remote that more than 20,000 people were expected to be dead and there was not even a plan to recover their bodies. They would stay where they lay, buried in rubble, gone forever, with no hope of rescue or even respectful internment; it was as though they had never existed.
After coffee, I put on my running clothes and headed out the door to Sunnybrook Hospital, 3.5 miles away. I was reporting for my very first day of radiation treatment for breast cancer.
It was a lovely crisp fall morning and my run seemed effortless. When I came in sight of the sprawling Sunnybrook complex, I felt an unexpected rush of euphoria. I did it! I ran to my first radiation appointment. I felt grateful – for my health, for our cancer care system, for Canada.
As I approached the entrance to Sunnybrook, a police car with sirens wailing raced down Bayview Avenue and came to an abrupt stop at the driveway. An officer jumped out and stopped all traffic, northbound and southbound. Rush hour ground to a halt as the officer, arms extended and palms facing outward in both directions, ordered all movement to cease.
Respectful Toronto drivers slammed on their brakes; cars were backed up for blocks in either direction. A sudden and eerie quiet descended upon the street. From several blocks away I could hear the siren of an ambulance as it raced toward the hospital.
I stood transfixed on the sidewalk, mesmerized by the drama before me. The ambulance roared south through the empty northbound lane of Bayview. Lights flashing, siren screaming, it slowed only slightly to make a sharp turn into the Sunnybrook driveway. Inside that ambulance, a human being was hovering between life and death, and every resource our society had to offer – police, ambulance, healthcare – was utterly focused and dedicated to saving that person’s life. One, single person – a stranger to everyone involved.
Hundreds of drivers, busy people on the way to work, had screeched to a halt and waited, in unison, at the simple lift of a police officer’s hand. It was like watching a ballet, or a symphony of a kind. For a brief moment, it seemed, a “veil” was lifted from between the reality we take for granted everyday, and the true magical, miracle that is life in Canada. I could actually see the miracle with my eyes, which were filled with tears.
My heart, which had been filled with gratitude only moments before just because I’d finished my first run to Sunnybrook, was almost bursting at the sight of a city stopping to save the life of a stranger – and a society which had the means and took the responsibility to do so.
Upon returning home that morning, I mentioned this irony to my son Tom, who was studying economics.
“In Pakistan 20,000 people died and there is not even going to be a rescue attempt. In Toronto, one dying person brought a whole corner of the city to a halt,” I described. “It’s like we don’t even live on the same planet.”
“Well, of course, Ma,” Tom pointed out logically. “That’s the difference between living in a developed or an undeveloped nation.”
“The words ‘Think and Thank!’ are inscribed in many of the Cromwellian churches of England,” Dale Carnegie wrote in Stop Worrying.
“These words ought to be inscribed on our hearts, too: ‘Think and Thank.’ Think of all we have to be grateful for, and thank God for all our boons and bounties…if we want to stop worrying and start living…count your blessings – not your troubles!
“About 90 per cent of the things in our lives are right and about 10 per cent are wrong. If we want to be happy, all we have to do is concentrate on the 90 per cent that are right. If we want to be worried and bitter and have stomach ulcers, all we have to do is to concentrate on the 10 per cent that are wrong and ignore the 90 per cent that are glorious.”
Oh, Canada! Thank you to all the elected politicians, loyal opposition, dedicated civil servants, hard-working political staffers, generous volunteers, diligent journalists, voters, taxpayers, and law-abiding citizens who make the miracle happen. It truly is glorious, 100 per cent glorious.
Classified’s version of Oh Canada: the best! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fF62J3vxPdQ&ob=av2n
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January 31st, 2012
Robert Foster, one of the most successful political fundraisers in Canada, once told our executive how he approached large donors so successfully.
“These people have money, they can afford to give it away, and they’re going to give it away,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t ask them to give it to the Blue Party, or the Red Party, or the Green Party. I ask for it on behalf of Democracy. I tell them they are contributing to Democracy, they are supporting Democracy – and they give me the money. For Democracy.”
This is not only a brilliant approach in my opinion, but one that has seldom failed in my experience.
