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The Wind Blows

Mon, 26 Apr 2010 09:14:20 -0400

A Young Neighborhood Struggles Amidst Diversity, Petty Crime and a Malevolent Developer

In a middle class neighborhood forty miles southwest of Atlanta, the local police had a special problem on their hands. For a good year or more, their officers were called to the middle-class subdivision of Southwind, in the town of Shenandoah, on a nightly basis. The complaint: teenagers out of control.

The town of Shenandoah, population forty-one thousand, had its problem areas, its “bad neighborhoods.” But Southwind wasn’t one of those bad neighborhoods, at least not at first. It was tucked into the northwest corner of Spring Hill, a golf course community that was the pride of the area, the place you wanted to live for miles around. Spring Hill’s landscape was dotted with tall trees, lush common areas and parks, lake fishing, and golf cart paths winding throughout. The daily drive through by local police was a mere courtesy, a reminder to residents that the local taxes collected from their half a million dollar (or more) homes were appreciated. Spring Hill was a place for middle- and upper middle-class families to call home--neighborly, safe, with amenities.

Not so with Southwind. Despite its initial appearance and street names like Seabreeze and Stillwood, a young neighborhood of barely one year and sixty homes quickly devolved into a magnet for trouble-makers. Police reports detailing incidents of threats, vandalism, property destruction, disputes, gang activity and drug use were a normal occurrence.

It all seemed to come to a head one Sunday afternoon in February. A teenager sat in the common area that butted up to a home where the owner’s boxer was on a tie-out. The somewhat anti-social dog barked and growled at the teenager. The owner, and woman of the house, shouted from her window at the dog to be quiet. The lone teenager responded by telling the woman that if the dog were to free himself of the leash, he would “cut it up.” That statement led to an “Excuse me?” which then led to a repeat of the initial statement. Within the next couple hours, several more teenagers made their pilgrimage from what seemed “out of nowhere” and the back streets to the common area. The dog, now long since inside, had begun a barking match that would soon involve his owners and more than a dozen and a half teenagers, all dressed in black pants and white shirts.

The boxer’s owners were Jeff and Heather, a young couple late twenties to early thirties who had an eighteen month old and a four bedroom house. In their initial months living in Southwind, they’d had “issues” with some of the young people who traversed the area. Yard cutting, parties on their back patio and other forms of trespassing were frustratingly common. Having a slightly aggressive breed of dog only deterred the activity a tad, especially since the dog spent most of the time indoors. The attraction to their yard was of course, the common area, a picnic table and gazebo that saw maximum capacity from area teenagers on many occasions. The activities went on day and night, irrespective of local curfew for teenagers and not compliant with the noise ordinance or community policy. But nearly nightly calls to the police did little. By the time police arrived either silently, or with sirens blazing, the teens usually had ample time to disperse and duck into any one of several community homes that were friendly to their plight. Which left the police with nothing.

The day it came to a head, one homeowner was ready to fight back. With more than a dozen similarly dressed teens standing, and shouting, in solidarity at his backdoor, Jeff arrived at the window with a rifle resting on his shoulder, though pointing upward and not toward anyone. That show of force resulted in little deterrence. Hostility in both verbal and gesturing forms continued and Jeff and Heather eventually called the police asking their advice on the situation. “Is it okay if I stand at the back door of my house with a gun?” Jeff asked them. The police equivocated and their response gave Jeff only a mild endorsement.

At approximately six in the evening, and after fielding several calls from nearby concerned neighbors, the police sent initially one policeman to the home. He stormed through the grass between the houses, raising his weapon. The crowd of some eighteen youths dispersed, dashing quickly through the alley and toward the back street, home base for them. Only one youth remained, raising his hands shouting defensively to the policeman: “I’m a juvenile! I’m a juvenile.”

The next two hours would set the stage for hundreds of reactions and several rumors. One rumor was that one of the youths was packing a gun, and had even brandished it to Jeff and Heather during the standoff. One community reaction was to the apparent failure of the first officer on the scene, who instead of doing a more thorough job of rounding up the youths, had turned his attention to the homeowners and neighbors instead, threatening to take them to jail in what he initially assumed was a dispute based on race. One of the youths involved, possibly even the ring leader, lived on the back street. His father was enlisted and stationed overseas, but was home on this evening. He strolled hastily to the site of the mayhem and threatened to kill Jeff, in front of the police to boot. No arrest for assault, which the law actually calls for the in the state of Georgia.

Another rumor was that one of the parents of the kids involved actually drove his car to the scene upon police arrival to pick up the gun that was used to threaten the homeowners. Jeff’s neighbors two doors down were involved in the fracas, one of whom emerged from his house whipping his belt in the air, threatening to spank the offending youths. The common area on the north end of Southwind, where three streets and their alley converged became a major police scene for the next several hours.

The event set off an almost year-long episode that involved the police, the HOA, and the most concerned neighbors, with the former two claiming little or no responsibility in the ongoing matter’s solution. It would have to be up to the respective third party to handle the matter, find solutions and get the neighborhood on the right track. But the question was, with a growing gang problem and a lack of support from their city and their developer, could they do it?

2.

Brody Harwick was a self-described country boy, from the neighboring county where, five or ten years earlier, the thought of gangs or unruly teenagers enveloping his neighborhood would have been fantastical. Brody was the reason that Jeff and Heather moved to Southwind to begin with. Brody and his new wife, Abby, had moved to the neighborhood and were one of the first occupants on the northernmost streets.

Brody stood about six foot two, had short but curly blonde hair, normally topped by a baseball cap, and spoke with hulking voice. He lacked no confidence and often said “I don’t back down from anybody.” His bravado was balanced by a sincere good-hearted and neighborly bend. He played with the small kids from his street. He always spoke or waved to neighbors. Before his backyard fence went up, he tolerated the teenagers cutting through his yard, as long as, he said “they spoke to me. Said hi.”

But the persistent uncivilized behavior of some of the teens stopped going unnoticed by him. As he states it, “it would be middle of the night and they’d be at that gazebo, cussing.” They carried on in other ways to. Brody reports finding weapons and condoms underneath the gazebo, in addition to trash. He also became more disturbed by teenage girls walking around with bandanas, gang colors, hanging from their back pockets. And, as he once said, “the girls are worse than the guys. No respect whatsoever.” Another neighbor added, “they’d just as soon call you a bitch [while passing by] as they would look at you.” If the boys were the hell-raisers, then the girls were the obnoxious cheerleaders, and it was always a pep rally in Southwind.

Part of the attraction for the teens was the mostly built but unoccupied houses that awaiting closing. One night there was one boy who mistakenly went into a house that was newly occupied. “He was trying to come in my front window,” reports a neighbor of Jeff. “I was in my underwear but I ran out of the house anyway and tackled him to the ground. I asked what the hell he wanted and he said, ‘Isn’t this so-and-so’s house?.’” When the homeowner reported the incident to the police, the response he received went like this: “He was probably just there looking for a place to smoke pot.” Again, that was a police officer’s answer.

If the incident outside of Jeff and Heather’s house, which drew the attention of a dozen neighbors and nearly as many squad cars, was any indication, the teenagers had little if any fear of gun-toting homeowners or the police. They especially didn’t respect police. It was too easy to evade them. Their uniform dressing was one evasive tactic. When there’s four or more boys walking down the street, all dressed alike, if they are pursued by police, they can disperse, and in which direction do you follow the kid with a white shirt and black trousers?

Brody informed the property manager in charge of Southwind’s homeowner’s association. In her earliest replies, she seemed determine to help in her own way. Actions like fining the families involved, not necessarily for their kids’ behavior, but for other violations, would, it was assumed, help cause the teens to keep a lower profile. But the more involved the property manager became, the less committed she was to the cause of cleaning up Southwind. “We’re not law enforcement,” she said resolutely at a community meeting called by Brody and one of his neighbors. The police, seemed to use a similar duck and cover method. “We’re not legally obligated to enforce your covenants and we can’t arrest teenagers for being disrespectful.” Those were the seemingly unrelated statements from a sergeant who spoke on behalf of the police chief, who was present but silent. Once incident did, however, draw the attention of both. During several exchanges, the father of one of the teenagers (the same one who’d threatened Jeff in front of the police that night) told Brody to shut up. Brody belted in reply, “Don’t tell me to shut up. Who do you think you are?” At the time, both the chief of police and his sergent turned around to warn the father (who stood in his Army uniform).

“It was a terrible meeting,” concluded one of the homeowners. “It was basically the police saying, ‘We can’t do nuthin.’ And then the developer [in the form of property manager] saying, ‘We can’t do nuthin’ either.’” So all in all, anyone with any real authority claimed they couldn’t do anything to help.

But the real question is: Why this neighborhood? What was it about this pocket community within otherwise stately Spring Hill that drew it so much trouble? Why were teens of various backgrounds flocking here to carry out gang activity, intimidate neighbors and threaten their animals? And why were authorities so tolerant?

The answer it turns out is not a simple one. Again, this was not a bad neighborhood, written off by local authorities as an area of expectant of trouble. Also, for the most part, the offending teens weren’t from bad neighborhoods, either, though most were from other neighborhoods. And it wasn’t as simple as race. Several incidents involving calls to the police were from black homeowners reporting threats and attempts at intimidation from the black teens. This was, for the most part, a homeowner vs. teenagers (but not all teenagers) issue. Still, the question is why.

After much analysis and no help from the local government, the answer emerged a social and cultural one, but not a racial one.

3.

Shortly after the incident behind Jeff and Heather’s house, Brody and others clashed with the property manager over the issue of the common area where the incident took place. They wanted the gazebo removed, since that seemed to be headquarters for the teens riotous behavior. It was a strategic location too. Because it was at the vortex of the northernmost—and newer—streets, it was far enough away to be out of sight of the parents of the host teens. When the teens’ parents were home, they were concerned with their behavior. But they always acted reasonably when in their parents’ homes. Away, however, was a different story. The back streets were almost eerily peaceful and quiet. The hell-raising always took place away from home.

The property manager had, about a month earlier, appointed three homeowners as the “advisory committee” for the otherwise developer-run HOA. The developer in this case was Legacy. The local newspaper within a year of this incident had documented other horrific stories from residents of another Legacy-developed community. This time, the issue wasn’t criminal activity, but unkempt pools and common areas that their steep HOA fees were supposed to cover. In this case, because Legacy couldn’t sell enough homes, the HOA fees went to admin with nothing left over to provide promised maintenance on advertised amenities, like the pool. The community pool had become a rotting spot, swampy and unusable. But Legacy’s miscalculations and mismanagement of resources meant the citizens of their Bull’s Horn subdivision were up a creek. At one point, to augment resources, the Legacy-run HOA began fining homeowners for things like “illegal fences” that, as one resident pointed out, “were put up by the builder. How could they fine us for it being ‘illegal’ if they built them?”

Southwind’s advisory committee was basically powerless, with Legacy having complete veto power. Even their community actions seemed micro-managed by the developer-run property manager. The chairman of the advisory committee, named Raul, had taken up Brody and his northern neighbors’ cause of requesting the removal of the common area behind Jeff’s house along with its gazebo headquarters. The move would require several steps, including, a poll of the neighbors permitting its removal. On a Wednesday evening, Raul crossed the neighborhood, pulling his kid in a wagon along the sidewalk, door-to-door describing the petition. But he didn’t describe the reason for the petition. Neighbors on the southernmost streets, unaware of the incident several days earlier, said they had no reason to sign a petition for a common area’s removal without more information. Raul didn’t go into detail.

Brody, Jeff and their neighbors couldn’t wait any longer and they took down the gazebo themselves. The action drew the ire of the property manager (whose office was, incidentally, in Atlanta, about fifty miles away) and the builder, who at that point changed allegiances (he had sided with the previously victimized homeowners). The move presented something of a problem. The signs at the entrance of the community advertised to prospects a common area with gazebo. And the guys took down the only gazebo. The other common areas had only picnic tables. The preference for keeping the gazebo seemed to be an aesthetic one, without regard to the activity it seemed to facilitate.

While slapped on the wrist at first for the “unauthorized gazebo removal” Brody and his cohorts eventually took up the petition cause themselves, creating their own form and doing their own door-to-door interviews. The petition quickly—and ethically—received the necessary number of signatures and the property manager instructed the builder to take down the structure.

But the gazebo was merely an idol in the greater struggle. It wasn’t just the congregation that took place in it that enraged some of the homeowners. It was the “cutting through yards” and the late night, post-curfew strolls that pervaded the teens’ and their routines. It was the large gatherings in the common areas or middle of the streets. It was the appearance, bravado, and language of “gang.”

4.

The incidents had caused the rank and file homeowners to be more interested than ever in the intricacies of the HOA, and about what was possible and not possible. Working with the advisory committee members like Raul, Brody and nearby residents talked about turning Southwind into a gated community, making it more difficult for teens from other neighborhoods to enter. But funds lacked. Besides overpriced landscaping for humble common areas and property management fees, the neighborhood association had barely enough to pay for street lamping. One homeowner discussed calling the schools to make sure they weren’t dropping off kids from other neighborhoods into Southwind.

Many ideas, like gating off the community, may have concluded in a dead end, but the cohesion amongst homeowners created by the events, and more importantly, the collective response to those events led to real breakthroughs. One homeowner spent an afternoon researching “neighborhood solutions” on the internet and found i-neighbors.org. The neighborhood-specific social utility was the creation of Professor Keith Hampton at the Annenberg School for Communication, the University of Pennsylvania. The web site describes itself as “an ongoing research project of” his. The i-Neighbors site is a social networking service that connects residents of geographic neighborhoods. The goal of this site is to help individuals and their communities organize, share information, and work together to address local problems.

After sending out emails and delivering fliers as a means of getting people to sign up, one concerned homeowner managed to initiate about twenty accounts. The nifty i-neighbors.org site made it easy to facilitate discussions, plan community events, report lost pets and document the latest troubles. Occasionally, conversations would down spiral to philosophy wars, as some of the more old-fashioned and progressive minds would take umbrage with certain event interpretation.

There was one incident in which Brody called the police on a house a block away because as he says “there were grown men standing out in the front yard, cussing.” The lady of the house was an account holder with the i-neighbors community and complained the next day. “We were all out front, laughing and having a good time,” she wrote, when the police mysteriously showed up. Brody wouldn’t reveal in the thread that followed that he was the one that phoned the police, only that, from his perspective during the event, he determined the call to be justified. Other neighbors vehemently disagreed, saying they lived closer to the house and that the police call was not warranted, that the behavior wasn’t as bad as Brody had been representing it.

But other than anomalies like that, the i-neighbors site helped the neighborhood gather for a picnic, a yard sale, and for later solidarity on refusal to pay increasing HOA fees and assessments.

5.

Southwind was built at a time when the real estate bubble was about to burst. Zoned for approximately 160 lots, Legacy would sell off about forty to another developer and focus on the five primary streets closest to the main road. Desiring quick turnover they built less on spec as time went on, but did more speculative building at first. So much so that real estate companies specializing in lease-purchase, renting and even Section 8 housing emerged as early buyers. Despite the fact that the community was charted to have only 10% rental property, that rule seemed to apply only to individual buyers, not companies. As a result the percentage of “true homeowners” were less than two thirds of the entire Southwind neighborhood. This difference, variety, irony, whatever you want to call it, helped create two scenarios. One, the lease-purchase renters were likely to be short-term residents, largely disinterested in the politics of the growing neighborhood. Secondly, the Section 8 renters, paying per month about one-sixth of the home’s fair market rent would possibly be oblivious to the norms and accepted practices of an otherwise middle-class neighborhood.

And many of the homeowners on the Seabreeze streets, while first time homeowners, had “grown up in the country” at a time when surrounding areas were less racially diverse. Coming from a house that sat on several acres, no neighbors in sight, and everybody looking and acting like you must have set the stage for a real culture shock when you’re now owning a home in a sidewalk community, where kids cut through your yard.

