My Cups Runneth Over

Moderation in all things.

 ― Terence

Some men collect women; some, guns; some, cars and trucks.

I collect British cups.

Specifically, blue and white porcelain cups made in Worcester in the mid-18th century by a one Dr. Wall.

Like Colonel Sanders later did for fried chicken, Dr. Wall perfected a "secret recipe" for making porcelain that rocketed his pottery to fame throughout England.

Collecting is a mania, according to psychologists, but an innocuous one.

Until it slides into the form of slavery known as compulsion.

Then, what began as a hobby looks like pathology.

Mine might be termed cuppamania.

I have it badly, but not as badly as British porcelain scholar Michael Berthoud. He owns 1,743 British cups.

Book collectors are also prone to compulsion.

They can swiftly slide from bibliophilia into bibliomania.

They can slide even further into bibliophagy (eating books), bibliotaphy (burying books) and bibliokleptomania (stealing books).

The notorious "Book Bandit" Stephen Blumberg clearly suffered from bibliokleptomania. 

He stole over 23,600 books before he was caught and convicted in 1991. A forensic psychiatrist claimed at the trial Blumberg was schizophrenic, but the judge didn't buy it and gave him four and a half years.

Psychoanalysts note that the collecting bug bites men more than women, except when it comes to shoes.

When my wife cracks wise about my cups, I can point to her shoes.

And if that doesn't work, I can point to her books.

She owns nearly as many books as Michael Berthoud owns cups. Most, for some reason, are about Charlemagne.

That makes her officially a francobioliomaniac.

Newark in the Grip

Before Salk's wondrous vaccine reached American schoolkids in the early 1960s, my parents worried about polio. 

A lot.

In the summers, it was everywhere.

Historian Richard Rhodes describes it thus:

"Polio was a plague. One day you had a headache and an hour later you were paralyzed. Parents waited fearfully every summer to see if it would strike. One case turned up and then another. The count began to climb. The city closed the swimming pools and we all stayed home, cooped indoors, shunning other children. Summer seemed like winter then."

The late Philip Roth vivified those days in his brief, heartbreaking 2010 novel Nemesis, winner of the Man Booker International Prize.

It's July 1944. Polio is raging. A playground director, Bucky Cantor, faces a dilemma: should he quit his job and flee for the safety of a kids' summer camp in the Poconos, or should he tough it out in "equatorial" Newark? 

In his inimitable way, Roth shows how an earnest boy comes to grips with history and loses out.

Nemesis is a book about an epidemic; and also about youth, family, decency, religion, sex, love, hope, death, despair and destiny.

In 2010, Roth told NPR host Terry Gross the book began as he brainstormed ideas for a topic:

"I began, as I sometimes do with a book, jotting down on a yellow legal pad all of the historical events that I've lived through that I've not dealt with in fiction. When I came to polio, it was a great revelation to me. I never thought of it before as a subject. And then I remembered how frightening it was and how deadly it was and I thought, 'OK, try to write a book about polio.'"

It's Roth's final novel. And one of his finest.

Jack London's Nightmare

All man's toil upon the planet was just so much foam. 

— Jack London

In Seattle's Left Bank Books a few years ago, I bought a novel by one of my favorite writers, the left-leaning nihilist and dog-loving Jack London. I took my copy of The Scarlet Plague around the corner and into the Pike Place Starbucks, where I sat on a stool and read the whole of the 60-page book.

First published in 1912, The Scarlet Plague, focusing as it does on man's craven response to pandemic, remains one of modern literature's finest examples of post-apocalyptic storytelling.

Set in a ruined California, the tale takes place 60 years after the 2013 outbreak the "Red Death," a mysterious virus that depopulates the world. 

Jim Smith, an eye-witness to the pandemic, recounts to his grandsons how people were gripped by ancestral fear.

"We were sure that the bacteriologists would find a way to overcome this new germ, just as they had overcome other germs in the past,” he tells them. But panic set in when everyone realized “the astonishing quickness with which this germ destroyed human beings, and the fact that it inevitably killed any human body it entered."

