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“You aren’t supposed to be smiling at a funeral,” my niece whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she sat between me and her older sister in the first row of  Salon A.  The three of us stared straight ahead studying  the grim subject before us; our beloved Pop Pop Gene.  My tiny mother sat slumped in a wing-backed receiving line chair just to the side of the casket; my youngest sister kneeling  beside her on one knee, patted her slightly shaking  hand.

I peeked over to my right. A chestnut shock of hair hung over half of  the child’s face as she silently reprimanded me. Suddenly moonstruck,  I realized how both young  girls looked  just as their mother did at that same mysterious age; prime numbered Eleven. Picasso beauties, all three of them. I couldn’t help but smile even on this, the  saddest of  all wakeful occasions.

We Italianos, besides wearing a lot of black, don’t mourn so much as think about food during times of great sorrow.  Ironically,  we fill our stomachs with the very fatty pabulum that slowly kills us in the first place.  Mangiare!  Morte! Mangiare! Too many cheese raviolis spoil the life span.  According to the heart surgeon, who admittedly did all he that could, my father had 95%  blockages in every artery. We are told he never made it past the initial catheterization.  I looked around the room and wondered if everyone was as hungry as me.  The pang soon passed as I once again embraced the still, silent  gravity of the moment.

I slipped my iPhone out of the breast pocket of my suit jacket and clicked on the Notes icon.  The screen lit up the entire front row. I scrolled down to a page I had earlier tagged ‘Cheat Sheet’  and quickly reviewed the names of each of my 20+ first cousins and their  respective spouses (both alive and deceased), children, and significant others as well as my parents’ immediate neighbors, long  ago retired  co-workers,  and dearest remaining friends.  Anyone beyond that realm of  entitled preparation would receive a simple and gracious  “Thank you so much for coming.” I do a similar thing at weddings and Christmas parties.  At age 52, my memory is clearly shot.

There are at least six variations Michael in our hyper-extended family; Mike, Mikey, Mickey, etc and nearly as many Johns and Johnnys. There are also a couple of Judys and more than a few versions of Elizabeth; Liz, Mary Beth, Mary Elizabeth, et al. The most beloved of these are committed to perpetual and everlasting memory.  Everyone else is on the List.

“Put your phone away,” my niece whispered  loud enough for everyone but my mother (and possibly father) to hear—and to be fair, my mother never hears anything.  I rose up from my chair and scurried into a private room reserved for Immediate Family to quickly review the names: John and Sandy, Ricky and Debbie, Judy and Mike, Monica and Mike, Elaine and Mike (Oops, divorced… I think. Maybe not. Or was it just an affair?… I think. Maybe not. Everyone got so fat I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore), Andrea and Mike (did they ever marry?)  Wait… more than a few of these people have passed on themselves. I needed to make a separate List just for the dearly departed.  Note… to… self…

I was starving.  I looked around the chintz and mahogany room. There was nothing to eat but wrapped breath mints and ice cubes from the pewter ice bucket. I picked up a stack of St. Jude prayer cards and fought back the tears as I read my father’s printed name on the back. I put three of them into my pocket and popped a breath mint. Smoking a cigarette seemed like a good idea for the first time in years but I refrained (although I was pretty sure at least one of the ‘Mikes’ smoked my old brand).

My father was wearing his best Brooks Brothers suit and a Hermes tie my wife Mona bought him for his 80th birthday.  Everyone said he looked great but I’m not even sure what that means. I could barely focus. My sister, up  on both feet by now, took a small bottle from our mother’s purse, walked over to the casket, and made sure the parlor attendant dabbed a splash of cologne on Pop Pop’s lapel. A Knights of Columbus 4th Degree Honor Guard volunteer stood at  swaying attention to the left. My other sister insists she saw him take a couple nips when he thought no one was looking but then again, she needed a drink  right about then as much as I needed a bowl of mussels, linguine, and a half-loaf of stiff Italian bread.  Guests began to arrive and we  ‘meeted and greeted’ for what seemed like the remainder of Eternity. Time seemed to stop for all of us,  including our father who art….

Toward the end of the night I fought off the sorrow, ignored the lingering hunger, and vowed to improve my life in all areas–not the least of which being what I shove down my throat.  Alone on a sofa in the Mens Lounge of the funeral home, I typed the following into the Lose it! application on my iPhone: Tasty Slim Fast in the morning;  A cracker for lunch; A sensible carrot stick for dinner. (I would ultimately blow my diet in First Class on my trip back to Chicago. Those damn…hot…nuts…) My father’s son in more ways than one,  I love anything salty, crunchy, sweet, or spicy.  Again, I fought back the tears….

As the remaining family members said our goodbyes beneath the mercury lights of the  parking lot I leaned down and whispered into my young niece’s ear. The shock of hair  still covered one beautiful blue eye. The other, pure sapphire under the moon and mercury, gleamed back at me.

“I always think about food when I’m sad.”  Her pretty little mouth flashed the faintest of smiles—a quarter turn upward, as she hugged me goodbye.  “And just so you know,”  I continued as her older sister left her own mother’s side and joined our personal embrace…. ”I always smile when I cry.”   But I really don’t.

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Benjamin Bach:

I receive more comments on these than any other card I’ve ever seen.

