It was lunchtime on Friday, and I was surfing various media websites, when I took a decided left-turn at the South Idaho Press in Burley, Idaho. Feeling somewhat morbid, I decided to check out the local obituaries, where I came across this interesting notice:

I have no clue as to what a Grand Pizzle does, but surely Burley is suffering the loss this week.

While attempting to uncover the duties of a Grand Pizzle, the closest I came to an answer actually extended the mystery. I discovered that someone has created a LinkedIn profile for a “Lord Pizzle,” Grand Poopah at Prestige Worldwide, in the Toronto area. Perhaps a distant cousin?

I may have to investigate the Toronto lead in-person this summer, when I attend the IABC World Conference in Toronto.

In the meantime, any suggestions from you as to the value of a Grand Pizzle in society?

Communications pro Allan Jenkins, from his base in Hjelm Bay, Møn, Denmark, sends a tweet calling the Danish daily Politiken “complete wimps” for apologizing over the publication years ago of unflattering editorial cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad.

Link to story

Was it cowardice, or common sense? If an axe-wielding extremist broke into your home because you posted a comment or cartoon that might be considered “offensive,” or continued to plot ways to kill you, would you be willing to die for freedom of speech? Really?

Why then, do I hear and watch so much “humor” and “editorial comment” knocking the Christian faith, but just about zero directed at Islam? Why do people think it is acceptable, even in the workplace, to use “Jesus Christ” as a swear word, but those same people wouldn’t think of substituting “Prophet Muhammad”?

Christians don’t blow up innocent groups of people, and they don’t grab an axe to attack people who disparage their Lord, Jesus Christ.

Should they? It seems to work for Islamic extremists, at least in Denmark. Allan might think his local journalists are wimps, but maybe they are realists. And maybe we are, too.

A few days before Christmas, I read David Murray’s blog post about a fundraising effort to cover nontraditional treatment for a family’s terminally ill wife and mother. I thought about other people who had died after placing desperate hope in some unproven, promised cure: Farrah Fawcett, whose battle against anal cancer included treatments in a German clinic to boost her immune system, and my own sister, Annette, who died 18 years ago from breast cancer.

Cancer is ugly and scary. This year, about 562,340 Americans are expected to die of cancer, more than 1,500 people a day, according to the American Cancer Society (ACS). Cancer is the second most common cause of death in the U.S., exceeded only by heart disease. In the U.S., cancer accounts for nearly 1 of every 4 deaths, according to the ACS statistics.

While cancer is ugly and scary, its treatment can be even more grim. Chemotherapy with its nausea, hair loss and other side-effects. Mastectomies and other surgeries. Radiation.

All for what? The 5-year relative survival rate for all cancers diagnosed between 1996-2004 was 66%, up from 50% in 1975-1977. So even with progress in diagnosing certain cancers at an earlier stage and improvements in treatment, one-third of all people in the U.S. who were diagnosed with cancer in 2004 aren’t alive today.

That’s why people like the Wieland family fight like hell to beat cancer. When someone you love has cancer, the first response, after the tears, is to stay positive and to expect to defeat the cancer. Unfortunately, studies show that a positive attitude doesn’t extend the life of a cancer patient.

Of course, support groups can affect quality of life, but the threat of death from cancer-related causes can open the door to long-shot treatments and no-shot money wasters dangled by charlatans.

As research intern Krystal Wilson said in an October 2007 online article for the American Council on Science and Health,

That’s why I had mixed emotions when I read Murray’s post and checked out the “Lana’s Hope” site. I want to help the family in this small way, by spreading the news about the fund-raising effort. I want Lana to get those long-shot treatments that just might cure her cancer.

On the other hand, I want this emotionally drained family to avoid being taken by charlatans on the hope of a fake miracle cure. But I understand what’s driving them.

In the fall of 1982, I was living in a two-bedroom apartment in Aurora, Colo., just outside Denver, with a former college journalism buddy. I had called him the previous August from Decatur, Ill., where I had just decided to leave my job as a reporter at the Decatur Herald & Review. I told him that I had decided to move to Colorado “to see the mountains.” I was pleasantly surprised when he called me back later to say that he would go with me!

My friend, Bernie, quickly secured a nice position in the call center of a national check security firm. I was more focused on partying, and had floated through some low-paying, no-future “jobs.”