Smith describes how the virus infects:

“The heart began to beat faster and the heat of the body to increase. Then came the scarlet rash, spreading like wildfire over the face and body. Most persons never noticed the increase in heat and heart-beat, and the first they knew was when the scarlet rash came out. Usually, they had convulsions at the time of the appearance of the rash. But these convulsions did not last long and were not very severe. The heels became numb first, then the legs, and hips, and when the numbness reached as high as his heart he died.”

Victims' corpses rot instantly, spewing the virus into the air. Pandemonium erupts and terrified citizens flee for safety:

“Imagine, my grandsons, people, thicker than the salmon-run you have seen on the Sacramento river, pouring out of the cities by millions, madly over the country, in vain attempt to escape the ubiquitous death. You see, they carried the germs with them. Even the airships of the rich, fleeing for mountain and desert fastnesses, carried the germs.”

Jim himself panics:

“I caught up my handbag and fled. The sights in the streets were terrible. One stumbled on bodies everywhere. Some were not yet dead. And even as you looked, you saw men sink down with the death fastened upon them. There were numerous fires burning in Berkeley, while Oakland and San Francisco were apparently being swept by vast conflagrations. The smoke of the burning filled the heavens, so that the midday was as a gloomy twilight, and, in the shifts of wind, sometimes the sun shone through dimly, a dull red orb. Truly, my grandsons, it was like the last days of the end of the world."

While you're self-quarantined, mix yourself a Bloody Mary and read The Scarlet Plague.

You'll also enjoy the CDC's review of Jack London's remarkable—and nightmarish—story.

Stay well!

Beat the Clock

If you don't think your performance is sharply rhythmic throughout the day—or that timing matters—consider the results of 26,000 corporate earnings calls.

Regardless of earnings and management's outlook—rosy or bleak—when CEOs conducted the calls in the early morning, their tone was positive; but as morning progressed, their tone grew less so. Calls held around noon were again upbeat; but as the afternoon unwound, until the market's closing bell, the tone went steadily downhill.

The time of the earnings calls and the CEOs' tone affected investors' reactions and companies' share prices. CEOs who held earnings calls late in the day saw shares in their companies underpriced—at least temporarily.

It appears CEOs are "morning people." About seven of 10 people are.

Managing your internal clock for performance is the point of Dan Pink's new book, When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing.

In When, Pink parses nearly 300 scientific studies (like the one about the earnings calls) and distills the findings into a long list of action items. He lists the items after each successive chapter in a "Time Hacker's Handbook" meant "to help put the insights into action." 

You can skip the science and only read the handbook, if you just want to improve performance. 

But that would take all the fun out of it. 

Pink is a delight to read (I like to read his books twice, because there's so much good stuff packed into them). He can popularize dreary science findings better than most business writers, and generally finds a practical lesson for the layperson in even the obscurest of research papers.

Did You Know Dashiell Hammett was Once a Copywriter?

Tuberculosis compelled Dashiell Hammett to quit his job as a Pinkerton detective in 1921.

Seeking less strenuous work, he enrolled in a journalism course at a business school in San Francisco, and began to write mystery stories for pulp magazines.

But by 1926 Hammett found mystery-writing couldn't earn him enough to live on, so he applied for a job as a copywriter with Samuels Jewelers. It paid a whopping $350 a month—nearly 10 times Hammett's earnings for pulp fiction.

He liked the new work; but he liked booze better. Before six months on the job Hammett was fired, after passing out in the office.

At the encouragement of a pulp magazine editor, Hammett began writing a "hard-boiled" mystery novel, Red Harvest. He mailed it—unsolicited—to the publisher Alfred A. Knopf in 1929.

Knopf realized it had received something unprecedented: a thriller that was "real art."

With weeks of the novel's appearance, reviewers were comparing Hammett to Hemingway. 