“Appeal to the nobler motives,” Carnegie designated Principle #19, and virtually every time I do, I am successful. People love to be part of something that is larger than themselves, more important than their own immediate circumstances, and which benefits the greater community. It gives them a feeling of significance and goodness that they find tremendously gratifying.
A neighbour of mine used to sell for Atlantic Packaging, a Toronto-based company which was founded fifty years ago on the principle of using only recycled paper – decades before that idea became popular. Atlantic Packaging can proudly and truthfully say that for all of the millions of tons of paper product it has shipped over the years, it has never killed a tree!
“When I call on a customer,”Dee told me once, “they can tell me a competitor’s product is cheaper, or they may tell me a competitor’s product has features ours doesn’t have, and intellectually we both know that to be true. But when I tell them that ours is recycled and helping the environment, not hurting it, they know they cannot argue, and they have to buy my product. It makes them feel good to buy my product, and they do.”
“The fact is,” Carnegie wrote in Win Friends, “that all people you meet have a high regard for themselves and like to be fine and unselfish in their own estimation…all of us, being idealists at heart, like to think of motives that sound good. So, in order to change people, appeal to nobler motives.”
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January 27th, 2012
I have loved Barry Devolin since he gave up a career in real estate to work for the Minister of Natural Resources in the Ontario government. When I first met Barry, he was ambling around the Premier’s Office in a cozy knit cardigan (quite distinctive in a culture of “power suits”) and had a little gurgling quartz water fountain on his desktop.
“It’s part of my plan,” he explained. “If we lose the next election and the left wing gets back in, maybe I’ll look enough like one of them that maybe they’ll forget to fire me.”
Actually, we did lose the next election and of course all of us got “fired” promptly, but Barry had the last laugh, as he went on to win in the federal election and is now the Member of Parliament for Haliburton-Kawartha Lakes.
I kept a running file of “Barry-isms,” as he regularly dropped quiet, insightful little rural pearls of wisdom.
Once, discussing the fact that three female union leaders had publicly commented on an issue while the lone male boss in their midst had yet to reveal his position, Barry compared it to hunting for white-tailed deer inEastern Ontario:
“A smart buck will stay back and let three does cross a clearing first,” he noted. “If the third doe makes it across without getting shot, the buck figures it’s safe enough for him to emerge.
“Of course,” he finished, “a smart hunter lets the first three does cross, hoping that will draw out the buck.”
So there we were, the brilliant team of crack communications strategists, basing our negotiating plans on an age-old hunters’ strategy!
I saw Barry in Ottawa years later and Parliament hadn’t changed his wit or humour one little bit. Pleased to have been elected, he was keenly aware that the minority government of the day could fall at any time, and that he would then be plunged into another election battle to keep his seat.
“Waking up every day knowing you could be 38 days from unemployment tends to keep you focused,” he commented wryly.
Of all the “Barry-isms” I can recall, my absolute favourite has always been this one:
“If you wrestle with a skunk,” Barry used to warn as we prepared to plunge headlong into yet another round of political mud-slinging, “even if you win, you both stink when you get up.”
Dale Carnegie offered a similar observation in Stop Worrying: “As a farm boy, I trapped four-legged skunks along the hedgerows inMissouri; and as a man, I encountered a few two-legged skunks on the sidewalks ofNew York. I have found from sad experience that it doesn’t pay to stir up either variety.”
Both Dale Carnegie and Barry Devolin were pointing out that some things just don’t pay: wrestling with skunks is one of those things.
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January 24th, 2012
Interviewing one of Canada’s most successful businessmen recently, I was fascinated by his insight into prioritization and commitment.
Jim Hjartarson is the CEO of OneChip Photonics, an Ottawa firm poised to become one of the world’s leading suppliers of FTTH components (Fibre to the Home). Hjartarson is a 30-year veteran of the telecommunications industry. He was a co-founder and CEO of Catena Networks; co-founder and VP of the Telecommunications Design Centre at Cadence Design Systems and, before then, he served as Director of Access Peripheral Design at Nortel Networks.