Say what you will, this is the most ambitious card we’ve seen so far.

And do please say it with pictures.

Technorati Tags: real estate, real estate marketing

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More from Richard Riccelli on ideas for Allen Butler’s business card:

An object lesson in the art of the possible.

(Yes, Chuchundra, you are of course right**), since Vettriano’s licensing fees are likely to be a bit dear on a Realtor’s business card budget, let’s quickly explore what can be accomplished with an art budget of a few hundred dollars.

Visit your favorite stock photography/illustration source (getty, veer, jupiter leap to mind), navigate to the rights-free (cheap and forever) areas, type in your keywords, and see what suggests itself.

And if you have the decided advantage of a name that is also its own mnemonic, all the better to create a brand ID, if not a brand image.

The object is to stick with it. Like a bulldog, if not a bloodhound. (I know, it’s a pug. Stock photography does has its limitations.)

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**p.s. and thx for the You Tube clip. Most amusing. I think I was in that room, just out of frame.

Technorati Tags: real estate, real estate marketing

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Richard Riccelli sent me this yesterday, his unique take on a business card for Allen Butler, The Realty Butler:

The art of the card

Allen, 

Your euphonious butler idea can work … just be more evocative to move it up market.  More like this on the front…with apologies to Mr. Vettriano and the Portland Gallery.

Formula for success:  Fine art on the front** + Simple contact details on the back = Hard to discard. 

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**Don’t even THINK of appropriating this work without Mr. Vettriano’s permi$$ion!  Of course you knew that.

That formula, fine art on the front, details on the back, could rock.

There is no guarantee that a top-drawer marketing guru will while away his Sunday redesigning your business card — but what have you got to lose? Show us your card and let’s talk about it…

Technorati Tags: real estate, real estate marketing

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Allen Butler is a volunteer to this discussion, so please be gentle:

Frankly, it needs an overhaul. I’m not real enamored of it any more. I used to think it was better than good…

Don’t blame Allen for this. Blame Adobe’s John Warnock, who, more than anyone else, invented desktop publishing.

I have one word: Simplify. Amend me constructively, if you please.

And: In the nicest possible way: Why not show us you can take it as well as dish it out?

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Michael Wurzer brings us this:

I just had my business cards changed a few weeks ago to highlight the FBS Blog on the back/front. This is a tame rip-off of Hugh MacLeod’s blog cards.

Publicizing the weblog is sweet, but what Michael is showing us is the businessman’s business card — just the facts ma’am. If there is a marketing appeal, it’s in the subtle factors: “Our good taste and organizational ability provide you with tacit assurance that we won’t screw up your work on deadline.” That’s a job every business card has to do before it can do any other.

The question for the house: Can a business card do any other job? We spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to make our cards sell for us, passively. Are we just spinning our wheels? Is Michael’s card carrying all the load a little collateral piece can bear?

Say it in pictures, if you would: Show us your business card.

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Ken Brand:

I’m a big fan of Scott Ginsberg the “Name Tag Guy”, I thought the name tag idea would make my card seem casual and approachable…wanted a short little resume so I put it on the back of the card. No sense wasting the space.

I’m looking forward to seeing what others are up too…thanks.

It’s time for you to show us what you’ve got.

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Rudy Mayer:

It’s translucent plastic. It’s clean. No photo. It’s different than any other card. People always comment on it and remember it.

You’ll just have to pretend you can see through Rudy’s card. I think this is a fun idea. Might be cool to try on a very heavy vellum, also. As with size, texture calls attention to itself. We print our cards on a very heavy stock, just because so many Realtor cards are printed on the cheapest lightly-coated card stock. We UV coat front and back. It’s necessary in the Phoenix sun, but it also just feels lush. I’ve watched people rub my cards between their fingers. We are monkeys with minds. The quickest path to the mind can be through the monkey.

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Thomas Johnson at ERA Houston has a unique take on making his business card memorable:

This two sided card is printed on a Tyvek envelope like you used to get from the bank to protect the magnetic stripe on your debit card. My thinking is that it could have a shelf life much longer than a normal business card. If the recipient uses my card and puts it in their wallet, I have their money covered.

I’m thinking the card is printed at credit card size, which makes it an odd fit with other cards. This is not a bad thing. The human mind craves order. Give people a bunch of business cards, and they will stack them into a neat little pile. The ones that don’t fit will call attention to themselves — repeatedly, like a popcorn hull trapped between molars. Cards that are slightly too small or have rounded corners will be stacked to the top. Cards that are too large will go to the bottom of the stack. Either way, people will look at the odd men out again and again, trying to make their little stack of cards neater. I don’t know that insinuating yourself into a prospect’s brain as an irritation is the nicest thing to do, but getting in there at all is the first challenge. This is a Black Pearl in the most literally figurative sense…

Your turn: What makes your business card tick?

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Richard Riccelli is a direct marketing creative genius. Where better to express that genius than on his business card?

Says Richard:

A website preview and a free offer all on a business card…

Each card features a common contact front with a different info back that makes a free offer — while visually previewing my website.

Common front of the cards.

One back.

And another.

What better way to sell the product than with small, unobtrusive but very potent demonstrations?

What about you? Show us your business card and the thinking behind it.

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