Hammett followed Red Harvest the same year with a second novel, The Dain Curse; and in 1930 published his most famous detective novel, The Maltese Falcon.

What Happened?

A bombshell not unlike Fire and Fury hit bookstores 40 years ago.

Elvis: What Happened?, based on interviews with three of the rock star's private bodyguards, painted a tabloid-style portrait of the King as a self-indulgent child bent on "slow suicide."

Fans were shocked, and reacted by calling the book a con-job. They cited the author's many factual errors; his failure to reveal his sources; his failure to verify the sources' accounts with third parties; and his frequent use of qualifiers like "as I recall."

Elvis was also enraged by the book and spoke in private about contract-killing the three bodyguards.

But when Elvis OD'd two weeks after its release, Elvis: What Happened? gained instant credibility, and a steady stream of confidants began to speak out, confirming the book's allegations.

With Fire and Fury: Inside the Trump White House, Michael Wolff, journalist and former editor of Adweek, has created the portrait of another self-indulgent child.

Trump's fans are reacting in the same way Elvis' did 40 years ago; and Trump's press secretary has dismissed Wolff's book as "trashy tabloid fiction." But unlike Elvis: What Happened?, Fire and Fury is based on interviews with 200 sources.

When the insiders―no matter their number―tell an essentially consistent story, only a fool cries, "Fake!"

A Book for Every Man

When the US joined World War I, the American Library Association launched a fundraising campaign designed to provide troops leisure-time reading.

In only three months, A Book for Every Man raised $5 million, enabling the ALA to ship more than 385 thousand donated books overseas. Before the war's end, that number would reach 10 million. 

Books were delivered to camp libraries and hospitals; placed on transport ships and troop trains; and sent to German prisons housing American POWs. Many were how-to books that helped the soldiers master subjects like accounting, electrical engineering, plumbing, and carpentry; others helped them wage war against Germany; while still others helped them improve their scores in popular games like checkers, chess, poker, and dominoes.

Most of the books were escapist page-turners, meant to fill the idle hours. Among the most popular contemporary authors were writers we still read today, including L. Frank Baum, John Buchan, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Willa Cather, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Zane Grey, H.P. Lovecraft and H.G.Wells.

Fond Memories of a Forgotten Industry

If you want to know where the future goes to be seen, look here.

― Charles Pappas

Charles Pappas, reporter for Exhibitor, has compiled a lighthearted treasury of trade show tales titled Flying Cars, Zombie Dogs, and Robot Overlords: How World's Fairs and Trade Expos Changed the World. 

It's a whimsical wayback machine that whirls you through a century and a half of gadgets and the shows that made them famous.

Pappas' goal isn't to spotlight the stars, but the stage. 

Although worth about $100 billion today, trade shows are a forgotten industry, he says, "as invisible as the oxygen in the air around us."

And that's ironic because shows are much more than "product platforms," Pappas says: they help launch social movements.

You'll find tons of delightful trivia inside his 250 pages.

Among my favorite:

• We owe our obsession with dinosaurs to an 1851 London show
  
  
• We eat bananas because an 1876 Philadelphia show popularized them
  
  
• The seed money for the Statue of Liberty came from shows in Paris and Philadelphia
  
  
• Aunt Jemima owes her fame to an 1893 Chicago show
  
  
• The electric vibrator premiered at a 1900 Paris show (where else?)
  
  
• The Patriotic Food Show promoted eating roadkill to help ration food in 1918
  
  
• Space travel launched at a 1927 show in Moscow (30 years before Sputnik)
  
  
• Picasso's "Guernica" began life as a trade show mural
  
  
• The run on Nylon stockings began at the 1939 New York show
  
  
• The term "Con" (as in Comic-Con) was coined by the same promoter who coined "Sci-Fi"

Pappas' book suffers from the author's overuse of puns, but they're easily overlooked amid the fascinating stories he tells. 

Don't miss Flying Cars, Zombie Dogs, and Robot Overlords. It's a lot of fun.

