When we were retained by UJA Federation of New York last spring to rethink the way Jewish Community Center summer day camp is marketed on Long Island, I had no idea it would eventually take me to New Orleans. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to share our work with a group people from across the country – and even one from Canada – at the Jewish Community Center Association’s (JCCA) biennial meeting.

Our original assignment was well received by the JCCs in the pilot project and we’re now putting the new messaging we created into practice through various follow-up projects. The person responsible for camp at the JCCA participated in one of our early presentations and felt there was national relevance to the outcomes … hence the invite to New Orleans.

Before I made my presentation, I had to really think about how to make our observations from Long Island meaningful to people from other areas. In doing that, I realized there were three overarching lessons, which are really tried and true best practices, but helpful reminders to any marketer:

1. Many JCC camps don’t have dedicated logos, taglines or web pages. Instead they let the JCC do that work for them. But parents are looking at competitors who have all those things. Is the JCC taking camp seriously if they aren’t taking their brand or their marketing seriously?
2. Leadership shared many perceived weaknesses with us in the early stages of the project. But when we asked families why they chose JCC summer camp, their reasons were often the very same elements that cause concern for administration. It’s cliché, but challenges really can be opportunities
3. Our messaging is grounded in what makes JCC summer day camp great and different today, but programming and staffing also play a huge role in long-term success. Even the most brilliant campaign cannot mask a mediocre product

The real proof, of course, will come when the camps fully implement the evolved messaging and can measure the impact on enrollment. If nothing else, we seem to have opened some minds.

Dear Hoboken,

When I met you almost exactly 12 years ago, I had no idea how long our affair would last. I was single, 28 and considering a job in New York City. Many of my friends who worked in the city suggested you’d be a great stepping stone while I figured out where I really wanted to live.

I decided to check you out before committing to the job, so my mother and I came up for a weekend visit. As we approached on Park Avenue, I got my first glimpse of the unparalleled view you offer of the Manhattan skyline. I spent the weekend shopping in your boutiques, eating in your amazing restaurants and looking at mostly mediocre apartments. In 2000, there were only a handful of luxury apartment buildings in town. At some point, my mother said to me, “I’m afraid if you don’t try this, you’re going to regret it.” She rarely finds anyone or anything good enough for her baby. Later that day, I signed a lease on an apartment that was under construction. Two months after that, I arrived with all my worldly possessions and promptly received my first parking ticket.

I was not looking for a long-term relationship when I met you. But that’s exactly what we’ve had. If only I’d known, I could have bought an apartment for $150,000 instead of the $500,000+ I paid. Not only did I enjoy five solid years of singlehood within your square mile (which boasts more bars per capita than any other US town) but I started my business, met my husband and gave birth to two children. In fact, our relationship has outlasted any other I’ve had with a hometown.

But it’s time for me to move on. It’s not you, Hoboken, it’s me. And my husband. And my daughter and her Barbie Dream House. There’s also my son and his growing collection of cars. And my obsessive need to throw anything that’s not been touched for more than 48 hours in the trash.

I’m not going to say goodbye because we’ll see each other again. Like when I turn up in my office on River Street. Until then, a top-ten list of ways you know you’ve lived in Hoboken for more than a decade:

1. You danced at Miss Kitty’s Dance Hall Floozies until the wee hours.
2. You shopped at A&P because it was the only market in town and you can recall the rotten odor that used to emit from the mysterious buildings near what’s now Shop-Rite.
3. You’ve seen men in dark suits conducting business while standing outside their town cars under the viaduct.
4. You remember when Pier A and Frank Sinatra parks were the only ways to access the waterfront and what’s now Maxwell Place was actually a coffee factory.
5. You used to live next to a structure that seemed to have no purpose until Thanksgiving, when Macy’s parade floats suddenly emerged.
6. You parked in the back of Hoboken late at night where there were single family homes with barking dogs tied up outside … before there were luxury condominiums.
7. You never felt more connected to your community than you did on 9/11 when we lost more residents than any single town surrounding NYC.
8. You had the opportunity to vote for a mayor who was later incarcerated for corrupt behavior. Oh wait, there were two.
9. You remember a time when there was not one stroller in Hoboken and you yourself now have three. In your dining room.
10. You think of Carlo’s as a good Italian bakery, not a destination worthy of crossing international borders to reach.

