One of Barack Obama’s best moments at the G20 summit, not surprisingly,  resulted from one of his biggest strengths: word selection.  With the French and the Chinese ready to come to blows over the issue of international tax havens, the President intervened and suggested that one word, “recognize” be changed to “note” in the final communique from the meeting. The compromise appeased both sides and eased the growing tensions.

This verbal selectivity of Mr. Obama’s is frequently on display when he speaks.  He has enormous respect for the impact a poorly chosen word can have.  As a result, when he is addressing a sensitive matter, and approaching the thrust of his point, you will often see him dramatically slow his speaking pace.  At times he will come even to a complete stop, utilizing a thoughtful pause.  This allows his mind time to shuffle through the various synonyms available, until he settles on the precise one he wants to use.

Too often we fear pausing when we speak, as if it’s going to make us look uncertain.  When we succumb to this fear, and opt for emitting a steady stream of sound, we dramatically increase the likelihood that we will say something we later regret.  It also allows those dreaded filler words (um, er, you know, sort of, kind of) to creep into our speech.

The President is always demonstrating the art of effective communication.  If he can remain comfortable and confident building in pauses in his speech, then why can’t we?

Poor Joe Six-Pack.  It used to be that instant stardom afforded you 15 minutes of fame.  But I think Joe Six-Pack got cheated.  He was just passing the five-minute mark when along came Joe the Plumber (no relation) to bump him out of the national spotlight.  The “new Joe” became John McCain’s new BFF last night.  The Arizona Senator paraded his new hero out to convince viewers and voters that he connects with the everyman, the middle-class folk, the hard-workin’, lunch-pail guy.  

Speaking directly to Joe was effective the first time.  Okay, maybe a second time for reinforcement was a sound strategy.  But when the Sultan of the Clogged Sewer Line became virtually McCain’s sole focus, don’t you think all those electricians, roofers and landscapers started to feel left out?  Towards the end of the debate, McCain started to resemble your old uncle at Thanksgiving who, after getting a laugh from the punch line of his new joke, repeats the punch line several times too many over the course of the meal.  The “Plumber Technique” (as I’m sure mass communications PhD’s will refer to it years from now) really went down the sink hole when McCain tried to discuss Joe’s health care situation.  By then, the device had morphed into tired schtick.

Lesson to be learned?  Good techniques go bad when overused.  Perhaps McCain should carry a government warning: Please apply coached techniques in moderation.

What a farewell it was to Yankee Stadium Sunday night.  I feel very fortunate to have been there.  Except for the fact that Joe Torre’s name was not among the dozens of ex-Yankees mentioned as key historical figures, it was a well-choreographed night.  But not surprisingly, the most memorable moment was seemingly more impromptu.  Spontaneity, or the appearance of it, is always connects with us on a deeper level.

After the end of the game, Derek Jeter showed why he’s the captain and heart and soul of this team.  He took the microphone and addressed the crowd.  

Jeter Addresses Fans

He didn’t read from prepared remarks.  He didn’t make it all about him.  He made it all about the fans.  He turned his eloquent, yet conversational remarks into a tribute to all of us in the stands whom he described as “the greatest fans in the world.”  He credited all of us with being the crucial component in transforming a mere building into a legendary cathedral of baseball.

Professionals from every industry can learn a lot from his speech.

• It was concise and to the point (leaving you wanting more)
• It was not self-serving or inwardly focused.  He made it about his audience
• It was well planned and well thought out but not scripted
• It was from the heart and made every fan there feel as if he was speaking directly to them
• It was frank and honest yet optimistic
• It contained an inspirational call to action (”hand these memories down to the next generation.”)

Years ago, during an acute drought in New York City, Mayor Ed Koch uttered a memorable warning on how our bathroom habits could help alleviate the crisis: “If it’s yellow, let it mellow.  If it’s brown, flush it down.” Koch had a playful earthiness to his communication style, so this line seemed very much in keeping with his persona.

Last week, another scatological reference made the news, only this one was shockingly ill-advised. Tucker Eskew, a senior adviser to Republican Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin was explaining the campaign’s decision to reveal all the possible controversies surrounding the Palin family all at once over the Labor Day weekend.  But rather than say, “we’re going to start this campaign by being a completely open book so we can move on to what’s truly important…. our plans to (blah, blah, blah),”  he conjured up a rather unfortunate image in saying, “We are going to flush the toilet.” 

Now listen, I’m as big a champion of a clever, well-placed analogy as you’ll ever find.  We often suggest effective ones for our clients during media training sessions.  But to liken the Palin family problems with human excrement?  What the heck was Eskew thinking?  The goal of an effective analogy is to compare yourself or your company to something that generates an immediate favorable reaction.  I don’t think this one got the job done.