Spreading the Light

There are two ways of spreading light:
to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

— Edith Wharton

In the early 1920s, Professor Edith Stein was assistant-teaching at the University of Freiburg alongside her mentor, the renowned philosopher Edmund Husserl.

Their aim was considered subversive at the time: to train a generation of scholars to dissect "lived" human experiences—everything from falling in love to walking the dog, encountering a Rembrandt to eating a sandwich. Professional philosophers rarely thought about such things. 

Stein's own interest lay in dissecting empathy—our lived experience of others—which to her mind was the key to self-knowledge. Her interest stemmed, in part, from her work as a nurse in a field hospital during World War I, after which she told a friend, "I realize now that my life is no longer my own.”

A once-devout Jew turned atheist, Stein believed through philosophy she could shed light on the existence of souls—an effort her mentor encouraged ("The life of men is nothing else than a way towards God," Husserl later told her). But while visiting a friend's home, Stein read a borrowed copy of the autobiography of a nun, Saint Teresa of Ávila. It convinced her to convert to Catholicism. Stein then quit her university job and began to lecture throughout Germany, not on Catholicism, but feminism—talks that made her famous. Twelve years later, Stein entered a Carmelite convent in Cologne, planning to live a secluded life writing philosophy books.

But politics intervened. Hitler's persecution of Jews prompted the nuns to transfer Stein in 1938 to a convent in Holland, where they thought she'd be safe. And she was until 1942, when Holland's bishops condemned Nazi anti-Semitism from the pulpit and Hitler, in retaliation, ordered the arrest all Jewish converts in the country. Stein was taken in a boxcar to Auschwitz, where she died in the gas chamber. Her body was cremated, like 1,018,350 others.

In 1987, Pope John Paul II—another of Husserl's followers—beatified Edith Stein. That same year, a two-year-old girl in Boston mistook Tylenol for candy and swallowed the equivalent of 16 lethal doses. The girl's parents begged everyone they knew to pray to Stein to intercede on their dying daughter's behalf. They did, and the girl recovered within days.

''I'm not saying it was a miracle,'' her doctor told The New York Times. ''I'm saying it was miraculous. I'm Jewish. I don't believe per se in miracles, but I can say I didn't expect her to recover.''

Two years later, the pope canonized Edith Stein as Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. He remarked in English that day, ""Edith Stein stands out as a beacon which casts its light amid the terrible darkness which has marred this century. To her prayers before God I entrust all who suffer for the sake of justice and human dignity."

Butcher's Bible

Democratic theories of government in their modern form
are based on dogmas of equality.

— Madison Grant

Madison Grant was a New York City lawyer who in 1916 published The Passing of the Great Race.

Grant's work flew off booksellers' shelves after Science and The Saturday Evening Post both praised it, and climbed steadily to become an international best-seller.

The Passing of the Great Race attributed every benefit of civilization to the efforts of the Nordic race, and every threat to those benefits to people of other races. 

Based on its claim of Nordic superiority, the book argued for the end of immigration and equal rights and the start of a national eugenics program designed to foster "obliteration of the unfit."

However, thanks to the protests of anthropologists like Franz Boas and Margaret Mead—who produced compelling counter-evidence that showed race had no bearing on culture—the arguments made by The Passing of the Great Race soon fell from favor, and Madison Grant lost his following.

But not completely.

One day in 1934, Grant received a letter from a prominent German, who thanked him for writing "my bible." 

The letter was signed by Adolf Hitler.

Killing Marketing: Dead on Arrival

I'm a fan of Joe Pulizzi, coauthor with Robert Rose of the new 260-page book Killing Marketing. 

So I wish I could recommend it.

I can't.

The big idea behind the book―that businesses can convert marketing from overhead into profit―is preposterous; not because it's so wrongheaded, but because it's so thoroughly unrealistic.

