Rod McQueen's Blog, page 46

What’s in a name?

Of all the crusades under way, surely the silliest must be the one against the names of certain teams. Native Americans and their supporters complain about Chief Wahoo, the cheerful image of the Cleveland Indians. This season, such forces made progress – if it can be called that – when the Chief was officially replaced on batting helmets by the most mundane C ever designed. For the time being, his grinning face still appears on the shirt. 

Now the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office has dubbed the name of the Washington Redskins "disparaging." What next? Will someone try to outlaw the war chant and tomahawk chop done by fans of the Florida State University Seminoles and the Atlanta Braves? (The Seminoles have the permission of the real tribe.) Even Jane Fonda, aka Hanoi Jane, could be seen a few years back doing the chop.

What about the Yankees? Doesn't that name offend those Southerners for whom the Civil War is called The War of Northern Aggression? Are there no bear lovers willing to lie down on the base paths to protest the names of the Chicago Bears and the Chicago Cubs? 

As a birder, maybe I could get miffed by the use of bird names – Blue Jays, Cardinals, Orioles – by pro baseball teams. When the Blue Jays play badly, as they have of late, or slugger Mark McGwire of the Cardinals admits to using steroids, it reflects badly on my feathered friends. Such slights are right up there with being placed on the endangered species list.

So here's my proposal. The only safe course is to change all the team names to colours. In hockey, we already have the St. Louis Blues. In baseball, why not the Milwaukee Mauves, Pittsburgh Pinks and Houston Heliotropes? The only grumbles might come from the players. And who are they to have say? 

Flagged out

With the World Cup starting today, excitement has reached such a fever pitch that the New York Times Sunday Magazine couldn't decide which soccer star to put on the cover. So they printed three versions using Cristiano Ronaldo of Portugal, Neymar of Brazil, or Lionel Messi of Argentina. (I got Ronaldo on my copy.)

I must admit that soccer is lost on me. It's down there with cricket, a game that can go on for five days without declaring a winner. In soccer, sixty minutes can drone by without a goal. And don't get me started on the corruption. How can anyone know if a World Cup referee's call is honest or paid-for?

But what really gets up my nose is the number of vehicles in Toronto displaying flags of their favourite team, presumably representing their ancestral homeland. For a few days prior to the World Cup, I'm curious and intrigued. I can identify the obvious ones: France, Italy, Germany, England. I have to look up the less familiar like Colombia and Chile. 

Then I get outraged. I am proud that Toronto is such a multi-cultural city. I celebrate the fact that half of the people who live here were born in a foreign land. I'm delighted we've made a home for 250,000 Tamils who fled a civil war. I accept the fact that some of our 400,000 Chinese can live and work here without even learning the language because there are so many of them. I'm happy to see turbans on the subway, burkas on the streets, and saris in the stores.

But flying a flag demonstrates a divided loyalty, a dweller in Canada who has one foot elsewhere. When John Diefenbaker was prime minister, there were those who called him a German-Canadian. It was meant as a slur. For that and other reasons he spoke out against hyphenated Canadianism. "I am the first prime minister of this country of neither altogether English nor French origin. So I determined to bring about a Canadian citizenship that knew no hyphenated consideration," he said in 1958. "In the House of Commons today in my party we have members of Italian, Dutch, German, Scandanavian, Chinese and Ukrainian origin – and they are all Canadians."

We haven't made much progress in the more than fifty years since. Foreign flags are the new hyphens.

 

The clinical view

I had occasion recently to see a doctor at a clinic. (Spoiler alert: I'm fine.) Because it was a teaching hospital, the doctor was accompanied by another doctor and four residents, all eager to learn. You feel like a bit of a guinea pig, sitting there in your socks and hospital gown that's impossible to tie up, while the doctor uses you to show the residents symptoms you do or do not have. Finally, he gets around to what you came for: the diagnosis.

Afterward, I got thinking, why don't other institutions and corporations follow a similar methodology? We have apprenticeships for the trades, and co-op programs at some universities, but little else for on-the-spot learning. What few interns do exist are being eliminated because some people feel they've been exploited.

But why shouldn't all institutions welcome young people who can come and watch what employees do? Imagine a human resources officer conducting job interviews while a recent community college graduate sits in. Or a sales rep making calls with a tagalong learning the ropes. Or a journalist with a young wannabe at her elbow as she conducts interviews.

If every business and government department always had three such unpaid watchers for a few months at a time, we'd pull thousands of young people out of their parents' basements where they're waiting for careers to begin. Moreover, imagine the productivity improvement in the workplace. All those mentoring employees would actually have to do something all day long because they had a "shadow" watching their every step.

Sounds like a win-win situation to me.

The newest billionaire

Canada's newest billionaire is Frank Hasenfratz, founder and chairman of Linamar Corp. Linamar share price at the close of trading today was $65.41 which means his 15.3 million shares are worth $1 billion. The number is all the more remarkable given that those shares were worth $750 million just three months ago.

