Confessions of an S.O.B.

Style is an often overlooked part of leadership and living. I always use my own style to dramatize my ideas, my plans, my expectations. Whether I am writing a memo or traveling the globe, I expect my style to help communicate my ideas.

People remember style as much as substance.

Plain talk and clear writing are part of my style. So is first-class living and traveling. I've never left either to chance. C.E.O.s who try to run a company on the cheap end up having a cheap company.

All my life, I've insisted on having fun, even as a poor kid growing up in South Dakota. I couldn't afford much else, but I could afford to laugh.

Fun doesn't require wealth. It depends on an outlook--taking what comes your way and making the most of it, enjoying it.

If you learn to have fun when you're going second class, you can have a helluva lot more of it in first class. And that's what I've been doing most of my adult life.

My philosophy, policy and style always have been that first class costs only a few dollars more and is a smart investment for a smart company on the climb.

I've caught a lot of flak for my first-class tastes from my critics and (continued on page 126)confessions of An S.O.B.(continued from page 121) even from some cheap-skate co-workers. They didn't understand what my perks and privileges as a C.E.O. meant, professionally and personally:

• A $17,000,000 Gulfstream IV jet, equipped with typewriters, television sets and a shower, to fly me where I needed to go on business anywhere in the world.

• Limousines and drivers at every destination to allow me to work or visit with colleagues while on the move.

• A $360,000-a-year nine-room hotel suite in The Waldorf Towers in New York City and a $160,000 suite at The Capital Hilton in Washington, D.C., in which to do business with pleasure.

What my critics don't understand is that I work while I'm enjoying those indulgences. My limos have a typewriter, a telephone and a TV set to keep up with news developments.

The minute I walk into a hotel suite, I check my office arrangement. My secretaries plan ahead with hotel management to make sure one of the rooms is set up with a big desk, proper lighting, television, and telephones properly located. The minute we arrive, my secretary adds my typewriter, copy paper, paper clips and rubber bands.

Whether I arrive at three a.m. in Singapore or three a.m in Paris, I have an instant office. I hurry to get my work out of the way so that I can play.

Executives who pride themselves on hard work but ignore fun and fitness are candidates for career burnout.

Even though I always welcome going to work, I play as hard as I work. Often, the two go hand in hand.

Regular exercise, such as my daily jogging, is considered monotonous work by some. I consider it playing at very worthwhile work.

A rigid exercise routine does not mean you can't enjoy the good life. Just the opposite: You can indulge in the best, occasionally eat rich food and drink the best wines if you counteract that by burning up the calories you've consumed.

People ask me why I appear so relaxed after a long day of work or days of travel. It's simple. You, too, can feel great if you:

• Eat only when you're hungry.

• Drink only when you're thirsty.

• Sleep only when you're tired.

• Screw only when you're horny.

There may be more scientific ways to achieve fun and fitness in a first-class way, but I haven't found them yet.

I make no apologies for my first-class lifestyle.

My colleagues understand that I expect my personal life to be as ordered and organized as my professional life. In fact, in my years as C.E.O. and chairman, I didn't have a separate personal life.

The people with whom I worked most closely knew my expectations. But because I traveled extensively, I spelled out to Gannett publishers my requirements. It saved me a lot of time, helped get the details right and made me a better C.E.O. and a more satisfied S.O.B.

To Gannett publishers:

Based on our travels for regional or subsidiary meetings of recent weeks and in view of the fact that all of us will be doing even more such in the future...here are some purely personal preferences and/or prejudices that, if catered to, will make me even more charming and effective on these visits:

1. When arriving at local airport, I like to be met by publisher himself or herself. That permits business talk en route office or motel-hotel.

2. We should not waste time checking into and out of hotels. Preregistration, keys, billings, etc., should all be arranged.

3. A suite is essential for me so that I can have any desired business meetings without guests or associates sitting on bed or floor.

4. That suite should contain latest editions of local newspapers. Ice and fruit help. Booze is not necessary, but a bottle of Montrachet or Pouilly-Fuissé never hurt anybody.

5. En route to office, I need list of names of persons I will be seeing first--starting with receptionist and/or publisher's secretary. This, of course, should include the department heads with whom we'll be meeting. Noting any recent important personal items about any of them helps.

