Alan C. Fox

My father worked for many years as a professional musician.  He played the French Horn in orchestras for movies made by Disney, 20^th Century Fox, and Paramount pictures.  He also taught French horn lessons in our home, and that meant as a young boy I had to be quiet part of the time.  Being quiet was hard for me.  At times it still is.

My father also required that I take piano lessons.  The lessons were okay, but I hated practicing. In retrospect, I have to admit that I learned a lot, especially from my dad.

One of his most important points of emphasis was phrasing.

“It’s like taking a breath,” he said.  “Each phrase must be interesting.  You can’t rush to the popular part of the music and ignore the rest.  You must pay attention to each note. Every note is important.”

Dad’s advice was great for playing music.  It was also great for my writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph has to be interesting.  When I consider buying a book I open it to a random page and read a paragraph.  Then I turn to another page and read a second paragraph.  If neither paragraph interests me I don’t buy the book.

In the 1980’s I owned The Whitefire Theater in Sherman Oaks.  My friend David Beaird directed many plays there.  I believe that Penn and Teller got their start at my theater, before attaining great fame and success in Las Vegas.

I was sitting next to David one day as he was auditioning actors for an upcoming play.  As the first actor finished a few lines, David turned to me and started talking.  I was startled.  I thought he should be paying attention to the actor.  He talked through a number of the auditions.

Afterward I asked him, “Isn’t it rude for you to talk to me in the middle of an audition?”

“Not at all,” he said.  “It’s up to the actor to hold my attention.  If he doesn’t, then he’s not going to hold the attention of the audience.”

I remembered my dad’s advice on playing the piano.  “Each phrase must be interesting.”

So in my writing, as in my life, I try to make each moment interesting – for myself as well as others.

In life, however, I have learned something counterintuitive.  The more closely I listen to others, the more interesting I become.  This is something we should all try to do. If someone you care about is talking, listen carefully to what they are saying. In these times of fractured attention spans, what could be more meaningful than to have someone really pay attention to you?

We all want to be seen and heard. I suggest there is no better way to connect with another person than to give them the gift of your undivided attention.

Thanks for listening.

Alan

Last week, I tried, to buy a shirt online.  I was directed to one page after another on a web site I’ll call “ShirtsToYou.”  It took me almost five minutes to find the shirt I wanted.  Then I was trapped on the site trying to complete my purchase.  When the checkout page refused to take my credit card for the third time, I gave up.

Then I tried Amazon, and bought the same shirt in less than a minute.  One reason Amazon sold me a shirt and “ShirtsToYou” didn’t is because Amazon makes purchasing easy.

I know a real estate broker, Dan, who moved to Hawaii a number of years ago.  I recently visited him and admired his home. It was beautifully furnished.

“It’s a funny thing,” he said.  “My wife Meg wanted us to retire to a warm climate.  I liked Seattle and wanted to stay there.  But on a vacation to Maui, Meg arranged for a local real estate broker to show us a few houses.

“I was in a bad mood that day and really wanted to be on the golf course.  But I’d made a commitment to Meg, so we looked at houses.  The first two were terrible.  But the third one, this house you’re sitting in, I loved.  It didn’t hurt that there’s a great view of the ocean and the house is on the ninth hole of my favorite golf course.  But what really sold me was that the house came fully furnished.  I suddenly realized I didn’t mind moving, but I didn’t want to pack and ship everything.  And I certainly didn’t want to decorate another house.  Meg and I almost got a divorce arguing over sofas when we furnished our Seattle house.”

“I understand,” I said.  “Until recently I hadn’t moved in forty years.”

By including the furniture the seller made it easy for Dan and Meg to say “yes” and move into a Maui home with everything, including art on the walls and dishes on the kitchen shelves.  “They even left their tool box and cooking spices,” Dan added. “And we sold our home in Seattle the same way.  It was only on the market a week.”

A dear friend of mine, Jane, lives in Chicago.  Her brother Ben wanted her to attend his daughter’s wedding.  The only snag was that Jane does not fly and the ceremony was in Boston.

“I sent a car and driver to bring Jane to the wedding,” Ben told me.  “She loved everything — the attention, the ride, and the wedding.”

There is an important lesson here.  If you want someone to do something, whether it’s buying a book, your house, or attending your daughter’s wedding, make it easy for them.

Speaking of making it easy, you can buy any of my three People Tools books or my children’s book Benji and the 24 Pound Banana Squash, quite simply.  Just look me up at Alancfox.com. My new children’s book, Benji and the Giant Kite, will be released in August and is available now for preorder.

Many thanks.

Alan

Today, in the age of Attention Deficit Disorder, hundreds of texts each day, and short sound bites, I suggest that the regular use of two words will change your life.  They could have changed mine.  Those two words are, “I’m sorry.”

I was in a dental office several years ago as the dentist tried to screw an implant into the gum of my lower jaw. I’m sure the Dentist did the best job possible, but I have a low pain threshold.  I easily feel hurt, both physically and emotionally.

Every time I winced, the dentist said, “I’m sorry.”  Make no mistake, his was a full-throated and attentive, “I’m sorry.”  It was not its orphan stepchild, the quick, detached, “Sorry.”  He said “I’m sorry” so well that I was sure he really cared about my pain.  But when both the pain and the “I’m sorrys” continued for more than twenty minutes I felt the lidocaine of “I’m sorry” wear off.  My mouth hurt every time he touched me and I became mistrustful and, finally, upset.

I remember this scene vividly because few dentists, or dental hygienists, seem to care about my pain as much as I would like them to.  Possibly their minds and emotions have been dulled to caring about their patients.  And that is what “I’m sorry” is all about.  It tells me that you care.

For years my friend Roger has said to his wife every evening, without fail, before they fall asleep, “I love you.”  That’s nice. It’s something we all should do.

But recently he accidentally dropped a hammer on her foot. She screamed in pain, Roger said without thinking, “You should have stayed out of my way.”

Ouch!  Maybe he was embarrassed, maybe scared that she was hurt, but Roger responded coldly.  His wife told me later that Roger’s single “You should have stayed out of my way” wiped out an entire month of nightly “I love yous.” She no longer believed in the “I love you” because her husband had failed to give her a single, appropriate, “I’m sorry.”

I’ve learned to say, “I’m sorry,” a lot.  Maybe not enough, but a lot.  I say it as soon as I realize I have hurt someone.  I’m not embarrassed, I don’t feel I will lose face.  If I am criticized with, “You darn well should be sorry. You were careless,” I say, “You’re right.  I was careless.  I’m sorry.”

I recently cut in front of another car.  Then the driver raced his car ahead of mine, forced me to stop, and jumped out of his driver’s seat to confront me.  I opened my window.  “Sir, I’m sorry.  I was wrong.  I’m really sorry.”  He glared at me, but silently returned to his car.

“I’m sorry” is one of the most effective and needed lubricants in the tool box for human relationships

One of the lines in the pop song Me & Bobby McGee is, “But I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday.”

I might well have traded all my tomorrows and remained in every relationship I have ever left for a single, timely, “I’m sorry.”  Two words I say often, but have probably not said enough.

Alan