Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 2

Delight your customers

It doesn’t take much for a business to delight its customers, and whenever it does, it ensures that customers remember that business for a long time.

Three examples from our recent trip to Canada:

The restroom in one of the restaurants had eight small, single-occupancy stalls. In the center of the room is a large bathtub with hoses hanging from the ceiling, serving as sources of water for washing your hands. I found myself standing with four other people around a communal bathtub, washing our hands, and engaged in conversation.

A great way to promote conversation and community in a restroom. 

I actually chatted with a man who only spoke French. The oddity of the bathtub somehow seemed to pierce the language barrier. 

It was a delightful surprise that I will likely never forget. 

While traveling by scenic train up the St. Lawrence River, our train went through a long, dark tunnel. As it entered, a disco ball came on, bringing light and festivity to the train car. The conductor later told me it was a new addition to the train car. 

A simple but brilliant one, too. It turned a darkened train tunnel into a fun and memorable experience for almost no money.   

While dining in Quebec City, we looked across to the restaurant on the opposite side of the street and saw flower pots on the second story of the establishment, decorated to look like the bottom half of people, hanging off the balcony.

It made us laugh. Simple, creative, and memorable.

Also costing almost nothing. 

We ate in at least 25 different restaurants on our trip. Most were excellent. Some were outstanding.

One stunk.

A few, like the two mentioned here, were undeniably memorable. I know precisely where these restaurants are located and can recall most of the meals and experiences because these restaurants delighted us in a fun, unexpected way. 

Surprise and delight.

Make it your mission — regardless of what you are doing — and people will notice and remember you.  

Fried chicken in bed isn’t as silly as I thought

I would never even consider purchasing pajamas adorned with chickens.

Not in a million years. But stick them in a bucket that looks a lot like a bucket of KFC chicken, and you’ll have me staring at it for ten minutes, wondering if I should purchase the pajamas for myself or someone else.

Ultimately, I didn’t make the purchase. We were in Montreal, and I didn’t want chicken pajamas serving as a souvenir of our vacation, but if I needed a gift for someone who seemingly has everything or someone who enjoys a laugh, these chicken pajamas might be just right.

The lesson here:

Packaging can sometimes turn a nothing into a real something if you get it right.

Also, silliness sells.

A lot of Purple Hearts

Dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki will likely be a decision debated as long as human beings walk this Earth. But if you’re wondering what US military commanders thought about a possible invasion of the islands of Japan in 1945, look no further than this fact:

More than 80 years after the end of World War II, the United States military is still using Purple Heart medals manufactured (and since refurbished) in 1945 during the preparation for the invasion of Japan.

Since World War II, hundreds of thousands of Purple Hearts have been awarded to wounded servicepeople, including those serving in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and other places around the world. And every one of those Purple Hearts was originally manufactured in preparation for the invasion of Japan, which military experts thought would take two years and would result in 1.7 million to as many as four million Americans killed, wounded, and missing in combat.

The Japanese expected that a US invasion could result in 20 million Japanese casualties — a fifth of Japan’s population.

Both countries expected enormous amounts of bloodshed if Japan did not surrender and end the war.

Enough to produce an almost century’s worth of Purple Hearts.

Sometimes the best way to express an idea is not by offering projections, estimates, or other numbers but by finding something adjacent, unexpected, surprising, and memorable.

Anonymous: Parts 1 and 2 published

In 2007, a small group of anonymous individuals attempted to destroy my teaching career, along with the careers of my wife, who was teaching with me at the time, and my principal.They did this by excerpting parts of a blog I’d been writing since December 10, 2005 (which I continue to write today), and including those excerpts in a 27-page packet along with a defamatory letter that was sent to the Town Council, the Board of Education, The Hartford Courant, and, later, more than 300 families in my school district.I’ve published parts 1 and 2 on my Substack if you’re interested in reading.Click here to read and subscribe: https://anonymousattack.substack.comIf you have information about this incident, please feel free to share it with me. Since the initial post, three people have already provided me with new information.

Ukrainian edition!

“Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend” — the novel I published back in 2012 — is being translated into yet another language.

This time, the language is Ukrainian.

I was recently sent the cover for approval.

My favorite part about this book — beyond its success and becoming an international bestseller — is that it’s actually used in my children’s middle school curriculum.

Both Clara and Charlie, along with their classmates, were offered the choice to read the book in one of their book clubs.

Yoy can’t imagine how that makes me feel as an author, teacher, and father.

The translations — more than 20 in all — have also been incredible, but given what is happening in Ukraine today, this translation might be my favorite and a source of great pride for them.

I hope my story offers a little bit of joy and levity to Ukrainian readers who are living in circumstances I can’t begin to imagine.

Storyworthy redesigned

My team has redesigned our storyworthy.com website.

The actual design has changed completely, but so, too have the offerings. including:

A brand new, free storytelling academyNew storytelling coursesAn improved blogMore opportunities to spend time with fellow storytellers

It’s good to have good people working with you.

My very first college visit

Earlier this month, Elysha and I took Clara on her second college visit — and the very first of my life.