“Private property” was a consistent mantra of Brody, Jeff and other neighbors early on. To them the American dream was having your own house. Your own grass. And no trespassers. But, it would seem that even the most well-meaning teens thought nothing of cutting through yards, especially where there were big gaps, blurring the line between “private property” and neighborhood pass-through. To many of the teens the neighborhood was merely a showcase for their mimic of cultural icons like rap stars, gangsters, and lauded movie villains and video game characters.

Once a Legacy house became the property of a new Southwind resident, the builder would stick a “Private Property sign in the front door. For Legacy it was a way of differentiating owned homes from model or empty houses. For some of the homeowners it was another way to communicate “no trespassing.” For some of the teens, it meant nothing.

The problems of Southwind were basically the result of a philosophical struggle: the need of homeowners to idealize private property versus the desire of teens to act out their culturally supported fantasies. Both sides were relentless. Neither understood the other. Both were extreme. To the homeowners’ credit, they did reach out. They held neighborhood meetings. They met with the teens’ parents. They reiterated their support and affirmed their neighbors, even in hostility. One homeowners suggested a policy for behavior for those on the Seabreeze streets of always acknowledging, through wave, hello or other greeting each party entering, exiting or passing by, especially of the teenager variety. Although not overnight, those repeated actions seemed to pay dividends.

Three years after Southwind’s initial stages of development, the homeowners were faced with a continual frustration. The Legacy-run HOA board wanted to continue raising the annual fees and applying non-itemized assessments. For a neighborhood with two small common areas consisting of mainly picnic tables, the calls for more money seemed like maneuvers for Legacy to supplement their losses from unsold lots. And with only 50% or so of the lots sold, it seemed like it would be years before never that the homeowners would ever really have control over their HOA.

The home sales inertia in Southwind continued, to the point that Legacy decided to sell off the remaining lots to an investment company, cut their losses and turn the HOA over the homeowners. The homeowners acted fast, repealing past assessments and lowering previously raised annual fees. The savings from not using an outside management company were substantial. So was the decision to not pay a landscaping company $23,000 per year to maintain the two small common areas. Various homeowners began taking turns cutting the grass in both locations, a move that made the previously quadrupled HOA fee and companion assessments seem ridiculous.

And slowly but surely, the neighborhood’s unsettling past was becoming a more distant memory. Jeff and Heather had another child and eventually moved. Brody and Abby are still there, having birthed their first child within the last year. Before, the idea of actually having and raising a child in Southwind would have made them uncomfortable. At the start of the troubles, they’d even put their home up for sale, having been in it less than a year. The realtor’s yard sign had remained up for many months until they finally gave up on selling it. Brody is known to take his dog, a large malamute, along with a neighbor’s German Shepherds on long walks around the neighborhood. They’re the closest thing to a menacing gang that the neighborhood has seen in at least a year.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Church Planting

Mon, 15 Mar 2010 09:09:46 -0400

The Building of a Tangible Kingdom

More than twenty years ago, one of the largest, most established churches in Fayette County, Georgia and suburban Atlanta gave birth to a new church plant. It sent its associate pastor ten miles west to begin a new congregation to minister to the needs of a unique group of people.

Made up primarily of airline employees, many of whom were pilots flying out of the world’s busiest airport, Peachtree City and its median household income was a large reason why Fayette was the eighth richest county in the United States, the wealthiest in Georgia.

The new church started out meeting in one of the five elementary schools in cart-path laden Peachtree City, where driving a golf cart is a primary means of remote transportation among residents. The church plant would change locations several times in its first few years, before settling near a shopping center, and area, known as Braelin, a name by which the church would be known for more than a decade. In those first years, and more than a thousand miles away, Tim Coleman was a student attending a Christian high school in Schaumburg, Illinois, outside of Chicago.

Braelin would spend the next twenty years growing and becoming a staple in the Peachtree City Community. It even retained the same pastor throughout that time. In 2005, the church moved to a new property just outside the city limit and was renamed Dogwood, the name of two streets that converged at the corner of the church’s new location.

Dogwood had been, throughout the two decades, a mini-version of its parent church: a mega-church of the attractional model; stable, traditional, with a modern flair. Dogwood was adept at morphing with the culture around it. If it was contemporary music that its Christian community preferred, Dogwood delivered it. And delivered it better than any other church in the area. If casual seating and coffee matched the lifestyle of the congregants, then Dogwood delivered that, too. If seeker-sensitive messages were en vogue, and it was, then Dogwood delivered every Sunday.

In 2007, Tim Coleman, now all grown up and in his thirties with a family of his own, moved to Fayette County from south Florida and began attending Dogwood. Two years later, he, along with two other couples at Dogwood, would be planting a church ten miles west in Coweta County.

Tim had spent the better part of his adulthood working in both the Christian ministry and non-profit realms. His energy and enthusiasm beams from an easy smile, slight build, shaved receding hairline, and outgoing manner. Experienced in the fundraising world, he seems a natural church planter. Desiring change, he is versed well enough with the status quo to make the two work together.

It had started as a conversation. While at Dogwood the Colemans befriended two other couples: the Kirbys and the Gossimers. Close in age, the Colemans had something in common with both couples. The Kirby and the Coleman families both had three children. The Gossimers were passionate about missions, having made nearly annual trips to Kenya part of their routine as a couple. The friendships between the three couples, and their conversations about church planting grew to a point where it just had to happen.

But this church plant, not officially chartered by Dogwood, would not seek to reflect the model of its parent. Dogwood was an attractional, mega-church daughter of an attractional, mega-church. The design for what would become Browns Mill Church was their antithesis.

2.

Ken and Felicity were the soul and personality of the church plant in its early days. Both had been instrumental in the growth of a decade-old Dogwood into a nearby mega-church. Seven years into their tenure, at perhaps the height of their music ministry success, they left.

Influential in their decision-making was the death of an old mentor, Jerry Falwell. Ken had sung on Dr. Falwell’s Old Time Gospel Hour televised service while attending Liberty University. Years later, Ken would refer to his having been one of “Jerry’s kids.” A Falwell mantra that had stuck with him through the years was “nothing of any eternal significance ever happened apart from prayer.” At the height of his mega-church experience (leading Dogwood’s music ministry), Ken would spend a lot of time in prayer. A feeling of angst and dissatisfaction was what prompted his prayers.

Normally when a music minister hears a parishioner say, “You’re the reason I come to this church,” it’s a reason to blush. But for Ken, it was getting old, even frustrating. He was no longer satisfied that it was his musical style and song selection that put the “attraction” in his attractional church.

He and Felicity, who was a popular female voice of Dogwood’s worship time, made a mutual choice to open themselves up to the possibility of finding a new church in which to serve.

They would eventually make acquaintances with Tim and Colleen and learn of their desire to plant a new church. A missional church. Over lunch one day Ken and Tim said they “both got messed up” discussing the stirrings in their souls to live out the Gospel in a more tangible and relational way. With Tim’s plans and Ken’s pastoral level experience, it seemed natural that they would be Browns Mill’s founding pastors.

Ken brought experience and organization to Tim’s vision. In the early days, the church planters had given a target date of fall of 2009 for the first public meeting. Applying Ken’s weight to the whole process created positive inertia. Web sites were created, paperwork filed, connections made, and meeting spots secured ahead of schedule. The leaders of Browns Mill were proud to announce a date of March 15 for their first public meeting.

The first meeting was held at a local elementary school—one that, incidentally, employed one of Browns Mill’s original planters. Theresa Gossimer was a third grade school teacher and helped secure the cafeteria for adult worship and a few classrooms for children’s Sunday school. The make-shift sanctuary consisted of cafeteria chairs, sound equipment, and a bed sheet, that belonged to Ken, as a screen for image magnification. The first meeting saw seventy-five attendees. Not bad for a small church plant’s first service.

According to the Browns Mill Church brochure, the name Browns Mill was carefully selected and has meaning that is both symbolic and geographic. In the downtown square of Coweta’s county seat, stands a memorial to the Battle of Browns Mill, site of a Civil War skirmish that saw a Confederate victory and had two ramifications. The first is that it prevented Coweta County from suffering the same fate as Atlanta, which was burned to the ground. As a result, its county seat is full of antebellum and other historic homes. The second result of the battle was that the defeat caused the Union army to rethink its strategy, a move that led to its winning of the war. Browns Mill Church considered its planting just such a strategy change for God’s kingdom in the area, hoping the outcome would be the same: victory.

3.

It’s typical for the “trendy church” these days to have some type of small group system. Some call them community groups. Having church members belong to small groups serves the interest of the church in two ways. Having a smaller, more intimate point of connection for members creates greater stickiness. Plugged-in small group members tend not to leave the church as easily as those who are only passive Sunday attendees. Secondarily, small groups create little sub-churches, with the leaders of each able to provide a lot of the pastoral care thus allowing paid staff to focus on bigger picture items.

In some cases, attractional churches will spend an entire series each year on sermons emphasizing their small group programs. The mega-church where Ken and Felicity had been serving even created an online identity devoted completely to their community group mindset. The purpose of the web site was to help establish groups, based on areas of common background, and be a funnel for inviting new members in.

But several couples who’d attended the mega-church were unable to plug in, despite several attempts to connect via the web site and even phone calls to the minister responsible for that area. Ken had one newcomer to the church plant report to him why he’d not been involved in such a small group.

“During a pre-marital counseling session, the minister told us we should not only be involved with a community group but we should lead one.” When they’d decided to do so, repeated calls and emails on what to do next went ignored. “The first words out of [the minister’s] mouth when my wife said, ‘We’re not in any community group’ was ‘Shame on you!’ But when we practically begged them to help us plug in—even lead—silence!” That couple felt ignored. The mega-church spent so much time and energy in their Sunday service stressing the importance of connecting to a small group, but when people came to them, they gave no direction on how to get started.

There were at least two couples in the Browns Mill church plant who’d had the same experience. They’d put themselves out there but weren’t given the password, so to speak, for community group entry.

For most traditional churches, even the mega- variety, Sunday morning is not only the main event for parishioners, but the entry point for outsiders. The model for Browns Mill would turn tradition on its head.

Browns Mill’s leaders, Tim and Ken, insisted early on to adopt the C-C-M model of church. The first C stands for Communion, also known as the Sunday morning service. Communion would continue to be a vital part of the overall Browns Mill experience. But it would be the second C that would set it apart from the attractional church.

The second C is Community and, no, it’s not just short hand for a community group. Community is the bridge between Communion and the M, Mission. While Community does address the forming of a tighter church body, it embodies much more.

The authors of “The Tangible Kingdom” believe that one of the problems with the American church is that it has withdrawn from the culture—and the culture’s people—around it. This withdrawal has led to a perceived separatism, from both sides. Church insiders dutifully perpetuate a spatial distinction with outsiders, and for the most part, the outsiders have come to expect it. Fans of the missional church believe that it’s when the church insiders cross the cultural line, in their own community, that the life of a Christ-follower is lived out.

Tim and Ken believed that the more effective entry point for outsiders was the second C of Community and the M, Mission. In the beginning, they also insisted that the Community portion of Browns Mill, personified by its Villages, would be a place where rituals like baptism, evangelism, and giving would take place—rituals normally reserved for Communion in the attractional churches.

Villages were organized primarily around common geography. Early on, Browns Mill numbered approximately two dozen adults, all married couples, and about the same number of children. The first Villages represented the two counties resided by the original church planters and early adopters. The village represented by Coweta county—same county where the church as a whole met every Sunday—was twice as large as its neighboring Village in west Fayette, and therefore split into two early on. The other village met faithfully for the first couple months but dissolved by summer when its key leaders moved on. One year later, there are three villages of small to medium size, all in one (Coweta) county.

The format of the Village meetings is informal but structured. They usually took place in the middle of the week, early evening, and began with food. A prayer of blessing precedes the food consumption festivities. In one house, the couples and kids would fill up two dining room tables, and in shifts at that. The eating would give way to relaxing in a common area where study of Bible or other material commences. The ninety to one hundred minute meeting would usually conclude with prayer requests and social, lingering goodbyes.

Almost always, the food was the sum total of what each couple brought, or provided in the case of the host family. (The dining occurred on paper plates, with plastic cutlery and disposable cups. So after-dinner dishes wouldn’t be an issue.) Which meant, the better the turnout, the better the eating experience. There were a couple instances that turnout was so low, given schedule conflicts, health reasons, etc., that one night’s dinner was an incomplete menu like cole slaw and brownies. But, normally, especially for the larger villages, Tuesday nights meant a smorgasbord of homemade food and tea. On occasion there would even be themes, like Mexican night, or bring your own pizza topping. There was even a fondue night, recalled one villager, when they enjoyed Heineken-laced cheddar and milk chocolate. The food wasn’t just a human necessity. It was a reason for bonding. Nothing brings together people, Villages especially, like food.

Perhaps the most tangible part of Village life is what takes place outside the normal scheduled meetings. It’s common for Browns Mill members to cross-pollinate with members of other villages, maintaining close friendships and social activities like holiday parties or women’s movie nights. One core member shared, “One problem with community groups I’ve been a part of at other churches is that you really only see your group members on Sundays and the nights you officially meet. You’re not really friends outside of those times.” At Browns Mill, it’s different.

4.

It’s a Wednesday morning and the received mail signals sounds, alerting a new message in the inbox. It’s a short letter to the pastor and other Village members from a couple stating that they’ve decided to pull back from their involvement with Browns Mill Church.

By this point Browns Mill, having met publicly for a little less than a year, has seen a handful of families make similar decisions. “Early on we discussed often how BMC would not be a right fit for everyone,” writes one of the group leaders. It turns out the prediction would be true not just for those trying out the church, but even those tapped early on as “leaders.”

Paul and Chastity were young leaders early on, hosting—in their brand new home, incidentally—the first Browns Mill small group in Coweta county. Once the “Village”—of about eighteen adults and twelve children, divided into two, Paul and Chastity were tapped as leaders of one of the newly divided smaller groups. Two weeks into their new leadership they announced they were backing away.

“It was an odd set of circumstances,” recalls one member of the smaller Village. “We showed up at their house on a Tuesday evening, at the regular time, and neither [Paul] nor [Chastity] were home. Next thing we see is the pastor drive up, who we thought was part of the other Village. (Which, incidentally met in a house only a mile away.) The pastor came in with the two leaders but did all the talking at first. He only cryptically referenced Paul and Chastity’s decision to step back and “become part of the crowd.”

Paul, who was 25, was the only one of the two to speak on behalf of the couple’s decision. His reasoning seemed only halfway explanatory. He described how in five years he’d been involved in five different churches (Browns Mill being the fifth). “I think part of it is being a pastor’s son. I tend to take on too much.”

Chastity was only 23, and the two had a daughter who was three. Chastity worked for Chick-fil-a and Paul was in wholesale food distribution, which explains how they met. They’d been in their home less than a month when they’d opened it up to the some thirty people who filled their house every Tuesday evening for eight weeks.

The eight weeks was the amount of time it took for members of this new church plant to receive their new member training, in the form of “The Tangible Kingdom” primer. “The Tangible Kingdom” is a book—a movement, actually, written by two ministry mavericks, Hugh Halter and Matt Smay. It has become a Bible almost, for those convinced that the missional church model, as opposed to the standard attractional church model, is necessary for Kingdom building.

“The Tangible Kingdom” stresses things like community, process, stretching the boundaries of one’s social comfort zone, and tension. For many familiar, or entrenched, in the traditional church mindset, the “Tangible Kingdom” substance is an eye-opener and at times and to some may seem far-fetched. To those like Tim, it serves a pillar of missional church planting.

During the time of planting Browns Mill Church, Tim was no stranger to the subject of church planting. He was a regular participant in church planting conferences, having even met the Tangible Kingdom’s authors at one such event in Saint Louis shortly after Browns Mill started meeting publicly.

