You Are the Message

by Roger Ailes

  5. Poor use of eye contact and facial expression

  6. Lack of humor

  7. Speech direction and intent unclear due to improper preparation

  8. Inability to use silence for impact

  9. Lack of energy, causing inappropriate pitch pattern, speech rate, and volume

  10. Use of boring language and lack of interesting material

  Various polls show that the ability to communicate well is ranked the number-one key to success by leaders in business, politics, and the professions. If you don’t communicate effectively, you may not die, like some POWs or neglected babies we mentioned earlier, but you also won’t live as fully as you should, nor will you achieve personal goals. This was a lesson drummed into me at a very early age.

  BOYHOOD LESSONS

  I grew up in the little factory town of Warren, Ohio. My father was a foreman at the local Packard Electric plant, which made wiring for GM cars. Dad had a high school diploma, which was as far as anyone in our family had ever gone in school. But he had a lot of common sense.

  He taught me a fundamental lesson about communicating that relates to the idea of “absorbing” other people before you “project” yourself. He said, “Boy, you can’t learn anything when you’re talkin’.” (I later heard that advice expressed as “God gave you two ears and one mouth so you could listen twice as much as you speak.”) Based on what Dad told me, I tried to listen to other people and observe them before I spoke up. That was the era of the belief that “children should be seen and not heard.” Learning to listen made me more sensitive to other people, perhaps too sensitive, when I first ventured out into the business world.

  I was all of ten years old. The Korean War was on and my family was nearly broke, even though Dad was working hard. My mother used to embroider handkerchiefs, and I would take them out and sell them door-to-door. I was terrible at it. I would always read the expressions on the faces of my potential customers and realize they couldn’t afford to buy. I began to recognize disappointment, hesitation, even embarrassment in my customers’ faces. Often they didn’t need to say a word. I felt sorry for them, so frequently I’d sell a handkerchief for less than it was worth. My mother was no fool. She made me stop selling the handkerchiefs, and my brother assumed all the sales duties. Even at age ten, I was reading things in people’s faces. And while it made me the worst handkerchief salesman in Warren, Ohio, it would serve me well later in life, especially in my career.

  FROM HANDKERCHIEFS TO HOLLYWOOD STARS

  Television and I grew up together. The first time I saw it was in 1949. I was nine years old. On the tiny screen was a test pattern with Howdy Doody’s picture. I don’t remember watching much television again until I was fifteen or sixteen, when I went out of my way to see ball games, “The Jackie Gleason Show,” and “Toast of the Town” with Ed Sullivan. As it did for millions of others, TV soon became a part of my life, but I had no idea it could be a career.

  When I went off to Ohio University, the only way I could finance my education was with part-time jobs. There was an opening at the university radio station. I auditioned and was hired. I became the 7 A.M. sign-on disc jockey. Although I enjoyed being on the air, I was more excited by the scripting, the deadlines, the creativity, and the enthusiasm of the other students. Radio—and later TV—also gave me the opportunity to provide the link between audiences and significant events and personalities in politics, sports, business, and entertainment. For the next four years I was consumed by broadcasting.

  I graduated from college in 1962. I had two job offers: one as a sports announcer at a radio station in Columbus; the other as a prop boy for a television station in Cleveland. The radio job paid more. But my intuition told me that the future was in television. So I became a prop boy, which is another word for gofer (as in “Go fer the coffee, kid”).

  The station was just starting a local television program called “The Mike Douglas Show.” The goal was to create a show that could be syndicated nationally, which most people thought would be impossible from Cleveland, Ohio. The show’s gimmick was that Mike, an almost unknown former band singer, would cohost each week with a different Hollywood star. It worked and the show became the most widely viewed nationally syndicated talk-variety show in television history up to that time. “The Mike Douglas Show” was eventually seen in 180 cities, lasted almost twenty years, and had more viewers at one point than NBC-TV’s “The Tonight Show,” with Johnny Carson. Most of the credit for the creation of this program goes to executive producer Woody Fraser, program manager Chet Collier, and a few talented others.

  I was fortunate to join their group in the show’s first few months and my career grew with the show. By working very hard, I was promoted to assistant director, which is a gofer with stripes. I wrote cue cards for the songs, I ran for sandwiches for the stars, I picked up guests at the airport and brought them to the studio. I did whatever anybody asked. It was a great learning experience. Suddenly I was working daily with the biggest stars of the time—people like Bob Hope, Pearl Bailey, Liberace, Jack Benny, and Judy Garland. I mention these names because it was from these and others that I learned the elements of effective communications. Each person I met had some impact on me. But the greatest impact of all was made by television itself.

  2

  TELEVISION CHANGED THE RULES

  Television is a controversial medium. Some people think it’s good. Some don’t. Much has been written about how TV has changed the way we view the world. What I’ve learned firsthand is that television has also changed the way we view each other. As a result of TV, people today expect to be made comfortable in every communications situation. When someone speaks to them, they want to relax and listen just as they do when a TV professional entertains them in their living room. So when you and I communicate, we are unconsciously judged by our audience against the standards set by David Letterman and Dan Rather. You may think that’s unfair, but that’s the way it is. You don’t need to be as funny as Letterman or as confident as Rather. But you’re expected to be at least as comfortable, knowledgeable, and to the point as any good guest on a television show. In our subconscious minds, the style that’s acceptable on television—relaxed, informal, crisp, and entertaining—has become the modern standard for an effective communicator.