One day, the phone rang. It was my sister, Annette. It was about three months after she and her husband had their first child, a son. Annette was reaching out to her younger brother, to offer some encouragement.

During the phone call, Annette mentioned that she had been having some inexplicable back pains. A voice in my head said, “Tell her that is a sign of possible cancer.” But I pushed that thought aside; I mean, how weird would I have sounded, scaring my sister with the idea of cancer?

A few weeks later, I learned that Annette did indeed have breast cancer, and she needed to begin chemotherapy. I decided to move back into my parents’ home shortly afterward, stating that I wanted to be there to support Annette. The larger truth was that I needed the support of my family just as much.

Annette and her family went through a lot of ups and downs in the next eight months before she died on June 1, 1982. I later referenced that time in a song I wrote titled, “Cells of Fear”:

Near the end, as the cancer spread to Annette’s brain and lungs, choking her breath and stealing her sight, her family was desperate.

My mom told me that Annette’s husband had paid a fee and expenses to bring a “faith healer” from somewhere in Canada. “Don’t you say anything,” my mom sternly told me through tears. “This might be Annette’s last chance.”

I couldn’t help but glare at the “faith healer” as she was escorted past me in the hallway outside of Annette’s hospital room. I wasn’t going to watch the “show,” even if I had been invited. I wasn’t going to be invited because my unbelief might affect the potential “miracle,” some of my family thought.

So I spent a few minutes alone in the hallway, until the procession left Annette’s room. I may be making this up, but I have a partial recollection that someone commented that Annette was now “in God’s hands.”

I believe that she was always in God’s hands, and he did the merciful thing when he ended her suffering. That’s the way we deal with cancer: Expect to beat it, then if we don’t, hope to limit the suffering with a quick death.

I hope that Lana’s family raises the money to pay for the treatments they desire for Lana. If the treatments provide her with a longer, more enjoyable life, that would be a blessing.

I pray, as well, that they don’t fall victim to charlatans, dangling empty promises of hope. That is a curse.

I hope to complete some minor repair work today to my family room ceiling. An overflowing second-story toilet led to me drilling holes in the family room ceiling to drain the water that had begun to impact the ceiling drywall and taped seams.

The day after the overflow, I contacted my homeowners insurance company to see about options for repairing the damage. My brief interaction with two tradesmen who came to provide repair estimates, and a third who talked with me by phone, reminded me of the sharp differences in integrity that you see within the trades. It also reminded me of a true story that involved my grandfather and the construction company for which he worked.

First, here’s a summary of my recent experiences with local tradesmen. The day after I contacted my insurance company, an employee of the insurance company called my home and spoke with my wife. The employee said that her husband was in construction, and he could come over to provide an estimate. Kim called me at work, and I agreed to ask for a half-day’s vacation so that I could be there to talk with the construction worker.

Have you ever gotten a sense that a conversation was going to become uncomfortable just before it did? That happened to me when the husband of the insurance company employee took a brief glance at my family room ceiling, and said, “What’s your deductible…$500?”

I confirmed that, and was about to say that the deductible had nothing to do with his estimate…but then, with a wink, he let me know how it had everything to do with his estimate.

“Yeah, this will be about $500,” he said, studying my face. “But there’s no need for you to have to pay the deductible. We can tell the insurance company that it’ll be $1,200, and that’ll cover my cost, your deductible and the cost of your painter.”

My son, who had joined us just after the contractor had begun his “inspection,” looked at me with a “what’s going on?” expression. I felt like telling the contractor off for suggesting that we agree on insurance fraud, but I guess I was too hardened by seeing it and hearing about it as I grew up in Chicago. I just wanted him out of my house.

As I closed the door and looked at my son, he blurted out, “What a creep!” I nodded in agreement, and silently thanked God for a son who understands the difference between right and wrong.

I then called a second contractor to talk about the ceiling repair. He was a referral from a neighbor. As I was scheduling time for him to come over to give me an estimate, this second contractor also asked about the deductible. I later told him not to bother coming.

Contrast that with a neighborhood “handy man” who was a referral from another neighbor. This person was honest and straightforward, and said that he was better at electrical work and plumbing than drywall taping and mudding. “I usually put on the first coat of mud, and then pay someone else to finish it off,” he said. He also said that the ceiling seemed to have dried quickly, with minimal damage. I wouldn’t need to have the extensive repair that the “professional” contractor recommended.