As for Paul and Chastity’s desire to depart at the start of their leadership tenure, Tim seemed to take it in stride. In his announcement to the Village that day in their living room he said unequivocally, “I think we’ll look back on this day some time from now and see that God has worked in their life.”

There were some Tuesday nights that could be described as chaos in their house. Although there was a schedule that assigned various adults to keep the children upstairs or at a nearby playground during the training sessions, there were pockets of time, especially at the beginning and end, in which the small children were largely unsupervised. The time of non-supervision led to little tragedies. Having left their bedroom door open, Paul and Chastity had a hole punched in their wall from one of the kids carelessly playing on some exercise equipment. Others wrecked electronic video game machines. An eight-year old on psychiatric medication reached into a new aquarium and inadvertently killed some pet fish.

This was all within weeks leading up to Paul and Chastity’s decision to rethink their role—and involvement—with Browns Mill.

But this story isn’t just about all the expected ebbs and flows of a young church plant. Most people familiar with this unique calling are aware that church plants have about the same success rate as business start-ups. The pain, the misses, the losses, and the financial strain of the founders are common denominators in church planting and small businesses. Rather, this is the story of a young church plant’s impact on its community and, perhaps equally important, on those involved through the first year.

5.

What’s more, while Tim and Ken distinguished Browns Mill’s unique calling from that of a house church (a movement of churches that believe that “real church” meets in believers’ houses, a concept promoted heavily by movement leaders like Jim Rutz, author of “The Open Church” and “Megashift”), they also maintained that Communion for Browns Mill need not take place inside a collective building every Sunday.

One such departure from tradition took place about four months after Browns Mill started meeting publicly. At the conclusion of one Sunday morning service, Tim announced that there would be no meeting at the school the following Sunday.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he exclaimed as he rolled his shoulders and planted his feet firmly on the floor beneath him. “You’re going to invite our neighbors to come to your houses this Sunday for brunch.” The point of this new missive was to help Browns Mill members get to know the neighbors around them, and the neighbors around them to get to know Browns Mill members.

The following week Tim had his regular meeting with Ken’s old boss, the senior pastor of the Mega-church from which Browns Mill sprang. Ralph had been Tim’s pastor too, and was supportive of Tim’s church plant idea to the point of offering weekly in-person advice in his office. Ralph’s reaction to Tim’s plan of no collective Sunday service was tantamount to nearly falling out of his chair. He couldn’t fathom the degree of risk that this meant for a normal church. Because most churches, including and maybe especially Ralph’s, depend on Sunday giving to pay the bills, foregoing a collective Sunday gathering is akin to financial suicide. However, because Browns Mill, as a young church plant, didn’t have the financial commitments and millstones of a more established—and might I add, attractional—church, Sunday brunch was no big deal. It was, in fact, a chance to use food—and hospitality—to build a bond with the community.

6.

For the same amount of money it cost the church to rent the school cafeteria for a few hours each Sunday, another space became available for rent in the fall of that first year. This time it was downtown, closer to some of the missions projects that Browns Mill was already involved in and an area they planned to maintain influence long-term. This time it was the town’s Community Theater Company, which was a one hundred and fifty year building that started out as a grain and feed store and livery stable. The Theater had used the space for thirty years, performing such staple shows as “Death of a Salesman,” “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and “Romeo and Juliet,” in addition to original plays. The relationship between the theater and the church was cordial and beneficial. The church meetings gave the theater exposure to a group of people not already aware of its offerings. The theater setting gave the church greater influence in a highly un-churched area of town.

To the person with a traditional church background, the idea of a church sharing its space with a community theater may seem different. But some might consider another area church’s meeting place more bizarre. Four Corners church was a church plant of a young ministry professional named Alex who, in the midst of his traditional ministry career, came to a dismal conclusion. Although Jesus was embraced by pagans and loathed by the religious elite, Alex realized that he was loved by the religious and unknown by pagans. As he read through the New Testament gospels several times, he came to understand that “Jesus was a friend of sinners and hung out in places that church folk didn’t.”

In response to this, Alex got a job at a local establishment, as a barback of all things. Responsible for stocking the fridges, doing inventory, sweeping, mopping, tidying up the bar, he did whatever was necessary to keep the bar running. The establishment was called the Alamo, and was located next door to a mutually-owned pizza place: Fabiano’s. His boss, the owner, was a lesbian.

One night Alex was in the Alamo bathroom, scrubbing vomit off the side of the toilet, when he said a vision came to him. “God said, ‘you’re going to plant a church… right here… at the Alamo.’” He then did an unconventional thing. “Instead of staying in the city, planning and strategizing, I packed up and moved to London for a year to pursue a master’s degree in hermeneutics.” He stayed in touch with his friends back at the Alamo via Skype and iChat. When he came back, the vision came true; he planted a church at the Alamo. In a bar.

The how of it all is no less providential than the what. Alex ran into his old boss, with whom he shared his specific vision. “Why don’t you use the Alamo on Sundays?” she asked. At the time, it wasn’t legal for restaurants to serve alcohol or bars to be open on Sundays. That left the Alamo available for Four Corners church and its Sunday services. Fabiano’s Pizza next door was opened on Sunday, and it wasn’t uncommon on those days to see congregants from the Four Corners meeting gathered in the Alamo wander next door to give the owner a thank you hug for providing the venue. Jesus had been a friend of sinners, and hung out in places church folk didn’t. Now, so did Alex.

When Browns Mill moved their belongings into the theater, it was a sunny Saturday in November. Having met at the elementary school for six months, they’d ended their tenure with a Sunday brunch gathering and testimonial time, celebrating God’s provision—of both facilities and people—to that point.

The theater wasn’t just a change in location, but in mentality. Closer to the mission opportunities they’d already engaged, several of the Browns Mill men (with, shall we say, flexible schedules) would enter the poorer neighborhoods each Tuesday morning and pass out leftovers donated by a local Panera Bread. One local charity had been harvesting good food otherwise thrown out by supermarkets and distributing to the county’s most destitute citizens. The charity’s distribution schedule developed a need. Tuesday, of all days. Browns Mill men then started passing out much more than bread on their weekly excursions to the other side of the tracks.

From month six forward, Browns Mill was holding their official meetings inside the Community Theater. But it was the community—not a building—that became Browns Mill’s theater.

7.

As Browns Mill neared its first year anniversary, opportunities continued to appear, for ministry and for better facilities. The Community Theater had drawbacks to balance the benefits. While location was optimal (it was not only downtown, but next door to a beautiful downtown park), the facilities were not conducive to children’s ministry, especially preschool. There were problems climate controlling the building, especially in the initial weeks, when the southeast had unusually cold spells. But the theater had atmosphere, and its main auditorium was ideal for worship services.

One local building owner even offered the church greater thru-the-week access, more contemporary and structured environment and only slightly more in rent. The most attractive aspect of the deal was its potential for providing the church a “third place.” “Third place” is a term coined by Starbuck’s in the last decade, proposing that their café’s could be the person’s third place, with home and work (or school) being the first two. The idea of a “third place” has been gaining ground in both attractional and missional church circles.

Vince Antonucci is the author of “I Became a Christian and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt,” a pastor, and an experienced church planter. He started a church in Las Vegas that initially met on Sundays in a movie theater. But when they started a Monday evening service, they had to find an additional facility where the schedules didn’t conflict. The cost of renting two places a week became prohibitive. With a myriad of empty buildings in Las Vegas, his church found a warehouse they could rent for a great price. The space was more than 10,000 square feet, ample not only in space but in schedule. “And we thought, it would be kind of greedy to keep it to ourselves,” he writes. “And dumb for it to sit open when we’re not using it.” They made the decision to design the building to be used by (not just for) the community. For what? “Concerts, comedy shows, AA meetings, family movie nights, corporate events, art shows, you name it,” Antonucci reports. They run it as a non-profit and only charge a minimal fee to help cover costs.

Whether it’s Vince Antonucci’s church or Browns Mill, missional churches, with their meeting spaces, are looking to build bridges, not walls.

8.

Browns Mill Church celebrated its one-year anniversary as a public ministry with its twentieth Sunday service at the Community Theater followed by a picnic in the downtown park next door.

As with many young church plants, much remains uncertain with Browns Mill. Beyond the primary subjects of continuation and viability, there are questions about venue, both short- and long-term. There are also questions about compensation for leadership, for which there is no current budget (Tim maintains a full-time job, for a local children’s charity while faithfully executing his pastoral duties). Denominational alignment is also an agenda item, while at present Browns Mill is leaning toward the Free Methodist group.

But one mainstay throughout Browns Mill’s first year, and going forward, is its commitment to build a Tangible Kingdom in Coweta County, Georgia—one Village, one charitable act, one venue, one brunch, one community at a time.

“If I were to sum up year one at Browns Mill in three words,” Tim shares, “it would be Jesus, Gospel, and Messy.” Tim consistently contends that the life of a Christ-follower is messy. But what appears as messy from the inside, Browns Mill hopes, is seen as beautiful by those without.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Malatya

Mon, 1 Mar 2010 09:06:00 -0500

The Story of a Modern Martyrdom

On any normal day, Ghokan and his wife would have taken separate vehicles to the office. The office in this case was a Bible distribution company that also served as offices for a church in Malatya, Turkey. But on this day, they left together, and a little later than usual, only to happen upon a gruesome scene that would change their lives forever.

The date was April 18, 2007. A pastor named Necati (pronounced “Nuh-ja-tee”) along with his assistant Ugur (like “You’re”) agreed to meet a group of teenagers who’d been recently attending their church, posing as seekers. Tillman Geske, a German press operator, worked quietly in the next room.

The meeting, which Necati and Ugur had agreed to in good faith, would quickly devolve as the teenagers shouted, accused, and demanded renunciation from the two Turkish Christians. The raised voices drew Tillman from the next room. The refusal to renounce preceded an hour or excruciating torture, in which the five teenagers stabbed Necati, Ugur and Tillman repeatedly, dozens of times, before finally delivering deathblows to each man just as Ghokan reached the door to the office.

Ghokan and his wife used their cell phones to call Malatya police, who came just in time to capture and arrest the five young men (one of whom had jumped out of the third floor office upon their arrival). The scene was mayhem—between authorities, reporters, cameras and Ghokan taking out his livid frustration on one of the perpetrators (he briefly kicked one of the attackers outside of the building as he was being led away to custody). It would be a couple more hours before the widows of Necati and Tillman would be notified of their husbands’ demise. Ugur, who was engaged to be married, was still alive when found, but, after numerous surgeries, died later that day.

Found on each member of the killing crew was a note that read, “We killed for our religion.”

It was a bad day for the church in Malatya, Turkey.

2.

Lest you come to the conclusion that this was a random act of persecution and terrorism in an otherwise stable part of the world, certain facts must be explored first.

It is true that Turkey is officially a secular republic and that there is at least nominal freedom for the practice of religion for those not represented by its majority religion, Islam. Turkey was also an early member of NATO, and in 2005 began discussions to become a full member of the European Community. Its geographic, political and economic standing have made it a key player in the western world and a bridge to the east.

But the cultural climate has been very unfavorable toward Christians, who make up only two to three thousand of Turkey’s almost seventy-three million residents. Historically Turkey was the center of the Ottoman empire, which from the 1400’s to the conclusion of the Great War was the dominant Islamic monarchy in any part of the world. Its skirmishes throughout the centuries were primarily with Christian, Holy Roman, and Orthodox nations. Transylvania’s brutal Vlad the Impaler, the historic figure said to be the inspiration for the fictional character Dracula, was considered a Romanian hero because of his resistance to the Ottoman Empire’s expansion into Europe. There was even, centuries before Vlad, the mostly Franco-Roman Crusades that marked history with assaults on the Islamic world.

That said, the Turkish have an earned distrust of the Christian world.

But more recently, in the wake of 9-1-1, the Turkish government compiled a list of “terrorist organizations” that they believed might pose a threat to Turkish national security. On that list were few surprises. There was Lebanon-based Hezbollah, Palestinian-based Hamas, and a Kurdish nationalist group. But evangelical, Christian missionaries were also placed on that list. With their designation as a potential threat to Turkey, the notoriously irresponsible Turkish media helped to hype the rumors about their religious practice. Among the misconceptions, Christians were branded as bribers, believed to be handing out thousands of dollars to new converts. It was also purported that all Turkish Christians were really operatives for the American CIA.

In a statement given by one of the assailants of Necati, Ugur and Tillman, he made clear: “We did it for our country. They were attacking our religion.”

3.

While the five young men, one of whom is suspected to have been hired and trained by a large and well-organized Islamic terror organization and then in turn recruited the four cohorts, killed for their religion, it can be said that the three church leaders died, willingly for theirs.

You wouldn’t have known that Necati and Ugur were part of a small minority by the joy they showed and shared. Necati left behind a wife and two children. He was only thirty-five years old when he was slain. His wife Semse is vocal about her husband’s faith and his legacy. But she recalls with vigorous tears, the morning that her whole world changed. “I remember getting the children off to school. I had them leave without speaking to their father because he was asleep and I wanted him to get rest. By the time he did wake up he was slow getting up and going. He knew he had to, but it was like his body didn’t want to.” It was as if his body knew what was waiting for him.”

When Necati was up, Semse says they had breakfast and a time of worship in their living rooms, studying the Scriptures. On the other side of the doorway, Necati departed their apartment, and flashed a smile at his wife. A smile to her that she says she’ll vividly remember as his last ever.

Tillman Geske’s widow Suzanne is a German who speaks near perfect English. With her long-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, she assumes a laid back but enthusiastic and glib demeanor. It’s not rare for her to end a statement in laughter. Even as she recalled the events of the day from her perspective, she seemed calm and not overcome with emotion as did Necati’s widow, who still seemed to hold it together pretty well considering her experience. Both women live to tell the story of their husbands’ sacrifices. They assumed the risks of persecution, along with their husbands, but have emerged stronger, more resolute and quite articulate about God’s purpose and plan in the midst of horrific tragedy. Their voices are louder than the men who sought to silence their husbands.

“We did it for our religion.” Five men willfully killed for theirs; while three died, willingly, for theirs.

4.

Ugur was Decati’s disciple and assistant. A tall and striking Turk, Ugur was known even before his conversion as “the son of Truth.” Obsessed with the subject of truth, he was persuaded to the Christian faith when someone revealed to him that Jesus was the “Way, the Life, and the Truth.” It made sense, then, as a “son of Truth” that Ugur would follow the one who is truth.

Ugur’s early life of faith was met with great tribulation. Being persecuted for his new life would entail financial trouble, blackmail, and even kidnapping. He had such a rough go of it that by the time he came to Malatya, he was broken, but “just as devoted to the Lord as ever.”

Ugur was baptized in the church at Malatya, served alongside its pastor and met his fateful end as a faithful servant. Ugur would have been married later that year had it not been for his murder.

Both Ugur and Necati had been very skeptical of the two young men who’d started attending the church at Malatya. Fellow member and co-worker Ghokan had described the teenagers as “insincere and secretive” and “seeming to have an agenda.” Despite the warning signs, Necati responded to every question, never turning them away when they became too inquisitive. Even he had his suspicions however, which he would share with his wife. Semse says, “he said that even though they might not be there for the right reasons, ‘we still want to share the Gospel with them. Even Jesus had Judas.’ He knew Judas would betray him, but he tolerated him anyway.”

Earlier in his ministry career Necati played the part of Jesus in a passion play, the video of which exists, in an almost eerily fashion, foreshadows his own future sacrifice. “Necati never thought it would be too much to die for Jesus,” shares his widow. The passion play scenes of Necati’s Jesus carrying the cross, being nailed to the cross and ultimately hanging on the cross are a time capsule reminder to his family of the lengths to which he lived out his faith. “Necati would have considered it an honor to die for Jesus.”

5.

