Alan Weiss's The Uncomfortable Truth‪®‬ Alan Weiss

They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?

No, they don’t. The advent of the automobile around 1895 did not engender a huge equine genocide. We use horses today: for work, for recreation, for crowd control, for sport.

Hence, the internal combustion engine is not disappearing in your lifetime, despite stupid political statements such as the recent “all cars must achieve 65 miles-per-gallon by 2031.” (Let’s also pass a resolution that there needs to be world peace by November. That should take care of that, right?)

I listen to Vivaldi, Sinatra, Lady Gaga, Billy Joel. In my business, I accept credit cards, checks, and wire transfers. I choose not to use Venmo or PayPal because their service is dreadful. It’s hilarious to listen to the pseudo-snobs who prelatically inform me that they haven’t used checks in ages. And they only use Tik Tok via Instagram, and insist on a text before receiving a phone call. I imagine in their spare time, they’re shooting horses.

I can drive an automatic transmission and a seven-speed manual (which is why I can leave my Corvette unlocked with the keys in it because no one is skilled enough today to steal it and drive it off). 

We need to live with many choices; newer ones don’t necessarily replace older ones completely, and the situation, the moment, and our behavioral predispositions often determine what’s best, not normative pressure.

An electronic car future for everyone? Look out for my horse!!

Our 60th High School Reunion

On the way to the reunion

We’re on Amtrak on our way to our 60th high school reunion: Emerson High School, Union City, NJ. It was then and is now the most densely populated city in the country. Emerson is now a middle school, but back then it was one of two full-fledged high schools with all sports, and dances and typical teenage angst. We had about 200+ in the class. About 30 of the original class will be at the reunion, along with spouses and assorted hangers-on.

Two of the teachers with whom we’re still in touch were able to be at the 55th, but not this one. They’re both in their 90s and one is quite active on Facebook. He’s told me he reads my books.

I do have one lifelong friend, Robert Borghi, whom I’ve known since kindergarten. He used to put a nickel a week away to someday buy a helicopter and a ranch. He does, today, have a pilot’s license. At the last reunion, a woman walked up to talk to me as if we had been speaking continually. I could not place her. As I leaned to the right to see her name tag without appearing to stare at her breast, I was stunned to see she had been my steady girlfriend in the 6th and 7th grades.

At past reunions, held every five years, some people unfortunately passed away in the weeks before the events. I’m just hoping no one passes away AT this event! In other words, we need the same numbers departing as arriving.

After the reunion

We left with the same number that arrived. Unfortunately, Robert Borghi couldn’t make it because he’s having surgery in the next few days. Our table did win the school trivia contest, but I was shocked when one of the questions was, “Who coached the girls’ bowling team?” We had a girls’ bowling team??!!

Some people were in remarkably good shape. Some were not. Some were seriously disabled. Out of a class of slightly over 200 we had 31 people (plus partners) all between 77 and 79. The average life expectancy in the US is 78 for men and 80 for women, but once you reach those ages you get another 7-9 years! One man whom I knew casually in school approached me to tell me he reads my books and newsletters and wanted to know what I was going to do next.

We end by singing the alma mater. These things are always bittersweet.

Show Notes

Mario Abbondanza and Noah Chantharangsy have been bartenders for quite a while, Mario for about a quarter century. I see them so often from the customer side of the table that I thought it would be fun to “step around the bar” with my listeners and discover what that would be like.

You’ll find out that the hours are often brutal, but the job—rewarding. There’s fulfillment in helping people. And the belief that people turn to bartenders to discuss even intimate details of their lives—often as first-timers and often as regulars—is quite true, not a myth. “More than I want to hear,” says Noah.

Neither of my buddies could explain to me why people order espresso martinis—an after-dinner drink, a digestive—as a cocktail before dinner, an aperitif. I can’t imagine having a cup of coffee before or during dinner.

You’ll find out what the craziest drink request Mario ever had was (surprised me) and how bartenders have to take care of people who have had too many drinks. One of the antidotes is actually quite attractive!

