Connecting the dots...

1814. The United States is more than two years into a war we can’t afford. And can’t afford to lose. Albert Gallatin has left his post as Secretary of the Treasury to help John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay and a few other diplomats negotiate a peace treaty with the British. Everyone knows that peace is inevitable and will happen soon. Still, each side stalls and reengages. Their moves depend on who won the latest skirmish across the Atlantic and how the European powers seem to be realigning, now that they’ve driven Napoleon into exile. At least for now. 

While waiting in Ghent, Gallatin, Adams and Clay write letters to U.S. diplomats throughout Europe and to their colleagues back in Washington City. In an exercise we’d now call “show me your thinking,” they assess the many situations in play and speculate on the impact.

Like all good leaders, Gallatin, Adams and Clay are good politicians. Each is skilled at understanding motives and calculating risk. They weigh the pros and cons of borrowing more money from European banks. They contemplate the outcome if, as expected, Congress decides to reestablish a federal bank. They consider the ways in which the Europeans might redraw the map of Europe. They speculate on the future of France, wondering if anyone will step in to lead and wondering how the situation will change with France and Britain no longer at war. 

The men in Ghent also write about the risk of losing the support of the People. Americans are divided about the growing debt - what it means to the country and what we should do about it. They aren’t sure we can beat the British. And as the negotiators know; perception is reality. Adams complains that Britain “owns the presses throughout Europe,” which, of course, impacts what America can demand at the negotiating table and what Americans will support.

I know these things because I am reading the letters of Gallatin, Adams and Clay – real letters written in their own hands. I am currently helping out in the family business, Cowan’s Auctions. While my actual job is to launch a few strategic initiatives, I also get to do a bit of the fun work that Cowan’s does every day.

These letters tell me a lot about the business of communication. The sons of the Founding Fathers took great care to express their thoughts, if not always succinctly (apologies to always-succinct Adams). They were serious about being understood and serious about understanding what others had to say.

Why such care? I think it’s because they understood the connection between communication and leadership: To lead, you have to bring people along. You have to show your thinking – how it flows from what you see around you. Today, much of the effort we put into communication is about the WHAT and HOW. These 200 year-old letters remind me that, without the WHY the rest doesn’t matter. 

I went to hear a classical pianist last week – my first live classical music in many, many years. 

The concert reminded me that music, like words, can create meaning that goes far beyond what the writer intended.

I grew up in a home where classical music played every day, but my parents also encouraged me to find my own musical passions, which didn’t include much classical. 

Still, when I hear classical today, I can identify the melody and composer at least half the time. 

I was evidently paying attention back then, but there is more to it. My recall of the music has much to do with the images I formed of the composers: snippets of who they were as people and the times in which they lived; together with scraps of information from the single theory class I took as a teen.

So I wasn't surprised that I could appreciate the differences between Beethoven and Liszt and Mendelssohn. When the pianist began his final piece, Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 35, I followed the first and second movements with the same familiarity I’d felt all evening. 

But when he got to the third movement I was dumbstruck. He was no longer playing Chopin. He’d switched to The Doom Song – the tune they played when Bugs Bunny, Sylvester or another of the Looney Tunes characters was in BIG trouble!

It was probably just a second before I realized that the pianist had not abandoned Chopin; that he was indeed playing the famous Funeral March. But for that brief time, I’d forgotten that the melody was of classical origin.

Did I forget? While I was hearing The Doom Song, my image of the composer was crystal clear: a guy on the back lot of the Warner Brothers Studio, hunched over the piano with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a single bulb above his head. The producer had told him to write something to use when the end was (almost) certain. My composer worked hard to get it right.

The Funeral March says, “the end is here” as clear as any sentence ever written. But it also reminds us that, no matter how clear the message we can’t control what our listeners hear.

My momentary lapse was of zero consequence. Are there consequences if your audience brings a fundamental misconception to your message? What are you doing to make sure they get it right?

Speed to Market requires an idea that’s been vetted and an organization that is set up to deliver.

The best companies employ a full regimen of tools and processes to make it happen – best practices for generating ideas, assessing competition, estimating sales, testing messages and managing the work, just to name a few.

But many companies fail to take advantage of the biggest speed enabler in the room: the wisdom of those who’ve tried it, or something like it, before.

Some propositions are truly new to everyone involved – but that's usually not the case. More often, people bring knowledge that simply doesn’t get tapped. As a communications strategist and anthropologist, it's my observation that organizations that intentionally leverage institutional knowledge bring propositions to market faster and with greater success.

While it’s possible to incorporate key learnings during the life cycle of the initial project, the gathering process is often treated as one more task. Better to create a case study at the point in time when those who need to know are focused on the opportunity at hand.

It’s easier than ever to track down former colleagues. And no matter why they left, people like to tell their stories. They want to be asked.

The deliverable is typically a framework of key issues, backed with a narrative of what happened. It can also include a checklist of questions to ask, behaviors to avoid and actions to follow in the future.

By including voices that represent a range of experiences and perspectives, the picture that emerges is textured and whole. When an outsider gathers the information, people trust that it is credible. When the issues are boiled down to the essentials, the findings are actionable.

Sometimes, the most important question is the one you don't ask.

Last winter, my veterinarian called to say that my dog had an elevated liver enzyme. He recommended an expensive and invasive round of tests to confirm his suspicion: a potentially fatal condition that is treatable by a change in diet. 

I’d never doubted a physician in my life, but something didn’t feel right. 

We agreed that I would do some research on my own. I consulted several out-of-town vets. After hearing their opinions (all different), my vet suggested I take Scout to a local vet internist.

The first thing the internist said: “Before I look at her chart, just talk. Tell me about your dog.”

Then he told me that I’d given him a clue, information he'd never get by asking questions.

A few non-invasive and inexpensive tests later, he offered a different diagnosis – one with an excellent prognosis. Scout is now on a vegetarian diet that includes prescription dog food and ordinary people food. Enzyme counts are, so far, normal. She is a happy dog.

My odyssey into dog healthcare was a window into my work. I also ask people to “just talk.” And I never use a list of questions. 

Like the vet said, “A list presupposes an answer, or at least a direction you think leads to an answer. You can miss the clues.”

I talk with people who will receive the message I'm designing to understand the context in which the message will land. The clues: Other issues that are competing for their attention. Aspects of the message that will most impact their world. Elephants in the room – issues my clients must address if any action is to follow.

The parallels only go so far, but the vet and I both let people “just talk” to get clues that help us diagnose and treat for the best results.

My clients appreciate my approach, but some ask to see my list of questions.

Next time this happens, I’m going to tell them about Scout.

Want to know the clue to Scout’s treatment? shelley@shelleycowan.com