When the founder of Single Edition Media, Sherri Langburt, asked me to present a session on how to prepare for a media interview at a conference for single bloggers, I readily accepted. I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to connect with more than 100 bloggers. Blogger relations is a big part of what we do at Rose Communications. Everyone talks about mom bloggers, but single-hood provides just as much a lens for storytelling as mommy-hood. I know; I’ve done both.

One of the first things I asked her was whether there would be working journalists in the audience. I’ve talked to bloggers once before about making the most of an interview. Most of them were trained journalists and I got the sense they felt the concept by its very nature was overly opportunistic.

Interestingly, most of what I know about media training I learned from former journalists. We never recommend that a spokesperson be anything other than authentic to who they are and truthful in their comments. But it is important to be thoughtful in how you approach an interview, so you make sure your point gets across and don’t end up saying something you later regret.

Sure enough, as I wrapped up my comments at the conference this past Saturday, a woman raised her hand and identified herself as a public radio reporter. She felt my presentation was fine if you’re faced with a crisis, but that most journalists are looking to help people tell their stories … that the bloggers should be themselves in interviews.

There are plenty of PR opportunists out there and I try very hard to strike a balance between giving reporters newsworthy content and representing my clients’ best interests. Obviously, if I were only focused on the latter, my clients would never make headlines. And I sometimes push my clients to be more transparent than they want to be in order to make sure I am serving the reporter’s needs.

So it made me uncomfortable when this woman made her comment. While some journalists are looking to help individuals tell their stories, most need subject matter experts to flesh out broader pieces they’re reporting.

Either way, people should be themselves, but also think about how they approach an interview. We live in world when news is reported as it happens and forgotten just as quickly. A little preparation goes a long way in making sure your story is heard.

My husband and I just bought a new house that’s three times the size of our small apartment. In other words, we have major decorating to do. Pinterest couldn’t have come into my life at a better time. I have two small children and the older one is a night owl (read: no time for shopping). When I have a few minutes here and there, I’ll browse online and pin things I like for my husband to see. That way, when it comes time to make decisions, we’ll know exactly where to go to make our purchases. A few weeks ago, my four-year-old diva-in-training saw me pinning away and asked what I was doing. Her eyes lit up and she immediately started asking if she could pin things to my boards. Not only was she determined to choose the items herself, she dictated what I should write for each pin. “Scarlett likes this glass table for daddy.”

Last night, I wanted to show her an amazing fairy garden I pinned. I thought it would be a fun project for us to do together when we move into the house and finally have a backyard. Of course, that led to her demanding to pin some new things, including adding destination photos to my empty travel board. Who has time to think about travel, when you’re in the middle of two real estate transactions? But we had fun thinking about where we’d like to go together.

Eventually, she started pushing my hand away from the mouse and insisting that she knew how to pin. She’d even look down every minute or so to make sure my hand wasn’t creeping back. And, for the most part, she did know how to pin. Then I showed her how you can look at others’ pins and like or repin them. Oh boy. Talk about a Pandora’s Box moment. At one point, she accidentally followed someone who I didn’t want to follow and I told her it was time to hand the mouse back to mommy. She could follow people when she was old enough to have her own Pinterest page. With tears in her eyes, she looked up at me and said, “But I want my own Pinterest page now.”

What kind of miniature social media monster have I created? At what age is it appropriate to have a Pinterest page?

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.

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.

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?

In the publishing industry, repurposing content is common practice.  For example, a popular article that ran in the Style section of the print edition of The New York Times daily newspaper could be published again in the newspaper’s fashionable T Magazine.  I’ve seen this several times and never took issue with it because the articles I’ve read, and in some instances reread, are always properly labeled as repurposed content.  

This week the publishers of Martha Stewart Living made a major misstep by repurposing content and not alerting its loyal readers.  Mary Findley, an avid follower of Living, told Tanzina Vega, a media reporter with The New York Times, about how she stumbled upon this snafu when perusing the special 2011 Halloween issue of Martha Stewart’s magazine.  Ms. Findley had a déjà vu moment when she came across a photo of a chocolate cake titled Macabre Manse.  It turns out that this same photo and recipe were featured in the October 2008 issue of the magazine.  And apparently this wasn’t the only repurposed content in the 2011 Halloween issue, which retails for about $7 at newsstands. 

