So a guy walks into a Pawn Shop…

After our move, my drive to work went from a 6-minute meandering to a 45-minute commute. In Atlanta, Chicago, Dallas, my commute is called “A mere hop.”

Anyway, the drive begins in a neighborhood on a lake, then gets a little country, then a lot rural and – depending on my route – winds through a pretty desperate-looking area. Let’s just say the burglar bar salespeople do okay there.

That’s my route today. It’ll make whatever you were complaining about seem small. The area is a curious mishmash of businesses and homes that scarcely make the definition; lots of broken glass, far more broken dreams. “Vacant” applies to many things here. Looking up from my coffee, I see a sight that’ll flat-out get your attention. Like, now.

A youngish clean-cut man is heading into a Pawn Shop, with a toddler in one arm. And a gun case in the other.

It’s about 9 am. The adjacent liquor store is doing a brisk business already. A rattling bass seems to thrum through the streets, with little hint to the source. The man and child seem purposeful amid those who clearly aren’t. He’s got on well-worn work boots (construction variety), dusted with the whitish clay that lines this river lowland.

He’s a worker. A father. Probably a survivor. And – for the moment – a little desperate. I’d venture his Halloween had frights few of us know. Thoughts flash into my mind; I pull into the parking lot across the street.

There’ve been times in my life I thought I was desperate, or it felt so. And like the “commute versus the hop,” it’s all relative. I remember nervously twirling my new wedding band under a very long walnut table among humorless bankers, denying me a loan to finance a half-rented property. The ghouls of my memory make them bloodless and cold. The truth was that it served me right; the property was a pig and I didn’t deserve the loan.

From that hardship, I didn’t even look at another piece of investment real estate for 15 years, only then scrutinizing it like an Amish father over his daughter’s first date. The next several properties over many years performed well. Desperation is a merciless teacher, but the lessons stick.

I sometimes wish I could feel what desperate immigrants felt, leaving their homeland with little money and a lot of hope when they first saw the Statue of Liberty. Now that was a commute. It meant something. Freedom. Opportunity. Yet, entitlement?

The word hadn’t been invented yet, but if it had, every immigrant on that boat would’ve beat it up. The Italians would’ve ground it into a paste for sauce, the Germans would’ve sprinkled it in beer, both savored during the first “It Is Up to Me” Victory dinner.

I believe desperation can be a good thing, shedding fluff, reducing you to your core. I’ve said before – and it’s no more popular now – that the ‘R’ word we began in ‘08 was largely healthy. Taught us to cut out waste and any indulgence of marble-lined idiocy. Those who felt that storm first-hand are changed people. Probably some bitter ones in the bunch, but all are wiser for the experience.  

I wish every ‘My-latte-is-getting-cold’ youth in America had gotten a taste of it.

Probably’d do ‘em good in the long run. They’d likely not walk into job interviews 20 minutes late, asking how many days off they get. Would probably not don the earbuds when meaningful lessons were inches from their purview. Neediness has a place.

It’s good to need instead of just want. It’s good to be denied, instead of being insatiable. It’s good to make-do with what you have, rather than make-believe for what you don’t.

Though extreme, the Great Depression gave us a pretty darn good group of Americans. It triggered more start-ups, more millionaires, more patriotism, more thriftiness, higher family values and more eventual optimism than was ever rightfully expected of any Nation. (Capitalized on purpose.) You think the recession scared them? “A mere hop” they’d say.

                                                                

How would you treat your job and family if they were truly all you had? Would you care more, try harder, complain less, reach farther? I imagine that all progress, all customers, all relationships and any small victories would make you indescribably grateful. Not a bad attitude to have, and likely contagious.

Rattled from my thoughts, the young man emerges from the pawn shop. This time, no gun case, but he’s holding the boy’s hand as they walk toward a dented truck. He lifts his son into a car seat and carefully straps him in. He gives him a little hair tousle as he departs to his side.

I imagine the boy will remember the day daddy sold his hunting gun.  It’ll be years before he finds out why. Here’s hoping their desperation won’t last, but the lesson will.

As we enter a season of thanks, may you feel a twinge of desperation, followed by a wave of gratitude.

Adams Hudson

The Coming Marketing Meltdown

And there he went. Just like that, my son was in my rearview mirror, standing by the curb next to his 'new' dorm, as we drove back home from planting him at college. Things were quiet in the car. If you listened closely though, you could hear the faint flipping of mental images working backwards.

• The prom pictures where I was taken aback that he looked so much like a man.
• The early driving days when he looked like a child who'd stolen his parents' car.
• The baseball years where the glove was so big his fingers didn't reach past the palm, and the helmet could actually be spun while still on his head.
• The diaper years (which we really need to figure out how to eliminate, no pun intended), the cuteness of baby cheeks, missing teeth, and little fat baby joints that could go in almost any direction.

Then I snap back into the present: a young man at college. A father questions much. This is a quick poem, which doesn't have a blooming thing to do with marketing, but if you're a parent, it may hold a grain of value. Click for 'A Father Questions'.

As a business owner, worker, parent, we all want to have made our presence known somehow. Two things we all wonder:

Are we doing enough to make a difference?

Are we leaving the place better than we found it?

If 'yes' to both, congratulations, for you have done your job well. Yet there's a guilt epidemic floating amongst the "going to's" that never quite get done. We're "going to" start saving more, earning more, vacationing more, stressing out less ... one day. And just like depositing a child at college, that day comes, inevitably and you wonder if you did enough.

In a marketing perspective, there is a meltdown happening now that will separate winners from losers. The prepared vs. the "how did this happen?" The outcome is greatly affected by the convergence of: a) Economic recession, b) Major lead shift from Yellow Pages to online, c) Mass "Distractionism". Your Marketing Meltdown Warning here.