6. The meeting room must include the last week's editions of the local newspaper.

7. If, in the infinite and autonomous wisdom of the local editor or publisher, an interview is desired with me, OK. But it is a waste of time for all to have most recent recruit off the street do the interview. If it's worth doing, it's worth having reasonably intelligent reporter with some knowledge of Ganett [sic] and Newhart [sic] do the interviewing.

8. For social functions, advance list of attendees with first names is essential. A notation about babies, birthdays, anniversaries, girlfriends, boyfriends, etc., helps. Name tags are a must.

9. Breakfast meetings are a waste of time for me. I prefer those early-morning hours for jogging, reading morning papers, telephone calls and preparation for the day's meetings and/or travels.

10. Whether we publish a morning paper in that city or not, a copy of the nearest a.m. publication (including The Wall Street Journal, if possible) should be at the hotel-room door before six a.m. No questions will be asked as to whether the publisher or circulation manager delivered it on the way home from saloon or on the way to work.

Yours for even happier Holiday Inning....

•

Life is a game. It is not an undefeated season. You win some. You lose some. To enjoy life to the utmost, you must play every game to win.

Winning is the most important thing in life. And the most rewarding. Everything else pales in comparison with the feeling of winning.

The most satisfying victories are those in which the odds against your winning are the greatest. But long odds don't necessarily make the job more difficult.

In fact, the more that people tell you it can't be done, the more likely it is that you have a winner. That usually means you know something they don't know. Or that your idea is so different or so daring that they can't comprehend it.

USA Today had something to prove to the world: that it could beat the odds and succeed. So did many members of the staff. Most had not yet established or peaked with their professional reputations. Many were women or members of minorities who had run into the glass ceiling elsewhere. They saw USA Today as their ticket to the top. Others had left jobs they weren't enjoying very much to seek a new adventure. They were there for the fun of it. Their adventuresome spirit created a counterculture to the media establishment.

The entry of USA Today into local markets wasn't always a welcomed event--certainly not by some local newspapers. Sometimes we were criticized by the local press for the way we moved our blue-and-white vending machines onto their street corners. New York is an example.

The weekend before our launch in the Big Apple, circulation chief Frank Vega's troops stormed the city and bolted 3000 vending machines to the sidewalks.

At a press conference that Monday (continued on page 178)Confessions of an S.O.B.(continued from page 126) morning, reporters from The New York Times, the Daily News and the New York Post goaded Mayor Ed Koch into criticizing the USA Today machines as "unsightly." He said he would have his legal department look into whether he could force us to remove them.

But that night, Koch showed up as scheduled at our big bash at Radio City Music Hall. With his usual chutzpah, he welcomed us to New York and wished us well. "I don't know too much about Gannett. But any outfit that can bolt down three thousand vending machines on the sidewalks of New York overnight can't be all bad," he wisecracked before the audience of several hundred of the Big Apple's big names.

The vending machines became a huge part of our nationwide hype. Ultimately, we put more than 135,000 of them in place. Not only do they serve as sales outlets but they are minibillboards that millions of people see daily.

We had carefully researched the law and were convinced that local politicians or competing media could not prevent their installation or force us to remove the boxes. They are a vehicle for distributing news, and the First Amendment protects them. That argument prevailed at several locations where a legal challenge against them was launched.

Some local newspapers were so bitter they carefully cut out or brushed out our news boxes in pictures of street accidents or other such scenes. Or they published them only in scenes depicting slums.

But television stations loved showing the boxes on their TV news bites. Movie producers soon panned street corners showing this new blue-and-white landmark.

The vending machines probably were and are the biggest single ongoing free promotion any company was ever able to design for a new commercial product. But they didn't just happen.

From the beginning, I knew we had to design a USA Today news rack that would be different, one that would really catch the eyes of passers-by.

Newspaper-vending machines had looked the same for decades. Studying how to modernize them was Frank Vega's job. I wanted something on street corners that looked like a TV set, with newspapers displayed so people would stop and look at them the way they do at TV screens.

The traditional, most commonly used racks had a coin box at the top. The front page of the newspaper was displayed well below the coin box so that people couldn't read it without bending down.