  QUICK-CUT COMMUNICATIONS

  Today we’re all tuned to receive information much more quickly, and we get bored in a hurry if things slow down. The video age has sped up our cognitive powers. We get to the point faster. Because we’ve become accustomed to video editing, our minds skip ahead. When I started in television, programs had longer segments than they have today. Videotape and its editing process have tightened up not only television but the way we communicate. This has contributed significantly to making us a more impatient society. We’re often too glib when we shouldn’t be. That’s why sometimes changing your rate of speech, your movements, or how quickly you get to the point can help you gain control of a situation. People who watch the evening news see entire South American cities collapse under earthquakes in sixty seconds or less. So if you’re just talking for sixty seconds, you’d better be good and interesting.

  SEE IT AND SAY IT

  Images help. If you can see a picture in your mind and describe it, others will stay tuned in. For example, a number of my clients are chief financial officers (CFOs) of large corporations. The truth is, when one CFO speaks to a group of other CFOs, the material is not exactly “Saturday Night Live” in style. That’s not a criticism of the speakers. It’s just that there’s a lot of statistical data that have to be used in any financial presentation. We’re stuck with it. The trick is—whenever possible—to go beyond the deadly abstraction of numbers and relate what you have to say in a way that brings the numbers to life.

  Businesspeople can be remarkably adept at expressing technical ideas in a creative way. Look at the language describing corporate takeovers these days. Terms like “poison pills,” “white knights,” and “shark rep
ellent” put life into discussions of highly technical business maneuvers.

  There are many interesting ways to communicate facts and statistics. For instance, if speakers can paint word pictures, as opposed to just using words, or can use emotionally charged, intriguing words, they’ll be more interesting. If you’re talking about imported oil, for example, instead of just quoting how many tons of oil come into a country every day or every year, you might say, “That’s enough to fill every football stadium in this country ten times over.”

  WANTED: ALIVE, NOT DEAD

  Whether you’re a lawyer presenting a case to a jury or a businessperson making a presentation of some kind, the techniques of television apply to what you’re doing, in terms of brevity, quick cut, pacing, visual reinforcements, and colorful language. We’re in a headline society now and we need to realize this, whether we think it’s a good thing or not. In today’s society, long-winded people will soon be as extinct as the dinosaur. You have to be punchy and graphic in your conversation—at least some of the time—to hold people’s interest.

  Here are some quotes. To the left of each quote I’ve composed a deadly version of a lively thought.

  Dull Interesting

  The two leading ways to achieve success are improving upon existing technology and finding a means of evading a larger obligation. The two leading recipes for success are building a better mousetrap and finding a bigger loophole.

  —Edgar A. Schoaff

  To construct an amalgam, you have to be willing to split open its component parts. To make an omelet, you have to be willing to break a few eggs.

  —Robert Penn Warren

  Capital will not produce great pleasure, but it will remunerate a large research staff to examine the questions proposed for a solution. Money won’t buy happiness, but it will pay the salaries of a large research staff to study the problem.

  —Bill Vaughan

  In this video age we’re all broadcasters. We transmit our own programs. We receive ratings from our audiences. We’ve been absorbed by the medium of television and now we are part of that medium. We can project comedy, drama, information, or news. We can write the scripts and deliver the parts. And we can move an audience to laughter, tears, or boredom. Marshall McLuhan said, “The medium is the message.” I believe each person is his own message, whatever medium he chooses.

  3

  YOU ARE THE MESSAGE

  The most pressure-packed communications spotlight in the world follows the president of the United States, and on the morning of Monday, October 8, 1984, the pressure on Ronald Reagan was particularly intense.

  The press had pretty much decided that Walter Mondale had won the first television debate with Reagan in Louisville the night before. Speculation swept the country that there was hope for Mondale yet, and that maybe, just maybe, he could pull the election out over the popular seventy-three-year-old president, who had appeared so tired and confused to the nation’s viewers.

  A couple of days later, I received a call from the White House. Up to that point, I had played a small, creative consulting role on the president’s Tuesday Team, the group masterminding the reelection campaign. Now some of the president’s staff wanted me to come down to Washington and see what I could do about averting a second TV debate disaster, an event even they feared could cost Ronald Reagan the election. There was great resistance to bringing me in, because many people felt that the president had been overcoached for the first debate. Nancy Reagan was upset that the president had performed so badly against Mondale after all that coaching, and since she didn’t know me, she probably thought, “God, that’s all we need—one more consultant. We had too many the first time.” She wasn’t wrong, but my aim was to provide the structure needed to bring the president back to basics.

