Think Small

You've heard of a Volkswagen. But a Volksempfänger?

The Volksempfänger ("People's Radio") was introduced in Germany in 1933 upon decree by Hitler's propaganda minister, Joseph Goebbels.

The low price of the deluxe model—the equivalent of two weeks' pay—made the Volksempfänger affordable to most working families; and a cheaper model—nicknamed the Goebbelsschnauze ("Goebbels' snout")—could be bought on store credit by the unemployed.

Goebbels' idea was simple: the Volksempfänger would assure "no one can break out."

Brainwashing was was baked in. The Volksempfänger's dial only let listeners find German and Austrian stations; and the lack of shortwave reception made it impossible to listen to foreign broadcasts, unless you added an antenna—a criminal offense that was punishable by confiscation of your radio, a fine, imprisonment in a concentration camp, or death.

At the Nuremberg Trials, Hitler's armaments minister Albert Speer told the judges, "Through technical devices like the radio and loudspeaker, 80 million people were deprived of independent thought."

I sometimes wonder why so many of my fellow Americans cherish inane ideas.

Then I remember, there's our version of the Volksempfänger.

Fox News.

James' Hierarchy

Like gourmands, event attendees crave a "5-star" experience, and event producers should want to deliver one.

But how do you define a 5-star experience? Or, for that matter, a 1-, 2-, 3- or 4-star one? 

To my knowledge, nobody's offered a definition. So I will.

With a nod to Abraham Maslow, James' Hierarchy of Experiences presupposes:

1. Experiences can be categorized by their capacity to fill attendees' needs, and
   
2. Experiences can be ranked hierarchically.

So, from the bottom to the top, here goes:

Everydayness. This term characterizes the experience delivered by the vast majority of successful events; cribbing from restaurant-rating systems, you might label them "1-star" events. Events in this category more or less satisfy attendees' basic needs to (1) navigate without stress through physical space; (2) meet other people and chat; (3) acquire useful information; and (4) talk business. Of course, many events don't meet even this rock-bottom standard: their signage is inscrutable; they over-schedule attendees; they make every session a panel; and they treat suppliers like lepers.

Fantasy. This term characterizes "2-star" events like Mardi Gras, Coachella and Fantasy Fest. Events in this category fill not only attendees' everyday experiential needs (to navigate, converse, learn and do business), but their next-level needs to lessen anxiety and escape reality. Disney has mastered the delivery of such experiences. The more event producers can emulate the company, the closer their events will advance toward "2-star" status. Virtual reality is a quick and dirty way to accelerate that advance.

Cheap Thrills. This term characterizes "3-star" events like Comic Con, Burning Man and Bike Week. Events in this category fill not only attendees' everyday needs and their needs for fantasy, but their needs to be wowed and titillated. Remarkable stunts, goofy sideshows, celebrity appearances, and novel tchotchkes abound at events in this category. Every producer should strive to produce an event that delivers cheap thrills; few do.

Genuine Thrills. This term characterizes "4-star" events like CES, Sundance, and the Indianapolis 500. Events in this category fill not only attendees' everyday needs, their needs for fantasy, and their needs for cheap thrills, but their needs to be awed by (1) proof of human ingenuity and (2) displays of daring. The delivery of genuine thrills is the reason the Colombian Exposition, The 1964 New York World's Fair and the 1992 Summer Olympics made the history books.

Melioration. This term characterizes "5-star" events like TED, SXSW and the Aspen Ideas Festival. Events in this category fill all of attendees' needs, including the very highest-level ones: to improve not only themselves, but to better the lives of others. Maslow would call it self actualization.

NOTE: The term everydayness is borrowed from the philosopher Martin Heidegger; and melioration, from the philosopher William James (alas, no relation).

Bye, Bye, Ancien Régime

Kings, aristocrats, tyrants, whoever they be, are slaves rebelling 

against the sovereign of the earth, which is the human race.

— Robespierre

Call me crazy, but I believe we'll look back on December 2017 as the month billionaire GOP donors signed their own death warrants.

In 1789, when France's overtaxed 98% decided enough privation was enough, they tore down the Bastille, looted the artisocrats' châteaux, and burned tax collectors' homes. 

A month later, they enshrined equal opportunity in the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen.

Bye, bye, ancien régime. Hello, guillotine.

Riot and bloody mayhem.

It can't happen here, you say?

