The Little Words Mean the Most

Reminiscing about "road warrior" days with Carol Wiseman

 

Ah, those days as a road warrior, not so long ago. Sleeping on a cot with hundreds of cotted others in the dim hallways of a completely shut-down O'Hare. It echoed the London Tube during the Blitz.

Not sure I miss 'em, those days. Don't regret 'em, though ... going cardio, sprinting in late middle-age through airports when your connection arrived late; that counts as a day's exercise. Who doesn't secretly swell with pride when, with 8.5 billion other people on the planet, your name's called on Atlanta's airport PA? "Passenger Thomas Ahern, the door's about to close." Snarling gate agents as the last thing heard on earth.

Or sleeping in a closet next to the vending-machine room (only space available in a motel) in boom (but small) town Odessa, TX; which smells strongly and lucratively of the town's chief export, oil. And what grounded us road warriors that day? Some bolt the pilots deemed essential fell off the plane as it was taxiing for takeoff. Disappointments don't get more sigh-y than that. If we could have voted? "We'll get a fresh bolt when we land." But, no....

Or flying home from a masterclass on the shores of Loch Ness just as the pandemic was about to swallow the world. You could hear the national borders snapping shut on our US-bound contrails.

 

Road warriors swap tales: Carol Weisman, MSW, CSP and Tom

I think my personal best was flying out of a dinky airport in NY state (with an incredible snack selection, though; kudos), to speak in Green Bay, WI the next day and the Twin Cities the day after that. Keynote speaker at 3 National Philanthropy Days in 3 days. I don't remember much except running, dragging, buying snacks, speaking; repeat in reverse.

Not to mention the time my flight for Denver from Pittsburgh left 8 hours late due to a PA blizzard. The pilots bought pizza for every passenger who hadn't given up and gone home. They promised we'd leave; the final flight was a quarter full. Landed at dawn, got an invite to Denver's best Ethiopian restaurant from my cabbie, checked into the conference hotel for 1 hour's sleep, did the gig, checked out, went home; probably crashed for 24 hours.

Or how about that time my plane taxied for takeoff in Odessa, TX (which smells of oil ... literally; it's the "drill, baby, drill" capital of the world). The pilot suddenly got a bad dashboard light. He taxied back to the gate (I'd moved about 400 yards in total by that time, none of them in the air). And, lo, there wasn't a room to be had in town. The oil boom was so hot they were scouring the jails for employees. The airline was as helpful as could be. I think I slept that night alongside some hotel's vending machines.

Or, hey, that time in Winnipeg, when Simone forgot her passport ... and I had to present for both of us. Having spent years rebuffing her: "You know what you know. I know what I know. I don't have to know what you know, too. Just tell me what to do."

Or then there's O'Hare. O'Hare's special. It's in the middle of a continent. A super-hub. Weather conditions across North America effect O'Hare's arrivals and departures. What road warrior doesn't have a great O'Hare story? Like the time all flights were grounded ... and I snuggled into a dim hallway cot beneath a thin blanket at 3 AM. There were thousands of other passengers on cots under thin blankets stuffed in the halls, as far as the eye could see. O'Hare looked like the London Tube during the Blitz.

 

Visitors to PVD

 

Downtown Providence, RI is pretty interesting, actually.

You can see, via the merchants, the influence of the RI School of Design (aka RISD: Riz-Dee; also considered the world's greatest design school; and the resulting heavy concentration of artists) + the influence of Johnson & Wales (a global culinary institute; headquartered in Providence) + the strong ethnic influence: RI has always been an immigrant state; every wave hit here hard ... the latest are Latin-American and African and the occasional Ukrainian. Ethnic dining options abound, as a result.

Brown is on the top of a very steep hill. Your elders will be panting. Compulsive pickle-ball players will not.

There is a gentler way, though. Let me be your guide? I know the softer route.

And though I'm no academic, I'm probably slightly better than a new-ish cab driver (with all due respect). Maybe I can fill in some blanks. Since I've lived in RI since 1965. Since I read local history for pleasure. Since I've worked with all sorts of charities hereabouts ... including the state's foremost Indigenous-led museum (see case brochure attached; I wrote it ... and it only took a year and half to beat my white-man's preconceptions out of it).

I promise to stick to the truth, as I know it.

We'll take in downtown murals (big here). Wander across the new pedestrian bridge (named for a one-time client; lands you at Plant City, BTW). Up super-funky Wickenden Street; along the waterfront a bit maybe. Then into the Brown area, which is historic, vibrant, architectural, thought-provoking (some of the Brown family's wealth was built on the slave trade, which was legal at the time; it's gets complicated, since another Brown brother was a devote Quaker abolitionist). THEN downhill (the right direction for those who pant) through RISD.

