Doug Kreitzberg

Three O’Clock Breeze

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I’ve spent this Memorial Day opening our place up in Montana.  It’s not a tough job and I get more than a few of hours of time enjoying the lake, learning how successful the resident loons have been in building and maintaining its nest, exploring the logging roads and being continually amazed by the views of the Swann and Mission mountain ranges in the distance.

Our place sits on the edge of a lake, tucked in a corner rarely used by water skiers and abutting a marsh from which we typically see cranes, osprey, blue heron, bald eagles and loons.  In the mornings, the lake is still, reflecting the sunrise against the tamarack and ponderosa that surround its shoreline.  However, each afternoon, typically around three pm, a breeze from the southeast picks up and surface of the lake is broken by unending waves.

My family has been coming to this lake for over sixty years. During that time, the 3 o’clock breeze has been a constant.  The nesting loons, bald eagles, osprey, blue heron and cranes have been a constant.  And it’s no small stretch to imagine that all have existed for far longer than we have been around.

In our world of increasing change, we are quick to ask, “what is the next new thing?”  We want to be on the leading edge of innovation, because, we feel, that is where success lies.  Heros are made by discovering new worlds and doing new deeds, not reliving past experiences.

I am not immune to these siren calls.  I, too, want to be able to see what’s around the corner and be there before the rest of the crowd arrives.   But, determining what innovation to pursue requires an ability to fine tune out static, to down play what’s sexy and the identify that which has the capacity to endure.  And, in order to do that, you need to have an innate sense of what remains permanent.  Because, when you come right down to it, change is nothing but a reaffirmation of certain unchanging rhythms, whether they reflect natural selection, the need for man to be a social animal, or, the desire of man to push himself beyond limits.

When you become aware of these rhythms, you then can be aware of what changes occurring around you are worth your attention.  You will also be in a better position to take advantage of that change.

I hope you have used this holiday to take a pause, to reconnect with your own 3 o’clock breezes, to be aware of the permanent so you can be in a better position to welcome the change ahead.

Phillipsburg

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The Autumn before my Father died, we visited Phillipsburg, Montana. That previous Summer, before the surgery that left him unable to speak, my Dad had mentioned that his father had taken him to Phillipsburg and he wanted to see if he could recognize the place.  So, on a bright Fall morning, my Mom, my Dad and I left our lakefront home north of Missoula and made the two hour trip to Phillipsburg.

My Dad never spoke about his father. He died when my father was 11 and was a salesman for Pacific Fruit, so I imagine that he was on the road more than at home and most of my father’s memories of him were therefore vague, blurred and distant.  In fact, it was somewhat surprising that Dad mentioned him.  He said that when he was young, he remembered his Dad taking him on a sales call to Phillipsburg.  They stopped at the grocery store there and his Dad bought him some penny candy and an ice cream.

Phillipsburg, like many Montana towns, is an old mining town that has long seen its day. The mines are closed, and many of the stores that once provided its residents with clothing and furniture have now become museums, curio shops and expresso bars to cater to the occasional tourist.  We drove slowly down Main Street and my Dad peered out of the window, trying to recreate the Phillipsburg of the early 40s. He pointed to one of the stores, a burger joint, and we pulled over and went in.

The restaurant had a counter with three stools and four or five booths.  We choose a booth and sat down. As we ordered, I told the waitress that my Dad had come here as a child and we were wondering if this wasn’t at one point a grocery store.  The waitress was in high school and certainly not in a position to know.  She asked the owner, who was in her mid-thirties and she wasn’t sure either.  My Dad didn’t seem to mind.  He sat there with a smile in his eyes.  We ordered hamburgers and finished them off with a bowl of ice cream, toasting Dad and Grandpa.

I thought about this trip a while back, as I was driving from Bozeman to Missoula and passed the Phillipsburg exit off Interstate 90. I thought about my Dad and his father, about the short time they had together.  I also thought about my Dad’s memory of his visit to Phillipsburg, of how such a small, seemingly inconsequential act could last so long.  Perhaps it was the only time that my Dad could remember being with his Father one-on-one, without his mother or brothers.  Phillipsburg is not Disneyland; there’s no rides or attractions, but it did have a Father who took time to be with his son.

When I first became president of my company, one of the first things I did was to travel around meeting our key clients.  I had seen many of  them in the past and they knew who I was, but I wanted to be face to face on an individual basis, to understand what they were focused on and to give them some perspective on what we did.  Those meetings have paid large dividends over the years and certainly were worth the time and travel.

Every day, we all are interacting with indviduals, whether on the phone or face to face. Each moment, each act, each comment may create a lasting impression, either in a positive way or a negative way. Be conscious of the power of those moments. You may not have penny candy to offer, but you do have your time and your attention.  Some times, that’s all that matters.

Anchovies and Ashwater

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A year back, I  took a trip to Spain with my family.  It was our first time there and we spent our time in the Andalucia portion of Spain — Granada, Sevilla, Cordoba, Ronda — which is an area marked with the history of the Moors and the beginnings of a united Spanish kingdom. I have a number of stories I can share, but two stand out more than the others.

