Good management … and what happens when it’s not

Some of you may remember Bass’ iconic “Weejuns.” AKA the world’s greatest casual shoes. I had worn them for years, but then sadly my last pair – re-soled and re-heeled one time too many – had to be retired..

I was pleasantly surprised, however, to find that Bass still makes Weejuns. They call them something else, but they are the same, and the box they come in proudly displays the semiotic brand “Weejuns.” I was delighted … and even more so when I found out my favorite retail store was advertising them at a nice discount online.

Ca-ching. A deal was done. And they emailed me within minutes to say that I could pick up my new Weejuns the next day at their Short Pump Town Center store.

I did. But I did not try them on until later that night at home. I put the right one on. Perfect fit. I would not have expected anything less. Just like the old days.

But then … what was this? I have been buying and wearing shoes for more years than I’d care to think about. But this had never happened.

The left shoe would not fit. Not because it was a size smaller, but because it was simply another right-footed shoe. I had been delivered a box of perfectly packaged shoes but perfectly fitted for right feet only.

“Well, never in my born days,” as my Georgia-bred grandmother used to say …

The good news is that I took the box back to the store the next day, and the manager who helped me and I both got a big laugh out of my question: “I wonder what the dude who got the other box thinks about having two left-footed Weejuns?”

You know the rest. I was made whole. And cheerfully so…even with an additional 15 percent discount for my “trouble,” as the manager put it, of having to come back to the store.

No trouble at all, I replied. They just solidified an already good customer’s loyalty.

*

But about three hours later, this happened at the grocery store I usually go to. I go there because they were the unlikely heir to one to the best grocery chains I’ve even known.

I’d been seeing the signs for a while. First a well-respected manager left, his replacement virtually invisible even three years later.

But that management absence – or dereliction of duty – showed its true stripes tonight.

I was walking though the bakery area when I saw a woman slip on a wet floor and fall almost flat. And she did not fall lightly either, it could have been serious. I helped her to her feet and stayed with her to make sure she was going to be OK. She said she was. It had just been so unexpected, she said.

Indeed. There was a single flimsy yellow sign warning of a damp floor…but it was about four feet away from where she had slipped and fallen. Water – or something clear and wet –covered about 10 square feet of busy aisle space, the misplaced excuse-for-a-warning sign about as effective as Chicken Little announcing a tsunami.

Once all was OK with the lady who had fallen, I was incensed. No one from store management showed up. So I went to them. At their mis-named “service desk,” I told the four employees gathered there helping a single customer what had happened.

They were taken out of their game, one showing a bit of an attitude. She said, “but there was a warning sign there.”

My response was rather direct and forceful. I did not cuss .. but I sure as hell did think it.

I told the four of them to please get somebody over there to mop up the water in the aisle where customers were walking and quit standing around arguing with me.

I’ve seen this kind of attitude there before, but not to the point of ignoring the fact that a woman had fallen on their pristine floor.

FuelPerks be damned. They just lost a good customer.

And they want $15 an hour?

Do 'real writers' Tweet?

Suggest Tweeting to some writers – or writers in their own minds – and they go all infra-dig snooty on you, like “Thou shalt not Tweet” is some kind of Writer Religion Commandment, or something.

What a mistake. Tweeting can be a wonderful discipline. For me, a former newspaper person, it’s like writing headlines. Having to squish the essence of a 1,200-word story into three lines of 18 characters each focuses one’s thinking very fast. Especially with some grizzly, cigar-chomping Ed Asner look-alike editor growling over your shoulder. And that’s kind of like the old saw: “Eat a live toad first thing every morning, and nothing worse will happen to you all day long.”

Being a ham radio operator (K4GLX) since age 13, hasn’t hurt either. As a teenager, I spent long hours thinking fast and translating information into the dots and dashes of Morse code, or CW, as we on the inside call it. Brevity, in that mode, is always more than just “the soul of wit.” It is a necessity.

I loved it when I first read Stephen King’s now famous line from On Writing: “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.” It’s also full of more such encomia praising needless verbosity. We can all tighten up, me included.

So, Yikes! That’s almost 300 words up there. I better stop. But before I do, if you’re interested in a great essay on this whole topic of good writing, including Tweeting, by a master essayist, Thomas Beller, writing for The New Yorker’s “Page-Turner” feature, Google it. He reminds us, after all,  that it was Gertrude Stein who wrote, “There is no there there,” one of what he calls ”the great proto-Tweets.”

Umm: You do Google, don’t you?