When I graduated from high school, college wasn’t in the cards for me. No teacher, guidance counselor, or parent ever even spoke the word “college” to me, and after I received my diploma, I was on my own at 18, living with friends, struggling to make ends meet.

When I was 23 years old, I finally made it to college, but it was Manchester Community College — my only option at the time.

No college visit for a school that still taught many of its classes in portable buildings (which we called trailers) set in a large, lonely field.

I had no money, which also meant I could attend community college almost for free. I worked full-time, managing a McDonald’s restaurant in Hartford while attending classes full-time. Eventually, I took a second job in student government, a third job on the school’s newspaper, and a fourth job in the writing center, where I helped my peers with their work.

I added a fifth job a year later when I launched my wedding DJ company with my friend and former roommate, Bengi.

As graduation from Manchester Community College approached, I got lucky. I was offered a full scholarship to Trinity College, Wesleyan University, and Yale University. I was a USA Today Academic All-American, a Truman Scholarship finalist, and the President of the National Honor Society, so absent any college visits, those three institutions of higher learning reached out and invited me to attend in the fall.

No application required.

I’ve never even taken the SATs or ACTs.

I probably could’ve done a college visit then, but I still needed to continue managing the McDonald’s restaurant to survive. Trinity College was conveniently located about ten minutes down the road from my restaurant.

Though Yale was appealing, it was 45 minutes from my home. Working full-time, attending college full-time, and running a DJ company wasn’t going to work with a 45-minute commute to New Haven every day.

Trinity College was my choice by default, so no point in doing a college visit.

Eventually, I would add St. Joseph’s University to my academic landscape to earn my teaching degree. I exploited a loophole that allowed Trinity students to take classes via a consortium of schools, including St. Joseph’s University, an all-women’s college at the time.

Most student took a class or two at most over the course of their four years. Typically, it was a class not being offered at their home school or one that didn’t fit into their schedule.

But I took a full degree program, much to the surprise of both Trinity and St. Joseph’s. Both initially balked at the idea, but after looking carefully at the rules, they realized they couldn’t stop me. It wasn’t easy, especially given how much I was working, but I managed to earn an English degree from Trinity and a teaching degree from St. Joseph’s University simultaneously.

But I didn’t visit St. Joseph’s University either. Since I had no choice about where I would attend, I just enrolled and went.

So it was exciting to take my first college visit at age 54 — and to a college I actually attended in 1991. Back then, Dean College — located in Franklin, Massachusetts — was a junior college about five miles down the road from where I lived. McDonald’s sent me to Dean to take business classes at night.

I didn’t earn a degree of any kind, but I took three or four classes about management and finance.

My friend, Coog, was a student at Dean at the time, working as a DJ at the radio station. One of my favorite moments from that time was driving home from work on a late Saturday afternoon, listening to the radio, and hearing Coog say, “Just a few hours from now, I’ll be partying with Matty and Bengi at the Heavy Metal Playhouse alongside a whole bunch of other people. I can’t wait.”

Boy, has Dean changed in the span of 35 years.

About a year after I stopped taking classes, Dean ditched its junior college identity and became a full-year college. Clara’s guidance counselor has recommended the school to us more than once, so last month, we headed to Franklin to visit.

I found myself both so happy for Clara and simultaneously so jealous.

Whatever school Clara ultimately attends, she’s lucky to be heading to college for an experience I could have only dreamed of having.

Living on a beautiful campus with people from all over the country. Amenities beyond compare. Endless academic opportunities. The time and space to make friends, explore interests, pursue a career, dive into internships, and learn without worrying about tuition, rent, or grocery bills.

No worries about making ends meet, profit and loss statements, food cost, labor cost, and malfunctioning HVAC units.

I’m so happy for my girl. So glad we can send her to a place like Dean, where she can launch herself into this world.

Also jealous that I never got to do a college visit. Jealous that I never lived on campus, made college friends, joined clubs, played sports, or walked across a quad on a fall afternoon without planning every moment of the day so I could get everything done.

Jealous I never had a chance to be so young and carefree.

A college visit is a pretty great thing — a chance to walk a beautiful campus alongside a student guide and learn about all the things the school has to offer. Everything from academics to extracurriculars. Technology and food. Entertainment and housing.

A college visit is also a bit of an oddity:

The college tries to persuade you to ask them to attend. They try to sell you on a product that they may ultimately prevent you from purchasing.

“Love us so we can think about loving you.”

Weird.

Still, it was pretty great, and I couldn’t be happier for Clara.

And I couldn’t be happier with the way my life turned out, too. I’m only jealous on behalf of the person I used to be. Jealous that the Matthew Dicks of the past didn’t have the chance to attend college and take advantage of those four years like most people.

My friend Bengi, who moved off campus after his freshman year (which is why we moved in together in the home we affectionately called The Heavy Metal Playhouse), once said to me, almost off-handedly:

“It’s too bad you couldn’t go to college right out of high school. You were built to live on campus as a traditional student. It would’ve been the best time of your life.”

I think he was probably right. It would’ve been one of the best times of my life. Memorable beyond compare.

Clara will just have to do that for me. Eventually, Charlie, too.

