In the old
days, back in the year 2000, you could wisely wait for a few
hours, compile all the facts, review alternative solutions,
and then respond to whatever allegation your adversaries hurled
at you.
Crisis managers at the time warned that responding too
quickly to emerging storm clouds could torpedo a reputation.
Two prominent cases of premature crisis management were
legendary.
In 1958, Brooklyn Dodger Roy Campanella's car
skidded out of control on Long Island ice. The catcher
was rushed to the hospital. After hours of surgery, Dr.
Robert W. Sengstaken announced to the world that with
physical therapy, Campy could be back on the field in
two years. Roy Campanella, of course, never walked again.
Thirty five years later, Boston Celtics star Reggie
Lewis passed out on the court. While some claimed Lewis
suffered from a serious heart problem, his doctor, Gilbert
Mudge, insisted to the world that Lewis would soon be
ready to return to the Celtics. Two months after Mudge's
favorable diagnosis, Lewis collapsed and died shooting
baskets at a Boston gym.
But those were the old days, before the Internet and cable
news and talk radio and all the other non-stop, instantaneous
communications vehicles that brand companies and individuals
"guilty," before they even get out of the box.
Today, crisis managers are obligated to respond to brewing
trouble much more speedily than in the past, even before
all the facts are in.
Yesterday's responses "We're studying the allegations."
... "We haven't been served with the court papers yet."
... "We're studying the charges." may serve
only to brand you "guilty as charged."
Three recent examples prove how the rules of crisis engagement
have changed and how immediately those charged in the public
arena must respond to clear their name.
Steve Jobs iPology
Last week, Steve Jobs demonstrated why he is the public
relations marvel of our time. Forget that Apple Computer
whose stock price five years ago was headed for extinction
has reemerged as the hottest, coolest technology
company in the world. Forget that Apple's iPod has spawned
an entire new industry.
What is most compelling about Apple is its CEO's deft public
relations touch.
In July, after a publicity barrage that would have made
Edward Bernays beam with envy, Apple announced its vaunted
iPhone. For a mere $599, you could purchase a combination
cellphone, music player and Web browser, capable of performing
anything short of walking the dog.
Predictably, iPhone phanatics waited on line overnight
to give Jobs their money.
And then, last Wednesday, two months after introducing
its breakthrough product, Steve Jobs chopped $200 off the
iPhone price, to make it "more accessible" to
consumers.
"You iPhony!" screamed anguished early purchasers,
accusing Jobs of selling out his base.
And their message was heard loud and clear and immediately.
On Thursday, a day after the price cut, Jobs apologized
and offered those who paid full price, a $100 store credit.
End result: More publicity. Placated loyalists. Crisis
over.
Popcorn's Pump Handle
Perils.
Last Tuesday, an obscure public health blog called The
Pump Handle whose contributors are primarily
disgruntled former government health professionals
reported on an equally obscure study from the University
of Colorado School of Medicine that linked inhaling microwave
popcorn fumes to a deadly lung disease found in popcorn
plant workers.
The study detailed how one consumer contracted the disease
after consuming two or more bags of microwave popcorn every
day for decades and, prior to consumption, stuffing his
shnoz in the bags to inhale the fumes of the newly popped
corn. (The study failed to report the man's I.Q.)
In any event, later that day, the Associated Press picked
up the story no doubt after being led to it by on-the-ball
Pump Handle PR people. And the perils of microwave popcorn
were off and poppin'.
But then, Wednesday, just one day after the popcorn revelation,
something unusual happened.
Rather than protesting or mounting a defense to clear their
good names, four of the nation's biggest microwave popcorn
makers announced they would immediately work to remove from
their products the suspect flavoring chemical linked to
the man's lung ailment.
And there, the story died, at least for the moment.
By taking immediate action which clearly had been
in the works before last week's report the popcorn
manufacturers were able to rescue themselves from the brink
of a potentially high-profile and long-lasting public crisis.
Fast Feet,
Slow Decision
By contrast, there is the case of toe-tappin', finger-snappin'
Larry Craig.
Every late night comedian's favorite senator looked like
he got the message early on, after the embarrassing revelations
in a Minneapolis men's room. He quickly appeared with his
chagrined wife and children and announced his intention
to resign.
Sen. Larry Craig
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But since his hurried mountaintop press conference, the
Idaho Republican has had a change of heart. He still hasn't
decided whether he will, once-and-for all, relinquish his
senate seat.
And as he ruminates, his reputation plummets.
"I'm not gay, and I'm not guilty," protests soon-to
be-former Sen. Craig.
The facts, though, at least on the latter point are different.
The senator pleaded "guilty" to disorderly conduct
and in so doing, sealed his fate as "permanently damaged
public goods."
Yet Larry Craig, oblivious to the reputational ridicule
being heaped upon him, trudges on. And every day he delays
the inevitable, he heaps further ignominy on himself, his
friends and his family.
The point is that when your only third-party endorsement
comes from the likes of equally disgraced former Gov. Jim
McGreevey, it's time to just get out!
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