Working For Those Whoopsie Moments

Indianapolis Business Journal
VOL. 25 NO. 7, APRIL 26-MAY 2, 2004
By BRUCE HETRICK

     Former Indiana University journalism professor Mary Benedict died April 17 at the age of 81. As a tribute, her former student, Bruce Hetrick, reprints here the final lesson she ever taught him, as originally published in this space on Aug. 12, 2001.
     When I was 17, I attended the High School Journalism Institute at Indiana University. For two weeks that summer, would-be Woodwards and Bernsteins from across the state and nation gathered in Bloomington to learn about reporting, editing, design and photography.
     The institute's director was a fireball of a professor named Mary Benedict. With her commanding voice, hearty laugh and a frock of white-before-its-time hair, Mary led cheers, championed progress and instilled character.
     Because of her enthusiasm for raw, adolescent talent, Mary was probably the best recruiter the journalism school ever had. She certainly led me in that direction. As an IU undergrad, I took two of Mary's public relations courses. Note the credit line at the bottom of this column and you may deduce the influence she had on me.
      In 2000, I hired a young graphic designer named Lindsay Hadley. Lindsay's mother, Diana, a high school journalism teacher, was once a student of Mary Benedict's. Because of their common interest in things educational and journalistic, the Hadleys have struck up a friendship with Mary.
     One evening, my wife and I joined Mary Benedict and the Hadleys for some dining and reminiscing. When we arrived chez Hadley, we were greeted by a commanding voice, a hearty laugh and a frock of white-in-its-own-time hair (Mary was 78).
     She immediately put one arm around me, the other around Diana. "Here are two of my whoopsie moments," she said.
     We looked at her quizzically.
     "You don't know what a whoopsie moment is?" she said.
We shook our heads.
     "A whoopsie moment is when the student surpasses the teacher." She looked up and smiled.
     While I can't speak for Diana, I was honored that Mary would say so, although in my case it's not so.
     Earlier that day, I had dashed off a column about the frustrations of running a business. So in my lousy mood, I listened to Mary reminisce. About working in her family's downtown Indianapolis grocery store. Operating WIBC's post-war control room. Teaching in urban classrooms. Becoming the only PR professor in a journalism school that pooh-poohed PR. And, as a septuagenarian, writing newsletters for Habitat for Humanity and other worthy causes.
     After listening to her, my mood was better. It also occurred to me that I tolerate the frustrations of entrepreneurship for two reasons--because Mary Benedict taught me how to do something well, and because I, like Mary, cherish the whoopsie moments.
     My first: Fifteen years ago, my boss and I hired a young woman named Diane Mattioli. She had spent years publicizing the Connecticut Lottery and she'd done it well.
But we needed someone who could convince Connecticut residents to wear their safety belts. Someone who'd make things happen. Someone who'd sweat the details. Someone relentless.
     So Diane ran with our plan. She pushed creative people to deliver ideas. Convinced billboard companies to donate space. Begged auto accident survivors to share their stories. Persuaded corporations to contribute money and educate employees. Got a governor to attend a news conference in a junkyard. Asked ambulance drivers to distribute brochures. Sweet-talked broadcasters into pro bono promotions.
     One day, we had a brainstorm. We could get Vince and Larry, the crash dummies who promoted safety belt use, to appear live on ABC's "Good Morning America"--the ratings leader back then.
     Diane called a "Good Morning America" producer to pitch the idea. The producer said no. She called another and got turned down. She called a third, who said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
     On her 12th producer--some lowly soul who handled holidays--Diane scored. The result: On Thanksgiving Day, the busiest travel holiday of them all, two dummies named Vince and Larry sat with then-host Joan Lunden to warn about the perils of driving sans belt.
To reinforce the message, boxer Sugar Ray Leonard, who'd survived an accident by wearing his safety belt, told Joan, the dummies and the folks at home to buckle up.
Diane and I watched from backstage. While I wouldn't have known what to call it, it was a major-league whoopsie moment.
     Over the years, the professionals around me have continued to surpass and surprise me. They've written words that made me laugh or cry. Created designs I never imagined. Captured photographs my camera wouldn't see. Marketed products, services and destinations I thought would never sell.
     Most important, they've soared collectively where none could have flown solo.
Which makes me wonder: If Mary Benedict taught me, and I taught my colleagues, are all these folks the professional equivalents of Mary's grandchildren? Think of all the whoopsie moments.
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Hetrick is president and CEO of Hetrick Communications Inc., an Indianapolis-based public relations and marketing communications firm. His column appears weekly. You can send comments or column ideas to Bruce c/o bruce@hetcom.com.