“You’re either paralyzed by your fear or your comfort,” explains a Turkish pastor describing the plight of Christian in two dichotomies. “In the west, you have so much freedom to practice your faith, that you become very comfortable with what you have, especially material possessions. The temptation is to cling to your possessions and not live out your faith for fear of what it might cost you. But places like here, Christians have the opposite problem,” he says, explaining that fear of open persecution can cause to shrink back from practicing their faith.

Another very vocal Turkish pastor in the days following the slayings spoke at a press conference, and admonished Turkey’s culture for practicing “witch hunts.” He equated the middle age practice of hunting and killing people suspected of being witches with the fear-based tendencies of some to murder Christian missionaries in the name of religion. In Turkey, to be a Christian missionary is the equivalent of being a medieval witch. Just as notorious, just as unsafe.

Open persecution of churches in Turkey has not been isolated to the slayings in Malatya, although the magnitude of it did put such persecution on the map. One pastor reported that a man railing threats, “saying bad words” and attacking those in attendance interrupted his service Sunday after Sunday. Repeated calls to the police led to repeated arrests. But after each arrest, the man would be released, only to come back to the church and repeat his behavior.

Another Turkish pastor learned of a group’s planned attempt on his life. When the police found out, they questioned the conspirators. They later explained to the pastor that, although murdering him was “their wish” the conspirators were not guilty of a crime. He conducts his daily business very carefully, especially in the months following the murders in Malatya.

One of Necati’s cohorts was especially demoralized by the murders. In the days and months following the tragedy, he said he couldn’t go anywhere that didn’t remind him of Necai, his friend. He would become increasingly fearful, depressed. It reached a point where he couldn’t go to sleep or wake up without thinking of Necati. The depression led to a dependence on alcohol, which he was eventually delivered from. But the thoughts and melancholy, to a large degree still linger, hovering like a dark cloud over a once joyous life.

But the widows seem to maintain a divine energy. Despite their losses, and the immense suffering of those early days following their husbands’ murders, their voices echo a God in control. Indeed, they made front-page news and shocked the nation by publicly forgiving the men who murdered their husbands. Semse explains that in the Turkish culture forgiving someone is viewed as a negative thing, a weakness. But for her it has been a source of real strength.

Moved by this story, two young men from Texas traveled to Turkey the following year to document the legacy of the martyrs and share it with the west. Welcomed by the families, they included several hours of interview footage, even visiting the site where the Necati, Ugur and Tillman were killed. Families and friends shared their memories and personal home videos of the three men. Some of their more insightful interviews were with church leaders across Turkey who shared stories of joy, hope, pain, endurance and the faithfulness of God.

The result of their journey is now a feature-length documentary called “Malatya,” released last year on the two-year anniversary of the martyrdom. One reviewer of the film says: “The “Malatya” film gives gritty, realistic, unassuming access into the lives of the widows and families, as well as the church-body that is still grieving in Turkey.”

The DVD is available here.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Does God Exist?

Mon, 15 Feb 2010 09:02:47 -0500

a Debate between Christopher Hitchens and  William Lane Craig

It was April 9 of 2009. An energy not normally present surged its way through the campus of Biola University in Los Angeles.
Cameras flashed, filmed and recorded the movements of the crowd and the stars of the pending show. Biola’s own local hero and intellectual gladiator, William Lane Craig, is waiting in the wings for a high profile debate with legendary journalist and writer Christopher Hitchens. Research Professor of Philosophy at Biola’s Talbot School of Theology, Dr. Craig has been called “the smartest living Christian.” And for years, he’s been one of the leading contemporary philosophers and Christian apologists in the world.
Craig’s slight of stature stands in sharp contrast to his heavy credentials in both academia and the debate circuit. Holding both a doctorate in philosophy and a doctorate in theology, William Lane Craig has built a legendary reputation in the theater of theistic debate. His earlier bachelor’s degree in communications from Wheaton College was a mild signal that this Illinois native would go on to be one of the most renowned and passionate voices for the existence of God.
Christopher Hitchens’ philosophical reputation doesn’t follow a straight, predictable line.
While cast as the nemesis by theists for the April 2009 debate with home turf defender Craig, Hitchens’ journalistic history is quite varied. In the late 90’s and early 00’s he became known for his scathing critiques of such noted public figures as the Clintons, Mother Teresa and Henry Kissinger.
His book No One Left to Lie To was, unsurprisingly embraced by the political right, even though it was, philosophically speaking, a condemnation of Clinton’s failure—even refusal—to adhere to liberal and traditional Democratic principles.
His book The Missionary Position was a relentless defacing of Mother Teresa whom he accuses of political corruption and opportunism, alleging interest-conflicting ties to Haitian dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier and the prosecuted business executive Charles Keating.
The Trials of Henry Kissinger, which inspired a documentary film of the same name, was released as a book in 2001, and asserted that the former Secretary of State, who remains a prominent figure in international politics and diplomacy, was guilty of was crimes in a diversity of places. As you can see, Hitchens doesn’t shy away from controversy. To the contrary, it has made his literary name for him.
On stage, Hitchens brings with him a persona, a physical presence of the modern romantic Brit. His clothes are decidedly journalistic. A blazer tops an open-collar shirt, revealing more of his chest than his counterpart in the debate would ever show in public. Hitchens has grown the top of his hair long enough to flip mostly backwards, avoiding the tacky comb-over normally reserved for televangelists. His stature is a tad robust while avoiding the overweight tag. Still, Craig’s lithe build is disappearing by comparison.
The debate style of the two could not be more opposite. Craig utilizes traditional debate techniques, focusing heavily on “points of argumentation.” His intensity centers around the arguments themselves. Rather, Hitchens appeals to his own opinion and sense of humor with genius handling. To Craig’s arguments, Hitchens seems defensive, but not unreasonable. Craig maintains positions of philosophy, cosmology, burden of proof, and other science as his rhetorical allies, avoiding the “Scripture as proof” angle altogether. While Hitchens uses examples of extreme religion (mainly Islam) as his assertions of the malevolence of religion. Indeed, Hitchens at no time states that he can—or will—prove that God does not exist. He does, however claim that no sufficient evidence has been presented that persuades him as to a “divine power with a Son who cares enough to come and redeem us.” Adding that he finds, “all the arguments in favor [of theism] to be fallacious or unconvincing.”
Christopher Hitchens is one of the most visible leaders of the New Atheism movement. He, along with the other three (Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennet) are referred to in the debate circles as “The Four Horsemen.”
In 2006, Hitchens followed his scathing indictments of the Clintons, Mother Teresa and Henry Kissinger with an indictment of God himself. In his book god is not Great, Hitchens seems intent on drawing a conclusion that ties man’s belief in a supreme being with human suffering that is mutually perpetrated. In his talks he continues to blame religion for the barbaric acts of suicide bombings, genital mutilation and other atrocities. The debate with Craig saw no exception. One viewer in his post-debate question posed to Hitchens that most of the atrocities perpetrated on mankind were at the hands of secular humanists and atheistic despots (Stalin and Mao, whose national genocides claimed a total of some ninety million human lives in the twentieth century).
Despite his unwavering opposition to religion, fans of Christian apology graciously welcome Hitchens to the debate. Unlike fellow atheist Richard Dawkins, the English biological theorist deemed unequivocally arrogant by most in the theistic realm, Christopher Hitchens’ approach to debate, to the arena itself, comes across as more disarming and civil. Just consider some of the remarks from Christians who attended the Hitchens-Craig debate.
“I’m a huge fan of Christopher Hitchens. I’m a huge fan of William Lane Craig,” shared a fifty-something gentleman from the stands of the arena. “It’s two of the best,” echoed another spectator. What would lead these ardent defenders of theism to speak favorably of Hitchens? The clue lies in Hitchens approach to the evening’s event. When asked by a reporter, “Is it going to be David vs. Goliath tonight?” Hitchens blows off the intellectual praise without hesitation, saying instead, “No, no. There are two—goliaths.” The assumption, and with good basis, is that such demure would never be shown by the other leaders of the new atheism movement, especially Dawkins, who has repeatedly refused to participate in any debate with a creationist.
Despite the diplomatic treatment of Craig’s home crowd, Hitchens didn’t budge from his skeptical stance, stating that “extraordinary claims require truly extraordinary evidence.”
William Lane Craig, however, is convinced that there are better arguments for theism than for atheism.
“The very first thing about Christianity is that God is,” shared a middle-aged male who observed the live debate. “And if He isn’t then we’re washed up. And that’s why debates like this one are so important.”
Understanding this, Craig laughed nervously as he told cameras earlier that evening, “I feel like I’m before the home crowd tonight and I feel a certain sense of—responsibility.”

2.

One of the striking elements of the Hitchens-Craig debate is the role that morality played in it. And it seems to be a pattern more and more that stands in opposition to the way that atheists historically posed their arguments.
The pre-supposition a century ago is that the notion of morality would need to be removed from debate in order to assert the plausibility of atheism. Craig deftly points out that Bertrand Russell in his essay Why I am Not a Christian says “You cannot assess the truth of a Christian worldview by whether is it good for society or not.”
It wasn’t just that the Church, and belief in God in general, claimed a moral high ground, but that it held exclusive rights to the basis for morality. Not prone to challenging this assumption, secular humanist debaters a century ago instead dismissed the notion of morality, insisting it is irrelevant to the discussion of the existence of a personal, creator God.
A hundred years later, atheists representatives like Hitchens re-introduce the concept of human morality back into the equation, using it as grounds to attack those adhering to belief in God. In the debate, Hitchens refused to concede that atheism as morally inferior. Hitchens has even said that religion is “the source of all evil.”
When asked in a pre-debate interview how he would respond to this claim, Craig laughed, “I’m going to ignore it.” He adds, “I’m here tonight to debate Does God Exist? And that question is not answered by talking about the social impact of religion. The social impact of an idea is irrelevant to the truth of an idea.”
William Lane Craig could have been an unknown to the likes of Christopher Hitchens. And he might have remained an unknown had the frequently published Hitchens not decided to do something a little different to promote the release of his book Is Christianity Good for the World (which he co-wrote with a minister, Douglas Wilson). “I told my publisher that I didn’t want the usual New York liberal book tour. I want to go and issue a challenge and see if the godly will come out to play.” The debate tour, naturally, began in the south. “There was someone, usually a minister who would invite me onto their turf to debate. And so, I haven’t declined a challenge since.”
There were also larger panel gatherings that were not formal one-on-one debates that more resembled conferences. One such event was the Christian Book Expo a few days before the debate, in Dallas. The larger and unwieldy panel included William Lane Craig, which gave he and Hitchens opportunity to become acquainted. Prior to the debate when asked if he believed Dr. Craig to be a formidable opponent, Hitchens revealed that his co-thinkers in the unbelieving community take Dr. Craig very seriously. “He’s thought of as a very tough guy. Very rigorous. Very scholarly. Very formidable. Normally, I don’t get people saying ‘Good luck tonight… Don’t let us down…’ But with him, I do.”
When pressed on the issue as to whether evolution can account for human morality, Hitchens restates his conviction that humans are merely indifferently evolved primate species. On the other hand he says of his debate opponent, “The nice thing is that Dr. Craig is a believer. A firm believer, a man of faith. It’s very annoying a lot of times when one has debates with—I find this with liberal protestants and reformed Jews—they don’t really believe in God. For them, religion is a kind of social work.”
To listen to Hitchens is to understand that this is a man whose primary basis for opposing religion and general belief in God is the eyewitness of what man has done from one century to the next to oppress, oppose and even kill in the name of religion. “The need to worship is also innate in people but I think it’s something that should very strongly be opposed. Because,” he explains, “that need can be too easily transferred onto idol worship, the worship of human beings, the wish for a supreme dictator who will relieve us of the necessity to be free.” His explanation for restraining religion, ironic enough, sounds almost identical to the first of the Ten Commandments.

3.

As dusk descended on the campus of Biola University and crowds streamed out of the arena, Dr. Craig sat down to answer some questions. He candidly commented, “The amount of tension that goes into these things in advance, it’s like going into a heavyweight prize fight. And you know there’s a lot riding on it. And so when it’s over you just feel so relieved.”
Standing outside under the cover of nightfall, Hitchens shared his first-hand impression of Craig was that of a “well-trained philospher. But his philosophy is lost. He’s thrown it away on faith.” At a book signing later he continued to mourn Craig’s intellect, insisting “he decides to assume what he can’t prove. He assumes a supernatural intervention in human affairs.”
Craig has fielded this tone from other atheists too. This seems to be the rap that he’s gotten, that he’s a “philosopher who’s gone over the edge.” But he continues to assert that this same crowd has not demonstrated their ability to deal with his arguments. “If this is the truth, then of course you’d be sold out to it.”

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Book Review

Mon, 1 Feb 2010 09:00:42 -0500

Seth Godin’s “Linchpin”

When I first saw the cover for Seth Godin’s new book, I was immediately reminded of some cover art that Chip Kidd developed for the New York Times Book Review. Kidd’s original drawing was of a strong hand squeezing a “limp, soft” bolt of lightning. The drawing was meant to illustrate a story by Paul Bloom titled No Smiting. (The story was about the softening of God in modern-day America.) Only the central graphic on the cover of Linchpin, while similar, is just the opposite. You see a strong hand resolutely gripping a stiff, electrostatic lightning rod as the energy radiates around it. Earlier renderings of the cover, which Seth Godin included on one of his Squidoo lenses promoting a seminar related to this new book, included what appeared to be a gecko skirting off the page. My first impression of that eventually rejected cover was that it somehow hinted of the Geico mascot (assuming that the Gecko in the TV commercials would be revealed in the book to be the insurance company’s “linchpin.”). When you dive deeper into the pages of Linchpin the subject that inspired that rendering rears its head. It’s the Lizard Brain, and it is, in my view, the biggest AHA! of Seth Godin’s new book. It’s the takeaway that business executives and aspiring difference makers in their organizations can use to change old habits, and more importantly, reverse the course that those old habits have been determining all along.

Linchpin’s length stands in contrast with Seth’s earlier major releases. Both The Dip and Tribes were books of brief duration, succinctly making their points and using very short stories to illustrate those points. Linchpin, by comparison is more of a throwback, in style and size, to Permission Marketing, with one big difference. Permission Marketing was about corporations and their processes and approaches. Linchpin is all about the individual within the corporations. Godin provides some cogent argumentation for the failure of our corporation society to develop truly indispensable individuals and shows clearly that the variants of the new economy further amplify the vacuum that this lack of linchpins has created. Seth goes so far as to describe, with both unique characteristics and distinguishing psychology, what the linchpin looks like. Or, behaves like, to be more accurate. He also clearly demonstrates how and why behaving in accordance with the corporate conditioning of the last hundred years is actually more risky than standing out—that being indispensable is preferred to being average.

Linchpin goes far beyond just career advice or how to do better at your current job. It redefines what it means to be an artist. In the business world especially, the term artist carried a lot of baggage. In his new book, however, Seth Godin celebrates the artist. He both broadens and re-specifies what it means to be an artist at your company in this new economy. Average continues to be the antagonist with the expiration date, as it has in other Seth Godin books, starting with Purple Cow. But in the previous book, Godin’s average tag was normally reserved for companies and products. This time, he shows, not only how Andrew Carnegie’s influence on our education system transformed several generations into yes men for his factories, but how our own brains are partially wired for compliance.

The Lizard Brain (from which this book’s antagonist the resistance emanates) is a concept that makes its appearance a little less than halfway through the book. And its dominance over our (especially) work lives is evident. It turns out that the more artistic part of the human brain is more recently evolved. It’s the part that empowers critical thinking, more complex problem solving. Most importantly, creativity. The Lizard Brain refers to the older part of the brain that is most concerned with survival. Its fuel is fear. Its limitations are to eating, attacking, running away and mating. It is less adapted, in other words, to our modern world, where the basest survival is not nearly as threatened as in ancient times. According to Tim Dunne and Maggie Dugan:

Our Lizard Brain naturally makes snap judgments. And while our Lizard Brain is busy reacting the following things are happening, 1) our mind is engaged in this fear based judgment and unfocused on the task at hand. We are not contributing. and 2) Somebody else is picking up on our guarded body language and perhaps starting to feel cautious or judged themselves. They are not contributing. The goal is to become conscious of these snap judgments. Recognize the fear based reaction provided by the Lizard Brain; 'Hmm'; thank our little Lizard Brain for it, someday it might save our life, and then engage the neo-cortex in the task before us.