I was most intrigued to read Andrew Martin’s article this past weekend in The New York Times Business Section on Whole Foods, entitled, “A Fresh Image in Lean Times.”  The piece looked at how the company’s once-meteoric growth has given way, in these tough economic times, to an image problem.  Whole Foods is now saddled with a growing consumer perception that shoppers are about as likely to find bargain items in their stores as cans of Spam and Cheez Whiz.  

Clearly Whole Foods cooperated with the reporting of the piece, making available one of the company’s co-presidents, as well as a store manager who was providing tours to shoppers to enlighten them on ways not to drop their “Whole Paycheck” for a week’s worth of groceries.  I’m sure both spoke with Andrew Martin at length, providing numerous facts and data to support their claim that shopping at Whole Foods and staying on a tighter grocery budget are not mutually exclusive.  Like any exchange with a journalist, there are no guarantees that the quotes you want to see in print will make it into the final piece.  In media training we constantly work on transforming a client’s most important points into quotes and sound bites that are too good for a reporter to pass up.  But in this piece, what proved irresistible to The Times reporter were two off-message remarks.  The Whole Foods interviewees made two critical errors that sealed their fate and ensured that what ended up in print was exactly what they didn’t want to see published.

During the tour of the store, Whole Foods rep Shawn Hebb held up a $1.99 package of tofu and said, “It looks gross but it’s delicious.”  If you’re in the food industry, “gross” is one of those words that should never cross your lips, just like someone marketing shampoo should never utter “greasy” or “stringy.” Those pejorative terms conjure up images that are better left unimagined.  Perhaps he didn’t realize that he needed to be pitch perfect from start to finish with the reporter tagging along on the tour. But that’s what makes hosting a print reporter so challenging.  There may be no reporter’s notebook visible or micro-cassette tape rolling, but a good reporter is always mentally recording what you say.   From the moment you shake their hand hello to the moment you shake it goodbye, everything you say is fair game.

Then it was co-president Walter Robb’s turn to provide the wrong kind of quote.  This one broke the old Henry Ford philosophy of “don’t complain and don’t explain.”   When asked about the popularity of the nickname “Whole Paycheck,” Robb responded with, “I’m getting a little tired of that tag around our neck….” Oh stop it!   Nobody wants to hear your self-pitying whining.  That kind of bellyaching just makes an executive sound like a sore loser and reinforces that he’s struggling with getting knocked off his pedestal. What he should have said was something more along the lines of: “We’re well aware of that label, and even though it’s not an accurate one, our job is to prove that Whole Foods is where you can find the very best quality and have it work within your budget.” 

If the mission for Whole Foods in agreeing to be interviewed was to reverse the perception that their extravagance is beyond the means of the average shopper, they fell far short of their goal.  Instead, they offered up two quotes that did more harm than good.  

Uncle Sam is no different from the rest of us.  On his birthday he would (if he were a real person) do what we all do: take stock of his successes and disappointments, assess how gracefully (or not) he’s aged, and ask the logical question, “I’m 232 years old.  Is this where I’d thought I’d be at this age. 

Like any A-list celebrity, Uncle Sam would likely generate lots of media requests for interviews.  But should he grant them?  Saying no and hiding behind his Old Glory top hat would be a bad idea.  Everyone would think he’s hiding something.  But agreeing to be interviewed would leave him exposed to addressing all sorts of problems….er…. I mean challenges he faces (no one has “problems” anymore or even “issues”  just the newest banal word: “challenges”). 

Imagine the questions.

1. Why are people being forced to choose between gas and food? 
2. Did the sub-prime mortgage debacle kill the American Dream? 
3. Are you really thinking of waging three simultaneous wars? 
4. How bad will layoffs get? 
5. Will the US dollar ever recover? 
6. Are you past your prime?  

Ultimately every interviewer also will ask some variation on the following: How much longer can you underachieve and still expect to remain #1 when your competitors are gaining on you fast?  

I really do love Uncle Sam, so I would want him to ace these interviews.  So even though he collects a healthy chunk of every consulting dollar I earn, here’s some free advice for him (and for all other #1 players who see their pesky rivals getting bigger in their rearview mirror).

When asked about the competition, don’t brand them, and don’t slam them.  There’s nothing to be gained from giving the other guys who are gaining on you free air time and making them seem like the center of attention.  Remember, they would love to be in your shoes.  And for goodness sakes, don’t disparage them.  You’ll come across looking petty and threatened, conduct unbecoming of someone in a leadership position.