I’ll watch them with bittersweet enthusiasm, a longing for what never was, and relentless support.to help make their dreams come true.

The power and insidiousness of anonymity: An attack on my character and career

In 2007, a small group of anonymous individuals attempted to destroy my teaching career, along with the careers of my wife, who was teaching with me at the time, and my principal.

They did this by excerpting parts of a blog I’d been writing since December 10, 2005 (which I continue to write today), and including those excerpts in a 27-page packet along with a defamatory letter that was sent to the Town Council, the Board of Education, The Hartford Courant, and, later, more than 300 families in my school district.

This saga lasted more than a year. It eventually involved parents, former students, colleagues, administrators, politicians, attorneys, police officers, and more.

It upended my life, along with the lives of my wife, my principal, and others, for a long time.

Longer than I could have ever expected.

For the past 18 years, I’ve been thinking about writing a memoir about this extraordinary time in my life. Thankfully, I kept constant, continuous, contemporaneous notes at the time and have tens of thousands of words written about the events, both in narrative and note form.

I also told a shortened version of the story for The Moth several years ago, which caused me to receive messages from people worldwide who have suffered similar anonymous attacks on their character and career.

In 2009, This American Life — the national radio show and podcast — offered to come to town to report on the incident, but after some consideration, I declined their offer. They assured that no stone would be left unturned and that names would be named, so I decided to move on and continue teaching, absent any continued drama.

After 18 years, I’ve decided to finally write the full story of the time, based on my memory, previous writing, notes, documents, correspondence, and interviews.

Eventually, I plan to publish this story as a memoir, but I begin the story on this Substack for two reasons:

I want to capture the story before I retire from teaching. I don’t want the story to appear as sour grapes after a successful teaching career.

I hope that by writing the story publicly like this, even more information will surface that will inform a future memoir.

If you have any information about the incident or can connect me with someone who does, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I presume I know most of what happened, but every year, new information seems to surface, so any additional information would be appreciated.

I will also be changing or leaving out the names of people whom I care about who might not want their names published as a part of the story.

If the person in question was not innocent in the incident, I will be publishing their names, of course, along with a fact-based account of their actions unless a reason for not doing so emerges.

I’ll be publishing as often as possible — probably a couple of times each week.

Feedback, comments, and waves of effusive excitement and love are all welcome.

I’m publishing this story on a free Substack — separate from my regular blog and separate from my paid Substack —  so that the whole story can be found in one place and anyone can read it at any time.

You can subscribe here to receive each post as an email or read it on the Substack app: https://bit.ly/3JMY5yz

Banning phones should be a no-brainer

A new study found that 74 percent of adults would support banning middle and high school students from using cellphones in class, up from 68 percent when the question was posed just last year.

Among respondents ages 18 to 29 — those who understand the impact of phones at school best — support for banning phones in class rose particularly sharply, increasing from 45 percent in fall 2024 to 57 percent when polled in June of 2025.

Opposition to such proposed bans also declined from 24 percent to just 19 percent.

My question:

What is wrong with the 19 percent of people who oppose such a ban?

Are these also the Flat Earthers?
The chemtrail conspiracy conspiracists?
The people who believe birds aren’t real (an actual thing) and Stevie Wonder isn’t blind?

Are these the dummies who think the Moon landing was faked, vaccines are harmful, and the Jets are a good football team?

They must be. Right?

Why would anyone think that having a phone in class is a good idea?
To what purpose could this possibly serve?
How do phones not make school more difficult for teachers and students alike?

Support for banning phones all day is considerably more split:

44 percent are in favor
46 percent are opposed

However, support for banning phones during the school day is also increasing, probably because students don’t need them during the school day. Secure the phone in a locker or Yondr pouch at the start of the school day, and return them to students at the end of the day.

It would take some time, effort, and money to put a system like this in place, but the return on investment would be enormous.

Well worth every penny and minute spent spooling up the process.

I suppose I should be happy that nearly three-quarters of all adults support banning phones in the classroom, and nearly half support banning phones in all of school, except I would expect the number of adults who want phones banned in class to be 100%.

How could it not?

Sometimes 74% seems like an enormous number, and sometimes 19% seems like a small number, but when it comes to something as obvious and important as banning phones in the classroom, those numbers are not good enough.

Not nearly.

A mean Canadian nurse captured in bronze and granite

Having a statue built in your honor is almost always a good thing, but while visiting Montreal, we encountered this statue in a large public square.

Built in 1909, it portrays French nurse Jeanne Mance, an early settler of Quebec and one of the founders of Montreal’s first hospital, Hôtel-Dieu de Montréal, in 1645.

If you look closely, it appears that the figure of Jeanne Mance is struggling to hold a small, screaming child as she pulls back the child’s pinkie finger.

It’s not good. It looks pretty awful.

Perhaps this is a legitimate procedure required when a small child dislocates her finger, but if you’re going to honor someone with a statue in a public square, perhaps you should choose to portray a more gentle medical procedure.

Jeanne Mance, who I’m sure did great things in her life for the health and well-being of the people of Quebec, looks like a monster.