Imagine this: at a meeting at your office, the New Guy on staff throws out an idea to increase efficiency. The Director of Production's Lizard Brain interprets this as criticism. (He will have to change, and maybe he'll fail.) He attacks. He points out that something similar was attempted before, but didn't work because it confused people and increased costs. Then the boss asks New Guy what he would do to mitigate these issues. (New Guy hasn't considered this yet, and is caught off guard.) He looks foolish.

The sum of the meeting. New Guy's Lizard Brain will warn him not to speak up the next time he has a new idea. The Director of Production was rewarded for his attack and that reinforced behavior will rear its head again. The new idea is shot down and the old hand gets points for stomping change. Neither of these contributes to a creative and productive environment.

(full context here)

It is apparent in most cases, Seth Godin argues in Linchpin, that the tendencies of this Lizard Brain are what perpetuate an outdated survivalist mode that, when transferred to the workplace or marketplace, nearly paralyzes individuals from making true progress. He’s clever to point out the relationship of busywork to being average (or below). But the greatest manifestation of this Lizard Brain is conformity. From this perspective, our lesser evolved brain parts cause us to shrink back from being bold contrarians whose art propels us beyond the “go along to get along” realm. So basically, there is an inner conflict present, in the same organ. The battle of the artistic neo-cortex and the survivalist Lizard Brain that have differing ideas on what success is, and what they would prefer we do with our jobs.

Understanding that it’s not easy for us to overcome biology, Seth uses much of the last third of the book motivating and equipping the reader to cleave to the neo-cortex’s tendencies with practical steps to manage the stronghold of the Lizard Brain. Another striking differentiator in this book (from most books in the same genre or with similar message patterns) is that Godin encourages the reader to become a linchpin where they are, shattering the illusion that you need to find the perfect job to exercise your art. True linchpins don’t wait for permission from their boss to become indispensable. They just start doing it. From the time I started reading Linchpin, it only took me a few days to complete. Like most, if not all, Seth Godin titles, once you start, it’s difficult to take a break before fifty pages are turned. It will change your perspective on certain things. Your own ability to become indispensable at your workplace, regardless of your position or title is the first thing. The sabotage of your art by the Lizard brain is another. The most distinctive, perhaps, is the failure of our education system, heavily influenced by the old factory era, to truly prepare our brains and our attitudes for the era of the linchpin. But where the education system fails, Seth Godin with Linchpin delivers.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

120 Percent

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 08:58:27 -0500

The Story of a Ship Captain,  a Modern Postcard and the Graphic Novel

In the fall of 2005, just about anyone at a C-level management position or above at our office might have answered the phone to hear a Dutch accent on the other end utter, “This is Warmolt Houwing. Do you know who I am?” I fielded two such calls and would later learn that’s how he introduced himself on most of the calls he made to our office—even if the person answering had already spoken with him half a dozen times.
Warmolt’s plight in knowing who to talk to was partly the result of a vacuum created by the firing of the marketing director a few months earlier. A deal to distribute a publishing property of Warmolt’s in the United States was being discussed around the time of the firing, with of course a few strings. But the strings were commensurate with the offer.
The arrangements were that we could have the inventory (as much as we wanted) for FREE, as long as we sold at least 500,000 copies of the title each year. A small royalty would then be paid out to Warmolt. Needless the say, the recently departed marketing director oversold our distribution and marketing prowess, not to mention the value of Warmolt’s title to an American audience.
Warmolt wasn’t any ordinary publishing professional. Indeed, the publishing industry was a mere afterthought to his primary career as a sea captain. Having started as a deckhand at age 17 in 1955, Houwing would serve in the Dutch Merchant Navy and by 1980 became captain of a supertanker. A dramatic spiritual conversion in 1986 led Houwing to lead sail on relief vessels for Mercy Ships and Operation Mobilization. Both were missions-oriented maritime ventures.
The venture into publishing didn’t begin until 1989, when Warmolt Houwing stumbled upon a precursor to the graphic novel that would become the basis for The Adventures of Jesus: He Lived Among Us. Simply titled then He Lived Among Us, Warmolt became enamored with the simple story telling power of the illustrated comic book. So much so, that he obtained the copyrights and began freely distributing copies among his fellow seamen in the port of Antwerp.

Warmolt told journalist Michael Ireland:

In 1989, an English pastor gave me two [copies of] He Lived Among Us in Russian. When I saw these books I said to Jesus: “This book will open their eyes!” That same afternoon, I smuggled one of these books to a Russian ships officer, Andre, who was 28 years old. The following morning I waited for him, and when he appeared his face and eyes were shining—and he said two words to me: “I believe.” That was the clearest confirmation! My heart jumped for joy, and I straight away drove into Antwerp, sold my car, and started printing with that second [copy of the] book. Later on, I obtained the copyright. Raising funds with Christians, I printed as many as possible and distributed them free of charge!

Four years later Warmolt would produce another million and a half copies in four languages—Russian, Dutch, Spanish and English. Partnering with Open Doors ministry he successfully transported over a million He Lived Among Us books into Russia. In part because of its low literacy demands, the comic book He Lived Among Us became the most popular publication in Russian prisons. Another strong market for the book were children, the initial recipients of Open Doors’ distribution, that would consume He Lived Among Us for themselves and then share it with their parents. In other words, the comic book evangelized the children, who in turn evangelized the parents.
Warmolt didn’t stop there. Moving from one missions frontier—Russia—to the next—the middle East—Warmolt concentrated on the region of India. In India they produced and distributed over 25 million copies in more than twenty of the dialectical languages like Hindi, Urdu, Tamil, Telugu and Bengali. The strategy in India was to equip millions of children attending vacation Bible schools in the rural, slightly evangelized areas. The parents and other adults in the children’s lives would then be reached… adults who otherwise would have been difficult or impossible to reach directly.
The graphic intensity of an illustrated Bible storybook like He Lived Among Us also helped these publication-oriented missionaries overcome issues of illiteracy, which so often makes straight Bible distribution obsolete. This brutal fact has also led well-known missions organization Campus Crusade for Christ (known as Agape ministries in many overseasplaces) to start Story Runners, a ministry whose efforts are aimed at spreading the message of salvation at a large percentage of the world’s population—the non-literate. Non-literate doesn’t just refer to the illiterate, which are those who’ve not yet grasped the basic recognition fundamentals of their culture’s written language. It includes them. But it also refers to entire people groups who have no written language and for whom therefore literacy is not even a relevant or applicable term.
He Lived Among Us showed in India how effective a tool could be when you dropped the barrier to entry to include both children and those whose literacy was less than par. With this, Houwing not only believes, but practices the adage one picture tells more than one thousand words.
He Lived Among Us was originally a French publication. The concept and writing was the work of author Pierre Thivollier and the illustrations were the work of artist Noel Gloesener. In addition to the tens of millions of copies that were produced overseas, He Lived Among Us would be re-published as The Adventures of Jesus Illustrated—He Lived Among Us for a North American audience. That was 2005, and by then, everyone at our office could give Warmolt Houwing an answer of “yes” to his question, “do you know who I am.”

2.

In 2005, my focus as key accounts manager was, naturally, on resellers. That meant Warmolt’s and my interactions mainly centered on how to get a large chunk of his half a million North American print run of He Lived Among Us into the major religious book store chains. I followed what became my personal protocol, contacting the various buyers as they individually preferred and waiting for a response before follow-up.
One massive chain of national stores took their chances. Well, not really, since they purchased a few thousand copies on a returnable basis, which made the risk all ours. Another Warmolt—apparently not been satisfied with the pace of my process and—had contacted them directly. That led to an eventual small sale, which frankly, didn’t occur any more quickly than if he hadn’t gotten involved.
By early 2006, my position changed as did my focus, as overall marketing manager, having replaced the previously fired marketing director’s interim replacement. My efforts shifted to the direction of consumer sales. Now instead of calling, emailing, and visiting my way to purchase orders, I was tasked with devising schemes to encourage end users to believe that these materials would change their lives.
After several low-risk (and incidentally, low-reward) promotions, marketing The Adventures of Jesus Illustrated—He Lived Among Us was to be the first slightly integrated program to include print. Print is costly because it combines not only the cost of printing but postage, which can often be a higher expense than production.
Given its enormous print run as well as his penchant for giving away the book for free, Warmolt was more than willing to use sampling as a strategy for selling more copies of the book. Testing, not just ours but most serious marketers, revealed that blind seeding as a form of sampling is not a worthwhile strategy. It’s better to obtain permission from a prospect before sending a free sample. When it’s desired, it’s expected. When it’s expected, it doesn’t end up in the trash.
At the time, my boss was eager to test the waters and outsource to new copywriters. One in particular caught his eye. His name was Gary and he was a disciple of copywriting author Robert Bly. Gary took his first copywriting job for us very seriously, as well as Bly’s admonition that long copy sells. Gary’s first draft was six pages in length and I was directed to manipulate type size, margins and leading to reduce it to a mailable four-page piece.
Manipulating items like margins weren’t enough. Unnecessary copy had to be cut altogether to fit within a pre-established economical frame.
My boss wanted to test Gary’s copy two ways. An A-B split that consisted of an offer of a free sample of the graphic novel, and its counterpart sans the free sample offer. Both a and b included bulk purchase options, with graduated discount structures. The mail piece included a long, and somewhat convoluted order form that seemed to ignore the realities of internet-era purchasing and the simplification that its shopping carts brought to calculating shipping charges and applicable sale tax. Everyone involved outside of Gary and my boss wasn’t sold on the extremely old-fashioned nature and trite language of the piece. But we’d paid Gary a lump sum and he delivered on his commission.

Enter a third option.

The whole Adventures of Jesus Illustrated promotion, which we internally referred to as 6115, was several months in the making. Prior to the departure of my predecessor in the marketing department, she was on board with my idea of having a more succinct, graphical means of developing leads for the product. The long form sales letter that Gary produced resembled an opportunity seeker piece to us. We pulled a mailing list of six thousand, considered our best in house prospects for the item, mainly children’s resources buyers. Each promotion was assigned a list of two thousand. Each would go head to head in the battle of the promos. Naturally, I rooted for the third option.
The third option was a postcard, sized four and a half by six inches, which is the maximum size to receive the best bulk rate postal discount for the post card designation. Four colors over one. The mailer side was black text. The color side was a full bleed, included some art from the book cover and in large bold type FREE GIFT—No Purchase Necessary.
The reverse side of the card included the link where obtaining the free gift would be qualified. It was a simple form that captured name, email and mailing address. There wasn’t a sophisticated way of handling or fulfilling the requests. The web master created access to the entries via web download, at which time I would hand address and meter envelopes just large enough for the book and the aforementioned long letter and order form.
The C part of the promotion was web intensive. The A and B parts were traditional mail- and phone-centric. Part B offered a free sample but asked for the order up front. The free sample was secondary. Conversely, it was the only initial offer in the post card.
Exactly one order was sourced between A and B combined. Several orders, on the other hand, were credited to the post card. But one thing was even more startling. The post card pulled a staggering 120 percent response. From one mailing. The only mailing.
The post card broke even on the front end and even made a modest amount of money. On one mailing.
But still what stood out is that of the 2,000 post cards that were mailed, more than 2,400 people responded with sample requests. But it actually began as many more requests than that. There were originally over 9,000 requests. But further qualification and de-duping whittled the number down to 2,400 qualified requests. Everyone on the management team was stunned. It didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it took almost a year, but we did receive a total of 9,000 plus initial requests. To find out how it happened, we had to look closer, some may say even immerse ourselves, into the data.
There were a startling number of duplicate requests that took place over a two week period approximately five months after the launch of the promotion. The majority of those requests came from the Dadeville, Alabama area. Most of the time it was the identical or similar shipping address. It would appear that someone there took to great effort to make not hundreds, but thousands, of request submissions. The time stamps indicated that the entries took place incessantly day and night, with some reprieves here and there.
It’s not clear if the person in Alabama was using a program to automate the submissions. There were after all, no built-in safeguards against such an effort. Or, it could have been a computer literate child with almost unfettered access to the net enjoying the idea of receiving a lifetime supply of free graphic novels. Or perhaps it was a trouble maker who liked the idea of perverting the process and causing us some trouble.
Either way, the numerous entries equaled numerous visits. Which also meant that search engines began to highly rank our free-offer landing page for a variety of relevant keyword sequences. Upon discovery of our little “problem” I discovered we’d achieved top five organic ranking with several potent search term variations. This also led to natural hits from surfers who had not received the original offer. Several who’d happened onto the page and submitted a request went further in this unintended viral showcase and posted the link on several “freebies” web sites. This led, as you can imagine, to further hits.
In the first four months after the post card was mailed, there were approximately ninety people requesting the free sample. That, of course, equaled a 4.5% response. In and of itself, not bad. But when it took off after the Dadeville, Alabama hacker went haywire with requests was at about the five month mark and the requests steadily climbed from there.
In addition to deduping the requests from the single address in Dadeville, Alabama, we knew we would need to further qualify the requests from months five to twelve by sending an email to sort the legitimate requests from the dupes and otherwise bogus entries. This was accomplished with a mass email to all the email signups. Out of those, approximately 2,310 re-qualified as they re-entered their information on a landing page devoted to sifting through the original 9,000 requests. After that happened, we fulfilled our obligation of sending the free graphic novel and accompanying bulk order forms.
A marketing novice may look at this anomaly and write off the effectiveness of the post card since a fluke initiated the mind-boggling response. To which I would say several things. We attempted contact with the Dadeville, Alabama fluke through the hundred or so different (and most likely bogus) email addresses that were left (to which of course there was no response).To date, we have yet to ascertain a reason as to why this person in Dadeville made hundreds of requests for the sample book we were offering. We also cannot say who this person really is. Their age, their real email address, their identity all remain a mystery.
The only promotion that pointied people to this free book landing page was the post card. While the ultimately qualified response to its mailing out numbered the actual number of post cards mailed, it was still the post card that initiated its knowledge into the marketplace.
The fact that the base offer was free helped it enjoy a little viral help. People like free. And they like to share news of the free. They’ll even share the free if given a painless opportunity to do so. And so they did.
I would like to say that our office was able to meet the challenge of a promotion that went viral and resulted in record-breaking response. But in truth we were overwhelmed. Lessons were learned. Many things would need to be done differently in order for an insane number of inquiries to be properly handled and followed up with. We weren’t ready for the success.
While we did manage to retain and make use of the names and email addresses (and postal addresses of course, the beauty of a free campaign involving a tangible, shippable item) our funnel remained the same size. We’d just increased the rate of input, leading to faster and messier spill over. The immediate results of viral success meant some qualified leads, but also more definite departures of those who were only interested in the free part of the promotion. Some people will give up their information for just about anything that’s free.
And it turns out they weren’t just in Dadeville. Seeking numerous free copies of the Adventures of Jesus Illustrated was a church in Stratford, Connecticut and an individual in Coplay, Pennsylvania.
But because of the subsequent de-duping, each received only one.

3.

