PART TWO: HOW TO CONQUER A CONTINENT ... AND BEFUDDLE A BEAN COUNTER

　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
     Okay, here’s the problem in a nutshell:
     In the early 1970s, Xerox Corporation -- a newly-global company and one of the fastest growing in the world -- was suffering from a migraine. The Spanish-speaking people of the world -- principally those in Latin America -- couldn’t pronounce its name without sounding like they’d been shot up with novocaine at a dentist’s office. They pronounced it something like ‘Share-oosh’, a slurpy distortion of the letter X, which is rarely used. (Unless you want to include the x in Mexico where its Spanish pronunciation is like a quiet asthmatic exhale.)
     Anyway, just imagine saying: “Please make me four share-oosh copies of this and two share-ooshes of that.’
     So the Xerox CEO, Peter McColough, asked me to come up with a solution. Find a way to get them to say Xerox like we do, he said. He then agreed to pay me an outrageous fee which befuddled the company’s auditor, and gave me a guilty conscience because I thought the problem was insoluble right from the start. But McColough -- who considered it a major roadblock -- insisted I take a crack at it anyway.
     Why me? Well, I’d worked with the company as a free-lance speechwriter, written its annual report for six or seven years, created a widely-quoted ‘mission statement’ of its long-term goals and ultimately became responsible for choosing and negotiating the television programs it sponsored. So, as an outsider, I knew Xerox from top to bottom and had earned the trust of its senior management by making a few decisions no inside subordinates wanted to make. (See my blogs about Alastair Cooke and an Arab League boycott.)
     Moreover, I was thought to be a ‘creative type’… a useful reputation if justified, but frightening if you’re bereft of ideas. And that’s exactly what I was. Five months after taking the assignment -- and after having done a ton of homework -- I was stumped, frustrated and brain-blank. I felt as if I’d hung myself from a rafter and was waiting for someone to kick the chair out from under me.
　
     One day, out of the blue, Mike Dann invited me to lunch. Dann -- the mythic guru of television programming -- had guided CBS to the top of the Neilsen ratings and kept it there for years. He’d resigned from CBS unexpectedly, but had re-surfaced as a vice-president of the Children’s Television Workshop (CTW) which produced the new kids’ program, Sesame Street. His responsibilities with CTW were vague; and cynics figured he’d just taken on something ’soft’ to occupy him between breakfast and dinner. Besides, they joked, Mike had never known a child and a ‘workshop’ to him had something to do with basements and Budweiser, not with elves and the North Pole. (It was a bad rap. Mike had three young kids at home and a number of detractors elsewhere.)
      I’d met him casually once or twice; but certainly not enough for him to pick me out of a lineup. So I assumed the invitation was just an ambassadorial ’thank you’ because -- months earlier -- I’d arranged for Xerox to sponsor a Sesame Street promotional program on NBC. It aired a few days before the show’s formal debut on PBS, and marked the first (and probably last) time commercial television promoted public television. But PBS was still in its infancy, and NBC probably figured it was good PR and would do no harm to its ratings.
     In any case, I was glad to meet with Dann. Despite Sesame Street’s instant success, I felt it wasn’t reaching a significant portion of its intended audience: namely, inner-city children (a white euphemism for Blacks, Puerto Ricans and Mexicans). In those Cro-Magnon days, not only did cable television not exist, but many educational stations were limited to ultra high frequency (UHF) channels which delivered terrible reception and required a different antenna from the usual VHF ‘rabbit ears‘.   Consequently, the underprivileged kids in big cities like Detroit, Cleveland, San Diego, Los Angeles and Washington, D.C. weren’t receiving Sesame Street at all.
     So it was my intention to use Dann as a messenger to Joan Cooney, the head of CTW. I wanted her to consider going commercial (VHF) in urban areas where the public TV system was ineffectual .. which, incidentally, also included most of semi-rural America, Georgia, Texas, Mississippi and Alabama.
     That it was none of my business never occurred to me. Nor did I ask whether the people at CTW were addressing the problem, although they were surely aware of it. But since I’d played a very minor role in helping them, I considered myself part of the family and therefore deserving of an opinion on how things should be run. (That’s seems to be how an inflated ego works if -- on the one hand -- you’re young, bold and insensitive .. and on the other .. secretly unsure, apprehensive and bereft of ideas you’re being paid to find.)


