I recently spent several days in Tennessee and Texas with the public relations manager of one of Rose Communications’ clients, a leading healthcare delivery company. Our trip had multiple purposes, a few of which included attending a local event in Nashville we had helped plan and promote; kicking off a series of interviews with one of the company’s executives to inform a foundational branding platform; conducting media training with Texas market executives; and gathering information for a strategy to address a regional communications challenge.

The trip was satisfying and eventful. For a company such as this one that serves people in several areas of the country, nothing compares to being “on the ground.” The PR manager and I were able to meet with the people instrumental in working on critical issues relevant to the lives of members in those markets.

I appreciated hearing directly from a variety of executives and staff members about their communications needs. I was also pleased to have the opportunity to introduce myself as a resource for them to tap as they work to convey messages to their diverse audiences.

Being there also gave me unique insights into the audiences we were trying to reach. If I hadn’t traveled to the various communities, my perception of the lifestyle and quality of life would not have been as accurate. I wouldn’t, for example, know what an assisted living facility looks, feels or smells like. I wouldn’t understand the barriers people there face every day when they don’t speak or read English, or can’t read at all.

I came back to work enlightened and energized. The experience reinforced for me the immense value of human-to-human interaction and cultural immersion in gaining the nuanced insights I need to do my job well. Obvious, perhaps, but important to remember in this age of technologically powered communications.

When we depend too much on smartphones and emails, sometimes the very things we need to know can get lost in translation.

I’ll never forget what my first real boss said to me when I told her I was leaving her marketing communications firm to go work for Chuck Donofrio: “Are you sure you want to go there? They just had major layoffs.” Chuck’s firm, which was then called Richardson, Myers and Donofrio (now Carton Donofrio Partners), had gone through a significant restructuring earlier that year in order to integrate the various departments of the agency – media, creative, production, public relations and even accounting. While she planted a minor seed of doubt in my mind, I had a really strong feeling about the opportunity and about Chuck. My answer to her was a solid, “Yes.”

After the staff meeting where my boss announced my imminent departure, her secretary pulled me aside and quietly said, “I love Chuck. I just went to a baby shower for a friend who works there. He could have talked to anyone in the room. But he chose to spend time with me. A secretary. And we had the most interesting conversation.”

Two weeks later, I started my job at Chuck’s firm and we’ve been having interesting conversations ever since.

I realized early in my time with the company that Chuck was no ordinary CEO. He drove the same car I did (a Honda Civic), carried hiking shoes in his work bag (you never know when you might stumble upon a trail head) and didn’t give a shit about job titles or hierarchy (his words). He approached his role as much a college professor as a chief executive. His vision for our industry was remarkable. Again, he was among the first to embrace integration. It’s industry standard these days, but in 1995 most executives were just talking about it. Some still are. As a PR person, I sat next to a media buyer and was often asked by the creative director to review advertising copy before he presented it to the client. Media buyers wouldn’t even talk to me in my old firm and the creative people made them look congenial.

Shortly after I joined the team, Chuck held a meeting to announce the hire of an interactive guru. He started the meeting by saying, “The Internet will have more of an impact on our industry than anything else in my lifetime. We’re jumping on the wave and we’re riding it hard.” Remember, it was 1995 and RM&D was the only large agency in Baltimore with a website. In fact, my previous employer joked that he wanted to launch a website that said, “Call us if you want me to fly out and tell you why we’re great.” At that moment, I felt like I would follow Chuck into a fire if he told me it was the smart thing to do.

A year or so later, my immediate supervisor decided to leave. I was 26. Chuck called me into his office and said, “Do you think you need a boss?” I’d come to learn Chuck was all about giving opportunities to people who felt ready to take them on. I didn’t want to sound entitled or arrogant so I told him I wanted to take on more responsibility if he was open to it. He immediately said, “Yeah, I don’t think you need a boss either.” After a year of essentially acting as PR director, Chuck made me the firm’s youngest-ever vice president.

The heart-to-heart conversations are too many to recount. Suffice it to say I learned many important life lessons from Chuck over the next few years. He taught me that blurring the line between personal and professional made both more interesting. He taught me that life is about collecting experiences, not things. He taught me that if you’re going to do something, go all the way with it.