Hjartarson feels strongly that negative attitudes and too much playing ‘devil’s advocate’ can grind progress to a halt: “People tend to get the results they focus on,” he said. “In an environment in which people spend a large part of their time preparing to defend their work against challenge or argument, that energy is not going into the primary project.
“In fact,” he noted, “I believe that when a company pours a large amount of energy into developing a ‘Plan B’ in case ‘Plan A’ fails, they are almost guaranteeing the failure of Plan A by this very process. You need to know what you want, and commit to putting your energies there.”
Hjartarson’s observation is basically a 21st century update of the story of explorer Hernando Cortes: legend has it that after landing on the Yucatan Peninsula in 1519, Cortes overheard some of his men worrying that they were doomed to be defeated in battle. The men were making a plan to get back to their ships and sail away before such a defeat could occur.
In response, Cortes had all the ships in the harbour set on fire and burned to destruction.
“Now,” he told his men, “fight, or die. If we sail back to Spain, we will sail in their ships.”
Napoleon Hill wrote, “Every person who wins in any undertaking must be willing to burn his ships and cut off all sources of retreat. Only by doing so can one be sure of maintaining that state of mind known as a burning desire to win, essential to success.”
Dale Carnegie, of course, phrases it in plainer language (because, he’s Dale). He quotes Abraham Lincoln: “If I were to try to read, much less to answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as well be closed for any other business. I do the very best I know how – the very best I can; and I mean to keep on doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, then what is said against me won’t matter. If the end brings me out wrong, then ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”
As Jim Hjartarson notes, focusing too much energy on developing a ‘Plan B’ in case ‘Plan A’ fails almost guarantees the failure of Plan A. You need to know what you want, and commit to putting your energies there.
“Do the very best you can,” Dale Carnegie advised simply. “Then put up your old umbrella, and keep the rain of criticism from running down the back of your neck.”
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January 17th, 2012
When there is good will between people, little miscommunications are barely noticed. You just correct them and move on.
When good will is absent, the smallest misunderstandings can become giant issues.
One winter, I wound up scrambling to help a riding get election-ready on very short notice. I drove 8 hours through a freezing rain storm to a small town in rural Ontario. When I finally arrived at the home of the campaign manager, I was stressed and exhausted.
We sat down to dinner, and immediately Buddy started in on me. How was I qualified to do this job? What did I know about the local people? (Curious question, as he was from Vancouver). How would I be able to take time away from my day job to do the work?
I didn’t appreciate the grilling, but I patiently answered all of his questions. Then he started in on me personally.
“I don’t think the locals will accept you here,” he announced imperiously. “You’re too blonde, too aggressive, too loud, and too American.”
I sighed, knowing that I simply had to work with this man if we wanted to win. “I grew up on the Bruce Peninsula, and went to high school in Wiarton,” I pointed out. “I spent 13 summers in Renfrew County. I know a little bit about rural Ontario.”
The haranguing went on for quite some time, including a shocking number of inappropriate sexual comments.
After three long hours, he paused and said admiringly, “Wow, you can really take it. I’ve been insulting you for three hours, and you haven’t risen to the bait once.”
“I’m a trained Dale Carnegie instructor,” I shrugged. “We are taught to ignore our instinctive first impulse.” My instinctive first impulse was to give him a swift kick somewhere tender. I resisted the urge.
Months went by before an election was called. By then the entire team was in place, and headquarters was set up. Upon my arrival at the campaign office, Buddy greeted me by exclaiming, “Welcome to Sexism and Male Chauvinism Central!”
I groaned inwardly. “That’s going to make it really hard for us to recruit young, female volunteers,” I pointed out.
“Oh, we don’t have any of those,” he replied cheerfully.
“That would be my point, exactly,” I hissed through clenched teeth. Dear God, Dear Dale, please see me through this campaign…
Much to Buddy’s dismay, I hit it off famously with the local residents and was regularly invited to fun social events, while he was not. One afternoon when he showed up in my office door.
“Do you have a Power Bar?” he asked.