     Over lunch at an Italian restaurant, Dann listened to my opinions while stabbing at a Caesar salad as if the croutons were alive and escaping. He was clearly disinterested in what I had to say and impatient to move on. Which he did the moment I paused for breath.
     It’s impossible to recreate, or even to imitate, his speech because he talked in long, complex sentences that seemed to circle back on themselves or to disappear down a dark, twisting arroyo never to re-emerge. Yet in some odd manner, a careful listener -- a patient ear -- could distill what he was saying and find cogency and a keen intellect. I couldn’t help but wonder whether his style was conscious; perhaps designed to keep his audience puzzled and off-balance as he was going for their jugular.
     But that wasn’t where he was going with me. After a while I realized he was pitching me for seed money, elliptically at first but then with baited outriggers deployed and trolling. And the project he was pitching -- the ’little experiment’ CTW was toying with and wanted a modest contribution for -- was a pilot of Sesame Street in Spanish.
     Clang! Clang! Clang! Judy Garland bells exploded in my head again. I was suddenly riding on the top deck of her trolley and drunk with excitement!!
     It wasn’t easy to interrupt when Dann was on a roll, but I managed it.
     Mike .. MIKE ..to hell with a pilot, I said. Why not Sesame Street for all of South America?
     Without blinking an eye, he said: That’s exactly what we’re planning to do. A hundred and thirty Spanish programs a year .. just like here.
     At the time, I thought he was lying, a practice not uncommon in television circles.. But in retrospect, I was probably wrong because his real job at CTW -- as I later found out -- was to ’internationalize’ Sesame Street.
     If you can put a package like that together, I said, .. a year’s worth in Spanish .. not Puerto Rican Spanish but South American Spanish .. I might be able to get Xerox to spring for the whole thing.
     I know .. I know .. I added, .. we’re talking millions of dollars, but I think they’ll go for it .. if …
     Dann cocked his head slightly.
     If what?
     If .. there’s a ten-second underwriting credit at the beginning and end of each show.
Maybe something like .. uh .. say .. an animated blackboard with a child writing a wiggly X-E-R-O-X in chalk and saying in a child’s voice .. in Spanish, of course .. that the program is presented as a public service by Xerox.
     (I didn’t mention that it would be pronounced with Z as in ‘Zee-rox’. In fact, I never mentioned it to anyone except McColough.)
     I’ll see what we can do, Dann said.
    Obviously he could be succinct when he wanted to.

     I have no idea how CTW did what they did as quickly as they did it, or how they did it so well. But less than eighteen months later, Plaza Sesamo -- the kissing cousin of Sesame Street -- went on the air. It was produced in Mexico City by Latinos, written, directed and acted by Latinos and ‘supervised’ by educational experts from different Latin American countries. The only thing ‘Gringo’ about it was the sponsor -- Xerox Corporation -- with opening and closing credits in each segment.
     But nobody objected because Plaza Sesamo hit the continent like a tsunami; sweeping away local prejudices, drowning out regional rivalries, washing away government suspicion and undermining entrenched bureaucracies. It was watched loyally by countess millions of children and adults alike who found it infinitely more entertaining than endless re-runs of Gunsmoke. It was enjoyed in mountain villages, in the central squares of fishing towns, in bodegas and orphanages, in the favelas and barrios of big cities, by the rich, the poor, and by everybody in between. It penetrated to the soul of Latin America because it taught and nurtured its children.


     And, not accidentally, the continent began pronouncing a certain X word almost exactly as we do .. all the way from El Paso, Texas, to the Straits of Magellan.





                                                   AFTER DINNER MINTS
　
　
Soon after its introduction, Plaza Sesamo was dubbed into Portuguese for Brazil. Within a few weeks of broadcast, the Big Bird character -- transformed into a sympathetic half-dragon/half-bird named Abelardo -- finished third as a write-in candidate for mayor of Sao Paulo, the country’s largest city. His original name -- Filiponio -- was hurriedly changed on the eve of production in Mexico City when the producers found out it was used in several countries as a homosexual slur.

The Law of Unintended Consequences was affirmed when -- a few months after the program’s debut -- several Xerox subsidiaries reported that the ‘special fees’ usually demanded by corrupt customs inspectors for importing Xerox equipment had been dropped. No ‘official’ reasons were given, but it was not uncommon for Xerox employees to be asked if they could get Abelardo’s autograph or that of Paco, the grumpy equal of Oscar the Grouch.

Oddly, the definitive and ’complete’ history of Sesame Street, titled Street Gang by Michael Davis (Penguin, 2008), contains no reference whatsoever to Plaza Sesamo, or to Latin America itself, although it does refer to Mike Dann making deals for Sesame Street with Bermuda, Trinidad/Tobago, Barbados and other English-speaking dots in the Caribbean. Seems a shame.

