Marshall Ramsey

Most of life’s lessons are in the movie Top Gun.

Seriously, Maverick and Goose were high-flying prophets from the 1980s. They roared around in their F-14, teaching scores of lifehacks.

“And if you screw up just this much, you’ll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog $#^& out of Hong Kong!” Guy who looks like Mr. Clean

OK, I admit, there were cheesy parts — It was the 1980s after all. (The 80’s had more cheese than Wisconsin.) But there’s one scene that speaks to me:

*Spoiler alert*

If you haven’t seen a nearly 30-year-old movie by now, seriously, I don’t think a spoiler alert will help you. But here it goes. Goose is dead (a tragedy of the likes not seen since *Another Spoiler alert* Bambi’s mom gets turned bumped off) and Maverick is completely messed up in the head. He graduates Top Gun on points alone but the smarmy Iceman wins. Boo! Suddenly the graduates are called to the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Enterprise (because apparently they ran out of pilots.) And international incident breaks out! The commies attack with their Mig-28s (that look like F-5 fighters) and Maverick has to go save the day. But he won’t engage. One F-14 is shot down and Iceman, a thin Val Kilmer, is in peril. Oh no! America is at risk.

And Maverick still won’t engage.

“Come on, Mav, do some of that pilot $#&^” Goose (who died because Maverick did some of that pilot $#&^.)

Then Maverick, who has an epiphany, looks at the late, great Goose’s dog tags and proceeds to kick Ruskie *$$. BOOM!

“Mustang, this is Voodoo 3. Remaining MiGs are bugging out.” Merlin (who wasn’t as cool as Goose and wasn’t married to pre-plastic surgery Meg Ryan)

The point is this: He engaged and ended up on the front page of every newspaper in the english-speaking world, even though the other side denied the incident.

I’m at a point in my life where my busyness is choking out my productivity. I know what I have to do. But I’m not getting it done. I’m like Maverick zooming around in his F-14 and not taking on the bad guys.

It’s not time to get busier; it’s time to get more productive. And their is a big difference between the two. I need my moment with Goose’s dog tags.

I feel the need for speed.

Before I lose that lovin’ feeling.

Walked over and looked out my old window. I stared at Capitol Towers’ parking garage one last time. I remembered the morning editorial meetings with Sid Salter, David Hampton, Joe White, John Hammack, Eric Stringfellow and Jim Ewing. They’re gone now. So is my desk. Only memories remained.

I walked over to my most recent office. It used to be Keith Warren’s office until I took it over a couple of years ago. It’s empty now, too. I packed up my last box and put it on the dolly. I’m now downstairs in one of the old V.I.P. Magazine offices — but only temporally. The Clarion-Ledger will be thankfully remodeled. By 2015, advertising and editorial will fill the space once filled by the newsroom. The dull, gray emptiness will finally be gone.

There have been a lot of changes at The Clarion-Ledger. You’ve seen some of them. I’ve seen even more. It has a new publisher named Jason Taylor who has a very strong reputation because of his community involvement and professional success. I hope he kicks butt here in Jackson like he did in Chattanooga. I can tell you that his energy is refreshing. It’s already making a big difference. I’m really pulling for the guy.

My role has changed a lot in the last few years. But every change has brought forward blessings. Sure, there have been some challenges but challenges blast you out of your comfort zone. After nearly 18 years in Mississippi, I’m thankful to still be able to bring you editorial cartoons. They’re what brought me to the dance. And I will always find a way to get them to you. Promise.

For now, I just unloaded the last box in my temporary home. It will be fun to see what the future brings. I just hope it brings me a cartoon idea for tomorrow.

Let me be very open and honest here: Being diagnosed with melanoma messed with my head. There really is nothing quite like having your own skin trying to kill you to cause you anxiety. But what really affected me was that I suddenly craved security.

Not good.

Because what I thought was security was nothing more than an illusion. I thought if I sat still and hunkered down, I’d be secure. I felt like I could rest on my past successes. Nothing could be farther from the truth! And I found out the hard way! Sitting still, ignoring the change going on around me caused chaos in my life. Now, looking back, I’ve discovered one truth from the last few years:

True security comes from successes brought on by embracing change.

I’m not saying all change is positive. Trust me, I have proof. And I couldn’t control what was happening around me. But what I could control was how I reacted to it.

As soon as my attitude changed, doors flew open. Seeing change as opportunity totally altered how I envisioned the world. And for the first time in years, cancer’s yoke of fear fell to the ground.

Today, I’m cleaning out my office at The Clarion-Ledger. No, I’m not leaving. I am, however, moving downstairs. The building, built in the mid 1990’s, is getting a much-needed makeover.

What a great metaphor for our lives. As much as it would be comfortable for the building to stay the same (I have a lot of great memories in this place), it wouldn’t reflect the needs of a changed world. Sure, there’ll be a few weeks of discomfort. It will be loud and messy. But the end result will be worth it.