On writing well

Writing well is a life-long job, I’ve learned. People and mores change, but if I ever let-up on the idea that I must always be a student of good writing, I’m doomed.

So how does that work?

Reading good writers is one way. And learning from editors.

When I was a teenager, my father perceived that I was a potential writer. So he encouraged me, and along the way he gave me a couple of books by Theodore Bernstein, then an assistant managing editor of  The New York Times. The books were collections of Bernstein’s critiques of writing by Times staff writers. They were a huge helps and even fun to read. I’ve missed them over the years, but recently I’ve discovered that The Times still does in-house critiques of its writers’ work. In a column called After Deadline  -- Newsroom Notes on Usage and Style, Philip B. Corbett does the job. He praises good examples, and offers positive criticism when it’s required. It’s published internally, but you can find it on the Internet right here.

For my writer friends and friends of writing – and I know you follow this blog – these are for you:

Uber Adds a Low-Tech Twist to Its Modern Business Model in India

 

Some of the green-and-yellow “autos” come equipped with speakers in the back that blare Bollywood hits. Many drivers will allow more than the legal maximum of three riders, leaving some passengers clinging to the sides of the vehicles. Few use their meters without a fight.

 

This feature by Nida Najar, about Uber’s move into India’s auto rickshaws, was full of fine descriptive touches. This paragraph is particularly effective because of the three-part structure, building to the short, sharp final line.

 

* * *

 

Hunting a Serial Killer as a Political Enemy Nips at Their Heels

 

“Child 44,” directed by Daniel Espinosa from a screenplay by Richard Price, is an English-language movie set in Russia, which means that it is above all a festival of accents. Gary Oldman, Paddy Considine and Vincent Cassel measure their vowels and consonants carefully, but the most floridly enjoyable voices belong to Tom Hardy and Noomi Rapace, last seen together speaking Brooklynese in “The Drop.” In that film, Mr. Hardy dropped his r’s like a champ. Here he lands heavily on the aitches and contracts the words “it is” into the letter Z. “Zimpossible,” he says. “Zdifficult.”

 

As for “Child 44″: Znot too terrible, but znothing great, either.

 

A typical funny touch by A. O. Scott, one of several that make the review worth reading even if the movie isn’t much to cheer about.

 

An Unprecedented Tsunami of Hyperbole

We all want our stories to be engaging, even exciting. Deep reporting, clear writing and sharp detail are the best tools. But sometimes we can’t resist the impulse to pump up the prose with hyperbolic language.

It generally doesn’t work. Often, the overhyped language seems clichéd or trite rather than gripping. If every dispute is bitter, every development unprecedented, every performer a superstar, then there’s nothing so special about yours.

By all means let’s be vivid and descriptive. But restraint is a virtue, too. Here are a few recent overheated examples:

That is the largest such gap, or “spread,” since 1989, according to Marc Chandler, global head of currency strategy at Brown Brothers Harriman. And it has unleashed a tsunami of capital flows from Europe to the United States.

Unless you’re describing an actual natural disaster, metaphors like “tsunami” or “earthquake” are almost always over the top. (And speaking of earthquakes, let’s not say “epicenter” when all we mean is “center.”)

But in a volatile example of how thorny and tangled the debate can become as communities nationwide implement new rules to protect the brains of young athletes, Florida’s mandate has created a combative firestorm that has reverberated across the country.

What’s more powerful than a tsunami? A “firestorm,” of course. Here, we embellished further — and mixed the metaphor — with “volatile,” “thorny,” “tangled,” “combative” and “reverberated.” The subject, by the way, was girls’ lacrosse.

The history of Atlantic Records, now part of the Warner Music Group, is populated by a small country’s worth of megastars from across the spectrum of jazz, pop and rock — names including Ray Charles, John Coltrane, Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack, Charles Mingus, Wilson Pickett, Yes, Led Zeppelin, Cream, Abba and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

First, there were singers, musicians and other performers. The truly outstanding ones were singled out as “stars.” At some point, all performers became stars, and the most successful were promoted to “superstars.” Now, apparently, in a world full of superstars, we have to switch from Latin to Greek and single out a handful of superstars as “megastars.” Putting aside the question of whether Aretha and Abba really occupy the same niche, this passage would not suffer a bit if we just called them “stars.”

In fact, Mr. Obama’s ties with teachers’ unions have grown increasingly toxic.

“Toxic,” meaning poisonous, seems like an overstatement; “strained” may be closer to the mark. And once again we’re mixing metaphors; as a colleague said, a “toxic tie” sounds like a weapon in a James Bond movie.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu despite his victory in this week’s elections, signaling that it is in no rush to repair a historic rift between the United States and Israel.