Hasenfratz, the focus of a book written in 2012 by Susan M. Papp and me, Driven to Succeed, founded Linamar in 1966. He had a lathe, for which he paid $1,000, that he operated in the basement of his home. As the sole employee his first contract was making oil pumps for Ford. Today Linamar has 18,000 employees in 44 plants in eight countries making parts for Ford, Chrysler, General Motors, Caterpillar and many other firms. About half of all employees are in Guelph, Ont., where Linamar is based. 

Frank's daughter Linda has been CEO since 1990. Her 3.8 million shares are worth about $250 million. One million of those shares were bought in 2008 after the global financial crisis sent markets tumbling. Linda paid $3.70 a share. You have to have confidence in yourself and your company to make that kind of personal investment. 

At 79, Frank still comes into the office every day. Among his duties is to visit each plant at least once a year and try to find $1 million in savings at every stop. "Whenever you go into a plant, you learn something or you teach something," he says. "If you don't do either, it was a waste of time."

Knowing Frank as I do, he won't celebrate this first billion. He'll come in tomorrow and start working on the next billion.

 

 

Globe trotters

As a former winner of the National Business Book Award (1997 for Who Killed Confederation Life?) I always keep a close eye on the annual prize. The award has been around since 1986 and the belief always was that it was rigged in that you couldn't win twice. This year's winner proved that old shibboleth wrong. The award went to Jacquie McNish and Jim Leech for The Third Rail, a book about pensions, not the sexiest topic ever. McNish previously won in 2004 for Wrong Way: The Fall of Conrad Black. She had a collaborator then, too, in Sinclair Stewart.

It's never been clear to me that winning the award gave that much of a boost to sales. Some winners would have done well anyway. Naomi Klein's No Logo and Jeff Rubin's Why Your World is About to Get a Whole Lot Smaller come to mind. I once wrote a lengthy memo about how the winning book could be better promoted and got a nice note back saying, Thanks, but we think what we're doing is just fine. Which was not much.

This year is different. In addition to the traditional day-after news story, the Globe and Mail, official media sponsor, went crazy today. The back page of the front section of the Globe was filled with blurbs and an excerpt from the book all in colour. In Report on Business there was another splashy half-page ad with a photo of the co-authors, McNish with her hand gently resting on Leech's arm, trying to top Kim Kardashian and Kanye West for most-liked photo on Instagram.

Could all this attention be caused by the fact that McNish is a writer with the Globe? Would another finalist – Nina Munk's The Idealist or Donald Savoie's Single-Minded Purpose – have received such over-the-top attention if they'd won? As they used to say about the Brooklyn Dodgers, "Wait 'til next year." We'll see if next year's winner (presuming it's not another Globe writer) gets such lavish treatment. Or maybe everything will just revert to the usual humdrum handout that goes nowhere.

Staying put

I've had occasion this month to travel to two different cities in southern Ontario. The names are irrelevant, the stories are the same as a lot of other places. Let's call them B and C. After I'd parked my car in a municipal lot in B and was walking to my destination five minutes away, the first person I passed said, "Good morning." I thought, "Well, I'm not in Toronto any more." When I checked out of the automated lot two hours later, I knew for sure I was somewhere else. The total charge was $2. 

In city C I paid a modest $10 for two huge bags filled with fresh asparagus picked in the field out back. No one behind me at intersections honked if I was a little tardy when the light turned green. Conversations with locals included details about people, their families, their trials, tribulations and triumphs. World issues were far away. Politicians were viewed with clear-eyed candour. 

To be sure, the downtown cores are a little tatty in both B and C. Malls meant to draw shoppers have not worked as well as hoped. Churches are being torn down for lack of attendance, a sad state of affairs. But new facilities are being erected everywhere with pools, rinks, and courts that are well used by the local community. 

By comparison, Toronto is all gridlock and grumbling. No one here seems happy with their lot in life. In B and C, I'm sure there are the usual tragedies hidden beneath the friendly exteriors but at least the surroundings are pleasant, the people are palatable and the present day is free to be explored without big city stress.

I grew up in Guelph, a place a lot like B and C. At eighteen, I was glad to get out of there and be on my way. I've been lucky to live all over the world. But I can see why so many stayed where they were and why, in their minds, they are better off as a result.

The power of pushy

The appointment today of Anne Marie Owens as editor of National Post, the first woman ever to head a Canadian national newspaper, raises the question: how will a member of the fair sex fare in the role? It's hard not to think about the recent firing of Jill Abramson as editor of the New York Times. Media specialist Ken Auletta, who wrote more knowledgeably about the dismissal than anyone else, said one of the reasons was because Abramson was seen by management as "pushy." 

Pushy. What a word. It's only used about a woman, never a man. Owens, currently deputy editor at Maclean's, doesn't tweet very often (only three times this calendar year) so it's interesting that she recently tweeted a definition of pushy by saying, "People expect women to be communal leaders and men to be autocratic ones."