I just need to remind myself to embrace change, not fight it. It’s my true path to future success.

In 2010, I started an afternoon radio show on another radio network. I had no training and no clue what I was doing. With the help of wonderful producers Jim, Captain, Dawn, Andi, Camie and a host of people behind the scenes, the ratings steadily climbed and eventually we had a very respectable show with a sizable audience.

Then it went away.

For the past year, I’ve done a Monday morning show on Mississippi Public Broadcasting at 10 a.m. called Now You’re Talking with Marshall Ramsey. It started out as a pure interview show but the format has (thankfully) changed. Now it’s an hour of interviews and other bits and pieces that my talented producer Cherita and I come up with. It’s doing very well and frankly, I’m really enjoying it. I like to think of it as a radio version of my Facebook page.

It’s putting the fun in Mondays.

Today I asked the question, “What is your favorite part of living in Mississippi?” My answer? The people.

And that is what I have loved about this show. The people.

I’ve interviewed Mississippians who’ve accomplished world-class things, showed courage or just made this state a better place to live. One week I might talk to Mac McAnally. The next, a Civil Rights pioneer. The next an inspirational coach. Or a cancer survivor committed to inspiring others. Like this state, you never really know what you will get.

And that’s just the way I like it.

The good news is the show’s audience is rapidly growing and I wanted to thank everyone who listens. I look forward to bringing you the best of Mississippi every Monday at 10 a.m. on MPB.

http://www.mpbonline.org/nowyouretalkingwithmarshallramsey/

Smoke clung to the bottles behind the bar. The young writer gulped his drink. He was throwing a massive pity party. And he was the only one in attendance.

An older gentleman with a white beard tended bar. He had been there forever and seemed to have a knack of knowing what you wanted before you could even ask. There was a reason his tip jar was overflowing.

No one knew his real name. Folks just called him Gabe.

“I don’t get it, Gabe. I once prayed to become a writer and all I’ve gotten are obstacles thrown in my face.”

The writer’s pity party was so good he was even serving snacks.

“I entered college, told my advisor I wanted to be a writer and she told me not to bother. But I showed her and immediately got a job on the school paper. Then I graduate and couldn’t find a job. I ended up working in a scrap yard. But I worked hard and got an opportunity to write for a local a local paper. But that editor tried to fire me. I found a better job. Then I moved all around the country writing and won all kinds of awards — but was laid off in a round of budget cuts. Yet, I showed them by reinventing myself. Then another boss tried to make me quit. It’s one dam’ thing after another. What good are prayers anyway?”

Gabe smiled slightly and said, “Oh, your prayers were heard.”

The writer, half drunk and in full-pity mode, spat on the ground. “Bull $#%^.”

Gabe grinned, “I can tell you’re a writer by your command of the English language. Look, do you think the Good Lord is a genie?”

The writer looked up at the old man and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think everyone of those obstacles was meant to challenge you? To make you prove how badly you WANTED your dream?”

The writer arched an eyebrow, “Go on…”

“Look, if that advisor hadn’t told you not to go out for the paper, would you have?”

“Probably not.”

“Working in the scrapyard made you want your career even more, right?”

“Yes. I realized I was burying your talent.”

“Remember that editor who tried to fire you. Made you work even harder didn’t it?”

The writer nodded.

“And getting laid off didn’t stop you either. Sure it wasn’t fair. But life isn’t fair. You were challenged and you responded.”

“But what about…”

“The boss who tried to run you off? “Is he a terrible person?

“Yes.”

Gabe the bartender smiled. “And you worked even harder to prove him wrong, right?”

“Um, yes.”

Gabe dried another glass and set it on the bar, “Ever think that angels sometimes come in not-very-nice packages?”

The writer looked perplexed.

“That boss did you a favor. He pushed you. Look, son — Your prayers are being answered. You’re just having to do the work. And that’s the way it is supposed to be.”

The writer realized that every negative moment had actually been a test. A test to see if he really wanted his dream to come true. Like a stone polished in a tumbler, he had had to suffer some friction along the way.

“Gabe, you’re a genius.”

The old bartender smiled, “I know. Just leave me a good tip.”

“Yes.”

Gabe the bartender smiled. “And you worked even harder to prove him wrong, right?”

“Um, yes.”

Gabe dried another glass and set it on the bar, “Ever think that angels sometimes come in not-very-nice packages?”

The writer looked perplexed.

“That boss did you a favor. He pushed you. Look, son — Your prayers are being answered. You’re just having to do the work. And that’s the way it is supposed to be.”

The writer realized that every negative moment had actually been a test. A test to see if he really wanted his dream to come true. Like a stone polished in a tumbler, he had had to suffer some friction along the way.

“Gabe, you’re a genius.”

