Last week we went over to Pittsboro Christian Village to shoot photographs for some brochures and a website. It’s a pretty amazing place. The average age of the residents there is 85.

We started the adventure with shots of a group of ladies grading Bible correspondence courses from inmates at prisons around North Carolina. They were in a room with windows on three sides, around a folding table, which was covered with test booklets, paper, pens, and, of course, Bibles. One lady was fresh off the mission field (after something like 60 years). They had Bibles with the covers worn thin…pages softened and grayed with use…margins covered with notes…Bibles that looked like they were older than I am. They moved through the pages like a gardener moves through his garden…fluid from plant to plant.

Their conversation was light, sweet, and soft. A little giggle over an answer that was almost right…a shared smile at an insight from an inmate as his hard life was softened by his new-found savior…a word of genuine concern over a response that indicated that “this one isn’t there…this one needs prayer.”

Later, we photographed a blind man as he worked his vegetable garden, feeling his way along. He harvested two cucumbers for us to take home. “I garden because I enjoy it, and I like to give away my harvest,” he said. Then, we took his dog, Gabby, over to visit the care home, where the residents enjoyed the company and affection.

We got a photograph of three generations of women…mother, daughter, granddaughter…sitting in the sun in the courtyard—a little picture of faithfulness. And we finished a long day with a romantic shot of a couple, married for 60 years, holding hands in candle light beside the pool in the magic light just past sunset.

The photographer wrote us a really nice note afterward. He said that he had a hard time keeping his emotions in check as he went back through the pictures…and that the experience had changed him. I know it changed me.

What are they called? The ones that get way up in the air, point their beaks strait down, tuck their wings, and dive like spears into the water, smash through the surface, and spear fish like six or eight feet under water. Not sure what they’re called. But they sure are daredevils.

The amazing thing to me is that they’re diving into dark water, yet, they come up with fish more than half the time. How does that work? Amazing.

I’ve been feeling sort of that way on the new business front. Point your beak at something, get up insane amount of speed. Crash into the dark, when it’s too late to pull up. Hope a fish sticks to the beak. I gotta say, those birds are much better at it than I am. But maybe this time, I’ll get the fish. Sure hope so. This water crashing is starting to give me a headache.

So, what do you call those fish again?

Way back in my waiter days, I discovered a wonderful, single-question test of character.

Do you treat the people who work for you the same as you treat the people you work for?

Try it out. It always works.

I first noticed it when I was a waiter. Business people would bring clients, customers, or prospects to our restaurant to entertain them. The really good, honest, hard-working, intelligent ones (the ones with long-term solid reputations) were very polite to their guests; but surprisingly, they were equally polite to their waiter…and their bus boy! But the ones who were known around town to be sort of shady would be overly polite, downright solicitous to their guests, be totally patronizing and sarcastic to the waiter, and totally dismissive (and sometimes cruel) to the bus boy.

Or, Mr. BMOC would bring a date into the restaurant. He would be all sucking up to the date, while being a jerk to the servers…as if he were trying to establish a pecking order or something. But other guys, guys who had confidence and balance, would be courteous to the date (as interested in her good time as in his)…and would be professional and polite to the wait staff as well.

Or you’d get two couples out together. A boss and spouse, and an employee and spouse. The employee would be all smoochy on the boss and his wife…while treating his own wife like something the cat dragged in. And don’t even ask about how he treated the wait staff.

Then you’d get the two couples who really seemed to enjoy being together. The ladies had rapport. The guys had rapport. Ladies participated with the guys in a four-way conversation. Everyone talked to the wait staff…asked questions…ordered things…made comments…asked for reccos…. And here’s the coolest part: sometimes you couldn’t tell which one was the boss and which was the employee. You really couldn’t tell.

Try the test in your neighborhood…office…relationships. It always works. Very informative.

P.S. Here’s some free advice. When you’re out on a date, be nice to the server. He/She has the power to ruin your date…or to make it really wonderful. Did you think the rolls were hard by accident? Just sayin’.

I don’t know why this story came to mind. Maybe it’s to remind me that tough people have feelings too.

Back when I was in college, one of my roommates was from Cincinnati. His little brother was a tackle for Cincinnati Princeton (or one of those elite Cincinnati football high schools you always read about in Sports Illustrated). Big Du was like 6’5” and 250, mostly muscle, as a 17-year-old. He was massive!

There was also this girl who hung out at our apartment. Can’t remember her name…we called her “Rabbit.” She was about 4’10” and skinny. So she couldn’t have weighed more than like 85 pounds.

Anyhow, Rabbit got it into her mind that Big Du was so big and strong that he couldn’t be hurt. So, whenever she saw him, she would run up to him and punch him in the arm as hard as she could. He would protest, “ouch, that hurts; stop it!” And she would cackle. And do it again.