To date, there hasn’t been a single promotion for us that has pulled a 120% response. Although there have been promotions with much lower—closer to standard would be more accurate—that have pulled a lot more revenue and a greater profit.
Indeed if we’d had a system in place, one of better follow-up specifically, we could have made better and more immediate use of the new leads. As it stood, they slipped through the cracks. Our only desire at the time had been the immediate or eventual sale. Lifetime value wasn’t even in our vocabulary at the time. Marketing was still in the experimental phase.
In April of 2008, my boss, marketing coordinator and I were attending a marketing super-conference in Nashville. Between sessions one night we strolled through the gardens inside the Gaylord Opryland Conference Center and ran into Craig Garber. Craig is a self-made copywriting expert and marketing strategist. His offline Seductive Selling newsletter reaches a subscriber base of mainly entrepreneurs. His various coaching and mastermind groups also attract maverick businessmen.
Having been previously mentored by the late Gary Halbert, who was a legend in the direct marketing industry, Garber has spent ten years making use of the offline newsletter, the internet (most recently blogging and online video) and the two step lead generation method of direct marketing.
Several years ago, he helped a Microsoft executive-turned-entrepreneur with a post card lead generation campaign that garnered a staggering 42% response. Again, the national average is less than a single percent. The two-step lead generation that launched his client’s business led the same endeavor to a two-million dollar second year.
With that in mind, my boss and I had a couple minutes to chat up Garber while each party headed in opposing directions in Opryland. I didn’t want to waste my turn to speak so I immediately quipped about the postcard campaign of the Adventures of Jesus Illustrated. One hundred and twenty percent response was of course the main modifier and punch line. So was the condensed (into fifteen seconds) version of the viral nature of its achievement.
The three-way conversation had begun earlier with my boss asking Garber: “We’re just wondering what we could do to break through the glass ceiling we’re bumping against.” (Referring to flat lining revenue.) After I concluded my sound bite on the post card with the record response, Craig exclaimed: “Well, call me stupid, but why don’t you just do that again?” He had a way of saying “call me stupid” that prompted you to think you should be calling yourself stupid. “Ah, yeah.” My boss and I almost said in unison.
If not having a solid system of following up, on a regular and ongoing basis, was the first big mistake of the postcard campaign, then not repeating was the second. Actually, it may have been the first—in magnitude. If lead generation is best done in two steps however, it is comforting to know that we may have mastered the how of step one.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

I Hate Junk Mail

Mon, 11 Jan 2010 08:55:38 -0500

Baseball Cards, Junk Mail, and  the Intersection of a Beckett and Thatcher

When you pull up to the office building at 4635 McEwen Road in Dallas, your first thought is, this looks like no ordinary office building. That is, unless the ordinary office building is centered around sports. And fun.
Beckett Media’s base camp indeed looked more like a playground than a publishing house, which included a recreational courtyard, racquetball courts, billiards, and locker rooms for post-play showers. The culture maintained flexible work schedules for employees with small children, and free tickets to professional sports games for middle and upper management.
It didn’t just hint at sports and fun, it seemed to make it a priority. Any visit to their facility saw the bulk of their employees either involved in play, heading to shower off from their play, and returning from play.
The Beckett base camp was the kind of place where I felt free to drop in after speaking to one of their graphic designers and asking her for original artwork on the Dragon Ball Z character Vegeta, for a print graphics technician who was a fan.
Karen Gray had been a Beckett employee for seven years, working in the graphics department, one of a team whose focus was building Beckett’s magazines. Karen has mid-length corkscrew blonde hair and dresses perhaps five years younger than her age, in faded jeans with holes in the knee. The Beckett climate did nothing to discourage her from working a flexibile schedule, allowing her to work until school let out and then working not at all during the summer so she could spend time with her small kids.
After greeting me in the lobby, we walked back to her desk. Just a run of the mill small L-shaped structure placed against a wall, with a chest-high grey fabric partition to add a touch of privacy to the otherwise very open air environment. Karen sat on her Aeron chair with her feet tucked under her. A large Mac Pro and twenty-three inch Apple Cinema display topped her desk. Telling her that I was imprisoned to do graphics on a Windows NT, she stated, “I could never feel creative on a PC. I couldn’t imagine not using a Mac for what I do.”
Beckett’s culture was one that sought to maximize his employees’ definition of what it meant to be creative.

2.

Every year that Greg Anderson was Beckett’s advertising sales director, their base ad rates had to be cut, all while he maintained--even increased--their overall advertising revenue. The addition of list management services were a means to augment their marketing revenue.
For those unfamiliar, here’s how the list business works. Let’s say that I am a company that advertises via direct mail. When I promote outside of my house list, I do so to generate leads and develop new business—win new customers. Rather than compile a list from the phone book (for consumers) or an association directory (for business customers), I would rather have the names and addresses of proven buyers whose interests match the product I’m offering. I would then contact a list broker, who would do the research, scanning key words across a database of hundreds of thousands of available mailing lists. The mailing lists are cataloged by their data card which is not too different from an advertising rate card. Often appending the data card is a “usage report” which chronicles the companies who have either tested or successfully used the list in their direct mail lists. A successful use is termed a continuation, because the list’s use has continued beyond the initial test.
The companies or individuals who manage and market companies’ list to these brokers are called list managers. They receive a 10% commission on the list rental from the list owner. List rental is often considered a section of the larger “media” industry but focuses specifically on direct mail.
Greg Anderson resembled political consultant and analyst David Gergen, with more youth and pep. He drove a sports truck and enjoyed the free tickets that Beckett executives were given to Dallas Mavericks games.
Our director of Business Development worked on securing the Beckett account for more than two years. Every step of the way schmoozing the likes of Greg, his every-two month update was some version of “they’re getting closer to signing with us.” The biggest obstacle to Beckett turning over their customer records for selective list rental was Dr. Beckett himself.
Dr. James Beckett was the human intersection at which the boring science of the statistician and the cultural pastimes of American sports crossed.
James Beckett received his phD in statistics from SMU in 1975. During a stint with the faculty of Bowling Green in Kentucky, Beckett began compiling baseball card price guides and offered them for free upon request.
Then in 1984, he published the very first Baseball Card Monthly. This was the same year that rival Tuff Stuff saw its first publication. That one magazine began a media empire within the collector’s niche.
Some sixteen years later, Beckett Media, whose offices were located in Dallas, Texas, would be courted heavily by another Dallas company, AllMedia, to handle some of their supplemental advertising revenue efforts.
James Beckett was always referred to internally as “Dr. Beckett.” It was just as much a term of distinction as it was reverence. After all, how do you distinguish company owner from the other Jameses at a company as robust as Beckett?
The doctor was always adamant with his sales and marketing staff in regards to his position on the question of introducing his subscriber data into the list rental industry. “But, I hate junk mail,” he would emphatically tell his subordinates. One line from list brokers was that their work prevented junk mail, by ensuring that people only received offers that they’d shown a relative interest in already, based on substantiated purchasing or associative behavior. It was still a hard sell. But in the midst of distraction, he relented. Greg Anderson got what he wanted. AllMedia began handling their subscriber list, marketing it to the direct mail world.
Dr.Beckett’s distraction was his divorce. Beckett and his first wife had three children together. Internally, the legal and rhetorical aspects of Beckett’s marital dissolution made it a “nasty divorce.” Known as a man generous to his employees, Beckett’s closest managers observed his personal storm affect his focus.
Although grounded in sports, Beckett’s story is typical to publishing. Its quandaries are no less or different from other information publishers. And that is an important point. Beckett published information. For collectors. Essentially, Beckett began as a monthly encyclopedia for sports card enthusiasts. And the rise of the internet, primarily as a source of information, did to Beckett’s publications what it did to all other encyclopedias. It made them seem redundant and wasteful. Perhaps even obsolete. Technologists had simply created a more efficient way of making specialized information readily available to those interested.
At the time that Beckett was making the decision to make their mailing list available to other direct marketers, the mailing industry was experiencing a steep downward slide. It was 2001, and the new millennium recession was in full tilt. When 9-11 came that same year, so did threats and fears of anthrax being delivered via mail. Postal mail became a danger. Revenues at many list companies crashed. A fifteen million dollar company at its apex, AllMedia’s revenue was reduced by a couple million between 2001 and 2002.
When AllMedia began to manage the Beckett list, it was at a price higher than recommended. Research into similar lists revealed that the ideal initial price was about $90 per thousand on the high end and about $75 on the low. Dr. Beckett, still leery of this “seedy” list industry, insisted on a higher price, in part to repel junk mailers. So when the Beckett list was released to the list brokers, it carried a hefty base price of $120 per thousand. By the time the one year mark rolled around, sales had been almost non-existent. Greg Anderson had since departed. Our contact changed another two times. The second replacement agreed to let us drop the price. Too little, too late.
Not only was Beckett’s subscriber list shrinking, so was interest in its list. At the time that AllMedia took over the list management side, Beckett had six monthly publications. Represented was baseball, their first publication, football, basketball, Pokemon, Digimon and Dragon Ball Z. Digimon was dropped altogether shortly after the list went on the market. To explain Beckett’s plight in this new internet era, Greg Anderson stated, “Collectors don’t have to look to us anymore for pricing information on their collectibles. They can get the exact same information—for free—off of eBay.”
The eBay revolution spelled doom for Beckett’s core business. While there would still be a market—albeit smaller—for their publications, Beckett also understood that its readers were collectors. And collectors are resourceful. Resourcefulness leads them to get the information they need for free. Saving them money to buy more collectibles.
Shortly after his departure from Beckett, Greg Anderson secured a general management-type position for a company with a radically different offering. Specialty Optical Systems sold lighting accessories to specialized industries, mainly health care. Their bulbs were promoted to their trade customers primarily through line sheets, catalogs for high tech and purely utilitarian products. They could be categorized, in other words, as banal overhead items for essential industry. To reproduce an updated line sheet, Greg would end up working with a print broker recommended by us. In turn the print broker turned to me (I was doing freelance design at the time) to help resurrect the old line sheet, update the file appropriately and send it back to him for printing.
As a business culture, too, SOS could not have been more different from Beckett. Beckett’s employees, even managers, were permitted—even encouraged—to dress very casual. A polo shirt and jeans was considered borderline formal by everyday standards there. At SOS, Greg would be going without, not just the courtside NBA seats, but the jeans as well. His new business look were formal slacks and a button-down white shirt.

3.

The first five years of the twenty-first century spelled lots of change for James Beckett. At the beginning, his company saw potential fatal threats from emerging technology. After much internal pressure, he finally reversed positions on his company’s involvement in marketing its lists. He went through a nasty divorce. And, in a move that by that point probably seemed inevitable given the previous events, Dr. James Beckett sold the company he founded. In April of 2006, Beckett’s buyer was Apprise Media, a private equity firm focused on niche media and information company investments. Rather than kill Beckett Publications, they’ve spent the last few years re-vamping it. Even their web site, as of this publication, is in beta. Their new slogan is Collecting Reinvented. It is a slogan that, among other things, seems to signal that the eBay revolution has been acknowledged, if not surrendered to, and a reinvention for survival is necessary.
That doesn’t mean that Beckett Media, under new ownership, has completely abandoned publications. You’ll see on their web store now a variety of magazines, some commemorative and others trendy and emerging. Just as Dragon Ball Z was all the rage in 2001, Beckett is now paying homage to the world of mixed martial arts and online gamers. Their web site includes a real-time, updating collectibles pricer. Turns out the timing of their old monthly pricing guides didn’t provide the instant gratification desired by a generation now accustomed to immediate access to information.
As for Dr. Beckett, a couple years after selling his business, his personal life took another turn. This time, he married the ex-wife of Mark Thatcher, son of the former British prime minister Margaret Thatcher. Beckett’s new wife is a Dallas native, an automobile “million-heiress” whose father was a prominent auto dealer in the area. Her first marriage to Thatcher was, shall we say, full of excitement—and not all of the good variety.
Mark Thatcher’s biography is a colorful one. A controversial one. While true that much of the scrutiny he endured was the result of being the only son of the British PM, his lifestyle choices, hobbies and political mix-ups caused him much notoriety and his family much embarrassment. Legal trouble seemed a regular occurrence. And they weren’t contained to one geographic area. Mark’s brushes with the law literally took place all over the world.
In South Africa his firm was investigated for running a loan shark operation. In the U.S. he was accused of tax evasion. In Texas, a case or racketeering was settled out of court. He would be arrested in Africa for breaking laws associated with his alleged part in an attempted coup in Equatorial Guinea.
In 2005, Mark would be divorced by wife Diane Burgdorf, who would permanently return to Dallas with their two children.
Mark Thatcher’s subsequent wife was a European woman with whom he’d has an affair while married to Diane.
In 2008, Diane would remarry—a man who would be boring by comparison: statistician and sports collectible enthusiast James Beckett.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

New Birth

Mon, 4 Jan 2010 08:53:32 -0500

An Emerging Web Site  Re-invents the Testimonial

For those unfamiliar, Redeemer Presbyterian Church is an emerging church in New York City. Its pastor, Tim Keller, is currently on the hot list for speaking engagements. His work and words have become heroic to those who join themselves to different angles, whether reformed theology, missional church planting, or using sophisticated technology in spreading the message.

Redeemer’s mission statement is “Seeking to renew the city socially, spiritually, and culturally.” At first glance to someone accustomed to the church tagline formula, something about their statement seems out of order.

What breaks from the traditional is the order of how they seek to renew the city (of New York). One would think a church would emphasize “spiritually” above all else, not “socially.” But the way they’ve order the how is actually quite astute and shows just how tuned in they are to both their calling and their climate.

Redeemer is among (if not leading) a growing movement of Christian churches who believe that the Gospel of Jesus is lived out within the context of community. In other words, no community, no communion. Makes sense. Except that in practice, the church in America has been known more for disconnect (with the community at large).

Redeemer’s commitment to renew the city socially first and foremost promises connection. As in, the church seeks to connect with the community in which it exists. This is far different from how most churches are associated.

Where this is fleshed out for Redeemer is the use of this web site: www.newbirthportraits.com which showcases real stories of real people and how the Gospel has affected their lives.

The New Birth Portrait Series was created to explore and further articulate the meaning of (Jesus') words through the lives of "New Yorkers." Each video portrait acts as a window into the New Birth experience.

One of the most compelling videos is that of heel-clicking Alan Kleinberg, photographer, music video and film producer. He’s a New Yorker with a long history in show business and the video that features him gives you a peek into his experiences in the industry. You get to look over his shoulder as he flips through a memory book of candid photos of old entertainment icons. You even learn that Alan, as a videographer, won an MTV video music award (or Moon Man) in the 80s. As a distinct “New York” voice, you also hear him recount his personal tragedy which included bouts of emptiness and depression and the struggles of being a widower. All the while, Alan’s connection to the show biz community continued to dominate his existence. That is until, as he recounts, “the idolization started to fade.” Thus laying the ground work for his New Birth and involvement with Redeemer, which recently reached the 20-year mark.

Then there’s architect Susan Lee, who compares herself to the rest of the family--made up of doctors, finance and business consultants--as the “reckless one.” A tough and typical native New Yorker, she takes the viewer back four years when, as a successful architect, she began to suffer three distinct setbacks (or as she later calls them: tear-downs). It began with the termination of a long-term and serious personal relationship. The next tear-down was being diagnosed with breast cancer, followed by being laid off from her job. Susan compares her experiences to being pruned--or major surgery of the heart. Of course the happy ending includes marriage, a child, and her involvement with Redeemer, not just in the social-spiritual aspects, but also her hand in helping design their new building.

These and the other videos are NOT your typical church videos which usually come with audio that sounds like a script being read from a cue card in Bible Belt drawl to boot. Surprisingly visual, artsy and well-polished, the videos, and their sincere and unpretentious subjects, provoke thoughtfulness and make a case for what Redeemer is trying to lay out. Which is, oddly enough, very close to their mission statement of “seeking to renew the city socially, spiritually and culturally.”

By contrast it appears that most churches--particularly those in the aforementioned Bible Belt--ignore the social and cultural aspects of the community to which they’ve been called, offering up instead a compromise. Often their attempts at cutting-edge result in a proud and overly scripted production. But what if more churches followed Redeemer’s lead? Which seems to be re-inventing not only the testimonial, but what it means to be a place of true and organic--not feigned or forced--relevance in the culture.