When I told Vega I wanted to promote the paper, not the coin box, he didn't get it right away. He said that if we were going to display the front page the way I wanted it displayed, we would have to build racks with electric motors in them.

"And Al," Vega said, in his usual smartass way, "there aren't electrical outlets on every street corner of the country."

Because of the laws of gravity, Vega explained, we would have to keep the coin mechanism on top.

"Mr. Vega," I said, with an edge in my voice, drumming my fingers on top of a rack as he and a half dozen associates listened, "I understand the fucking laws of gravity. But I want that coin mechanism out of the way of the newspaper display!"

Besides rattling a few coins, I had rattled Vega's composure. He returned to the drawing board with a renewed sense of imagination and determination.

Vega took my concept to Fred Gore, a Texas product designer. Vega told Gore that we wanted a rack with a space-age look, one that would appeal to a television generation.

Gore came up with a winner: Our new rack was on a pedestal, and the display window was tilted back at a slight angle. The front page was presented to the reader in an inviting way--it said, "Read me, buy me."

And Gore found a way to move the coin mechanism.

•

Too often, C.E.O.s act more like politicians than like bosses.

Employees do not want to be wooed. They like plain talk. And as Gannett C.E.O., I delivered plenty of it--in writing.

I called my memos on peach-colored paper "love letters," whether they were tender or tough.

Some of the irreverent recipients called them "orange meanies." I didn't consider them mean. They helped people do a better job. Sure, I sometimes used tough language and I got pretty personal.

The start-up and progress of USA Today required some of my strongest and most direct memos. More than 1000 people had to be pushed and pulled in the same direction every day. My notes established the goals and expectations so there could be no misunderstanding up or down the line:

To John Quinn [editor in chief] and Henry Freeman [managing editor/sports]:

Damn it! After two years, can't we find someone on the page-one desk who can add and subtract? And can't we find someone in the sports department who can read and think and double-check things?!

Screwing up the world-series schedule as we did in Rudy Martzke's page-one story today is absolutely inexcusable.

Unless we can figure out a foolproof system to have this sort of thing done right, you will find me back haunting all of you in the sports department and on the page-one desk every night, pretty damn soon.

To John Seigenthaler [editorial director] et al.:

I am tempted to propose a new category for Pulitzer Prizes--dumbest editorial judgment of the year.

In such a category, I would nominate today's USA Today editorial on the Philippine elections. Not just for this year--dumbest judgment in our three and a half years of publication.

We decided we would not endorse a candidate for President of the USA. So we endorse a candidate in the Philippine presidential election!

To John Quinn, Ron Martin [executive editor] et al.:

I'll explain it one more time, Geography 101:

America is made up of Canada, the United States, Central America, South America and more (see attached map).

The USA is made up of the United States of America, all 50 of them, and its territories. No more. No less.

Any poll or any news story (such as today's "Life" section stuff) that refers broadly to Americans, when it really means the people of the United States of America, is a subterfuge. It represents inexcusably sloppy reporting and editing.

One more time, please make sure all editors understand. If anyone does not, I'll be happy to arrange a transfer for him/her to Calgary, or Cuzco or Curitiba so that he/she can practice journalism for a different audience in the other Americas than that which we serve in the United States of America--the USA.

•

When USA Today's circulation topped the 1,000,000 mark, I turned my attention to other departments. I snooped into everything everywhere. At a meeting of news people, I said, "You're doing the best job of any department at USA Today. Day in and day out, your over-all product is on target. It's a strong B-plus from front to back. But you keep screwing up the top half of page one. That's the most important part of the paper. It's the only thing the potential buyer sees. And it's the poorest-edited part of the paper. That gets a C-plus."

I walked from my seat and paced the conference room. I knew where I was heading and what I had in mind, but no one else did. My target: the vending machine in the corner. We had them in the newsroom and meeting rooms so that that day's newspaper was always on display for our staffers to see exactly what our potential readers saw on the street corner.

I staged one of my planned dramas, controlled temper rising.

Stopping at the vending machine, I rattled the door, jabbed at the top half of the newspaper on display. Then I reached in my pocket, pulled out a quarter and bought a paper.