Eventually, he would get so frustrated he would tear up…bless his heart…and look over at his older brother for direction. What could he do? If he lifted even a finger to defend himself, he knew that he would look like a bully who pushed girls around (Du could have squashed the Rabbit with one finger). But…it hurt. Really.

Nobody took it all that seriously, until Du came over to the apartment one day in a muscle shirt. His entire left upper arm was one big bruise.

His brother said, “What happened to your arm?”

Du, exasperated, replied with one word, “Rabbit!”

I don’t remember any more of the story. I do recall that Rabbit stopped hitting Du. So somebody must have said something.

I’ve been thinking about the special challenge of being tough. People think they can say and do whatever they want. Like it will just bounce off. We need tough people…to do hard things…to tell us what we don’t want to hear…to look at the numbers and come up with the right answer…to make things happen. We should remember that they have feelings too.

Historically, the idea of branding was contrary to the bank culture. The idea being that to brand something was to impose some artifice onto it, as opposed to the low-profile, three-button, wing-tipped, dry, trustworthy image that professional bankers enjoyed projecting. In fact, there was a time when marketing of all types was seen as unethical. Then came deregulation, and competition from both bank and non-bank competitors. Suddenly there were other places to put your money. Other places to get your loan. Suddenly, banks needed to be known…and to be differentiated.

While everyone seems to agree, at this point, that branding is necessary for a bank. It’s still tricky. Because a bank’s brand still has to be an authentic representation of the bank itself—it has to be the bank’s personality, with the bank’s vocabulary, and the bank’s own clothes (trade dress). A bank still has to be calm, low-profile, trustworthy, dependable. It just has to be branded so that those qualities SCREAM! Kidding.

A bank brand has to take into account the community it lives in. The people it serves. The history and vision of the bank. And, especially in times like these, a bank needs to be seen as humble, hard working, sound…anything but flashy. Probably, a bank brand needs to take into account the times when a bank should be invisible.

In the past two decades, we’ve seen some bank branding that has backfired in the past few months. Nobody really wants a fun bank these days. Or an opulent bank. Or a high-flying bank. People want banks that WON’T WASTE MY MONEY.

We’re excited about the opportunities for banks as the economy starts to lift a bit. I predict we’ll be seeing the role of community banks become much more important across the country. As people start to get back to business, will they want to be in business with Wall Street…or Bank of America? Or will they want to do business with Andy, John, Cindy, Dean, Shields, Diana, Mays, George…you know…people who are from here.

It’ll be fun to see what happens. Well, maybe fun is a little too strong a word. It will certainly be interesting.

I’m thinking Facebook might have a couple of problems they hadn’t counted upon.

First, the site/ap/service was created during times that were (for most people) pretty solid economically. Making the rent wasn’t a worry. Buying groceries certainly wasn’t. We were, as a culture, all up in the “self actualization” zone. So, connecting with old friends, making new friends, and hi-by drive-bys were the order of the day. But things are a little different. Not that long ago, clients started canceling projects that were not “directly revenue generating.” So, we’re back to transactions. And so is everyone else. It’s all about getting done what needs to get done to put food on the table. Does this leave time for chit-chat? If not, does this render a brand entirely built on chit-chat a little less relevant? Just a thought.

Secondly, Facebook’s demo has been inching older. When we first got into it, we were exceptional—40 somethings (at the time)—in a medium overwhelmingly dominated by 20 somethings. Well, guess what. When times are good, the baby boom will not be left out. So, Facebook has become what prime time tv used to be—25-54! Well, now that the fat demo for Facebook is the same folks who were sunami-smacked by the stock market collapse…what must this be doing to Facebook’s advertising model?

Now, the problem with being forward thinking is that you think you see stuff on the horizon that is really a piece of lint on your glasses. In other words, I’m probably wrong on this whole Facebook thing. I hope so, because — other than lame chat — I got nothin’ but love for Facebook. I don’t know. What do you think?

I mean, it sure enough is more relevant than twitter. But so are tin cans with strings. Just sayin’.

We got a thank you note today. Without going into a lot of details about why we received it, I just think thank you notes, when done right, really make an impression.

This note acknowledged our gesture. And then, the writer went on to tell us how our gesture fits so nicely with other parts of his life. Having tied these things together, the gentleman expressed thoughts about how our gesture, when combined with related parts of his life, would actually enhance his life.

Then, he complimented us on our work. And he said that he had appreciated our work for some time. And he thanked us again.

What a wonderful note. Based entirely on facts. Yet, expressing sincere feelings. Without sentimentality.

By the way, it was hand written. But you knew that.

Okay, so it’s been years, maybe decades, since the movement began to gentrify the west end. Probably started when they built The Peace Center, which was completed in 1991 (which means the sinister plot was being hatched all the way back in the 80s—along with technopop and glitter country…and Madonna 1.0). They drove out the hookers. Reclaimed the “West End Market.” Pulled some political magic to get The Governor’s School for the Arts down there. Schmizzled the park and put in the bridge. Gave Billy Mitchel’s house to the Hughes brothers. Changed a couple blocks of Pendleton Street to (South) South Main Street. Put in some mega expensive condos. Built West End Field.