We tend to take bartenders for granted, but their “mixology” and their conversation—and genuine interest in customers—make a dining and/or drinking experience all the better.

And when I asked about their own preferences when they were on the other side of the bar, I found out that I’m actually a health addict!

We claim we don’t like elites, but we eagerly follow every ridiculous and pompous movement of the British Royals. (They’re now upset about a Nigerian trip that Harry and Megan took where they were treated too much like a state visit!) We belong to air clubs, hotel clubs. We have Amex green, gold, platinum, and black cards. Hertz has a platinum service. On our recent trip to LA, we arrived and departed though Amex suites.

Once upon a time, elite offerings were only open to invited, important guests. Then a court case opened them to all, with the wonderful result that we can watch people clip their toenails in a Delta lounge. (No, I am not making that up. Nor am I making up the woman who changed a filthy diaper on a first class United seat.)

So since lawyers of course sued to open private clubs intended for the top guests, people struggle for other elite experiences. This happens at beach resorts, in school, on the job, and when traveling. (There’s a rigid “culture” among people who commute by train every day, and apparently on the few times I’m on such a train I break every tribal law.)

Why is this? It’s because we struggle for independence. As much as we collect ourselves for mutual protection, influence, and sustenance, we need vacations to get away, special treatment to separate us out, offers to elevate our status.

As much as we hear “no man is an island” or “it takes a village” or “we’re really pack animals” I wonder. It seems at times, not infrequently, that others’ breath is poisonous to us.

I met Doug at Merck where he worked as a sales executive and I was an external consultant. Some years later, he called me from his current pharma company and asked my advice about an ethical issue he was seeing. About five years later, he was presented with a huge (listen to find out how much) “whistleblowers award” for turning the dangerous practices in for the government to investigate and eliminate.

We talk here about the courage and risks of being a whistleblower (two such people formerly employed by Boeing have since died, one by suicide, one by unknown causes, and Doug faced physical threats) and why they are needed more than ever today. We discuss whether drug prices are reasonable in light of the investment in creating them and, if efficacious, obtaining FDA approval. The results might surprise you.

We also discuss the high mortality diseases, such as Alzheimer’s, diabetes, and cancer, and whether too much is spent on “cure” and treatment at the expense of investment in prevention. The issue of extending life, but with quality, is raised, as is the need for certain types of surgery being abandoned.

Also examined is the ironic serendipity of drug creation, aside from huge, targeted investment, which we’ve seen result in weight loss, hair growth, and the eradication of African River Blindness. Sometimes, even with drugs, it’s better to be lucky than good.

And don’t miss our focus on opioids and the absence of whistleblowers among people who should have acted but didn’t throughout this crisis.

The old apothegm is that the first generation starts it, the second expands it, and the third ruins it. Probably not so true any more.

It’s not about a mandatory spendthrift or wasteful generation. It’s more about hunger.

I don’t know about you, but I grew up poor, and when I was fired as president of a consulting firm, we had relatively little money in the bank and two small kids with private schools and a wedding ahead of them. We also had elderly parents who needed our support.

So I did whatever was necessary to make money. I would charge $25 for resume reviews for people looking for work. I charged $750 to speak, though I often did it for free to get in front of potential clients.

That hunger subsided when I had “made it,” but it has never really left. I don’t work hard, but I work very smart. I pursued success and create tougher goals and higher standards for myself.

I think the metaphorical third generation I mentioned may just be bored. They don’t want to expand the business further, the don’t want to start another, and they have no hunger. Their education and living standard have been taken care of.

You can’t make your kids poor. The second generation might have experienced a period of your hunger, but not the grandchildren. They assume you were always well off. They think that’s what life provides.

My son would respond, when I was making a case about “the old days,” that “I know, Dad, you were barefoot, wrote on a shovel with charcoal, and walked to school three miles in the snow.”

“Yeah,” I said, “and it was uphill in both directions.”