Peter McColough was so impressed with CTW that he asked, through me, whether Joan Cooney would be interested in joining the board of Xerox. She was, and did; serving for a number of years until McColough retired.

Finally, I don’t know what happened to the bean counter/auditor or whether he ever worked up the courage to question McColough. But I trust his career ended without further confusion and that he never again had to grapple with epistemological issues like how much an idea costs or how long it takes to have one.

Only The Shadow knows.

　
　

Thanks again for being with me. Please send my link to people you like (or don’t like). The more the merrier.
I hope next to write about the future of public television; that is, if I can get anyone in public television to talk to me.

HOW TO CONQUER A CONTINENT .. AND BEFUDDLE A BEANCOUNTER

     Here's an extraordinary phone conversation for the ages, from ages ago; specifically from early 1971. It came into my office in New York City; and the caller was calling on behalf of my favorite client. I remember it almost word-for-word because .. well, how could I forget it?

     Good morning, sir. My name is Richard Kingsworth. I'm Director of Internal Auditing for Xerox Corporation. I understand you are our consultant for TV programs and report to our Vice-President of Corporate Communications. Am I correct?
     That's right. What can I do for you?
     Well, first, sir, thank you for taking my call. We certainly think you've done some wonderful things for Xerox. And they're much appreciated. In fact, my family watches everything we sponsor, including some of the controversial stuff .. if you know what I mean. But of course that's not why I'm calling. I actually wanted to ask you a few questions about ...
     Wait a sec, I say. If you're an auditor, shouldn't you be talking to my accounting department? That way you can talk bean to bean, so to speak. Why don't I just transfer you over there?
     (But I'm thinking: Why's the head of auditing calling me directly? It's like getting a call from the head of the IRS or the Internal Affairs Division of the NYPD. And what's with the compliments?
     I don't like this at all.)
     No, please! Don't transfer me! I'm calling about the recent invoices you've been sending to Peter McColough.
     (Ah ha! Now I get it. He's snooping into the expenses of his own CEO .. the big boss .. the capo di capos. That takes chutzpah. But he has to tread VERY carefully. That's why the butter-up.)
     What about them? As far as I know, they've all been paid on time.
     Slightly insulted, he says: Of course they have! But they don't seem to relate to anything .. and they're in addition to your television fees. I mean .. we can't find any documentation on what they're for. All they say is 'monthly retainer' .. and I'm afraid we need more information than that .. for our outside auditors also.
     Okay, I can understand that, I tell him. But there's nothing to find. I have a handshake deal with Peter .. all verbal. Nothing's on paper.
     Forgive me, but to do what exactly? And for how long? I mean, for what period of time?
     I pause, perhaps a beat too long, and tell him: I'm thinking.
     He pauses too: I beg your pardon. Did you say you're thinking?
     That's right. That's what the invoices are for. Thinking. It's a little unorthodox, but there it is. You know how the company has a long-term planning department? ... like an in-house think tank? Well I'm kinda the outhouse .. different but the same if you know what I mean.
      (Mr. Kingsworth, despite being a beancounter, is not an unintelligent man. So by now he senses I'm playing games with his function. And I know he'll be persistent because that's his job. But I have the ear of his ultimate boss; and I'm young and cockier than I have a right to be.)
       And call you tell me what you're thinking about? he asks. After all we're talking substantial sums here, aren't we?