By now, the gentrification process has gained critical mass, and there will be no stopping it. We will have Volvos in the West End. But beyond the West end, by a couple of miles, on out the part of Pendleton Street that is still Pendleton Street…down past Academy…is a part of town that’s still a little scarey…in a good way (I think). The part of town I propose to call… The Wild West End.

That’s where our friend Diane Kilgore Condon pioneered to put in The Art Bomb. And that served as ground zero for what has exploded into a bonafide, tattooed, pierced, and henna-dyed bohemian arts district. And that is where our dear friends, the Stephensons, have decided to open what promises to be the coolest coffee shop ever…in Greenville, or anywhere.

Coffee to a Tea is opening tonight in what used to be Tuckers Soda Shop. Now, judging from past history, the place will be very well run, serve superb coffee (prepared by masterful baristas), tea from strange and wonderful places, and delectable goodies. Because Jessie and the Stephensons (sounds like a folk band from Nova Scotia, doesn’t it) are the perfect storm of baking ability, management ability, and coolness. You gonna have to try it to believe it.

To get there, from downtown, stay on Pendleton Street, all the way through the ghetto, across Academy, until you come to Lois Street (at the beginning of the arts district). Turn right, go under the trestle. And it’ll be like the second or third building on your right. Check it out.

I have high hopes that this will turn out to be a destination of coolness for the people I like to hang with. Even as I hope the Volvos stay away for a while. But that’s just me.

A little more than two years ago, we moved into this cool space, in which we rendered a bohemian | industrial feel. We were part of a movement, to turn Laurens Street from an alley, back into a street. The city was very excited. It was us, and a developer of high-end condos, and an ad agency down the street, and a restaurant up on the corner. We got together with the city, before we made an offer on the place, to talk about plans.

They were gonna put a police out-station at the bottom of the block (to offset some issues having to do with the bus station across the street, and transients). There was gonna be a trash compactor, to deal with the trash generated by all the new residents and the restaurants that share our alley. There was gonna be some street scape work. It was gonna be cool.

Then, about three months ago, Duke Power decided to put an eight-foot-tall, green metal transformer in the middle of our street scape. Kinda works with the industrial bohemian thing. But not so much with the live oaks planted next to it. Anyhow, MDH (the woman at the city of Greenville who is in charge of the street project) decides that we can have a mural painted on the side of the eyesore…you know, like arty cities like Austin and Portland do. We though, cool!

We suggested, why not put something to promote one of the big shows coming to The Peace Center. Generate some street level excitement. Ran it by the MDH. Her bureaucratic response:

“Good idea—the only thing is it would be considered “off-premise advertising” and would not meet our city ordinance. If we allowed the Peace Center to advertise, other people would ask to advertise on things all across the City. I think we will probably have to use artwork instead of ads. Thanks for your feedback.”

I think she (and the city) are confused, and need to get this strait in their heads.The old “if we let one person, we’ll have to let everyone” just doesn’t wash in this case. The Peace Center is not everyone. The Peace Center is a major non-profit institution, positioned as the cultural center of the region. It is a substantial driver of city revenue, as well as a significant economic development magnet. If they can advertise their silly footbridge, they can advertise the jewel in their cultural crown.

They need to be reminded that without The Peace Center for the Performing Arts, there is no WEST END.

Sorry for the rant.

When it comes to evaluating social networking apps, I cannot be trusted. So, as I’ve been thinking that Twitter was much ado about nothing, I’ve also been thinking, “but how would I know?” But yesterday, I got testimony from an expert witness, a 14-year-old girl who texts instead of speaking!

So, I’m sitting at The Peace Center, the world’s greatest performing arts venue, at intermission of a pretty good performance of To Kill a Mocking Bird, when I look over at the kid next to me, and notice that she is texting at about the speed I type. Never one to pass up a learning opportunity, I ask her, “So, how many texts do you sent in a week?”

“Well, I send about 75 a day, so 75 times 7 is, well, I guess a lot.”

“I’m an old guy, so I probably don’t send 75 a year.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“So, do you send all these texts to a lot of people, or do you sent a lot of texts to a few people.”

“Mostly, like, five to seven people. Sometimes others.” I need to note that she said seven, without my prompting. I think that’s significant. But that’s another post for another time.

“So, like you and your seven friends just text each other all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you change your Facebook status by phone?”

“No, I have a Blackberry.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

“But I have friends who change their Facebook status, like, every minute. I’m like, ‘you need to live your life.’ Like, how do they find time to do anything but change their Facebook status?”

“Yeah, really. So, do you Twitter?”

Wrinkles cute little teeny-bopper nose. “No. I don’t get Twitter. What’s the big deal?”

So, I rest my case.

Twitter. Schmitter.