Over the past couple of days, with the help of my brother, Scott, I’ve repaired the ceiling. All that’s left to do is to sand it for the final time, and wait for the painter. As I was laying on the final coat of mud, I thought about a true story that my mom and grandmother told me about my grandfather, Clarence Fieberg. It was a story about the integrity of my grandfather and the construction company for which he worked.

I’ll tell that story in Part Two of this post. I may email it to the dishonest contractors who work around here.

In recent years, my appreciation of the U.S. Thanksgiving holiday has grown. Thanksgiving is different than the highly commercialized Christmas holiday which follows in a month. Non-Christians (and, sadly, many Christians as well) use Christmas as an opportunity to covet things they don’t have.

Thanksgiving, on the other hand, provides an opportunity to be grateful for what we already have been given, in context of spirituality, health, relationships and “worldly goods.”

I slept in a bit today, a benefit of a holiday from work. Still, I began the day as usual, with time spent reading a bit of the Bible, along with a related devotion. Today’s devotion quoted a proclamation made in 1863 by then-President Abraham Lincoln.

I’m not well-versed in the study of speeches or proclamations; for that, I defer to DaMurr, David Murray. As editor of Vital Speeches of the Day, Murray has shared many examples of well-written prose.

Yesterday, Murray reprinted a very touching account by military veteran Stephen Banko, of events during one Thanksgiving lived in Vietnam during the war. It made me say thanks to the thousands of military men and women who are spending this Thanksgiving away from home, family and friends. I pray for their safety and honor their service to the nation.

President Lincoln designated Thanksgiving as an official U.S. holiday with a proclamation he signed in 1863. It was during another major military operation: the Civil War. As I read the proclamation, I thanked God for all of the things He has given me, and for all of the things He has taken away.

Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation
Washington, DC—October 3, 1863

The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added which are of so extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign states to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict, while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.

Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well as the iron and coal as of our precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the imposition of the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine purpose, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and union.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this 3d day of October, A.D. 1863, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

Abraham Lincoln

By the President:
William H. Seward,
Secretary of State.

I had to leave the family room just now, as Access Hollywood began its reporting of Oprah Winfrey’s BIG ANNOUNCEMENT regarding her decision to end her long-running television show.

I didn’t run out because I was overcome by emotion over losing Oprah. It was the absolutely idiotic fawning by Access Hollywood’s on-air “talent” that caused me to race to this blog. Someone at “Ground Zero” needs to tell the rest of the globe that Chicago will be okay without Oprah.

“Everyone in Chicago was in shock today” at the news that Oprah is ending her show, according to Access Hollywood. Now, I admit that I work and live in the northern suburbs of Chicago, so my home and office may not actually be considered Ground Zero to some of the entertainment reporters frantically covering Oprah’s life-changing announcement. But my personal observations indicate that, to the majority of my fellow Chicago-area residents, Oprah just isn’t really that significant.

Sure, we might wonder how much she will be throttling down the Oprah, Inc. money machine after a quarter century or so of work. But the truth is that I haven’t seen more than 10 minutes of any Oprah show in the past three to five years. I don’t have an Oprah jones.

Before you label me as one of the few around here who “don’t get it,” you need to know that while I was working, not a single coworker burst into tears or started shouting, “Oprah, Oprah…why???!!” As I drove home, not a single driver in any vehicle swerved across the median headed toward a light post or pond in a suicidal response to the reality that the Oprah Winfrey Show was coming to an end.

As I pulled into my neighborhood, not a single neighbor had started a candlelight vigil, with flowers, pictures of Oprah and cards with messages such as, “All of Chicago is in shock, Oprah, and we will NEVER be able to watch television again.”

Bye-bye, Oprah. Someone probably will let me know when your last show airs. I won’t be watching it; I have a life.

I’ve got several posts in mind, most of them based on learnings from last week’s Strategic Communications Summit 2009 in Chicago. But I’m finding that I don’t have the energy to stay up late at night to write these posts.

My advice to you young communicators: stop watching videos and bad television, and write while you have the energy. It will pay off, and you’ll sleep better at night, knowing that you didn’t leave something undone…again.