I reached into my desk drawer, where I kept a stash of protein powders, Power Bars and calcium chews to help me get through long days with irregular meals. I handed him a chocolate Power Bar.
He glared at me hatefully, and left. A few minutes later he was back. “I need a Power Bar,” he snapped angrily.
I reached into my drawer a second time, and pulled out another Power Bar. “These things cost five bucks each,” I pointed out. “Don’t you eat at home?”
“I need to PLUG IN MY COMPUTER!” he shouted at me in utter frustration.
Oh…a POWER BAR!! I couldn’t help but roar laughing; soon, I was shaking with mirth and had tears running down my cheeks.
“Yes, I bought a spare power bar,” I gasped, hauling a brand new six-banger out of my equipment box. “Here you go.”
Buddy snatched the bar out of my hand and stomped out of the office. I was still laughing. “Can I have my Power Bars back, if you’re not going to eat them?” I called after him. I was impressed and astonished at how a simple misunderstanding could have caused so much anger and grief. I mean, it was pretty funny, actually. Wasn’t it?
“Do you know that if you are courteous and pleasant all day during your work that you will go home at night less fatigued than if you gave way to irritation? Pleasantry, light laughs, relieves tension. It isn’t work that makes you tired, it’s your mental attitude,” Dale Carnegie wrote.
Tactfully in 1936, Carnegie did not make the point that if you are an argumentative, jealous, sexist pig, you’ll probably be tired and tense most of the time. Today in 2012, I feel compelled to make that point for him.
Epilogue: We won by 11,000 votes.
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January 13th, 2012
 Photo credits to Brian Gable.
One of the best illustrations of a Carnegie principle occurred on January 4th in Whitby, during the celebration at which we presented Valentino’s Grande Salon with the very first Dale Carnegie Business Group 100th Anniversary Award.
I had been preparing for days – organizing my remarks, writing press releases and media advisories, contacting local media.
On the day of the big event, I went to Valentino’s to have my hair coloured and cut so I would look my very best. You don’t stand up in a room full of 100 hairstylists and media without the kind of cutting-edge “do” you get at Valentino’s.
Valentino’s owner George Tsinokas gave me a warm and gracious introduction. I stepped forward and took the microphone. The room fell silent in anticipation of my remarks.
I paused.
“Excuse me,” I told the waiting room. “There is something very important I have to do first…Teanna?”
My stylist Teanna rushed forward with her salon brush. She made a very large production of fluffing, arranging, and smoothing my hair so that it was absolutely perfect.
“Thank you,” I said. “Now, I can begin.”
The room went insane!! The clapping, cheering and hooting went on for a minutes. There was nothing I could have possibly said, no words I could have spoken, that would have telegraphed so powerful a message to a room full of people who cut and style hair for a living: what you say is important, yes. But how you look – now, THAT really matters!!
Without a single spoken word, I communicated to the room: what you do matters. What you do is important. You help people be successful in their jobs and their lives, and we appreciate you for it. Two of Dale Carnegie’s most important principles are “Show honest and sincere appreciation,” and “Make the other person feel important.” I believe I covered both of those with my “hair perfecting” demonstration.
The demonstration itself, however, was an example of another Carnegie principle which everyone would do well to remember and use: Principle #20, “Dramatize your ideas.”
“This is the day of dramatization,” Dale Carnegie wrote – in 1936!! “Merely stating a truth isn’t enough. The truth has to be made vivid, interesting, dramatic.”
Brian Gable’s cartoon in Tuesday’s Globe and Mail is a fabulous and hilarious illustration of dramatization and showmanship. “The next portion of our presentation will NOT be on Powerpoint,” the speaker notes, as her assistant is diligently filling the room with bubbles blown from a wand. Evidently, the real estate bubble is about to burst – what better way to illustrate the point, than with real actual bubbles? Bubble bursting – check – got it. I see it with my eyes. I do not need to see a Powerpoint slide to understand it, or remember it.
“You have to use showmanship,” Carnegie emphasized. “The movies do it. Television does it. And you will have to do it too, if you want attention.”
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