Were the idea not preposterous, you'd find more real-world examples than the handful the authors can cite (although I'm flattered they include mention of the magazine I launched for the Society of Fire Protection Engineers, Fire Protection Engineering.)

The "killing" in the title, by the way, is word-play. The authors want you to kill your marketing operation and replace it with a killer media company. (That, or the authors are targeting Bill O'Reilly's audience.)

Killing Marketing argues you can profitably sell the content that drives your marketing, like any media company does.

Sell your content? At a profit? Hell, most organizations can't give it away.

The book further argues you can transform your in-house marketers into crackerjack journalists and media moguls who can "monetize" your audiences.

Fat chance.

When it comes to marketing their products, most businesses indeed "throw good money after bad," as the authors say: they deploy tactics without an underlying strategy; invest in tactics that do not work; and drop successful tactics without forethought.

But to ask every business to "create and distribute non-product-related content" is like asking your auto mechanic to produce Cars, your barber to stage Hair, or your lawnmower to publish Better Homes & Gardens.

Ain't gonna happen.

Yes, LEGO profits from LEGO Club Magazine; Red Bull, from Red Bulletin; and the Society of Fire Protection Engineers, from Fire Protection Engineering. 

But could a single additional organization in those markets replicate that success? Probably not.

A logician would say the authors have written an entire book based on the fallacy known as the "argument from small numbers." Arguments from small numbers go like this:

After treatment with our new drug, one-third of the mice were cured, one-third died, and the third mouse escaped. So if we treat 1,000 mice, 333 will be cured.

The gist of Killing Marketing goes something like this:

Marketing-campaigns-turned-into-media-ventures by six organizations became profitable. So if you mimic them, yours can be profitable too.

With apologies to Hugh Fullerton: Saying it don't make it so, Joe.

Ross Macdonald Redux

Both sides of the tracks are the wrong side,
if you live close enough to them.

— Ross Macdonald

That the Coen Brothers plan to turn Ross Macdonald's Black Money into a film is reason to go on. 

Although only one of Macdonald's 18 "California noir" mystery novels, it's a ripper—as are nearly all the books forming the Lew Archer saga, the adventures of an LA detective who's more poet than policeman, more psychoanalyst than private eye.

I rarely let a year pass without rereading one or two of Macdonald's masterpieces. His observations of people trapped by undeserved wealth and poverty are ceaselessly humane—and as accurate as any you'll find in genre fiction.

As in life, no one in a Lew Archer mystery is without sin—neither the oligarchs nor the outcasts; the matriarchs nor the mobsters; the cops nor the con men; the hippies nor the hucksters; the surfers nor the starlets. And the prose is delicious—the key reason Library of America this year enshrined 11 Lew Archer novels in its collection.

"Macdonald matters because he’s one of the finest fiction writers in American literature, not just detective fiction," says biographer Tom Nolan.

Macdonald learned to write in graduate school from teachers like W.H. Auden and Cleanth Brooks, who taught him that not only every word, "but every line, every sentence, every little block is integrated into the whole, and everything should have equal weight to create a unified work of art and beauty," Nolan says.

"The things that are most interesting and appealing about him, and valuable to people still, are the beauty of the expression, of the language, the beauty of the prose, which has poetic qualities and is informed by a great lyric talent."

Unbodied by Books

I am unbodied by thy books, and thee, and in thy papers find my ecstasy.

— Henry Cornelius Agrippa

Your worldview—your set of beliefs and assumptions about reality—is bred in your teens, according to psychologists.

Mine were filled with the usual distractions—schoolwork, buddies, rock music, substances, girls, urban adventures—and books.

The four that more than any other formed my worldview were all written by men, and all in the 20th century. I can't say precisely why they made such a mark on me, but I'll describe the mark they made.

Portnoy's Complaint (Philip Roth, 1969). I was born in Newark, New Jersey (the novel's setting), so I just had to read what The New Yorker was labeling in 1969 "one of the dirtiest books ever published." Roth blew my 16-year-old mind. I learned from the novel the adult world wasn't too different than my own. Everyone felt childish. Everyone felt inadequate. Everyone felt guilty. Everyone felt trapped. If he didn't, he was a schmuck.