© 2010 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Coming of Age

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 08:48:31 -0500

Why 23 is the New Age for  the Responsible Adult

By the time the average American turns the age of 23, one of two scenarios is usually true. The first scenario is one where this American has just finished earning a bachelor’s degree from an accredited institution of higher learning and is beginning her tenure at a new workplace. The second typical scenario in one where a 23-year old is beginning graduate studies and continues to maintain his part-time and/or restaurant server position. In either scenario, it is very plausible that these 23-year olds have their own place of residence. That’s not to say they do not share a place of residence (with roommates), but they no longer live with their parents.

There are plenty of situations that lie outside of these scenarios, where either no formal higher education takes place or an interruption in the academic experience delays this reality. But the aforementioned scenarios best represent the norm for the American 23-year old with access to educational opportunities and a relatively stable family situation.

Statistics as a whole (which as part of the metrics include in the whole those with extraordinarily difficult circumstances) show these “norms” I propose as not representing the majority. At best a plurality. But I think the average American would agree that these scenarios are typical, not just ideal.

Whether directly linked to educational accomplishment and career commencement or not, most people acknowledge--though often not verbally--that in this era 23 is the age in which you’re assumed to be responsible, and accountable. Where something is “expected” of you. Regardless of your recreational aversions at this age, you’re expected to act, talk and live like a normal adult.

The two scenarios I paint at the beginning are typical and usually coincide with an American’s 23rd year of life.

As to what 23-year olds think about this opinion, I turn to several of the internet’s public postings where 23-year olds have mused about where they are in life in relation to their age.

Now, at the ripe old age of 23, I sometimes wonder if there's something missing in my life.

Another post from the same web site:

When I was 23, I was struggling with the end of college. Trying to finish. Hoping I could finish. Wishing I hadn't screwed up so much 3 years earlier.

I did it.

When I was 23, I had hopes and dreams of being a famous DJ. Syndicated radio was what I wanted to be in. I wanted my name to be known everywhere. "The female Howard Stern" was what my mom would joke about. She wanted me to be a success.

I didn't do it.

When I was 23, I had a major mental breakdown. My life was upside down and turned around. It seemed like my college degree meant nothing. Nothing. I couldn't find a job I liked and I was living at home with my mother.

I got through it.

Another, that sums it up well:

We are all, every last one of us, doctors, lawyers, writers of bestsellers, passionate well-paid artists, "somebody" by the age of 23, and if we don't turn out that way, well, we just didn't want it enough, did we?

The prior arguments deal, of course, with education and career. But among both the educated and under-educated a strong number of 23-year olds already commence with marriage, even parenting.

Lynsee, a 23-year-old teacher in Minneapolis, is expecting her first child any day now.

Despite the influence of education and career paths on our culture, 23 is a number that hasn’t yet made its way into the list of milestone ages for Americans.

You can vote by the time you’re 18, drop out of school (and in some cases become emancipated) at 16, and you can drink at 21. Depending on which state you live in, you can legally drive a car by yourself at 16, 17 or 18. You can legally sign a contract (and be bound to it) at 18. You qualify for a subscription to AARP’s Modern Maturity magazine at 50. You can rent a car at age 25. Your car insurance rates go down at age 35. At 55, you qualify for Senior Citizen’s Day at the supermarket. All that said, is 23 the most overlooked important milestone for the American?

2.

But 23 is not the age of maturity and responsibility for everybody or for all-time. Its basis is both contextual and time-sensitive. And the basis for American culture, which some point to as the Judeo-Christian heritage, has a whole set of different rules.

The Bar and Bat Mitzvah ceremonies that usher Jewish boys and girls into the “age of maturity” occur at ages 13 and 12, respectively. And has for thousands of years. The ancient tradition of the coming of age is still celebrated this way by modern practitioners of Judaism.

According to this tradition, when males reach 13 they become entirely responsible for following Jewish law. Prior to this age, it is the parents who hold this responsibility on their boys’ behalf.

These early teen years, for both genders, also coincides with the children entering puberty. It was not uncommon for male and female Jews at these ages to marry, since their own sexual development gave them physically what they needed for such a union. But the Bar and Bat Mitzvahs were not created directly as a certification for marriage, but were rather directly linked to performing Jewish laws and customs.

If there is a context for 13 being the Jewish male’s number for his “coming of age “ one is the puberty factor. The other may be general life expectancy. Among some Jews, a man who has reached the age of 83 will customarily celebrate a second bar mitzvah, under the logic that a "normal" lifespan is 70 years, so that an 83-year-old can be considered 13 in a second lifetime. This practice has become increasingly common.

The culture of ancient Israel was one of much earlier social development of its children. Obviously, nature pushed females to be ready for marriage and family in the early teen years, hence the Bat Mitzvah occurring in the 12th year.

By the time that Jewish boys turned 13, they were ready to make big decisions about the rest of their life. Surprisingly many had several options. One was to continue to labor with the family in the agriculture business or learn the trade of the father, when agriculture wasn’t the primary bread-winning activity of the family. The other was to train to become a rabbi, which included memorizing the Talmud and involved several rigorous religious activities and ceremonies. These activities make modern-day seminary training look like child’s play.

And it all commenced at 13.

3.

Coming of age is a rite of passage in many cultures. Since 1948, people in Japan who will have their 20th birthday during a given year celebrate the Coming of Age (also called the age of majority) on the second Monday in January. The Confucian coming-of-age ceremony in Korea is called Gwallye and is celebrated for both genders between the ages of 15 and 20. Historically, the Chinese coming of age ceremony has been the Guan Li for men and the Ji Li for women. The age is usually 20. During the feudal period in Vietnam, the age of maturity was reached at 15. It is slightly older in modern times. In South Africa, traditionally a person's 21st birthday is considered their welcome into adulthood. The old North American tradition of throwing girls a “Sweet 16” party was at first a celebration of their virginity (no doubt in a more puritanical age) but is now a more of a debutant party.

4.

In the American culture, 23 hasn’t always been the age. Currently revered milestones, including some of the aforementioned such as reach the voting age and drinking age, are evidence of this. America hasn’t always been such an “educated” society, nor has it emphasized advanced education as a necessary component of survival and growth. Turn of the 20th century dominants, such as Henry Ford’s assembly line, made some Americans believe that education was more optional and perhaps even a luxury. You could be a legitimate, tax-paying, hard-working American by 18. And although earlier laws prohibited voting by anyone under 21, it only made sense that a large share of the American workforce be allowed to participate in the elective process. Even though it wasn’t until 1970, at least one and a half generations after the boom of the assembly line factory, that 18-year olds won their suffrage rights. (Which goes to show how long it takes for policy to catch up to what is long practiced in our country.)

During the Civil War, a law passed in reaction to the New York Draft riots of 1863, gave the government authority to draft men between the ages of 18 and 35. That law abided until its abolishment by President Nixon more than a hundred years later. Other and earlier civilizations never winced to lower their own military draft-able age to early teen, making the old American draft law seem more reasonable by comparison.

In fact, in the nineteenth century the idea of an 18-year old American male being employed (whether self- or otherwise), married and with child was not far-fetched. Sadly there are some pockets in America today that are still like that, where education and advancement lose out to superstition and tradition, even when those traditions are backward ones, like teens marrying and making babies before they lose their ripeness or youthful appeal.

In the late 1980’s most states changed their drinking laws to prohibit those under 21 from buying alcohol. Prior to that, the same states allowed 17- or 18-year olds to consume. This change was ushered in under the supposition that fewer legal imbibers (and older, more mature ones at that) would decrease the amount of violence and number of accidents related to alcohol use. It seemed to be a MADD (mothers against drunk driving) law. That may have been the primary cultural influence at the time. But in the 1980’s there was a slow turn taking place. Education and career advancement (as opposed to working third shift down at the cotton plant) started gaining prominence. Moving out of your parents’ house was taking place later. And the point at which people looked at you as mature, established, and responsible was when that was accomplished. Which was about 23.

5.

Doogie Hauser and Tiger Woods. There are always the exceptions. Most people remember Neil Patrick Harris’ earlier work in prime time network television. Doogie Hauser was a 16-year old physician who saved lives and performed miraculous surgeries. The credit-intro to the program showed the scrap-book progression of Doogie as he aced the SAT’s at age 4, started college at age 6 and finished medical school at age 13. By the time the viewer sees Doogie, he’s a seasoned doctor at the ripe age of 16. He is, in relation to what is expected of someone at his age, a phenom.

Congruently, no neophyte golfer in 1997 is supposed to win the PGA Masters tournament, whipping a couple dozen middle-aged competitors, some of whom also happened to be in their prime. But Tiger Woods did that at age 21. And since his entrance into the professional golf circuit, he’s become the most decorated golf competitor in the modern era. Even though he’s currently in his thirties, and a decade before most lifelong golfers hit their prime, he seems to be an old pro. The standard. In other words, he’s a phenom.

Phenoms more than exceed the expectations for their age group. Doogie is a fictional example and Tiger is an inspirational, real life example. Some phenoms are less than exemplary. Mike Tyson became boxing’s heavyweight champion at age 20 and was the most dominant competitor in that weight class (if not the entire sport) for almost a decade. But his hard fall from the heights of success is as conspicuous as his meteoric rise as a phenom.

Except for in unique situations, phenoms don’t have to be 23 (or whatever the age of maturity for their fields) to have the adult and responsibility expectations placed on them.

6.

I wrote earlier that the supposed standard of American young people is to graduate from college and enter the workforce or delay entrance into profession because of advanced education pursuance. But some statistics, which I stated before are skewed because of inclusion of poor or displaced populations, indicate that less than 25% of Americans obtain a college degree.

When I was 21, I was interning at an architectural firm where I spent a summer building and installing custom millwork. One of the journeymen I worked with stated that he wished he’d known back then what he knew now. He was in his early 40’s. Two decades earlier when faced with a choice between further education or learning a trade, an experienced tradesman earned 85% of what the average college graduate (who obviously chose a different career path) took home. But on this day, the number had shrunk to 35%. Meaning that the average college graduate had a salary that exceeded that of experienced journeymen by almost three to one. Master tradesmen fare only slightly better.

But what about the future? There is a drastic ratio of difference in earnings between college graduates in their (often white collar) fields of choice and journeymen in their given trades. Between our shores, the era of the assembly line factory is dwindling. But even now, educational institutions which are the choice of the white collar, 3-1 ratio Americans are failing to keep up with the rapid change of the new industry. In many cases teenagers still in high school are equally or more qualified to read and write the language of the digital and social media age.

More and more, older executives are being taught by “uneducated” and “inexperienced” people who’ve yet to come of age. But that coming of age is by a current standard that is quickly going out of date.

By contrast with today’s standard of 23, ancient Israel’s custom--still practiced today--of a 13-year old’s coming of age seems early. But that gap of ten years reflects a difference in priority, culture, and the period-sensitive industrial contexts of the two traditions. Loosely-woven, history goes from agriculture to industry to digital. With it, at least in western civilization, the standards for both workforce entrance and rites of passage seem sharply connected. This would seem to indicate that society’s view of maturity, and the rights that come with it, is staged alongside contribution.

For the past few decades in our culture, a person is deemed to begin their contributing phase once they’ve been inducted into the workplace, often following a period of related, formal learning.

Even this is subject to change. Probably in my lifetime. We’re still living the vestiges of the industrial revolution age. As in the earlier example, policy often follows at an insanely slow pace. Not far behind that pace is society’s.

Society was slow in responding to the value of an educationally propelled contribution in the latter part of the 20th century, rewarding it only slightly more than traditional manual labor and craft. By the time of the 3-1 comparative earnings ratio, it may have been too late. The digital age has outpaced the industrial one in displacing the previous contribution commencement particulars. There are still other factors however. Getting the voting and drinking ages in sync with the new contribution entrance and then coordinating them with other more cultural rites of passage still may not be worked out until we’re well in to the next age. Just in time for the ushering in of the next. A coming of age all its own.

© 2009 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Book Review

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 08:45:59 -0500

Leader of the Pack - a Book Inspired  by a Sports Hero

It started out as a typical returned phone call that I made in 2007. From time to time, either my boss or I receive a phone call from a staff member inquiring about publishing. A lot of staff members get an idea for a book. Many of those ideas are for devotionals. What my boss or I have to tell our fellow staff members (who, with an organization that is both international and 26,000 strong, could come from anywhere in the country or world) is that while our division is the publisher of the organization’s core recruiting and educational materials, we don’t publish new material. We’re a backlist only publisher but distributor of many more things. But most staff members don’t have a distribution problem with their book idea. They have a publishing problem. Specifically, a lack of resources for self-publishing.

Over at least two phone conversations with Stephanie Zonars, the latest staff member with a serious book idea, I had to explain this along with the pitfalls of traditional publishing in the 21st century. Most staff members either shrink away from their book idea at this point or they find a donor and go raise the money for its production. Some are lucky enough to find a publisher. At that point, Stephanie decided to take the bull by the horns and self-publish her book idea.   Of course my company agreed to distribution. That wasn’t even an issue, especially when you consider that with most staff member titles, we distribute on consignment. Meaning that we warehouse a pre-determined number of copies at no risk to us. The author (or self-publisher) gets paid a royalty after revenue is collected.  The book was titled Timeout: Moments with God for Winning in Life. It was a basketball devotional. Very narrow niche in an otherwise very broad category. The devotional is, after all, the top-selling category in most re-selling establishments, Wal-Mart included. Of course, Wal-Mart was not even a consideration with the marketing of Timeout. After all, designing a self-published title for the re-seller market for the first run is often risky and without reward for said risk. Especially since our experiments into the mass merchandise re-seller market yielded 6% sell-through at best. So 94% returns were par for the course. At some point during the results phase of this experiment, we realized that the mass market was not the place for our typical publications, backlist or new. The buyers for these outlets bought almost without hesitation. But, they also returned without hesitation, often rendering un-resalable damages. For a large publishing house two opposite things are true. First, their sell-through would be a bit higher: 35-50% is considered good. Secondly, an imperfect sell-through marked by higher-than-average returns would not financially cripple a publisher who is set up to do business in just this way. Most larger, more established publishing houses are somewhat padded against a market’s rough reaction to a book placement. If Wal-Mart customers find your title undesirable, you hope for a better win at Barnes and Noble and the airport gift stores owned by Paradies.

In fact, most large publishers are nearly guaranteed so much placement that one of the outlets or chains are sure to make mass distribution slightly more worthwhile. Smaller, more niche publishers have no such luxuries. In fact one of our placements in 2005 was within the Dallas-Fort Worth area and even supported by an author signing and local television news appearance. The site of the author signing sold less than 50 books. The other locations at which the title(s) received placement sold fewer than 5 copies at each, or roughly 15-20% of what was placed. The best sell-through I ever experienced with a small, niche publisher in the mass arena was 33%, and at the time, it seemed dismal. But that was primarily because the publisher didn’t accept returns from the re-sellers in the niche market (educational supplies). And the contrast enhanced the perception of failure. 
II.

