Posts Tagged ‘value creation’

The Flickinger Factor

Tuesday, May 17th, 2011

FlickFactor1Once upon a time, I met Clem Flickinger, 93 years old, who was the same age as his neighbor, Walt Disney, when they were boys growing up in Marcelline, Missouri. Clem told me that when they were six years old, Walt had an idea for the two of them to stage a circus in the basement of Walt’s house. “The only act we had was Walt’s mom’s cat, which Walt could get to sit on a stool,” Clem said. “The only customer was me. Walt charged me a dime, which was the only money I had. When Walt’s mom found out that he had taken my dime, she made him give it back to me.”

This was the stuff on which an empire was built.

The empire wasn’t predicated on the making of money. Young Walt quite literally did not make a dime. There was a transaction. Money changed hands. But the lasting value, what remained after the dime had been added and subtracted, was elsewhere.

The value was in the creation of a memorable experience, resulting in a story that was still wonderful in Clem Flickinger’s telling almost 90 years later.

The value was in working with animals, and making them characters in your narrative.

The value was in getting your friend and neighbor to play along.

The value was in using the material you had available to you. Cat+ Basement+Stool=Circus!

The value was in gaining the entrepreneurial resolve to hang onto the next dime that came your way.

The value was in getting your family involved.

[Walt was the male runt of the Disney litter, nine years younger than the next oldest boy, Roy, and 12 or 14 years younger than the oldest boys, Herb and Ray. On a family farm like theirs, a six-year-old was practically a non-entity. No doubt Walt's circus got him some attention at the supper table that night, even if it was getting his no-nonsense dad, Elias, riled up again, like earlier that summer when Walt had talked his little sister, Ruthie, into helping him paint a city skyline on the side of the Disney farmhouse with roofing tar, which had earned Walt a righteous spanking.]

There was value in breaking a routine that got you no attention.

Around the same time I met Clem, I listened to a set of rare tapes in the Disney Studio archives, recorded in the mid 1950s, of Walt giving an oral history of the studio. A ghost-writer recorded him as research for book to be called My Dad Walt Disney, which would be serialized in LOOK Magazine under the byline of Walt’s 12-year-old daughter, Diane. In those recordings, Walt had a charming way of tracking his studio’s financial fortunes. As he listed the films the studio had made, he’d say [for example], “Well now, let’s see, Dumbo cost us one [million], and it made one and a half. Bambi cost us one and a half and it made two, so we made a half. Make Mine Music cost us one, but it only made a half, so we lost money on that one.”

Sitting atop an empire worth millions, and soon, with the launch of Disneyland in 1955, about to be worth a lot more, there was still a lot of value in a single digit.

Irving Ludwig, the distribution mastermind from New York, who had triggered the 1960s boxoffice revival of Fantasia (which had been a flop when first released in 1940), and had later moved to Burbank to run Disney’s distribution arm, Buena Vista, once told me that his boss, Roy Disney, paid generous rebates worth millions of dollars to the exhibitors who profited from the Fantasia revival, because, as Roy explained it, “they stuck with us when the studio wasn’t doing as well as it is today.” The value of loyalty, and the relationship with their business partners was worth more to the Disneys than a financial windfall that was, contractually, theirs to collect.

It’s not that the money doesn’t matter. It does. But it’s just a footnote to the creation of lasting value. When you understand what builds and sustains the business, it can be okay, or even good for the business, to ‘give back the dime.’

I call this difference between the value of the transaction and the value of the experience the Flickinger Factor. It is the Flickinger Factor, and not the money, that is ultimate measure of your achievement. Your narrative. Your brand. Your legacy in the world.

So what are you doing today that might be making people smile 90 years from now?

Paddles, Balls and Painted Dogs

Friday, April 16th, 2010

This one goes out to all the storytellers…

Ping Pong wasn’t perceived as a real sport until it became table tennis.  And now that it has its first sex symbol in Biba Golic, it has, let’s say, aroused a certain demographic that paid scant attention to it before.PingPongTableTennis1

The wild dogs of Africa could not be brought back from the brink of extinction until Greg Rasmussen renamed them ‘painted dogs’ (per Nick Kristoff in the NY Times).

And the art of storytelling won’t gain mainstream cred with MBA-educated managers and their brands until professional storytelling gets re-branded and re-positioned.  This came to me while I was reading about how  legendary story consultant Steve Denning changed his working vernacular so he could talk to his clients without them thinking they already knew it all.

Let’s begin by looking at the current status of storytelling in business.  Many managers will tell you that storytelling is too airy to feed the bottom line, or as Denning says, they think they’ve got their story covered.   And they do.  They have it covered.  As in they have a story and they’re sticking to it.  Bringing up the subject of storytelling can be a license to snark.  “Story?  Yeah, we got a story.  We sell our product as often as possible for more than it costs to make and deliver it.   We make our number.  We go get a a drink.  We live happily ever after until the next quarter.  The end.”

As we know, these perceptions cripple a brand.  When a story stops moving forward, it dies.  And when a brand’s story dies, the brand is sure to follow.  Here are three moves professional storytellers can make to break through the crippling perceptions.

1)  Shift the focus from ’story’ to ‘narrative.’ Narrative is our table tennis.  It is our painted dog.  Story is finite.  It has three parts, beginning, middle, end.  Narrative, by comparison, has infinite potential.  It is flow.  It is to organizations and brands what the Ohio River once was to the Shawnee Tribe.  The source of sustenance.  Stories are like the fish that come from the river and feed the family.  Narrative is the river.

2)  Share the narrative. In the networked world, brands can no longer script and control their stories the way they used to when there were only twelve or fifteen media channels for a manager to worry about.  And they can no longer operate on the false assumption that the story that works today is the same one that’s going to work tomorrow.  Today, brands have to find ways to participate in their customers’ stories.  They have to learn to share the brand narrative with customers.  That is a tectonic shift whose implications have just begun to surface in C-suite discussions and executive reading lists.

Sharing the narrative has many benefits.  (We’ve been listing them here for two years, check the archives for backstory.)  One of the big benefits is that narratives that result from collaboration with the customer energize a brand like nothing a brand can do on its own.  And thanks to the proliferation of media platforms, sharing the narrative has the potential to generate ‘positive unforeseen outcomes’ on a massive scale.

3)   Move from scripted to improvised narratives.  Shared narratives cannot be scripted, they have to be improvised into existence. There are too many players in the game to script for all of them, and make no mistake, each and every player plays a role. All it takes is one customer with a bitch and a big network to knock down your market cap like Bluto took out Popeye before he ate his spinach.  Improvisation is to narrative what spinach is to Popeye.  Scripted (and re-scripted and re-re-scripted) scenarios quickly fall out of sync with the customer audience.  Improvisation, by contrast, is about staying in the narrative flow. If you’re not in it, you’re out of it.  Eat your spinach!

Stories are the best way we have of simplifying complexity, of finding common ground.  They provide context that no technology or platform can. In a complex system, context owns.  Because business gets conducted in an environment that’s exponentially more complex today than it was yesterday, story is more important than ever.  But like everyone else does, we have to go about our work differently.  We’re not just storytellers, we are experts in the science of narrative.   We are Shawnee.  We are hot blondes armed with paddles and balls.   We are painters of dogs.PaintedDog1