I unfolded it so the entire page was showing. That day's cover story was about basketball-tournament fever, with a color picture of a beautiful, blonde, tight-sweatered high school cheerleader leaping in the air. But only her head and shoulders showed in the top half of the page, the part that was on display in the machine window.

I jabbed my finger at the page for emphasis and growled, "The next time you run a picture of a nice, clean-cut, all-American girl in a tight sweater, get her tits above the fold!"

The men and women news editors in the room roared. They got it. The message didn't have anything to do with tits. It was designed to leave a lasting impression--all the best of page one had to show in the vending machine.

Our treatment of the top half of page one improved after that.

•

Gradually, operations improved in all departments. And inevitably, the emphasis had to shift to cost control. In the beginning, we threw money at most problems. Ultimately, I knew we'd have to substitute smart management for money. I also realized it would be tough to get everyone to shift gears.

The time came at the end of our second year of publication.

I was at my Pumpkin Center hideaway in Cocoa Beach, Florida, for the weekend when the October 1984 financial statement arrived. That was the first month of our third year of operation.

USA Today had lost another $10,000,000 that month. Losses had been at that level during most of 1984. I had promised the board that it would see improvement by year end. I had talked again and again with our key management people about it. But they weren't listening.

I had to get their attention--one way or another.

I called president John Curley in Washington midday Saturday and told him to bring the eight-member USA Today management committee to Pumpkin Center for a meeting at noon on Sunday. It was his problem to round up the executives and have them on a Gannett jet Sunday morning. I said 100 percent attendance was mandatory.

When the USA Today executives arrived, they sensed right away that things were different.

We got right down to business. I said, "We can no longer afford to run USA Today the way we've been running it. We can't afford it financially. We can't afford it in terms of our credibility. We can't afford it emotionally."

I got up and walked the room. I looked at each person. They were all where I wanted them: transfixed. "So all you have to do is figure out how to do more with less. I'm going to give you the afternoon off to think about it. We'll reconvene tonight at the Surf Restaurant at seven."

That was the usual way to end the day when we had Pumpkin Center meetings. They were all expecting the same thing: a fancy dinner of stone crabs or oysters, Florida red snapper or pompano, French wine, a little pleasant business and social talk. But they were in for a surprise.

When the executives arrived at the Surf, they were directed to a private dining room. The door was closed. Some waited outside for 20 or 30 minutes. No drink orders were taken. When all were assembled, the door to the private room opened.

As they filed in, I was seated at a long, barren table. I was wearing a flowing robe and a crown of thorns. A large wooden cross rested on the wall behind me.

The guests were silent. They didn't know whether to cry, laugh or leave.

At each setting, there was a glass of Manischewitz wine and a piece of unleavened bread. It was a loose adaptation of the Jewish Passover and the Christian Last Supper, with emphasis on theatrics.

I began reading from a script headed, The Service for the Passed-Over. I read this ritual question from the Seder service: "Why, on this night, do we eat especially bitter herbs?"

Then I asked them to join me in the answer: "This bitter herb is eaten because we are threatening to embitter our lives and the lives of our children."

As the service went on, some laughed. Others were stony-faced. But they all got the message. Unless things changed, this might, indeed, be the last supper. And all of them would be passed over.

To make sure none of them forgot the message, I had a photographer on hand to record for posterity this somber setting. I later gave them autographed copies.

A picture of their boss wearing a crown of thorns with a cross in the background and them seated at the Last Supper was an effective reminder of the ruthless realities--even years later.

I was told later that on the two-hour jet ride back to Washington, some were pissed, some were praying.

But the cost-cutting started in earnest the next morning.

•

Some of the best, and some of the worst, journalism in the U.S. is practiced in the nation's capital. But the pompousness east of the Potomac is so prevalent that those who practice both the best and the worst often are not aware of the difference.

That aura of arrogance and the erratic performance it produces make The Washington Post the most overrated newspaper in the USA. Not the worst, by any means, but certainly not among the ten best.

Because The Washington Post is the most overrated newspaper in the country--and because it's read by most of our leaders in the nation's capital every day--its brand of journalism is worth a brief case study.

"Holy shit!" journalism is what Post executive editor Ben Bradlee calls it.

He teaches his disciples that when a reader picks up page one of the Post at breakfast, he wants him to say, "Holy shit!"