Catch-22 (Joseph Heller, 1961). A high-school English teacher assigned this novel. I still remember he called it "an existential picaresque." The novel showed me the system was a racket run by preening half-wits; the rules were cruel and absurd and made up by self-serving hustlers; and the good died young. I was 17, a year from the draft and a possible tour in Vietnam.

The Sound and the Fury (William Faulkner, 1929). Another English teacher assigned Faulkner's family saga, considered by the author his personal favorite and by many other writers as the best American novel of the 20th century. The Sound and the Fury showed me at age 18 that myths, secrets and "family politics" can condemn you.

Being and Time (Martin Heidegger, 1927). I encountered Heidegger's masterwork in college. From it I learned in painstaking detail why we're so crazy, fragile and nervous: we're all bozos on this bus, and it's heading for a cliff. Being is time and time is finite, Heidegger makes clear. Or, as Samuel Beckett wrote, "They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more."

Which books formed your worldview?

Reading is Fungible

An investment in knowledge pays the best interest. 

— Benjamin Franklin

According to Pew Research Center, 47% of adult Americans read every day keep up with current events; 35%, for pleasure; 31%, for work or school; and 29%, to research topics.

The majority who don't read every day—for whatever reason—represent tomorrow's economic losers.

When their jobs are automated, they'll be tossed out on the street, unable to compete even for scut work against their robotic replacements.

It's a simple fact: most highly compensated people read—many for hours at a sitting (Warren Buffet reads five hours a day). They know knowledge—not effort—is the world's new currency.

Not many years from now, knowledge will be the human's value; effort, the robot's. 

People will be paid for their grasp of reality, their foresight, their vocabularies, and their empathy, while robots produce all the products, stock all the shelves, drive all the vehicles, and serve all the coffee. Their effort will be demonetized.

If you want to help someone this holiday season, give him a book. If you're at a loss for titles, check out these bookworms' picks:

• Maria Popova
• Oprah Winfrey
• Barack Obama
• Bill Gates
• Stephen King
• Phillip Roth
• Don Draper

Stating the Obvious

John Hall's new book, Top of Mind: Use Content to Unleash Your Influence and Engage Those Who Matter To You, is getting rave notices.
There's a reason.

The author, CEO of a PR firm, has caught the wave we call influencer marketing, which he describes as a "content utopia" where your marketing messages are published and shared routinely by industry leaders.

This "top-of-mind strategy" can leapfrog your organization "from no online presence to industry domination," Hall claims.

And I'm sure the claim is true. But, for my money, Hall's book is a bust.

He spends most of the 180 pages of Top of Mind stating the obvious. Crack open the book and you'll find a lifetime supply of kindergarten lessons like these:

• "Listen to your target audience; engage and communicate with them in ways they find helpful and meaningful; and repeat."

• "Storytelling and sharing knowledge is a big part of our humanity, and we wouldn't be where we are today without it."

• "Giving someone a gift is a nice way to establish a personal connection."
  

• "The more personalized you can make your audience's experience, the more special and valued you will help them feel."
  

• "To generate trust, you need to create a relationship; for that to happen, you need to open up lines of communication that are honest, meaningful, and authentic."

The greater source of disappointment stems from Hall's goal: it isn't to show you how to leverage industry influencers, but to become one yourself.

That's simply not something most marketers need, want, or are able to do.

Most, I think, are wondering: How can I use influencer marketing to sell more flow sensors, flood insurance, or file-sharing packages?

Hall doesn't offer much specific or practical help here, though he would.

He does sandwich halfway through Top of Mind four "best practices" for executing a "top-of-mind strategy;" but they're pedestrian as can be (set goals, find content, commit to a process, publish and repurpose). And he devotes his last two chapters to "turning your team into an army of thought leaders;" but good luck with that.