My first unofficial IABC 2009 World Conference event took place on Friday over buffalo wings, onion rings and drinks at the Fourth Street Bar & Grill at the Marriott. There, Mike Zimet and I thanked IABC IT staffer Isaac Chapman for the yeoman’s support he provided for the launch of SR LINK.

On Saturday morning, I joined a group of about a dozen IABC volunteers and three IABC staff members for a community service project. The beach cleaning went very well, although I couldn’t believe how many nails, screws and pieces of broken glass I scooped out of the sand around two firepits on the beach. People burn pallets and furniture there, and the nails and screws fall into the surrounding sand. You really don’t notice it when you would look at the beach (which is lovely).

Then we got back to the Marriott in time to freshen up a bit before embarking on a two-hour walking tour of San Francisco. I chose the Union Square / Chinatown tour, and was so impressed by the knowledge and enthusiasm shown by the two SF Chapter leaders, Molly Walker and Janet Bailey. One treat was to walk by the new IABC headquarters. I’m looking forward to sneaking over there for a quick visit sometime during the next couple of days.

The conference officially kicks off tomorrow, and I’ll do my best to capture some of the hightlights from the sessions I attend.

If you didn’t come this year, I’m telling you that you will be sorry!

Yesterday I wrote optimistically and enthusiastically about the social skills of some U.S. teens. Then I read a news article regarding Chinese youth, and realized that a comparison is in order.

The article, “Web-savvy & cynical: China’s youth since Tiananmen,” quotes and compares Chinese citizens who either lived through the June 4, 1989 military crackdown against demonstrators in Beijing, or who were born after it. The difference in political knowledge and concern is striking.

Here is one portion of the article:

Wu Xu, 39, was a Tiananmen participant. His generation was plagued by insecurity, he says, and hoped that China could “catch up” to the West politically and economically.

“This generation is totally different,” says Wu, author of a recent book about Chinese cybernationalism. “There is no kind of feeling of inferiority. … They have had the advantage of the last thirty years of China’s economic performance.”

Wu contends that China’s youth know more than they let on, and while they tend to be fiercely proud of their country they are also highly critical of their government. He calls them “a double-edged sword with no handle,” because their opinions cut in many directions and are not guided by any single ideology or organization.

Although young people in the United States also have opinions that go in many directions and are not guided by any single ideology or organization, they have something that Chinese people don’t: the freedom to speak their minds and to hear dissenting views.

The last presidential election is a case in point. Young people in large numbers supported the ideas of Barack Obama, and used social media tools and techniques to energize that campaign. But Obama’s opinions and promises weren’t unopposed, and voters were able to sift through messages from every candidate (Republican, Democrat and several others).

Further, as a Christian, I appreciate having the freedom to speak truth as I have learned it, in a country where people with other views also have the right to state their views. The mention of a double-edged sword in the article above reminded me of the verse in the bible that states,

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. — Hebrews 4:12 (New International Version)

I truly believe that the situation in China cannot be sustained, and someday, that nation will face truths that have been long suppressed.

Just weeks before the IABC 2009 World Conference, I received an email regarding cancellation of a pre-conference community project for which I was registered. That community project was to partner with the Fillmore/Western Addition Mobilization of Adolescent Growth In our Communities (Mo’ MAGIC), a collaborative of more than 50 programs and organizations helping under-served youth in San Francisco.

I was looking forward to spending the Saturday morning before the World Conference reading to kids. The event summary stated that “Studies also show that being read to or reading to others can help decrease summer learning loss.” What a great program, I thought. It fit well into my desire to serve the community using the skills and experience I’ve gained as a communicator.

Evidently, I was one of a very limited group of people, because the project was canceled due to low registrations. I’d better make it clear that I agree with IABC conference organizers who have to be prudent when planning these projects. My disappointment is with the situation, not the decision to cancel the event.

Was it budget cutbacks that prevent conference attendees from coming a day sooner? I hope that was the case, rather than a lack of interest in reading to kids.

Anyway, I’ll donate to the book drive in support of Mo’MAGIC, and have signed up to participate in the beach cleanup that day instead. Maybe I’ll pick up a few discarded bottled water containers. While that will be good karma in light of my struggle to stop using bottled water, I’m wondering if any kids in the San Francisco area are feeling discarded themselves. I hope not.