In 2000, when I decided to leave RM&D and take a job in New York City, I dreaded telling Chuck. The PR group was thriving in the midst of the dot-com boom. What’s more, he was on his annual two-week vacation in Sanibel Island, Florida. I couldn’t wait, though, until he returned to give notice. I sat on my living room floor and cried my eyes out as I told him my decision over the phone. Chuck took a deep breath and said, “I am looking out at the most serene setting, but I am not feeling peaceful.” Gulp. He continued, “But I did the same thing at your age and my boss tried to stop me. I am not going to do that to you.” Now, for all his wisdom, Chuck is known for speaking his mind and giving in to his immediate reaction. I was floored. Then he said with the greatest confidence, “And you’ll be back in three years anyway.”

Six weeks later, I moved to New York and started my new job. But Chuck and I always stayed in close contact. As the economy began to weaken, some of my new colleagues started to exhibit less than professional behavior in the name of self preservation. I’d had just about enough when I decided to email Chuck and ask for his advice. He told me that he was on vacation in Sanibel Island, but would call me when he could. After we had a laugh about the timing of my SOS call, he listened to what I had to say. I kind of expected him to respond, “Screw that, you need to move on to a company with a better culture.” Instead he told me to stick it out. That I had more to learn. That there was more good than bad. Turned out he was right.

The Sanibel Island talks continued for the next couple of years until 2003 when he said, “I’m coming to New York and I’d like to take you to dinner.” I don’t actually know if he made the trip just for me or if he was already there for another purpose.

After exchanging a few niceties, Chuck looked across the table and said, “It’s time for you to start your own company. I’d give you money, but I don’t think you need it. Go write a manifesto. Don’t let the dust settle.” He explained that he felt I’d accomplished all I could in my job and that he’d like to see me launch a company by the time I turned 35. He felt the mid-thirties were the prime of one’s career and my entrepreneurial window of opportunity. I left my job a couple of weeks later and Rose Communications was born.

Chuck and I immediately established a partnership and we’ve been Carton Donofrio Partners’ public relations capability for the last eight years. Chuck was right, again. Three years after I left, we were back together.

One of the first accounts we collaborated on was the National Association of Realtors. The year after I launched the company, our client held a marketing summit in Santa Fe. When my plane landed, I called Chuck to let him know I was there. He said, “Come to the hotel and meet me in the lobby. I need to show you something.” I figured he wanted to share his presentation with me or maybe new creative he planned to reveal. Chuck led me out to his rental car and said he wanted to take me to see some cave dwellings he had visited the day before. An avid bird watcher, he took his binoculars and we walked along searching for feathered friends. I was reminded on that mini-hike how great it was to work with Chuck.

A few years ago, I noticed Chuck’s demeanor was changing. He didn’t seem as engaged in the business and occasionally brought up things we had already discussed. His healthy skepticism seemed to be turning into pessimism. I chalked it up to his absent-minded professor tendency and thought perhaps he was losing interest in the company his father founded more than 40 years before. I considered that there was a bigger problem at play, but ignorance was bliss. Then I got the call.

The company’s chief operating officer told me Chuck had been diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease. They wanted my help communicating the news to employees, clients and the industry. How could someone who cherished all things intellectual lose their ability to retain thoughts and experiences? In their early 50s? What an incredible injustice this was. I waited until we hung up the phone. And I cried. For his loss. And for mine.

I’ve had a few opportunities to talk one-on-one with Chuck since learning of his diagnosis. One time I was so overwhelmed by my emotions that I lost my train of thought. He said, “Oh no, maybe it’s contagious.” He told me he was past the anger and had moved on to acceptance. He was still enjoying the things he loved most about his life: his amazing wife and three daughters, the outdoors and birds. He didn’t talk much about the present, but the past was as sharp as ever for him. In fact, he told me stories about his family I had never heard.

Last month, I had the good fortune of attending a reception where Chuck was honored by the Advertising Agency Federation of Baltimore with a Silver Medal Award for his many contributions to the industry. On the train ride to Baltimore, I was contemplating how aware he would be. I was told his wife and daughter would accept the award on his behalf. Not having seen him for several months, I was prepared for the worst. When I walked in, I heard one of his colleagues lean over to him and say, “Rosemary Ostmann just walked in.” Gulp. He needed to be told who I am. Exactly what I feared. But then his face lit up and he said, “Ro, thanks for coming,” which was followed by a big hug. Exhale.