The old bartender smiled, “I know. Just leave me a good tip.”

When I found out former Governor Kirk Fordice had leukemia, I wrote him a note. It said something to the tune of, “As a fellow cancer survivor, I hope you kick this in the butt. I’m thinking and praying for you. My grandmother had a similar type of leukemia and I know you have a tough fight ahead of you.” I was surprised to find a very kind and thoughtful note in my mailbox a few days later. Governor Fordice died a couple weeks later.

I still have that note and cherish it.

That simple, handwritten note is a reminder to me. When I draw a cartoon, it’s not personal. I don’t hate anyone I draw — well, there are a couple of folks, but I digress. Still, I tend to view politics like the sheepdog and coyote. I believe in getting in the arena and fighting it out. But at the end of the day, you clock out, dust yourself off and come back the next day to fight like hell. It’s old-fashioned but how I roll.

I didn’t agree with Governor Fordice much. And I know he didn’t agree with or particularly like my cartoons. But at the end of the day, there was something bigger at play. And I have come to respect that.

Smoke danced on the horizon. Fields were being harvested. Remnants of corn burned, creating wispy brown clouds that hugged the earth. A crop duster danced on the horizon, spraying a cotton field. Soon its leaves would drop to the ground, leaving snow-white bolls to cover the land like new fallen snow. My car driving was heading up Highway 49W in the Mississippi Delta. I was heading to Greenville for a late-morning speech.

The Belzoni McDonalds is a good snapshot of the Delta. You meet every shape, size, color and economic demographic there. Old men sit and discuss the world inside and outside of the Delta. I had just come from Yazoo City, where you leave the rolling hills to enter this flat land. The bluff stands like a sentinel. A sentinel that has watched over this rich (and poor) land for decades.

I ignored Google Maps and took the backroads to Greenville from Belzoni: A left on Highway 12 with its dried up catfish ponds and a right on Highway 61 with it’s wide-open vistas. If you want to get a true feel for how wide-open the Delta is, drive north from Vickburg to Greeville on 61. It’s a wide-open, two-laned road that carves through history. Need proof? You can see Blue Blues Markers dotting the roadside like mushrooms. As you pass them, you realize the tough conditions were the thorns and the sweet music was the rose. We take our own legacy for granted. But read the guest book at the B.B. King Museum in Indianola. It’s filled with people from England and other countries in Europe.

They are pilgrims in our midst.

At 10 a.m., I spoke to the South Delta Planning and Development District’s annual meeting. The Washington County Convention Center’s room was packed with farmers, mayors, retired coaches, clerks, doctors and so many others. I met people who lived off the land and those who struggled at times to live. “Last year, we had no crop and a great market. This year, we have a great crop but no market,” one farmer. So goes the life of those who live off the land. I spoke out in the parking lot to a cancer survivor. Her eyes twinkled as he talked about how grateful she was to be alive. Life overcomes hardship. It’s something you see all around you as your travel through this beautiful land.

Trees. Rich soil. Power lines. Levees. A lone water tower. Dancing crop dusters, hugging the ground like an agitated yellow jacket.

I drove back Hwy. 82 to 49 on the way home. My brain was tired and a four-laned road was what the doctor ordered. Towering cumulonimbus clouds began to build over the South Delta. Storms formed as I headed back to my home in the hills. Giant raindrops hit my windshield like the mosquitoes had earlier.

A crop duster buzzed me as I drove through Belzoni. The pilot was beating the weather and heading home. He glided his craft in for a perfect landing at the airfield.

His day was done. And so was mine.

Had the opportunity to visit with one of my friends, who is also one of the sharpest businessmen I know. He’s a particularly good marketer and approaches sales based on statistical data. But he also has the ability to sense what a customer wants. I saw him deal with a customer service issue with an ease that most people could never master. I didn’t sense a defensive moment in the conversation. It was impressive.

He and I were talking about how many businesses forget to create a positive customer experience. He said that his business tries several small things to engage the customer. “It may just be one thing that impresses them. I don’t know what it will be, but they will encounter something they like.” His philosophy reminded me of a recent trip to the Galleria shopping mall in Houston, Texas. I could have bought anything in that mall for 50% off on the internet. But the place was packed. Why? All of the stores engaged all five of their customers’ senses. They created an experience.

As I write this, I have a drawing I have to get done for a customer that is overdue. I had intended to get it finished on Sunday, but life got in the way. No excuses, though. I think about the experience my customer is having because of my lack of performance. It’s not good.

I will rectify my error today.

But it’s something we all should think about whether in business or in our daily lives. Every encounter with a person should be an experience. Make it memorable. Engage their senses. Make it count. (even if you intend it to be negative — by God let them walk away knowing how you feel!)

Right now, I’m sitting in a waiting room munching on a cookie. But I’ve gotten more than dessert to eat. I’ve been given pretty good food for thought.