     He's right and his question forces me back to a night six months earlier when Peter McColough and I had dinner at the Harvard Club; not exactly my idea of a gourmet restaurant but at least quiet ... and given the food, nearly empty. He'd just gotten off the plane from his first tour of new Xerox subsidiaries in South America. And while enthused about their potential, he was worried about one issue. In fact, more than worried .. because there seemed no way around it.
     There's no X in the Spanish language, he told me. People can't seem to pronounce our name right. All they do is make a hissing sound.
      He was mostly accurate, and only a little wrong. I'd lived in Spain for a while and knew that Spanish does have an X. But it's seldom used and when pronounced -- depending on the country -- sounds most like 'Shhh'. So Xerox would be pronounced something like 'Share-osh'. It sounded in my mind like a salt marsh at slack tide.
       I want you to come up with something, McColough said. I have no idea what, but we can't do business if nobody can say our name. And we can't change that. So I want you to figure something out.
See if you can find some way to get them to say Xerox like we do. Not like they're using mouthwash.
     Among other things, I liked McColough because he never demanded instant reactions from people. So I was able to push around the worst baked Alaska I'd ever tasted while I thought about the problem.
     Finally, I said: God, Peter, I wouldn't even know where to start. I mean .. I can't imagine what we could do. Every country down there has one or maybe two TV stations, but they're either government-owned or government-controlled. Half of them are banana republics or military dictatorships ... I guess there's a few democracies if you want to call them that .. but most of them hate each other. Mexico thinks Argentina is retarded .. and Argentina thinks Mexico is neanderthal. It doesn't seem to matter who .. Chileans .. Venezuelans .. whatever. They all think they're different or better than anybody else.
     I know all that, McColough said grumpily. But there's got to be a way around it. That's what I want you to tackle. You can deal with me directly and bill me for your time. Give me a rough number .. a ballpark figure .. so I can think about it.
     My reaction was that I wanted no part of it. For openers, even we pronounced Xerox -- a word derived from the Greek words for 'dry' and 'writing' -- in a weird way. We made the first X sound like a Z and the second like an X: Zee-rox. Pretty silly, huh? And we're going to teach trhe Spanish-speaking world how to say an invented word that we ourselves pronounce illogically? Fat chance!
     What McColough wanted from me looked like a lose-lose situation. What's the use of taking a job that can't be done? I asked myself. And then having to admit failure? And losing the credibility I'd earned with him? No thanks. I wanted to stick with what I knew: television programming on the American networks.
     That's when I decided on a sneaky way out. I'd quote him an outrageous number. Something sky-high and beyond reason.
     Peter, you'd have to pay me too much, I said. I was smiling, as if were a joke.
     How much? he asked again.
     How about $25,000 a month?
     Fine. Send me the bills marked 'monthly retainer'.

     I was re-living my shock when the auditor's voice recaptured my attention.
     As if clairvoyant, he said: I would presume $25,000 a month buys something more ... uh ... concrete than just thought. As I said, we'll need some specifics to fill in the blanks.
     Sorry, I can't give you any information without Peter's permission.
     Well, can you tell me generally what we're dealing with? Are you talking proprietary technology .. patent issues .. mergers and acquisitions .. new imaging processes? If I can call it something I may not have to question Mr. McColough about it.
      Now I'm beginning to feel sorry for this guy. It's no easy thing to question the man who ultimately controls your career. But I was already in for a penny, and thus for a pound.
     Nothing to do with any of that stuff, I tell him. All I can say is Peter asked me to come up with an idea for him.
     An idea? One idea?
     I don't answer because I've already done so .. and because I sense he's befuddled and grappling with an alien concept; something beyond his professional training and certainly beyond his personal experience. And I'm right because his next question stuns me. It's a voyage into the unknown; an epistemological miracle.
     How long does an idea take? he asks.
     And suddenly we're confronting something worthy of Aristotle .. or Albert Einstein .. or maybe even God!
     HOW LONG DOES AN IDEA TAKE? I'm tempted to ask 'just a run-of-the-mill idea or a really good one?' And I want to tell him 'somewhere between a split second and forever'. But I'm also wondering whether an idea is like a pyrophoric substance that explodes the instant it's exposed to air or whether it's like a compost heap whose long, slow fermentation eventually self-ignites.
     HOW LONG DOES AN IDEA TAKE?
     How the hell should I know?
     But the auditor himself recognizes the absurdity of his question and in his confusion tries to retreat to something more familiar; something perhaps quantifiable.
     Or should I ask how much an idea costs? he asks.
     Again, there is no answer and, suddenly, I want out of the conversation. So I apologize for taking his time and cut him short. My final words are, Talk to McColough.

      But to be honest, that specific question -- how much does an idea cost? -- has in its own way been bugging me for months. Because I still don't have the faintest idea how to make a salt marsh at slack tide sound like a modern corporation. I've done extensive research, read deeply, talked with experts, solicited diplomats, traveled, dreamed, hoped, cursed and gotten drunk more than once in the search for a solution. But nothing has surfaced. I've been paid a small fortune and still haven't a clue.
     What's worse, I'm being dogged day and night by an insidious and unavoidable sense of futility.
I simply hate my looming failure.

    Then, a week later, Mike Dann calls. Mike Dann .. of all people! The little Napoleon of CBS whose quick patter and elliptical monologues are famous for confusing everyone but himself. I never could have dreamed he'd suggest an idea that could solve 'The X Problem'. Never in a million years.
     But he did.
     And together -- with more optimism than good sense, and with differing interests but one complementary purpose -- we set about to conquer the land mass of our hemisphere all the way from El Paso, Texas, to the turbulent waters of Cape Horn.
      My next posting will tell how.

      Thanks for reading.