Martin Byrne from Yahoo Canada was quoted earlier this month talking about the importance of search in the modern marketing mix (here). This lead me to look at his personal website, which, among other things, lists advice on how to get in touch with him. The gist of his advice provides part of the dilemma that technology in communication has created.
Want to reach out to Martin Byrne?
Note to those from the just-so-crazy-it-might-work school of thought: no postal address or fax number is even listed.
Not surprisingly, the advice is “send me an e-mail.” The address of choice is “work.” By the way, there are two phone numbers. Call display will likely give you voice mail on the cellphone, and calling the deskphone appears to be as effective as opening your window and yelling, “Hey Martin!”
I admire the honesty of Mr. Byrne’s advice: “Send me an email and I’ll send you my home phone…unless I don’t want you calling me at home.” Technology in communication puts enormous pressure on written communication in the unsolicited modern-day cold call. The first hurdle for a terse and attention-getting message will be to get past the spam filter. Breaking through the clutter is still unlikely given the amount of e-mail we receive. (One might assume that traffic at Yahoo! Canada is higher than average.)
What to do? We actually come full circle, back to the days of relationship. If you really want to get through to Martin Byrne, you want to find an “in.” We are back to the old-school relationship whereby you get past the gatekeeper. Today’s gatekeepers are call-display numbers and from-box names.
If you can’t get the “in” and have to resort to the work e-mail approach, it is well worth spending time on the message (and ensuring that you steer clear of filters). Mark Twain famously apologizes to a correspondent for not spending the time to write a shorter letter. When your chance at a first impression is reduced to 20 typed words, it will be worth investing the time to choose them wisely.
I had the opportunity to work with a group of undergraduate business students over the weekend, and the subject of Ryerson’s Chris Avenir arose. He is the Facebook group administrator who is bearing the brunt of student collaboration on an individual chemistry assignment.
If there was any support for Ryerson’s position (that Chris enabled cheating), it was not voiced in the room; I suspect it was absent because fellow students “get” how silly it is to treat Facebook collaboration as anything more serious than a library study group. Those on the “inside” won’t argue that, and would be discouraged from doing so, especially in that room.
Outside the room, in the cold March light of day, let’s ask the question:
Is it cheating because they were cheating, or is it cheating because they (and Chris as the administrator) got caught?
Argue whether or not the falling tree makes a noise, but I think that the public group’s description puts Ryerson in the tough position of having to turn a blind eye when there is evidence that the rules (or, at least instructor directives) have been breached. Students have to take responsibility for keeping the collaboration secretive. Study groups don’t take place within earshot of the instructor!
Earlier this year, I was working with another group of twenty-somethings. One of the crew shared with me a story that equates. On an unnamed highway in Western Canada, he was driving in a line of cars behind a police car. The police car was driving about 10 km/hr above the posted speed limit. Highway drivers in Canada know that the understood highway limit is up to 20 km/hr over the speed limit. Confident in this knowledge, our friend pulled out and passed the police officer, making sure to remain slightly under the understood limit.
Did he get pulled over?
Of course he did… and the officer rightly questioned his capacity for good judgement.
Some mutual understandings can counter explicit rules, but when dealing with people in authority (school administration, police officers, etc.), be careful how openly you flaunt the rule bending. If the Facebook group description had not talked about “sharing answers” and stuck to “discussing problems,” it may have allowed Ryerson administrators to keep a blind eye, and not have to turn one.
American Idol has increased the profile of the “critique” and also demonstrates the different flavours that this sort of constructively critical feedback can take. Even if you are not familiar with the show you may have run into this type of coaching critique:
- Unclear (aka Randy) – Praise the good and allude to shortcomings; downplay the importance of the negative and openly use the prefix “I don’t know what it was but…”;
- Cheerlead (aka Paula) – Give As for effort; make everyone feel that they are trying their best;
- Direct (aka Simon) – If it is great, say so; call out all performances that fall below the “great” level and pin point exactly what was missing.
Whether a boss, mentor or coach, the Direct version is the one that holds the most promise for the coachee to develop existing skills and acquire new ones. People who truly want to develop—especially those who employ coaches—should challenge the Unclear, as well as the critiquing school of “Good, good. More of this is just fine.”
Where this falls down is when the Simons of the world cannot provide insight to fill the gap. Showing what is missing is important, but if the emperor indeed has no clothes, there is definite value in telling him or her where to shop.
Last week, Simon pointed out that singer Kady Malloy had “an astonishing lack of personality.” Voice, looks and all other assets could neither compensate nor cover up this fact. In the follow-up banter with Seacrest, Kady claimed that she did not know what Simon had meant. I would suggest that what she really didn’t understand is: “what do I do differently?”
Providing the “what should you do” is the value that the executive coach can and must add. Simon is not a coach, but would likely be good one because he is very perceptive in isolating what is missing. For what it’s worth, I think that Kady could smile and move more when she sings. For personality to the extreme (pun intended), watch Gary Charone sing “Hammer to Fall” in the 1991 Freddie Mercury Tribute concert.
This week the National Post ran an article (here), and an editorial (here) on the topic of doctor’s being able to choose their patients.
This is one issue that I believe is tough to find “neutrality.” As I think is the objective of many editorial pieces, I think it strikes enough core beliefs that you have to be selective of those with whom to discuss the issue.
In the spirit of the right solution being able to sidestep all the noise created by conflicting philosophies and values, I wanted to bring light to the position put forward by a doctor in a letter to the editor by Dr. Susan Piccinin in Ancaster, Ontario.
She talks about insistence on narcotic-based medication being a “red flag” for physicians when talking to patients. The ensuing dialogue in an initial meeting might look something like this:
Patient: I have a back problem and I have been taking [narcotic-based medication] for it. Can I get some of that from you?
Doctor: Using that kind of medication for any length of time is going to build up dangerous addictions and won’t help your back at all in the long-term.
Patient: I am not addicted; it’s just the only thing that works! Please, give me the prescription.
Doctor: Sorry I don’t prescribe these medications, and for that reason we a not a good match.
Note: The last line is a direct quote from the letter to the editor.
There would have to be a fairly involved exchange of information between the doctor and the patient to get to the above dialogue. For this to work the patient would have to be open and trusting with the doctor (Will this happen if the patient feels a danger of being screened out?), and the doctor would have to devote the time to probe the right information, in a fairly sophisticated manner. (Do doctors have the time? Do they have the skill?)
If this doesn’t work, emotions will cloud the exchange long before we arrive at the “I need the drug/You can’t have the drug” impasse, which, I believe, is a legitimate position for the doctor to hold. Objectively, a doctor should be able to refuse care to a patient who will not allow care to be delivered. (e.g. You are not going to listen to me, so why should I talk to you?)
If this is indeed the case, I think the “selecting patients” issue becomes quite simple, although a number of other complicated issues arise, such as “how does this patient get the treatment they need?” The follow-on issues are much better fodder for articles and editorial pieces, which would create more practical discussion.
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