More often than not, the Post gets that desired reaction from readers. Often, their reaction is, "Holy shit! Can I believe this?"

Sometimes they can. Sometimes they cannot or should not.

Fact and fiction can be comfortable bedmates in the Post's palace of malice, the home of "Holy shit!" journalism. Anonymous or unnamed news sources are the key to the Post's brand of journalism.

To the Post's credit, it has sometimes used anonymous sources to protect whistle blowers who were not just whistling Dixie.

Watergate is an example. The Post led the pack that knocked off the Nixon Administration. Its reporting also won it a Pulitzer.

Post publisher Kay Graham was a key player in Watergate. She took an active part in reviewing many of the Watergate stories and in general kept an eye on Bradlee during that period.

But the Post ghosts involved in the Watergate coverage raised some questions that remain to this day.

Reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein claim that their main source was Deep Throat--an unnamed Government employee who allegedly would pop up in parking garages and provide information on deep background--meaning that he/she could not be quoted directly.

I felt then and believe even more firmly now that Deep Throat was none other than Ben Bradlee himself.

You might ask, How could that be?

Easy. Bradlee has hundreds of political and social contacts in Washington. Many of them comfortably pass tips to Bradlee at cocktail parties or in phone calls. Most of them would not do so directly to reporters.

So my hunch is that Bradlee himself is the legendary Deep Throat. We probably won't know until Ben retires and writes his autobiography. His book's title should be Holy Shit!

•

There's a reason for every season in our lives. Each decade can be the right time for the right undertakings and the right achievements. Of course, the timetable may vary a bit, but here is my strongly recommended agenda for your seasons:

• In your teens, play all you can.

• In your 20s, take all the risks you can.

• In your 30s, learn all you can.

• In your 40s, earn all you can.

• In your 50s, lead everything you can.

• In your 60s, leave with all the style you can.

• Thereafter, or in the hereafter, enjoy all you can.

That timetable brought me to my retirement at midnight on March 31, 1989, at the age of 65.

Because I had prepared myself, professionally and personally, I was ready. A full life was behind me. But my sights were set on still more full years ahead.

This was no April Fools' joke. My first day of retirement: Saturday, April 1, 1989.

I started the day as I always do, with my early-morning jog.

Later, I hailed a cab to take me to Washington's National Airport. I was headed home to Pumpkin Center, to climb into my shorts and my treehouse. And to my typewriter, to tackle this book.

I was about to take my first domestic commercial airplane flight in 19 years. As I stood in line and fiddled with my ticket, in search of my boarding pass for American's flight 987, I smiled and thought to myself, All those S.O.B.s who said I would never retire should see me now!

It didn't have to happen that way. I could have stopped my retirement or delayed it. Any C.E.O. worth his or her salt can control how and when to give up the power and the perks.

Most of them hang on too long, some by their fingernails. And most members of boards of directors don't have the balls to tell the boss when the time is up.

To try to guarantee that I would do it right, I began planning for my retirement as soon as I was named C.E.O. of Gannett, at the age of 49.

At my insistence, my first employment contract as C.E.O. included this provision: "Neuharth shall retire no later than March 31, 1989." I quipped to the board, "I want the retirement thing settled before I get senile or you get sentimental." I wanted to be sure to leave with my marbles still intact.

Every C.E.O. owes it to the company to plan and implement orderly and effective transition to the next generation.

A planned transition of power is much easier than an accidental one. You test potential candidates. If they fail an important test, you scratch them. If they pass, you give them a tougher test.

Some will sense they are being tested. Some won't.

John Curley passed all the tests I gave him at Gannett: reporter, editor, publisher, Pulitzer Prize--winning Washington bureau chief, founding editor of USA Today, regional newspaper president.

Of course he had, and still has, some flaws. He grew up in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, so he talks funny. And they didn't teach penmanship in his schools, so you can't read his handwriting. But nobody's perfect, so I overlooked those things.

At my retirement party, Wes Gallagher, who had been chairman of Gannett's Management Continuity Committee, told me, "You did exactly what you said you would do. But we didn't believe you. We knew you'd ask us to waive the retirement age when you reached sixty-five, so you could stay on."