When asked about competition, every fiber of your being should be exuding a “bring it on” attitude.  Never appear intimidated by your rivals.  Remember, it’s the thrill of competing that gets you out of bed in the morning and makes this all so exciting.  Competition makes you bring you’re “A-game” every day.  Imagine how boring being #1 would be if it was merely handed to you.

In the face of skeptical questioning, Uncle Sam should remind everyone of his track record.  He’s faced challengers for many decades and has always emerged with his leadership status in tact:  Germany, Japan, the USSR, etc.  He needs to exude the same conviction that the future will be no different, despite changing global realities.  But he also can’t sound like he’s clinging to an outdated dream.  He needs to be armed with a handful of specific measures and initiatives already underway that remind everyone that he is still a visionary, and not an overwhelmed fireman merely putting out the most threatening blaze directly in front of him.   Vague generalities about greatness and mindless chest beating we’ve heard over and over, and each time it sounds more stale.

So that is my modest birthday gift to you Sammy Boy.   And between you and me, you don’t look a day over 231. 

I can’t tell you how many times clients book me for a media training and ask that I put their trainee through a “Mike Wallace – 60 Minutes-style interview.”  I understand the rationale.  They want to make sure their people can hold up under the most aggressive grilling in a hostile environment.  They want reassurance that if they’re cast as “The Black Hat” in a classic TV confrontation, that they will emerge with their public image still intact.  If they do decide to wander into this media minefield, my job as their media trainer is to show them the map, where not to step to avoid imploding.  Chances are, though, most of us will never find ourselves sitting in that type of hot seat across from a crusading journalist.

Truth is, there’s a far more dangerous and common scenario lurking out there than the frothing-at-the-mouth, pit-bull reporter.  Much more perilous is the disarming journalist with the calming and reassuring social skills and empathetic tone.  The really good reporters are charming and establish a connection with you.  They do not discredit your position; in fact, they may even voice the various ways in which they agree with you. Skilled reporters can make you feel important, interesting, even well-liked and, in return, you reward them with your trust. It’s basic human nature to share more of what you shouldn’t be sharing with someone you feel is on your side.  But beware!  This could be a trap.  Two different public figures have the recent scars to prove my point.

Recently, Bill Clinton was red-in-the-face furious over Todd Purdum’s article about him in Vanity Fair, a piece that questioned the former president’s judgment and the personal company he keeps.  Had he stayed on message, Mr. Clinton would have focused on the outrageous unfairness of the story, the complete lack of attributable sources and how deeply upsetting he found the inaccuracies.  He could have turned the dialogue back where it needed to be (yes, that would be Hillary’s last-ditch effort to stay in the race) by boldly insinuating that the timing of the article seemed to serve as a distraction from the real story of Hillary pushing to the finish line stronger than Obama.  But that’s not what happened.  Along came a journalist with a sympathetic ear and Bubba took the bait.  The unidentified reporter asked for his thoughts on the “hatchet job” story.  Emboldened, Bill, sensing a kindred spirit, proceeded to call Purdum “sleazy,” “slimy” and “dishonest,” characterizations he later had to admit were inappropriate and regretful.  It wasn’t exactly the best moment for the Clintons to be back on their heels.

As I tell my clients, reporters are not your friends.  They are there to do a job and giving you carte blanche to regurgitate your scripted key messages is not their idea of a story.  Getting you off-message… now, there’s fertile ground for a story.  Just because there’s not a reporter’s notebook or video camera in plain sight doesn’t mean you can get careless and chummy.  My experience as both a reporter and a media trainer has taught me a very simple equation:  The more you like the reporter, the more careless you’re likely to be.

Willie Randolph, the former manager of the New York Mets might have been equally lax earlier this season when he told Ian O’Connor (a highly regarded sports reporter for The Record of Hackensack NJ that perhaps the negative scrutiny of his job performance by fans and the media was motivated by the fact that he is black.  This controversial, “off-message” remark dominated the back page headlines of New York newspapers for days and seemingly served as a distraction in the Mets clubhouse.  A meeting with team ownership followed.  It was acknowledged that Randolph’s suddenly questionable job security had more to do with his comments than his team’s poor on-field performance.  Within a month, he was fired.  What caused the slip?  Respected New York Times sports columnist Harvey Araton suspects that Randolph misled himself into “thinking out loud to someone he mistakenly believed was more supporter and friend than the excellent journalist… O’Connor… has long been.”

Yes, it’s good to prepare for all the possibilities: the ambush, the hatchet job, the sandbagging.  Those are all legitimate challenges.  But when you feel a chemistry and connection forming with a journalist you met for the first time less than an hour ago, remember this: You’re there to serve your purpose and make yourself happy with the outcome, not them.