  THE REASSURANCE ISSUE

  What the American people wanted from the president, I felt, was some reassurance that he wasn’t too old for the job, and given that, they would reelect him. Clearly, they hadn’t received that reassurance in the first debate, although his supposed losses from that performance were exaggerated. Although there had been a drop in Reagan’s polling results in the large cities of the Northeast—which were not his natural constituency anyway—I was told his numbers stayed even or actually went up in places like Texas after the first debate. Nevertheless, it was important for the president to do well in the second debate.

  When I arrived at the White House, the first thing Reagan’s top aides, Jim Baker and Michael Deaver, told me was that I would not be talking to Mr. Reagan directly. They said, “We’d like your ideas, and if we think they’re good, we’ll present them to the president.” So I said fine, and we got down to business.

  DEFINING GOALS

  “What are the president’s goals for the second debate?” I asked. Their replies were vague, so I went through a checklist of possible objectives.

  Finally Baker said, “Maybe you ought to go to the debate practice this afternoon. Don’t say anything, just sit in the back and watch, and give us your observations.”

  At 4 P.M., I arrived at the little theater in the Executive Office Building next to the White House. There were two lecterns on the stage, with Reagan standing at one and his budget director, David Stockman, at the other. Several members of the administration were set up as a panel of questioners. The moment I walked in, I could see that the president was uncomfortable, out of sorts, and tired. He clearly didn’t want to be there, but this mock debate was on his schedule.

  STOCKMAN’S OTHER BOOK

  Someone fired a question at Stockman and he gave a perfect answer, reading it out of some notebook put together by Ph.D.s. In response, the president ad-libbed, fumbling around a bit. Then back to Stockman, who read a perfect rebuttal and buried the president again, making him look confused about the facts. Every time they finished a round, somebody in the audience would raise a hand and say, “Mr. President, the tonnage on that warhead is wrong. The date of that treaty was so-and-so,” and they’d correct him.

  I watched this performance for about twenty minutes, with Stockman’s written answers annihilating the president, and Reagan trying to remember all the detailed facts and statistics as he had in the first debate. I signaled for Deaver and Baker to come out into the hall. “If you think he was bad in Kentucky, wait till he gets to Kansas City. It’ll be a disaster if you keep this up.”

  “Well, what do we do?” they asked.

  ACCESS TO THE PRESIDENT

  I told them to cancel the mock debates, get everyone off his back, and give me access to him for a couple of hours between then and Sunday, when the second debate was scheduled. I also asked for the last half hour before the debate alone with the president. “If you give me that,” I told them, “he’ll win. If you don’t, he’ll probably lose.” I realized that sounded presumptuous, but actually I was gambling on Reagan and his innate gift of communication. I felt pretty sure that if I could get him back to being himself again, he’d be okay.

  When I went back into the theater, they were still at it, correcting everything the president said. Finally, someone asked him a fairly tough question, and he gave a brilliant answer.

  There was complete silence. So I stood up in the back and called out, “Mr. President, that was a terrific answer!” Reagan flashed me a big smile and seemed to grow about four inches. He was like a guy in a batting slump who finally puts one over the wall. He really needed someone to give him a cheer.

  Two days later, I met with Reagan and his aides. Again I asked the question. “Mr. President, what’s your goal in the second debate?”

  He obviously hadn’t thought much about it, and finally he said, “Well, Mondale’s saying some things that aren’t true and I’ve got to correct the record.”

  LET REAGAN BE REAGAN

  “Mr. President,” I said, “there are five strategies you can choose from. You can attack, defend, counterattack, sell, or ignore. You’ve picked defense, which is the weakest possible position. If you do that, you�
�ll lose again.” That got his attention. Then I talked to him about communications, debates, and what I thought the public expected. I said, “You didn’t get elected on details. You got elected on themes. Every time a question is asked, relate it to one of your themes. You know enough facts, and it’s too late to learn new ones now, anyway.”

  After about fifteen minutes of conversation, Mike Deaver, the man who knew the president best, slipped me a note that said, “He’s really tuned in. Keep going!”

  THE PEPPER DRILL

  After that, we did what I call a pepper drill. We fired questions at the president and he had about ninety seconds for each answer, which was considerably less time than he would have in the actual debate.

  “What I want you to do, Mr. President, is to go back to your instincts. Just say what comes to you out of your experience.”

  I asked others in the room not to interrupt the drill but to make a note of anything they thought should be corrected later.

  That was a little risky because there were a lot of high-powered people there, but I knew that I was in charge and that I had to remain in charge of that session until the president regained his rhythm and confidence.

  For the next hour, we fired away at him. Every time he’d start to stumble, I’d ask, “What do your instincts tell you about this?” and he’d come right back on track. He was very good. Finally I said, “Mr. President, if you do that Sunday night, you’re home free.”

  THE UNMENTIONABLE TOPIC

  On Saturday, I met with Mike Deaver in his office prior to my ninety-minute meeting with the president in the White House residential quarters. Before we went upstairs, Deaver warned me, “Don’t introduce anything new at this meeting. Let’s just see if the president has any questions or concerns about the debate, and if he has, we’ll go over them.”