When I was juggling my schedule in order to attend, one of my colleagues in Baltimore warned me that he wouldn’t remember the event. My going to the ceremony wasn’t about him. It was about me. And I was beyond grateful to get one more night with the Chuck who knows me.

The rest of the evening was filled with familiar faces and funny recollections. When it was time for the award, I was surprised and a little nervous as Chuck stepped up to the microphone. The crowd finally stopped clapping and sat down, and he opened with, “Well, Alzheimer’s sucks.” Classic Chuck.

Chuck’s wife has characterized this period of their lives as “The long goodbye.” While Chuck is very much still on this earth and enjoying his family and his hobbies, I guess it is time to say goodbye to my mentor:

Chuck, you are my own personal Steve Jobs. Much of what I learned from you makes me who I am today – as a business owner and as a person. You never just regurgitated what others in the industry were saying or doing. You had true vision. You took risks others weren’t taking. And I live a better, more interesting life because of it. You’re not perfect. You know that. But as the attendance at last month’s ceremony demonstrated, you’ve touched a lot of people’s lives. I am among many who owe at least part of their success to you. I know you’ve transcended the anger you originally experienced when you were first diagnosed. I’ll try to get beyond my own out of respect for you and your legacy. I will, however, always wonder what else was in that beautiful mind.

One year ago this November, my teenage daughter was misdiagnosed with medulloblastoma – a devastating, potentially terminal type of brain cancer. The hours before the true, much less serious diagnosis was discovered were some of the most excruciating I’ve ever had to live through.

She had been feeling dizzy, and then started to develop vision problems. When she stumbled down the stairs in our home, I knew something was very wrong. I took her to the pediatrician, who ordered a CT scan. As we came back home and walked through the door afterward, the phone was ringing.

It was the doctor saying my daughter had a highly malignant brain tumor.

My world was turned inside out as the doctor calmly yet firmly gave me instructions: tell your daughter the news right now, call your husband at work and tell him to come home as quickly as possible, and then go immediately to the pediatric emergency room at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Tonight. I hung up the phone and sank to my knees.

At that moment, something inside me gave way and separated from me, lost forever. I knew that the life I knew before was gone and that my life from that point on would be spent fighting for my daughter’s life and, perhaps, coming to terms with her death. The feeling was visceral; a mother’s ultimate pain.

Since that autumn evening, I’ve thought a lot about the power of communication and how a few words can alter our perceptions – of others, ourselves and even life itself. Words, language and thoughts can change the world. They can lift up and they can destroy.

Nothing takes away the life-altering feeling of being told your child will probably die soon. Although my reality is mercifully much different than the nightmare I thought it would be (my daughter has a venous cavernous malformation or cavernoma that bled and caused her symptoms), I am changed, and the way I hear, process and convey information is different. I’m more careful in my word choices, and more skeptical of information I receive.

What have you experienced that prompted you to ponder the awesome — and sometimes awful — power of words?

Today was a first: I wore sunscreen and shorts to a business meeting.

Tracey at the main entrance

This morning, my colleague Tracey and I went to the Henry Kaufmann Campgrounds on Long Island as part of a project we’re doing on behalf of UJA-Federation. Our task is to help summer day camps rethink how they articulate the Jewish enrichment opportunities they offer. The challenge is their campers come from all different backgrounds; some of them have no Jewish affiliation at all. As this New York Times article points out, the camp marketplace is more competitive than ever.

During our visit, we were able to experience all the engaging activities that make kids come back to camp year after year. My favorite was the Teva Learning Center, where kids have an opportunity to learn about and develop a respect for our natural environment. There’s even an organic farming section that enables campers to enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of their labor. While not overtly religious, the Teva experience is very much grounded in Jewish values of ecological wisdom.

Now that we’ve spent a day of fun at camp, the real work begins. In our much less exciting — albeit air conditioned — offices.

I must confess that when we landed a project for Space Farms Zoo & Museum I behaved a bit childishly. “Yay! Space Farms. Llamas,” I exclaimed while jumping up and down.

Let me explain.

As a kid growing up in suburban New Jersey I’d heard about Space Farms and had always longed to visit. Friends who’d trekked to rural Sussex – which is 90 minutes from NYC – talked about the bears, snakes, tigers, and llamas that they’d seen and in some cases touched. (Llamas were and are my most favorite animal thanks to the book “Is Your Mama a Llama?”) Though I never actually made it to Space Farms as a child, I did get my chance when we won the business, as you can see. (That’s me + Tiny Tim.)