Our first visit was to Granada, the last Moorish kingdom in Spain that ultimately surrendered to Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492 (the same king and queen who sent Columbus off that year). The second night we were there, we decided to go to a highly recommended restaurant.  Despite the fact that every one told us that we could get by in Spain without speaking Spanish, we discovered quickly that no one told the waiter at the restaurant about this.  We fumbled our way through the menu and I asked the waiter to select my dinner for me, which he did.  Shortly, we received a bowl of bread and a porcelain dish covered with a lid that had a hole in the center and containing some sort of liquid.  I asked my wife what she thought the liquid was and she said that it was olive oil.  Eager to try the Spanish olive oil, I poured some on my dish, dipped my bread in it and took a bite.  It was watery and didn’t taste at all like any olive oil I knew.  I told her it must be some type of water and she shrugged her shoulders.  Then the waiter brought out my first course, which was a plate of about ten anchovies.  I am not a big anchovy fan; in fact I would rather eat the sole of my shoe than an anchovy.  However, I had asked for the waiter’s recommendation and I was not going to disappoint him and I resolutely ate every one of those anchovies, much to my childrens’ delight.

I later looked around at another table where a couple sat smoking and I saw that the dish that held what my wife had thought was olive oil was actually an ashtray and I turned an olive shade of green as I pointed this out to my family, who immediately fell over howling at the fact that I had dipped my bread into ashwater.

I learned a couple of facts: 1)  I exist only for the entertainment of my family; 2)  not being able to communicate effectively can cause embarrassment if not physical or psychic harm.  I’m tempted to add a third fact — Believing your wife can lead to physical harm — if not for the fact that actually stating that can cause one’s wife to reach for the proverbial rolling pin and therefore cause physical harm in and of itself.

When I begin merging acquired businesses a few years ago, someone told me that each of the operations would be like different countries, with their own languages, and just because I said something would not been it would be understood the same way and that when I was told something, I may not understand exactly what was being said.  That has proven to be true and the organization has fumbled at times trying to understand each other over the past few years.  I believe things have improved a lot since then, but it is critical to recognize the importance of communication — of listening and being understood — if an organization, or any relationship, is to truly succeed.

The second story of my trip has to do with the tour of the Alhambra — or the palace of the Moors (and later the Christians) — in Granada.  As we were walking through, I noticed that on certain ceilings was the inscription, “Plus Oultre”.  The tour guide mentioned that it was the Spanish motto, meaning “Always further”.   It seems to me an appropriate motto  in this challenging year.  Perhaps now, more than ever, we have to push beyond the boundaries of  our fears and our own sense of limitations to reach out to each other, find common language, share our words and, most importantly, listen.  It is then that we realize that the countries that separate each of us are only of our own making.

Bugs on a windshield

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I got lost in San Antonio.

A while back, during a conference, I had a few hours to kill and a rental car. I looked at a map, saw a road called “Scenic Loop”, and took it.  It was a pretty drive, through mesquite and past riding stables.  I then took a right turn away from the city and headed out towards the Texas Hill Country.

I found myself winding around a four lane road with only an occasional pickup truck driving the other way.  The sun was bright and the hills were more of a frosted pre-spring green.  I was about ready to turn back when a bug hit my windshield and I immediately was taken back thirty-five years.

My father was a professor in Philadelphia and for a number of summers he did research in Boulder, Colorado.  So, in June, we’d clamber in a VW bus and make the three day (or so) trek from Philadelphia to Boulder.  Despite the fact that the four kids were always getting into trouble and my only view of my dad on those trips was of his right hand swinging back from the front seat trying to grab the first pint-size Kreitzberg he could find (I was no fool and sat in the way “way” back), I learned more about the United States on those trips than in any Social Studies book.  I learned about the caves in the Ozarks, the slam of a diner screen door and truckers’ conversations off a Missouri Interstate, the vast emptiness of Kansas prairies. Of course, every so often on the road, we’d stop at a picnic table to stretch our legs, have some Kool Aid and read the historical marker which had a story about a forgotten battle, a forgotten tribe a forgotten settlement.  The kids would run around, my dad would stretch his legs, light a cigar and ponder the imponderable, then we’d clamber back into the bus and take off.
Finally, the mountains behind Denver rose like a tidal wave from the Colorado floor and we’d be there.  And the first thing we did in Boulder was pull up to a car wash and wash the bugs off the windshield, the grill and the front lights.

Getting to where you want to go, whether in business or in life, requires getting a few bugs on your windshield.  If you play it safe, if you stick to your neighborhood, your windshield might be clean, but you won’t be able to see much.  You need to pick up speed, have some urgency and set out beyond the limits of your experience.  And, while you’re out there, you need to pull over every once in a while, stretch your legs, ponder the imponderable and get back on the road.

Where are you with regards to your goals?  Are you still sitting in your dining room looking at a map?  Have you decided that it’s safer to to go to the local Blockbuster to rent videos about others achieving their goals?  Or are you out on the highway, wind in your hair, tuned to an ancient AM station and hitting those bugs?