Ink by the Barrel

One day, when I led an in-house agency for The Charlotte Observer, the publisher decided the newspaper needed a new slogan.

I’ve lived that Jefferson quote since I was a teenager.

Other than intramural boxing class or my best friend’s single slug on the second-grade playground – I’ve never been in a fistfight.

A group of lifelong friends gathered outside for a socially distanced dinner to celebrate my birthday last month.

A favorite moment when I’d meet with agency owners (in-person, pre-pandemic) occurred when I’d casually mention I’d sold my previous agency (four years ago this month).

Amidst pandemic, economic collapse, racial disparity and political warfare, do you wonder how America would be faring if we instead followed what God asked us to do?  He said we cannot serve two masters – choose one: God or money.

Most major religions share the tradition of making a pilgrimage, a journey to increase knowledge of self, nature and/or God.

Two years ago, I spotted Washington Post columnist E.J.Dionne exiting our plane at DCA.

When Pharaoh refused to release the Israelites from slavery, 10 plagues changed his mind.

What will we remember from this pandemic pause? Tension? Peacefulness? Will a predicted baby boom be confined, as young parents jest, to firstborn? What will our children remember? Teenagers grumble about confinement, restrictions, life interrupted.

A few weeks ago, I helped with my granddaughter’s nighttime routine. It always starts the same way: she selects four books from her impressive library, hops in my lap and follows my narration.

Leveraging off The 100 Companies’ success in 20 geographical markets from Denali to Dubai and our launch of The Travel 100, our publishing network expands this month into a second industry vertical: The Association 100.

I hadn’t seen a $2 bill for years when I noticed schoolmate Rip Black tipping with them. Having loved them since attending its 1976 re-introduction, I adopted Rip’s paean to Mr. Jefferson, tipping with them since. I gave one to an Uber driver recently – he stared at it, announcing, “This one’s going in the wallet!”

I enjoy sports, as they often provide lessons for management: how to organize teams and instill mission and focus to meet goals against unexpected competition. Sometimes sports provide metaphors for life.

I fly weekly without fear despite one turbulent flight above Asheville’s mountains and a roach-infested Air Cubana flight.

This weekend, millions will hoist a drink or two and toast St. Patrick, not knowing or caring his life had little to do with the legend we were taught and continue to celebrate to this day.

Growing up, we bought our groceries at Winn-Dixie. I found even stranger brands as a young itinerant reporter, moving through small Southern towns like a bad storm.

In my 20s, when I was put in charge of a 25-person marketing team spread over two floors at The Charlotte Observer, I observed our biggest weakness was communications. Ironic, since we were in that business.

This week, I came out on a national PR website. It felt like it was the right time.

When I was four and just becoming aware of people outside my family, I began noticing our wide variety of shapes, sizes and colors.

For three years, I’ve written the same words on Airbnb’s reservation field that says “tell your host why you’re in town.”

Charlotte toddler Annie was watching “Sesame Street” late December when her mom, Amanda, thought she heard Grover say the “F” word. Annie’s dad (my son Thomas) replayed the segment, agreed it was debatable, posted it to Reddit, launching a top listing, 124,000 views, 3,400 comments and an international sensation.

Most barbers help you get less hair. Mine wants to help me get more.

Last week I led a crisis training for a nonprofit leadership team. It’s my favorite activity in public relations.

When I was a kid, I had a strange paranoid tendency, though I think I came by it honestly.

I was a few steps ahead of my son Thomas and his daughter Annie, nearly 20 months old, when we visited the mall weeks ago. I instinctively snapped a quick photo and posted it on Facebook.

In the March 1980 Republican primaries, George Bush had already lost what he called his “Big Mo” to Ronald Reagan. He bounded off his campaign plane in conservative Augusta, Georgia, for another obligatory meeting with local reporters.

I’ve always fancied myself a change agent. Joining a traditional college fraternity, I decided it was time the boys invited in their first female “brother.”

Last year, white supremacists marching in Charlottesville shouted, “Jews will not replace us.” Saturday, a kindred hater massacred 11 Jews in a Pittsburgh synagogue.

When my great-grandfather Jack Spalding and partner Alex King opened their Atlanta law firm in 1885, they alternated lugging coal up flights of stairs to heat their Atlanta office. What seemed like advanced technology then, coal contributed to unhealthy offices, dingy skies and darkened buildings.