What we immediately learned about the brand is that my reaction’s not unique. Lots of people who grew up in the area know the name and have positive memories of the place, which was founded by Ralph and Elizabeth Space during the Great Depression, and is now being run by the fourth generation of family members.

In our work for Space Farms over the last couple months we’ve aimed to tap into these good feelings, and re-introduce old visitors to the attraction as adults so they’ll come back. We’re encouraging these folks and other influencers to spread the word about the unique rustic charm of the experience through traditional media and social media – Space Farms has an active Facebook page with thousands of followers and we’ve done targeted blogger outreach.

There are a lot of brands – Radio Flyer, Stride Rite, and Colorforms – that have strong connections to fans who grew up with them. It’s a good position to be in since those fans, who now have children of their own, are typically eager to share the experiences of their youth with their kids – a point made in this recent New York Times article.

The key for brands like these is they need to remind old loyalists they’re still around and make themselves relevant again – sometimes by embracing fans through new platforms, or by injecting new life into a vintage product. Colorforms, for example, is re-releasing an old favorite: a Michael Jackson dress up set; while Stride Rite has cultivated more than 90,000 fans on Facebook.

Nostalgia’s a strong motivator. As a child, I always wanted to kiss a llama. Check.

As a public relations person, I find it is critical to feel passionate about the organizations I represent. I have to believe in order to convince someone else. This week, we worked on a story I found particularly inspiring. One of our clients – the CEO of Playworld Systems – traveled deep into the lush countryside of Ghana as part of a commitment his company has made to bring play and light to the children of Ghana.

I have never been to Africa and my experience traveling to third-world countries is somewhat limited. Though as a child I did visit places with minimal modern amenities. In 1980, I made my way to the house where my father grew up in County Mayo, Ireland. Back then the country was considered third-world because of its lack of indoor plumbing – let’s just say it was common to take a bath with seaweed in the water and it wasn’t part of a lavish spa treatment.  While the plumbing infrastructure may still seem archaic in older homes in Ireland, the mechanics for indoor plumbing do exist. 

Unlike Ireland, Ghana, a country located in West Africa has yet to become a developing nation.  It remains a third-world country by all accounts and indoor plumbing is still very much a luxury. We were reminded of the country’s condition this week as our client, Matt Miller, traveled there, to kick off Playworld Systems’ partnership with Empower Playgrounds, a non-profit organization that provides renewable energy to villages in Ghana through electricity-generating play­ground equipment and smart LED lanterns.

Matt was in Ghana for two installations of “whirls” (sometimes known as merry-go-rounds) that generate power while the kids play during the day for portable lanterns that enable them to study in the evenings at home. Playworld Systems recently agreed to take over the manufacturing of the whirls in an effort to reduce costs and accelerate Empower Playgrounds’ ability to make an impact in Ghana and beyond.

Matt chronicled his experience for Play By Playworld, his company’s blog and his writing also appears on a popular trade magazine website. His heartfelt prose vividly captured the culture and people of Ghana.  His posts served as a reminder that there are many people in the world that live with so much less.  

As a result of Matt’s journey, the children of the Akyeremanteng and Madavunu villages will have not only brighter nights but brighter futures.  By 2012, Playworld and Empower plan to make the power-generating systems available to developing nations across the globe. 

I recently attended a trade show where my client had a booth in the exhibit hall. This particular client is an environmentally focused manufacturer committed to reducing its carbon footprint and protecting the planet for future generations. They initiated a “green action” program more than 10 years ago, before “carbon footprint” and “sustainability” became the popular terms they are today. The program includes lean manufacturing initiatives to lesson energy consumption and eliminate material waste.

The show had a dedicated press room where exhibitors could place media materials to highlight existing products or announce new ones. When planning our public relations strategy for the show, we chose to provide our media materials on USB flash drives instead of supplying hard copy kits. This decision was an instinctive one in keeping with the client’s position as well as our own. Not only does it make sense environmentally, it also lightens the load for journalists attending the show.

When I stopped by the press room to drop off our flash drives, I was surprised to find a long table laden with stacks and stacks of traditional media kits – fancy folders and elaborate packages bulging with printed materials. Many of the companies’ materials ironically touted their commitment to the environment.

This experience made me think about the importance of considering all the ways a company communicates and staying true to the brand. Certainly, a slick media kit chock-full of dazzling graphic pieces grabs attention, but what message does that send about the company’s commitment to sustainable business practices?