In Stephanie Zonars’ case, she understood the market for her book. She knew the typical buyer. She was the typical buyer. Upon authoring her first book, Stephanie was both a certified life coach (concentrating in the area of athletics and sport) and a full-time staff member with Athletes in Action. So a basketball devotional was by no means a far-fetched idea. It was what she knew. Perhaps what she knew best. Unlike most staff members who delve into the world of book authoring and publishing, she showed great acumen for grasping the intricacies of a painfully complex and changing world—publishing. Since her only real choice for Timeout was to self-publish, she quickly found ways to economically produce the book. But that still left a gap, which was the marketing side of self-publishing. “The reality that whether you self-publish or not, you as the author are responsible for marketing the book,” Stephanie shares. “Before I understood the industry, I thought that the publishing companies did this for the author, and with big-time authors they do. But the majority of authors, regardless of the size of the publisher, will be expected to market the book themselves.”   Considering it was laid out and designed for a nominal fee by a co-worker, Stephanie’s book made quite a visual impression coming off the press. Although twin-loop bound, the quality of the paper and cover stock, not to mention clean layout, made for a handy devotional journal. The comps of the cover design were emailed to the various members of her project consulting team with the conspicuous words: “Foreword by Tony Dungy.” The final edition, it turned out would not feature a foreword by Tony Dungy (which was mere combination of humor and wishful thinking placed on the cover for the amusement of those she consulted with). Instead, the foreword was penned by Sue Ramsey, head coach of Ashland University and NCAA Division II legislative chair. Not to mention a friend of Stephanie Zonars.   Timeout was released around the time of the NCAA Women’s final four. Stephanie, who was a participant in a couple of on-site festivities centered around the Final Four weekend, printed up and distributed post cards and flyers at the event promoting her new basketball devotional.  The devotional did not make any best-seller lists, although if there had been a best-seller list based on a basketball devotional category, Timeout would have done quote well on that list. But more importantly, Stephanie’s first (self-) published book was her inauguration into the world of book publishing. She didn’t wait too much longer to plan, write and have her second book idea published—this time by a publishing house.

III.

Her latest book, Leader of the Pack: the Legacy of Legendary Coach Kay Yow, was published in the summer of 2009 by a niche publishing house (in this case Cross Training Publishing, a publisher of sports-related themes). Her main reason for writing this book was the impact of the subject on her life and career.  “Coach Yow inspired me with her wisdom on many occasions. It was always simple, yet incredibly profound,” recalls Stephanie.

Kay Yow was born on March 14, 1942 in Gibsonville, NC. Yow spent 38 years as a collegiate head coach (34 years at North Carolina State and was one of only six Division I head women’s basketball coaches to reach 700 victories. The coach guided NCSU to 20 NCAA Tournaments, 11 Sweet Sixteen appearances, and one trip to the Elite Eight and Final Four. As if all that weren’t enough on the resume, Kay Yow also coached the USA Olympic team to gold in 1988. She successfully fought cancer on two separate occasions.

For her valiant personal struggle with cancer she was awarded the inaugural Jimmy V ESPY for Perseverance at the 2007 ESPY Awards. The Jimmy V award is named for Jim Valvano, the former NC State Men’s Basketball coach who was a popular color commentator for ESPN, covering NCAA basketball, when doctors discovered he had massive cancerous tumors. The cancer would take his life in 1993. But not before giving a moving, emotion-filled speech to a large auditorium- and television-audience in March of that same year. “Jimmy V” was being honored with the first Arthur Ashe Courage and Humanitarian ESPY award. (Ashe was a highly credentialed tennis player, African-American, and had contracted the AIDS virus from heart surgery he had undergone in the early 1980’s. The exemplary manner in which the noble Ashe had lived—and later, died—with the dreaded disease moved ESPN to create a special achievement award in his honor. Ashe passed away from complications caused by AIDS in 1993.) Before succumbing to her own cancer, Yow had been inducted as a member of the Naismith Hall of Fame and the Women’s Basketball Hall of Fame, among many others. Because of her affliction, she developed the Kay Yow/WBCA Cancer Fund® in 2007 which has raised nearly $2 million since its inception. Coach Yow passed away on January 24, 2009 after facing her third bout with breast cancer. Her memorial service, attended by over 1,400 coaches, colleagues, friends and fans, was broadcast on live television in Raleigh on January 30, 2009.

Leader of the Pack was released the same year as Yow’s death, well-timed mainly because of all the preparation that went into writing the book before her demise was imminent. Stephanie recalls: “It was May 2007 while we were sitting at Bob Evans for breakfast when I asked her a question I had pondered many times, ‘Coach Yow, when are you going to write a book?’ Like thousands of others, my life had been touched and inspired by this remarkable woman. I loved her genuine nature and humility, but what amazed me the most was her wisdom—always simple, yet so profound and powerful. I just couldn’t imagine her legacy not being left in written form.”

It’s worth noting that in her correspondence with me, Stephanie, even off the record, never refers to the deceased coach as Yow or Kay, but always as Coach Yow. “I felt strongly that the wisdom she shared with her players for over 30 years needed to be written down for others as a source of inspiration and hope.” Hence, the book idea.

Unlike her previous book idea which was a devotional, for this Stephanie turned not only to her own interaction with Coach Yow, but the recollections of others, to provide the meat and bones of the book’s text. “I had come across a book of stories written by the players of Loyola lacrosse coach, Diane Geppi-Aikens, who died from brain cancer. This spawned the idea for former Wolfpack players to pen stories highlighting the life lessons they learned from Coach Yow.”

The book is no doubt meant to be a tribute to the life of Coach Yow, but from a marketing standpoint, I asked Stephanie if she would classify her book as more of a collectible (as opposed to a literary exercise). She answered that to some, particularly NC State women’s basketball family and their fans, the book is a collectible. Many have told her how they treasure it as a keepsake of what Coach Yow meant to them. Yow had a deep, abiding faith. “She believed that God’s plan was the best one for her, even if it included a lot of pain and what many would call a premature death,” recalled Zonars. “She trusted Him even though she didn’t understand the plan. And this gave her peace and allowed her to walk through the adversity with a positive attitude that impacted thousands of people.” Stephanie successfully promoted her second published work with interviews, events, a web site (www.coachyowleaderofthepack.com) and a Wordpress blog which invites affected persons to share their Coach Yow story with the rest.

IV.

As to whether or not Stephanie Zonars has any future plans for another book, she says: “I think I have one more book in me.” She sends out a short, motivational email called Wisdom for the Busy Coach to sports leaders and is thinking of compiling all of those emails into a motivational book for coaches.

© 2009 WILLIAM GRAHAM

Places: Lexington, North Carolina

Mon, 7 Dec 2009 22:56:27 -0500

A town. And it’s story of silver,  barbecue, and Bob Timberlake.

My claim to fame, if you can call it that, is that I am from Lexington, NC. Though inauspicious in appearance, it is undisputed in at least one area. Barbecue. Held since 1984, the city’s annual barbecue festival is always rated by food experts as one of the nation’s top 10 food festivals every year and draws a crowd several times larger than its population of nineteen thousand.

Barbecue is uniquely American. Some would say uniquely southern. (Sorry, St. Louis). In Lexington, where the number of currently open barbecue restaurants is one for every thousand residents (a disproportionately high number in case the statistic eluded you), the very first one opened less than twenty years after the turn of the twentieth century. It was a tent set up in the middle of town by a man named Sid Weaver.

Little is recorded about the man Sid Weaver except that shortly after his inaugural efforts he joined with another man named Jesse Swicegood, who had also opened a stand. The two would multiply their barbecue skill by training other barbecue chefs, or pit masters. One of their trainees, Warner Stamey would go on to found one of the aforementioned restaurants of twenty.

Both the Stamey and Swicegood names are prominent in Lexington. Stamey for the long-standing and popular service of pork barbecue and Swicegood for another reason altogether. Swicegood is a name as common in Lexington as Smith is everywhere else. Whether or not these are descended from this barbecue pioneer is not proven. But I can say that I’ve never lived in a town of so many Swicegoods since.

What began in 1919 has blossomed into one of the few things that have actually lasted in the town called Lexington. To give this statement a proper context, a more formal history lesson is in order.

Various sources agree that the Lexington area--in Davidson County, the visual center of the state—was partly settled by white men one year prior to the revolution. By the time it was formally named--its namesake the town also called Lexington in colonial Massachusetts--and settled the year was 1828. Geologists say that ten years later, the country’s first silver mine was opened in the county. Nearby Rowan County as well as the Charlotte area were both known for their gold mines.

After you fast forward to the founding of barbecue in the city, also emerging were industries like textile and furniture. In fact, nearby cities like Thomasville and High Point are furniture meccas in their own right. The latter city’s downtown center boasts a large wooden chair, a monument to the area’s most prominent industry and even broader contribution.

But in the late 1990’s Lexington began to get the short end of the manufacturing stick. Both textile and furniture manufacturing plants, and the jobs that went with them, closed up as part of a larger national trend—the export of jobs overseas. Ever cheaper labor persuaded cost-conscious, not to mention profit-conscious, companies to move out. While the cost of living—and producing—in Lexington was low, their low couldn’t compete with that of Asia or Mexico.

The early part of that decade saw Lexington cut ribbon on its first Wal-Mart, this one located off Interstate 85. Also known as “New 85” since the old Interstate 85 is Lexington’s otherwise unimpressive 4-lane stretch of the artery that runs the length from Richmond, Virginia to Montgomery, Alabama. The Wal-Mart did nothing to help the already ailing uptown, where once thriving shops were buckling under in a new era of big box stores and supermarkets. And suburban sprawl. Too far from Charlotte to be considered a suburb of the state’s largest city, Lexington was perhaps too culturally disconnected from closer by Winston-Salem to benefit from the trendier, more sophisticated city’s business upsides.

From the opening of Wal-Mart leading to the decay of its downtown to the export of leading industry jobs, Lexington has fought for its financial survival. It has also fought to maintain, if not rediscover, its identity. With nothing remarkable from a geographic or historical standpoint, Lexington boasts only a few celebrities. There’s world-famous artist Bob Timberlake, a realist painter well into his seventies with two impressive area galleries. Add to that his art resume that spans decades and hundreds of fine oil paintings. His effort in recent years is an attempt to revitalize the furniture industry in Lexington. In the same decade as the departure of more mundane furniture brands as Bassett and Stanley, Bob Timberlake embarked on a designer furniture line that showcased a personality- and emotion-driven aesthetic.

Bob Timerberlake’s foray into furniture design began in 1990 with a partnership with established furniture manufacturer Lexington Home Brands, which has had its share of elastic (some would say expendable) employment. When I was a kid in Lexington, I remember occasionally patronizing one of the then 23 barbecue restaurants, Whitley’s, where my parents would point out the then 50-something Timberlake, usually dining alone at a nearby booth. For an accomplished artist, whose works and acclaim loomed beyond his hometown, Timberlake hadn’t the air or demeanor of a famous person. In fact, his personality seemed much like his paintings. Realistic. Real.

My parents once bought for me, as an adult, one of Bob’s reproduced prints. It was a wintry landscape covered in snow. A barn, a farmhouse, and a weather vane that seemed to evoke déjà vu because it was a place I used to pass by every weekday on my way to Churchland Elementary. Painting the quaint and rural scenery of Lexington is a Timberlake staple. In a town absent anything “geographically remarkable” Bob’s visual renderings record a setting of ideals. His strokes turn rural into tranquil. Old into antique.

Outside of Bob Timberlake, famous Lexingtonians fade. Montgomery County, Maryland police Chief Moose gained a national audience for his press conference announcements in which he bantered with the correspondence of the DC sniper that terrorized the mid-Atlantic states in late 2002. Born in New York City, his parents moved to Lexington when Moose was a small child where he lived and attended school until he left for college.

Perhaps its most famous and recognized celebrity is Lexington’s barbecue. It would be an amateur mistake of culinary proportions to generalize it as simply “Carolina style.” Especially when you consider that within North Carolina there are two factions of barbecue preparation. Experts and barbecue historians agree on one identifying characteristic at least. Barbecue of the Eastern North Carolina variety is known for cooking the whole pig whereas it Western counterpart, of which Lexington sides, roasts only the pork shoulder. There is some talk of the sauce, or “dip” as it is referred to in towns like Lexington, being markedly different from one region to the next. (The dip is thin, totally unlike the syrupy consistency of a St. Louis or Kansas City sauce.) Some claim a variation in sweetness, the vinegar to sugar or ketchup ratio between the two styles. But the differences are at best inconsistent.

The dip is not uniform across all of Lexington’s establishments. But Lexington is a highly “barbecue literate” town, with its people able to give you the run down of pork servings such as chopped, coarse, sliced, minced, and their renowned “outer brown.” At Lexington’s foremost ‘cue establishment, referred to locally as #1, patrons order their pork much in the same way a lumber broker might specify wood by its grade, thickness and number of knots. At #1, where the restaurant’s been serving up barbecue since 1962, a sea of commercial grade pork shoulders rest over burning hickory coals which enter the oven from the outside of the pit. Usually two pit masters handle long shovels to take the flaming hickory from the fireplace and place it directly under the meat. The pork sits about 18-24 inches above the coals. As is the case with Lexington, and other Western North Carolina style establishments, they only cook the pork shoulder. No whole pigs and no hams. For variety, and because of its popularity, you will see approximately one turkey breast for every dozen pork shoulders in the pit.

It’s been this way at #1 for forty-seven years, when founder Wayne Monk first opened Lexington Barbecue. Today his son Rick runs the operations and gets an assist from Nathan, the founder’s grandson, who has picked up the tradition. Although in his early twenties, Nathan is well-versed in the family’s method for cooking pork and can recite by heart the recipe for the “dip.”

It seems that as industry comes and goes, Lexington’s staple of barbecue remains as strong and exciting as its 1919 beginnings. Lexington and its style of barbecue has been showcased on the Travel Channel and Food Network multiple times. A 16-year old Taylor Swift performed at the Lexington Barbecue Festival in 2006. Events like the festival are serving to renew the once fading uptown. And this isn’t a new thing. Even prior to the inaugural Barbecue Festival in the early 80’s, Wayne Monk flew on Air Force One to deliver his Lexington Barbecue to President Reagan’s white house.

Monk’s restaurant offers up, in addition to in house dining, a curb service that is quite popular. And customers can walk in or order from the curb take-home quarts of chopped pork and the famous “red slaw,” which is a tangy ketchup-based and pepper-siced slaw. They’ll even sell you a pack of buns with which to make your own sandwiches at home. People do literally travel hundreds of miles for a supply of ‘cue for their freezer.

As to their adherence to technology in the digital age, a few of the bbq restaurants in Lexington have a web site. But #1, as of this writing, still does not. To hear Wayne Monk tell it, this is by design. “We’re still in the past and I like that. That’s the way I want to live my life. I’m still back in the 50s and 60s and I really don’t wanna change.”

For those who want to set or follow new trends, Lexington is probably not the place to do so. The geography and culture are not conducive to the trendy. It’s difficult to see Lexington as anything beyond its current population of nineteen thousand. For industries that have come and gone, textile and silver mainly--furniture to a lesser degree--, barbecue seems to be the mainstay. The claim to fame. For that, Lexington garners coverage and praise in food magazines and from serious culinary gurus. In fact, international cooking icon (and author of many best-selling books on food) Craig Claiborne once including Lexington style barbecue on the menu of the Williamsburg Economic Summit, where the world’s leaders tasted food considered uniquely American.

Indeed the history, the essence of Lexington, its barbecue, can be experienced first hand by taste buds on a large scale once per year, in late October, when crowds in excess of 125,000 descend on its main street, where eight blocks are sectioned for the festival. Tens of thousands of pounds of pig are roasted and served at the Saturday event. Civic and non-profit organizations get involved too, raising funds through parking or concessions.

Perhaps no other city in America owes more of its heritage and vitality to the pig. A decade and a half after Wal-Mart crushed its uptown, the national attention Lexington has gained from its barbecue has created a perpetual revitalization. Since 2003, uptown has featured a “Pigs in the City” exhibit. Lining the streets are life-size fiberglass pigs, each with a different theme, painted and decorated to portray the title and business that they represent.

Memphis is also known for its barbecue, but has a greater claim to fame with its blues and Graceland. Both Kansas City and Texas have their own ‘cue, but perhaps are better known for their grain fed beef and steaks. But Lexington and its population of less than twenty thousand have more at stake in their twenty barbecue restaurants than the other locales ever will. Since 1919, it’s the only consistently stable industry they’ve had. And twenty-six years after the inaugural barbecue festival it only seems to be improving.

© 2009 WILLIAM GRAHAM