Oh, yeah: America's industrial revolution started on these very rivers, the ones you'll be crossing. What are now pricey lofts and condominiums upstream were once factories making STUFF. A blatant, infamous act of industrial espionage got the whole thing rolling.

 

response to an inquirer, about me speaking at a conference for private schools in February 2023

 

[continuing]

 

The year before the pandemic, I presented 36 times, mostly in person, around the world. On an airplane every few weeks. Now I am sorely out of practice with the travel side of things. (Which end of the suitcase is up?)

 

I've delivered since a heavy schedule of webinars ... and that brings me to a suggestion ...

 

I've done many presentations (including internationally) through Zoom.

 

I don't charge for these shows. I do them from my home office. There's no fee. There's no expense. Volunteering seems right during these plague years. Plus I've learned from hundreds of mentors ... so this is a golden chance to pay some of that forward.

 

If you choose this alternative....

 

The host (YOU; or at least The Inn @....) deals with technical details ... and I simply show up on screen with my PowerPoint incantations. Maybe there's a quick rehearsal ahead of time, just to make sure the AV works.

 

I did one of these for arts groups across Australia just last week.

 

I did one for US Orthodox rabbis nationwide the week before that.

 

Today, I did one for a fabulous US human services charity with many state affiliates ... a few minutes ago.

 

Webinars are pretty painless (as long as you stick with proven providers like Zoom).

 

Your event sounds interesting. Over my long career, I've worked with a number of private schools....

 

The last time I did an in-person speaking gig exclusively for privates was exactly a decade ago, for CASE-NAIS. It was also in February. It was preceded by a blizzard at the departure airport. I landed (finally) in Denver at 5 AM, speaking at 9 AM. Had a long chat with my born-in-Ethiopia cab driver (it's a drive; the Denver airport is over the curve of the earth from the city itself).

 

He vowed to take me to the city's best Ethiopian restaurant. I never cashed that promise in, alas. I like food experiences. I don't recall if I ever saw a hotel room.

 

Anyway, just a thought. Me coming into a roomful of your attendees via Zoom; almost-disastrous Denver was ALSO in February. Zoom saves you money. Saves you worry. In February, it may be more dependable, travel-wise.

 

Forgive me, if this is a Loch Ness repeat ... it was important to Simone and me

In a small Scottish inn, we spot hints of the coming pandemic

... before the average world hears the news

         It's a master class for about 25 fundraising professionals. It starts Monday, March 2, 2020; we meet and mingle the night before. There's a fire. There's a single-malt bar. Our classroom overlooks Loch Ness. Highland cattle bagged in thick copper hair and lengthy horns graze the sloping fields in front of The Inch, our inn and classroom. These animals are an ancient Scottish breed. We're staring at Neolithic-period meat and milk.

         Loch Ness isn't all that wide. But it is the very, very, well-fine-not-really-all-that-implausibly deep home to the (please adopt this lovely word) "cryptozoological monster" touristically known in gift shops as Nessie.

         And you know what, when you're teaching a master class?

         The Nessie legend is an f*ing distraction. Delegates can't help glancing out the windows, hoping. Walk a few minutes to the nearby village of Fort Augustus: Nessie is unavoidable. Nessie burgers. Nessie squish toys in tartans. Loch Ness energy drinks: "Guzzle the damn stuff!!! You'll feel like a dragon trapped inside a fathomless lake for at least 10,000 years!" Nessie petrol. And Nessie boat patrol.

         Along with meals, lodging and pitiless fundraising instructors [us] yapping about expertise for 2.5 days, our master-class students get a complimentary boat trip up Loch Ness from Fort Augustus.

         It's a sedate ride. A colony of feral goats chewing the scenery on the loch's sheer cliffs is the highlight; that, plus sunburn if you didn't bring covering.

         In several places, the boat's windows offer a pasted-on Nessie silhouette. Through that silhouette, you can shoot your very own pretend "I saw Nessie" photo. Everyone does it. It's the highlight of the tour. The silhouette features a couple of arching black spines and the famously erect swan's neck topped by that fierce presumably-ancient fish-crushing head.

         I notice that Simone has cornered one of our brightest, most eager master-class students. He's from the Czech Republic. Went to Harvard. Now back in his home country, where he's set on reforming public school education. The vision: to make the Czech Republic a superstar amongst post-Communist states, which ended almost 30 years ago. He's got grant funding, which puts a warhead on his missile (to slip back into Cold War terms).