I was one of a few thousand people at Radio City Music Hall (RCMH) on Tuesday night that gathered to see Conan O’Brien’s “The Legally Prohibited from Being Funny on Television Tour.” It was an evening filled with comedy, rants about NBC, and special guests. Here’s what I took away, in addition to the image of Stephen Colbert and O’Brien in a hysterical yet rather uncoordinated dance-off:

-Team Coco wants you to tweet

Last month when I took my stepdaughter to see “Phantom of the Opera” on Broadway, we were reminded to turn off our cell phones and pagers (really, the announcement said pagers). For years now, audience members at shows and performances of all kinds have been asked to turn off wireless devices. So I thought it interesting that upon entering RCMH I was greeted with a sign instructing audience members who planned to tweet about the night’s events to use the hashtag #triumph (as in the insult comic dog).

It’s a new world. One where people are compelled to share whenever and wherever they may be. Encouraging tweeting – at a sporting event, performance, etc. - especially with a suggested hashtag, is a smart way to build trackable buzz and create a sense of camaraderie amongst audience members.

-Shtick journalism really resonates

Tuesday’s show was jam packed with special guests – Colbert, Vampire Weekend, John Krasinski, Paul Rudd, Bill Hader and Jon Stewart, clearly the crowd favorite. The applause the “Daily Show” anchor received rivaled when O’Brien first took to the stage. Nearly a year ago, a Time.com poll named Stewart “the most trusted news man in America,” beating out Charlie Gibson, Brian Williams, and Katie Couric. Judging by the crowd’s uproarious reaction to Stewart’s appearance, I’d stay he still ranks number one – at least with folks in their late teens to early 40’s.

I’ve liked Stewart since his days on MTV. He’s funny but beyond that he is articulate, expressive and appears well-informed. He’s addressing important stories in a way that makes people smile and think. Like Mary Poppins sang, “a spoon full of sugar makes the makes the medicine go down.”

Last Friday, I was sitting in the aisle seat of a Northwest flight headed from Detroit to LaGuardia when an older woman approached our row and said she’d rather sit in my spot than shimmy her way to the window seat she had booked. The guy sitting in the middle realized as soon as he moved over to the window seat that this turn of events was less than fair for me. It’s a quick flight (I know it well as we have a client in the Detroit area); it wasn’t worth making them both get up, so in the middle seat I sat.

As soon as she sat down, the woman said in a spirited tone, “What kind of ship are we on?” I looked at the safety card and reported it was an Airbus 330. She then told us she worked in the airline business before we were born. It turns out she was a flight attendant in the mid-1940s.

The remainder of the flight felt a little like talking to Gloria Stuart’s character in the movie “Titanic.” She spoke of the soldiers coming home from WWII on her planes and how she had no way of reheating passengers’ meals, so the food was served quickly and often cold. She said the airline, which was later sold to one of the big players, forced her to quit when she married her husband. Then she asked me, “Do you know where Idlewild Airport is?” She said that was the airport she used to fly in and out of in New York. I told her I hadn’t heard of it and wondered if it was once the name of the airport on Long Island used by Southwest, among others. I made a mental note to check online at home, simply to satisfy my own curiosity, but forgot as soon as the plane landed. After the woman got her things, she leaned over to me and the man next to me and said, “Well, I am glad there are at least two people who can still do business in Detroit.”

I hope I am as alive and engaged as this woman when I am 87 years old.

Fast forward to Monday morning. I picked up a copy of am New York in the lobby of our office building. As I waited for my email to download, I flipped through the quick-serve news source. When I saw the headline, “At Idlewild, books for all places,” I was quickly reminded of our conversation. A review of a new bookstore called Idlewild Books informed me that it was the original name of John F. Kennedy Airport (it’s apparently had a few names over the years, but has been JFK since 1963). The store’s collection includes travel guides, literature and non-fiction titles representing 100 countries across the globe. The moniker is a nod to the airport so many New Yorkers use to leave the country as well as a nice dose of nostalgia.

I originally chose to keep the middle seat because I figured it was easier for everyone. But doing so led to a rich conversation I won’t soon forget and ultimately learning about a new bookstore in which I am sure to spend many hours and even more dollars. It seems that every aspect of how we share and absorb information is ever-changing. But, no matter the source, storytelling remains a constant that binds our present to our past.