Owens was at National Post in 1998 when the paper launched. So was I. I have no recollection of her which probably says more about me than her. It was a big newsroom; I was in the business ghetto. But I do know this. Founding editor Ken Whyte was not a communal leader. Every Friday afternoon he'd throw out most of the Saturday features that journalists had been working on all week and order up a batch of new pieces. His editorial judgement was always right. 

Whether she likes the idea of being pushy or not, Owens cannot be communal. The role demands other talents. In this case, the requirements include being pushy. Even if it gets her fired. 

And a child shall lead them

I recently attended an open house at my granddaughter's school. There was a fascinating tour of the school conducted by my granddaughter, who is in Grade Four, that included the library, art room and a computer facility where they can make their own videos. I also saw her math notebooks, heard poetry, inspected a history project and heard a lot of unfamiliar wordage such as "unit of inquiry" that seemed to mean an essay or project.

Some of the units of inquiry looked pretty complicated for her age, but she pulled everything off with aplomb. What an education our young people are getting today! All I remember from Grade Four is the teacher pulling on my ear when I did something wrong. I'm not saying my misbehaviour was daily, but all too often.

After the schoolwork had been proudly displayed there followed a concert in the auditorium by the two Grade Four classes with tunes on the recorder as well as songs. One of the songs brought tears to my eyes. Called "Don't Laugh at Me," it was about tolerance and love. I'm sorry to say I'd never heard the song before but delighted I did that day. What made me happier yet, the song and the behaviour described are being taught at school. 

"Don't Laugh at Me" was first released in 1998 by country artist Mark Wills and the chorus goes as follows: Don't laugh at me/Don't call me names/Don't get your pleasure from my pain/In God's eyes we're all the same/Someday we'll all have perfect wings/Don't laugh at me.

In an era when bullying is all too common in the playground and young girls are being kidnapped in Africa by the dozens, this song has particular meaning and resonance. If only everyone knew the words and subscribed to the message, what a wonderful world this would be.

Every inch a king

Colm Feore is a magnificent King Lear at Stratford. My daughter Alison and I attended the first of the preview performances today and came away overwhelmed by his portrayal of the character. The play doesn't officially open until May 26 and runs until October. My only concern is that it will be difficult for Feore to maintain the intensity that he displayed today over such a sustained period of almost 50 outings. 

Scott Wentworth's Gloucester is also excellent as is Edgar, his legitimate son, played by Evan Buliung. The rest of the cast is good too and the costuming is to my taste: the traditional Elizabethan attire with ruffs and doublets. I assumed because this was the first performance in front of an audience, there would be rough spots, but it was flawless. The special effects of the storm while Lear is on the heath, "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks," were spectacular. The harrowing final scene brought tears to our eyes.

It always amazes me how many phrases from any Shakespearean play are in regular use today. Lear is no exception with "Nothing comes of nothing," "Many a true word is spoken in jest," and "I am a man who is more sinned against than sinning."

As always, a classic play like Lear is relevant across the ages. The two families are so dysfunctional that it could be a modern-day soap opera with wicked sisters, a conniving brother, and a crazy man in the wild. As for the eternal verities, what could be deeper than Lear's question, "Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Feore, who has played many starring roles at Stratford over the years, has never been better.

Priming the pump

There's long been a debate about public incentives for private sector projects. Otherwise profitable companies come to governments, cap in hand, demanding funds or they'll build a new plant in some other more favourable jurisdiction. 

Automotive is a prime example. In 1978, Ford President Roy Bennett tracked down Ontario Premier Bill Davis and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, who were both attending the Calgary Stampede. Bennett convinced them to invest $68 million in an engine plant in Windsor, Ont., that might have gone to Ohio instead. In 1986, Toyota got $50 million from Ontario Premier David Peterson for a new assembly plant in Cambridge, Ont. Both deals yielded high-paying jobs, spinoff employment, and income taxes paid. 

In recent years, the amount of money involved has skyrocketed. Ontario has just struck a two-year deal with Open Text Corp. – $120 million in return for 1,200 jobs and an expenditure of $2 billion on staff and facilities. Last year Ontario doled out $190 million to Cisco Systems Inc. to create 1,700 jobs and a promise to do more research and development in Canada.

Those who are against capitalists getting handouts should have been with me recently. I was on the second floor of the Toronto Reference Library on Yonge Street doing research on my current project. After a while I realized that numerous young people had been walking by and disappearing down a hallway. They were not there to do research. They were looking for work at a job fair. These were not disadvantaged kids. Instead, they looked like recent community college grads and all were dressed in their best outfits. I didn't do an exact count, but there might have been 150 of them. I don't know all of the retailers who were recruiting, but a couple of their representatives went by carrying signs for their booth so I do know corporate attendees included Dollarama and Danier Leather. 

Imagine, our best and brightest battling for minimum wage jobs on the floor at a Dollarama. Now, maybe they'd work their way up to manager some day, but is this what we want for our young people? The ones we've helped put through post-secondary schools with our tax dollars? I don't think so. Surely we want them to have access to the kind of brain-enriching high-tech roles promised by Cisco and Open Text. A better tomorrow demands nothing less.