------

Sim One lectures him throughout our one-hour ride re: her disgust with politics in America. She's not bothering with photos of Nessie. He's attentive, polite, calm, respectful. He's a remedy, too, I suspect. His unremitting, much-younger Czech attention-span probably spares Simone's stomach a messy countdown.

         She is spectacularly prone to seasickness.

         More than once, within seconds, I've witnessed her explosive reactions to being afloat on any boat; on three continents.

         Even on today's prim, flat lake, aboard a tub in the Scottish Highlands, with waves no higher than careless gestures, waves less formidable than a gent's pocket square, I can easily imagine Simone collapsing on the deck, eyes rolling up, gracelessly puking without caring much, like a wan fire hose.

         So, PS: The cleaning crew for this Loch Ness tour boat wishes to thank the Czech Republic. Which I kept mistakenly calling Czechoslovakia in his presence, a political entity that dissolved peacefully on January 1, 1993. He was adoringly patient. He forgave me because I was clearly too old to castigate and my references were obsolete. My stamp collection was old, my atlas was old, my globe was old. I was an antique, too. I just needed to shut up and let the next generations have their say.

 

replying to my Southwest Airlines survey

 

I gave them 5 stars stars stars stars stars overall

(based on personal interactions with staff)

 

Yet:

 

Pre-pandemic, I was on a flight every 2 weeks or so. Routine for my business (training serious fundraising pros around the world). Southwest is always worth considering, when traveling in the US.

DCA Southwest, though, is UGLY and discomforting.

Unless absolutely necessary, I will now avoid Southwest's DCA arrival/departure in the future. It's sardine-packed squalid. Not evil exactly; clumsy and indifferent: just a reminder that the US has 330 million residents; everyone's different; and simple amenities matter a lot in terms of fast impressions.

Toilets were surprisingly OK (grade B).

Food/drink offerings, though, were bizarre: either a tunnel of grab-me's, where payment was understaffed and not-well-signed; or a bar that never had an open seat thanks to loiterers on their laptops.

General seating in the ready was a D-to-flunk: too many passengers, too few chairs; many standees (me included).

CONCLUSION: In one visit, as I was wearily departing DC to go home to RI, Southwest trained me to avoid DCA at all costs in the future.

What do I know? Maybe demand exceeds supply SO much that Southwest can inflate its middle-finger in the air for now.

For ever?

To repeat: In one visit, when I departed DC to go home to RI ... Southwest trained me to avoid DCA at all costs.

So, my beloved Southwest, do you need a UX (User Experience) analyst at Southwest DCA?

 

Sooner/better.

 

Grump-companionally yours,

Turned-Off Traveler (though will fly SW other places; but DCA outbound is a shit-show)

 

Jen Shang (mom) + James (the Magnificent)

 

celebrating Marilyn, Mary Kay, Paul & Detroit; miss you as soon as wheels up

 

as we leave by plane

Simone and I present in Lansing, MI, next March 12

 

 

Loving Your Work in an Age of Change

Joint session: Simone Joyaux and Tom Ahern

 

For 30 years, Simone and Tom have earned a pretty good living doing fundraising work (there's that second home in France).

Years past the customary retirement age for the US, they still (most days, anyway) find fundraising to be thrilling, challenging, and uniquely purposeful.

Tom: "Change is a constant in every useful career. You adapt all the time." Simone: "You have to be a lifelong learner." Tom: "Every shiny new thing is just another tool. Is it right for your nonprofit?"

For one frank, revealing hour, Simone (an East Lansing native, MSU grad) and Tom will explore what gets them out of bed in the morning ... and what YOU can do (Dear Ambitious Career Fundraiser) to keep your inner fires roaring.

 

Cracker Fair ~ Abbaye de Valmagne

Today's itinerary took us from the post office (to mail a check to the property managers), to the framer (who beautifully mounted two of Amy Montali's photos, a gift from her for her time here in France), to the bank (for lumps of cash), to a beggar with lovely eyes to deposit 5 euros of luck, to the Cracker Fair, an annual Christmas season crafts and food display at the Abbey de Valmagne. We had a list prepared by Simone of all the people we needed to buy for. We got a skirt for her, knitted pens for somebody, a ceramic ring for her, some bio room-deodorant, a couple of cloth bread bags labeled PAIN, a two-sided "modern cut" bowtie for Marc Pitman, artisanal candy bars of 6 different flavors of the region for Thanksgiving dinner with the Cornell-Feists, some cork coin purses for the Ducklings and Emma, gave money to the cancer society for English speakers in France ... and then I blew my top.