It can. It has. It will.

Republicanism (small R) runs deep in our history, from Jefferson to Lincoln to Eisenhower to Sanders. It doesn't suffer fat cats.

To honor Emancipation's 24th anniversary in April 1886, Frederick Douglass spoke in Washington's Israel Bethel Colored Methodist Episcopal Church.

Criticized by newspapers at the time of waving the "waving the bloody shirt," Douglass warned the audience:

“Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe."

Is Your Copy Ducky?

There once was an ugly duckling.

And if you read to the end, you'll learn how he dealt with his handicap.

But first, let me ask: Do you know how to guarantee readers won't abandon your copy?

Copywriter Joe Sugarman has two rules:

• Start with a story. It creates an emotional bond with readers.

• Seed your copy with hooks. Sugarman calls them seeds of curiosity.

Sugarman also urges you to start your story with a short sentence.

Short spurs curiosity.

Short openers are the novelist's trick, as Anthony Doerr demonstrates in the first sentence of All the Light We Cannot See:

At dusk they pour from the sky.

And a short opener can be even stronger, Sugarman says, if it jibes with readers' feelings:

There once was an ugly duckling. 

Poor guy. Would you like to be called ugly?

Once you've started your story, to urge readers on, you must continue to play to their curiosity.

You do so with hooks, like this one:

Now here comes the good part.

Hooks work because the human mind doesn't like unfinished business.

That's why TV series like Stranger Things exploit cliffhangers. They prompt viewers to binge.

You want readers to binge on your copy.

Otherwise, they'll never buy a thing.

And things could get ugly for you. 

Fast.

But, you say, B2B doesn't work like that! B2B is boring.

Baloney.

Tell it to Farmers Insurance. 

Here's the opener of an email I just received from the company:

I'm a small business owner, and I visit my clients' offices often.
I pretty much live on the road. Here's my challenge.

Hooked yet?

You'd laugh, if I told you the email promotes a Certificate of Insurance.

How boring is that?

Now back to our duck...

Natural Born Artists

In November, I rode in a car to the top of one of nature's wonders, Arizona's 9,200-foot high Mount Lemmon, only to encounter, of all people, the singer-songwriter Sting (dining with his wife in a mountaintop restaurant) and to discover the mountain is named for a nature artist.

In 1861, Sara Lemmon (née Plummer) was teaching art in New York City when she volunteered as a nurse in the Union Army. But she caught pneumonia while serving and was ordered to journey west for the air. Sara did so, and opened a stationery shop in Santa Barbara, California, turning it into a hangout for local artists and intellectuals. She also began to paint botanical subjects around town, and founded a natural history society.

Through the society, Sara met and fell in love with a professional botanist, John Lemmon. He also had fragile health, thanks to wartime imprisonment at Andersonville, and when the couple married in 1880, Sara suggested they honeymoon so as "to make a grand botanical raid into Arizona, and try to touch the heart of the Santa Catalina's."

Together, on horseback, the nature-lovers rode to the top of the tallest peak in the chain, he cataloging and she painting plants the whole way. At the summit, at the urging of their guide, they named the mountain for Sara. Her artwork later won awards at national expositions, and a number of plants (as well as the mountain) bear her name today. Sara would also serve four years as the official artist for the California State Board of Forestry, and lecture about conservation at scientific conferences and the Colombian Exposition in Chicago in 1893.

In April, I visited Cumbria in England, where I met a famous shepherd and also discovered the wondrous world of another nature artist, Beatrix Potter, better known as the author of The Tale of Peter Rabbit.

Born in London, Beatrix grew up enjoying a posh life as a painter of plants and animals (her wealthy parents enrolled her in art lessons from age eight). At 20, she was earning commissions on her illustrations for greeting cards, and even produced an illustrated scientific paper about mushrooms that was presented to The Linnean Society.

At 35, Beatrix self-published Peter Rabbit. It was immediately picked up by a trade publisher and became an overnight best-seller. With the money earned, she bought a farm in Cumbria and became a lady farmer, supporting herself by raising sheep, while writing 27 more of her "little books" and investing the proceeds in local real estate. 

Beatrix's love of nature led her late in life to help found the UK's National Trust, and she devoted her time and money to the preservation of Cumbria's farmland and farming methods. In her will, she left the Trust 14 farms and 4,000 acres, still under protection today.