Besides, how many more GaryVees does the world really need?

Save your $26.

How to Make Moments Customers Remember

How do you create an experience customers will remember?

That's the question Chip and Dan Heath answer in their forthcoming book, The Power of Moments.

You'll recall the brothers' skills in science-based storytelling from their previous best sellers, Made to Stick and Switch.

The Power of Moments repeats those performances.

The Heaths call memorable experiences "flagship moments" and claim they're made from four ingredients:

• Elevation (flagship moments clearly rise above the rest)
• Insight (they rewire our thinking)
• Pride (they catch us at our best) and
• Connection (they bring us together)

It isn't easy to engineer a flagship moment, else every marketer would do it. Few do.

If you want to acquire the skill, the Heath Brothers advise you to "think in moments" and pay particular attention to three:

• Milestones (regular occasions like holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, etc.)
• Transitions (ritualistic events like bar mitzvahs, graduations, weddings, etc.) and
• Pits (moments of downtime like waiting in a line, undergoing a medical procedure, etc.)

The astute marketer not only spots these moments, the Heaths say, but shapes them, by blending some or all of the four ingredients that yield a flagship moment.

And their recipe is simple: "Transitions should be marked, milestones commemorated, and pits filled."

The Power of Moments' 300 pages are packed with examples of moment-making artistry, and make the book worth reading.

You probably know Disney distracts you while you wait in long lines, Southwest clowns around during the flight-safety announcements, and Starbucks honors your birthdays with a free-drink coupon.

But you might not know that all Pret a Manger employees can give away free food, based on how much they like a customer's looks; that Sharp Healthcare, by bringing all of its 12,000 employees to a convention center for an annual pep talk, keeps patient satisfaction in the ninetieth percentile (unheard of); and that John Deere welcomes all new employees on their first day with banners, gifts, lunches, and personalized videos.

The Power of Moments will give you plenty of ideas for "turning up the volume on reality" and delivering experiences your customers will remember. And you don't have to settle for only the examples in the book. The Heaths will soon offer free podcasts featuring more.

Fight of the Century

Tradeshow versus Digital is going to be a slugfest, says event-industry consultant Francis Friedman in his new, 287-page book, The Modern Digital Tradeshow.

Nimble contender Digital could handily clobber the out-of-shape champion.

Digital has already driven Tradeshow from marketing's "center stage" onto a "specialized side stage," Friedman says; and, unless the latter regains its magic, Digital could win by a knockout.

Friedman prescribes a rigorous, three-legged regimen to help Tradeshow get back in trim:

• Redefinition. The tradeshow industry's "analog" business model is passé. "Our industry must change from its static 'show' industry self-concept," Friedman says. "We must view our future as a branded content and experience provider, and integral omni-channel member of a target community." Unless the industry rediscovers a purpose—its raison d'être—it will be excluded from the b-to-b marketers' club.
  
  
• Transformation. Organizers need to embrace event tech—now. There's simply no more time to debate the topic. "The tradeshow industry must now play catch-up to the changing digital marketing landscape through a fundamental shift in its historical business model and product configurations," Friedman says. Event tech that "animates" events and enables exhibitors to verify ROI will matter most—gizmos like VR, AR, AI, beacons, bots, holograms, and drones.
  
  
• Rebranding. The event industry needs to discover and express a new and dynamic "personality," or its transformation into a digital player will go unnoticed. "In the current tradeshow organizer model, 'the show' is inanimate, occupying a specific date and time on the calendar of its marketplace and unable to 'act.'" Friedman says. "'The show' per se has no arms or legs, no voice and no ability to act or interact with its market. 'The show' is just booths on a tradeshow floor at a given time and in each place."

Friedman for years—via keynotes, articles, books and white papers—has been prepping tradeshow organizers for the coming match. With The Modern Digital Tradeshow, he's provided the playbook they need to go the distance.

NOTE: The Modern Digital Tradeshow is available free on the author's website.