Perhaps it will prove historic — that is, important in history. Or perhaps it’s a blip that will pass with a new administration or other unforeseeable developments. The Times’s stylebook urges care in using “historic”:

Use it with caution for a current event, because history’s verdict is rarely predictable by journalists, and the word suggests hyperbole.

War Baby scores in new review

 

War Baby - 4 stars (of 5)

E-Book Planet’s Review

War Baby takes us on the journey of a recovering alcoholic. It is a powerful autobiographical account which demonstrates how any of us can stumble into a pitfall, and how the battle to get out can be a long and arduous one.

Dougald Blue writes in a descriptive, flowing manner which carries real emotional weight and makes each scene tangible. At times this book feels nostalgic, but more often it feels pained or bitter, and the circumstances Blue found himself in have taught him valuable lessons which he is happy to share. He has strived to capture the complexity of his own mind and of the individuals around him in order to process difficulties which are too often oversimplified.

The characters in the book are real people (with their identities changed) and by the time I had finished reading, I felt I knew them as individuals. The book is brutally honest throughout, and I imagine Blue exorcised a lot of demons during the writing process. His honesty just made the read that much more absorbing.

Those who have faced problems such as addiction will find a lot to relate to, and those who know someone going through such problems may  be able to understand them better once they have finished reading. This is a very good book which is a little on the short side, but has a reasonable asking price, and so is worth picking up.

More here: http://goo.gl/6Q2OnV

BOOK REVIEW: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

First things first: the book won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature last year. And it was the number two best-seller among The New York Times’ hard-cover fiction books last week.

So why all the accolades? You will know by the time you have finished reading the first chapter. It is less than a page long – a whole chapter, mind you – and you find yourself engulfed in something that is almost impossible to put down – all 530 pages of it, all delivered in the same staccato short-chapters. I had dreams about the story. I felt at times as though I were in it. And I learned from its telling.

Set mostly in Nazi-occupied France during World War II, All the Light weaves together the lives of a French girl who has been blind since age six and Werner, a young German man, conscripted for service to the Führer, and a genius with radio and electronics.

How they finally meet and relate and what happens in their lives is the stuff of some of the best writing I have ever known. It is not what you expect. It is otherworldly – and in more than just ways of relationship.

There are legends of perfect diamonds – things the Germans seek to steal and put in what they plan to be the world’s largest and greatest museum ever.

Meanwhile a patriot they cannot find risks his life to radio codes – and Shubert’s music – to the Allies forming in England to take on the Teutonic Übertreibung. And in the end Doerr has somehow created one of the most beautiful stories of how we get along in this wretched world by caring for each other.   

The book takes concentration, and all the more – soul, spirit, belief, wonder, and imagination.

It is not for the faint of heart or the literary gadfly, the seeker of cheap thrills. To them I say: stay with your dime-novel-equivalent e-books.  All the Light is some serious literature.

It provokes thought – requires it, really – and is spirit-challenging with unforgettably well-drawn characters. Meshed with Doerr’s mastery of simile and metaphor, the result is a book that spoke to my heart. And our spirits are passed along, no matter what.

“And is it so hard to believe that souls might also travel these paths? ... They flow above the chimneys, ride the sidewalks, slip through your jacket and shirt and breastbone and lungs, and pass out through the other side, the air a library and the record of every life lived, every sentence spoken every word transmitted still reverberating within it.”

What reconciliation looks like

One hundred and fifty years ago this week (April 1-5, 1865), the Confederate capital of Richmond fell to Union forces. This editorial in the Richmond Times-Dispatch earlier this week recalled those days. Click here to read it.

Abraham Lincoln and his young son Todd came to town on April 5. By then most of the commercial areas of the city had been reduced to ruins by a fire set by Confederates who were heading south. Their plan was to retreat to Danville, Virginia. But the soldiers barely made it to Appomattox Court House, where Lee formally surrendered to Grant on April 9, 1865.

Just a few days later, Confederate General Joe Johnston surrendered to General William Tecumseh Sherman at Durham Station, North Carolina, effectively ending the Civil War.

Reconstruction followed. But less is written about reconciliation during those turbulent days.

This modest structure, located just behind the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in Richmond, and open to visitors to this day, evinces that spirit of reconciliation.

This is the Confederate Memorial Chapel. It was completed in 1887, funded by private donations. The largest single individual donation for its construction came from former United States President and General of the Union Army, Ulysses S. Grant.

That’s what reconciliation looks like.