Would they have done so? Of course. Nearly all boards do, when the C.E.O. or the chairman asks them to. The S.O.B. of a C.E.O. puts out a press release saying he is staying on at the "request of the board" to complete unfinished business. After that, he works like hell to keep the business unfinished.

I did save one surprise for the board.

On March 22, 1989, the day of my sixty-fifth birthday, I conducted my last board meeting as chairman in a normal way. When we came to the last agenda item, "other business," I distributed a letter to the board members, each personalized with handwritten special thanks.

It was my letter of resignation from the board, even though I was eligible to serve for five more years.

I moved the resolution to accept my resignation. Directors began raising their hands. Several spoke simultaneously. I cut off all discussion and called for the question, then quickly declared the motion passed and adjourned the meeting.

A shocker, they all called it, as they gathered around me, some of them in tears. I shed a few, too.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. It was entirely consistent with my 16 years of planning for an orderly transition. Transition means change-over. The only way for a C.E.O. to do that is to cut the cord completely when it's time to leave.

Most C.E.O.s agree with that in theory, but they lose their objectivity when it comes to applying it to themselves. One savvy outside C.E.O. with whom I discussed my plan in advance not only agreed with it but applauded it and explained why.

Peter V. Ueberroth, major-league baseball commissioner, had become a good friend of mine. He liked what USA Today had done for baseball and sports in general. I was his guest in his commissioner's box at every world series game for years.

His retirement date as commissioner coincided with mine as chairman. He suggested we celebrate together, in advance.

He reinforced my decision to resign from the board with this observation: "A former C.E.O. can't win by staying on the board. If you disagree with your successor on issues, it sounds like sour grapes. If you always agree, it sounds condescending. If you stay mute, what are you doing there?"

Amen.

•

You, too, can find happiness as an S.O.B.

And success.

Then you, too, can smile or have the last laugh when they call you an S.O.B.

I invite you into my S.O.B. club. Here are your keys:

An S.O.B.'S Ten Secrets to Success

• Expect others to do unto you what you would do unto them.

• Somebody wants something you have. Protect it.

• Somebody has something you want. Go for it.

• Be as nice as possible, only as nasty as necessary.

• Treasure your family and your roots, but never turn back.

• Explore the byways as well as the highways of life.

• Think big. Big dreams. Big risks. Big rewards.

• Scramble to the top and don't tiptoe while you're there.

• Bow out while all your marbles are still intact.

• Life's a game. Play it to win. And to enjoy

VIA Satellite

Quotes about Al

"Only cream and S.O.B.s rise to the top." 2D

"When Al wears a Sharkskin suit, it's hard to tell where the shark stops and he begins." --Los Angeles Times 1C

"Al's a Lovable Little S.O.B." --Both of his Ex-Wives 3D

"He's done it all, so you can't fool him." --Business Week 4A

TV's Anchors

Al ranks 'em all

1. Tom Brokaw: Brokaw is a South Dakota buddy. He plays well across the heartland but would do even better if he had someone else select his neckties.

2. Peter Jennings: A sophisticated foreigner, but mucking stalls or milking cows on a Midwestern farm for a weekend would help his perspective.

3. Bernard Shaw: He's steady and ready with straightforward, no-frills news reports. He needs to learn to smile.

4. Dan Rather: Good, but not nearly as good as he thinks he is.

And then came Kuralt: These four could learn from Charles Kuralt, of CBS, who says, "The country I see on my television screens and on my newspaper front pages is not quite the country I see with my eyes and hear with my ears or feel in my bones."

that feisty founder of "mc paper" tells all

The Ultimate Story

Former USA Today editor John C. Quinn spoofs newspaper heads:

The New York Times: "World ends. Third-World Countries hardest hit."

The Washington Post: "World ends. White house ignored warnings, unnamed sources say."

USA Today: "We're dead! State-By-State demise, page 8A. Final-Final sports results, page 10C."

Quotes by Al

"We'll Reinvent the Newspaper." 7B

"First class is more fun." 7B

"Don't run with the pack until you can lead it." 1D

"Attention does not come quickly to the humble." 4D

"Coasting is for kids on bicycles." 3C

"The entry of USA Today into local markets wasn't always welcomed--not by some newspapers."