According to The New York Times article, a spokesperson for Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia said the company stood by its work and how it was delivered to readers. Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia publishes two to four special issues a year, each of which carries about 60 percent original material and 40 percent repurposed material.  However, The New York Times reported that the 2011 Halloween issue included about 70 percent of original content.

When additional media pundits and bloggers picked up the story, it prompted an additional response from the company and ultimately persuaded Martha herself to place a call to Ms. Findley.

During these uncertain economic times when many magazine titles are struggling to stay afloat, a snafu like this could prove costly.  It could cause advertisers to spend their ad dollars elsewhere.  And informed consumers may be reluctant to buy special issues.  Not to mention the potential damage to the Martha Stewart brand.  Isn’t the brand all about fresh new ideas? 

The statement issued by the Omnimedia leads me to believe that they don’t plan to change their practices. As a result, I’ll save my money at the newsstand for publications that are publishing original content, or those that are at least being upfront about articles that have appeared elsewhere.  How do you feel about media outlets that repurpose content? 

What makes people decide whether an apology is worthy of forgiveness? According to an article in yesterday’s Washington Post, there’s a huge body of research that explores this very subject. We are often counseling our clients on how to deal with a crisis and take responsibility for their actions.

There are many factors that lead to whether people are willing to forgive and forget. The article points to one in particular that I found interesting: Is the initial act viewed as intentional or a mistake? The author uses the example of Anthony Weiner and suggests that the reason people wouldn’t forgive his behavior is because it came across as intended. Arnold Schwarzenegger, on the other hand, was able to transcend past harassment allegations by suggesting that he didn’t understand his behavior was perceived as anything other than playful. This was, of course, before his more recent scandals for which he hasn’t been forgiven.

It’s an interesting finding and one that will make me think as we help our clients navigate crisis situations. But I have a hard time thinking of how Anthony Weiner could have sold his sexting controversy as unintentional.

I have always been curious about why people become journalists.  What compels them to spend their lives seeking out the news? What makes them tick?

My current obsession is Anderson Cooper, the anchor of CNN’s nightly news roundup Anderson Cooper 360º .

Cooper fascinates me. He’s the son of heiress Gloria Vanderbilt, the “poor little rich girl” who grew up to head a fashion empire that launched millions of pairs of tight-fitting jeans. He’s the great-great-great-grandson of shipping and railroad magnate Cornelius Vanderbilt, whose statue stands at New York’s Grand Central Station.

This guy could have gone the route of many heirs to fortunes and sat around doing nothing but enjoying the fruits of his family’s labors.

So why become a reporter who frequently puts himself in harm’s way to cover bloody conflicts and natural disasters? With no formal journalistic education, Cooper has said the loss he felt after his older brother committed suicide compelled him to search for answers as a reporter:  “I think when you experience any kind of loss, especially the kind I did, you have questions about survival: Why do some people thrive in situations that others can’t tolerate?”

While he has proven himself to be a serious journalist, Cooper has a breezier side. He took a break from covering breaking news with a two-year stint hosting the reality show The Mole. He banters with bawdy comedian Kathy Griffin during their annual New Year’s Eve countdown specials in Times Square. He sandwiches the satirical “The RidicuList” segment into his otherwise staid nightly news program (his giggle fit during a recent RidicuList story is now the stuff of YouTube legend and, at last count, has been recommended by almost 15,000 people on Facebook). And although he’s a celebrity of sorts in his own right, he frequently seems smitten with movie stars and other show biz personalities.

To me, Cooper’s appeal as a journalist is that he comes across as genuine, not a robotic talking head. He’s relatable, even goofy at times. He can laugh at himself, which reflects his approach to anchoring the news: “I think the notion of the traditional anchor is fading away, the all-knowing, all-seeing person who speaks from on high. I don’t think the audience really buys that anymore. I think you have to be yourself, and you have to be real… I tend to relate more to people on television who are just themselves, for good or for bad, than I do to someone who I believe is putting on some sort of persona.”

Cooper recently announced he’s adding daytime talk show host to his repertoire: Anderson debuts on September 12.

My curiosity duly piqued, I’ll be tuning in. How about you?