Showing posts with label NY1. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NY1. Show all posts

Thursday, February 20, 2014

The Front Desk




On Valentine’s Day I learned that a former colleague had passed. A woman who made everyone smile from the Senior Vice President to the Fed Ex delivery person.  She had an infectious laugh and a bright smile. She possessed the kind of dedication to her job and loyalty to the company that you wish you could bottle. It wasn’t because she was paid a lot of money. She wasn’t. She didn’t hold a senior position at the company. She was the receptionist. The person who sat at the front desk, greeted visitors  and answered the phones.

I was sad when I learned of the news. Anyone who had ever met Edie Strong would say the same thing. She made every one feel special, greeting you by name when you arrived in the morning and asking you when you would be back if you were going on an appointment and then writing the answer down in case she forgot.  She came in early even when she didn’t get paid anything extra and would personally deliver everyone’s newspapers to their office.

Her job may not have ranked high in an organizational chart, but she treated it as though she was the Chairwoman of the Board. Even when she did not agree with the way something was being communicated internally, she never let her feelings be known.

The clients knew her by name. They knew if they could not get a hold of whoever they were looking for all they had to do was press O for the Operator and she would help them however she could. Sometimes that meant getting up from her desk and tracking you down in the bathroom.  

She kept lists of all the answers to the possible questions she might get in the course of a day as well as the phone numbers to refer people to. She was pleasant to everyone but she kept close tabs on who was doing their job and who wasn’t. Her radar was impeccable.

She answered the phones in a distinct, pleasant and articulate voice. “Time Warner CityCable, NY1 News, may I help you?”  that somehow managed to stay calm and reassuring to our families on 9/11 when the phones went crazy. That voice became such a recognizable touchpoint for customers it was used as the voice over for the companies television and radio ads.

Edie Strong was one of a kind in so many respects. More than just a colleague, friend and good employee, she was a true Brand Ambassador. From where she sat she saw that part of her responsibility was to represent the company. While she might not have ever said it aloud she knew she had an impact on the impression someone formed.

Today organizations everywhere are on the search for people like her. They seek to cultivate the loyalists who will spread their message on the social networks and increase their exposure and hopefully form the opinions they would like created. Yet too few even think to look internally. Most have foregone a human to answer phones in lieu of an automated attendant. It seems such obvious customer service but the cost consideration in most organizations comes first. It’s so drilled in our heads that a website today is the first touchpoint for most customers, we forget about the other simpler, more human ones. Worse we forget to train our employees that how they act matters.

I can’t say that anyone trained Edie to be the way she was. She was that rare individual who got it without being told what to do. Most of the rest of us need help. 

She could take her job dedication a bit too far. Like the day she went to the doctor’s at lunch and they suspected her cancer had come back. They wanted her to go for tests immediately but Edie insisted on coming back to work.  I still remember her sitting in my office arguing the point while another colleague got her daughter on the phone to come get her.

One of Edie’s greatest gifts was that not only could she make you smile, no matter how bad your day was going, she could make you laugh. Out. Loud.  In fact, just thinking about that makes me giggle. Which was always her intention.






Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Days You'll Never Forget

There are days that you never forget. Days in your life that when you let yourself think about them, the memory is more clear and vivid that what you did in the last hour. Every detail floods your being as though you are watching a high definition television screen. Only here the experience takes over your body as if you are living it all over. 

Even though it is something you never want to relive.

And before you know it there are tears running down your face.

The day Kennedy was shot is like that for me. The day my father died. The day I walked out of a full time corporate job for the last time. And today.

When I left my house this morning to go to the gym I was glad it was overcast and humid. I've grown uncomfortable when today is one of those picture perfect September days in New York when the summer isn't really over and the fall hasn't really begun. The kind that of day it was twelve years ago.

I walked past my local fire house and I saw the trucks parked on Amsterdam Avenue blocking the driveway.  The garage was open and inside it was set up with tables and chairs and white paper tablecloths covering the tables. One firefighter stood on a ladder raising the flag.


By the time I was finished at the gym and I walked back the tables were filled with people. The families. Firemen were greeting each other at the entrance. One leaned on a cane. Someone was filming outside. He told me they asked not to take pictures of the families.

I paused. Because I will always pause today. As long as I live I will never not take a moment to remember.

I will go back to that moment standing in my office on 19th Street watching Pat Kiernan on NY1 with a picture of the North Tower behind him and what looked like a plane hitting it. I will be in our large conference room with my colleagues watching as the second tower hit. I will walk up Sixth Avenue with three of my coworkers in a daze along with throngs of strangers. I will see the looks of all those people - resolute and staring straight ahead. The sirens will blare in my ears. The firetrucks will race by.

I will walk into that church on 23rd Street and cry. I will walk back into my apartment and for the first time not feel safe there. I will walk through Central Park, the sun casting brilliant shadows over the eerie silence. I will hear a quiet I once thought impossible in this city. I will sit in that cafe on Second Avenue with my friend and no matter how many vodkas I have I will still be sober. I will live the days and the weeks after trying to make sense until I realize it will never make sense. I will let myself feel it all again as I watch the memorial on television. Until they read the name of my friend I went to junior high and high school with, William J. Dimmling. I will cry. 

This is my ritual of remembrance.

And then I will go back to my life today. I will go on. Because that is what you do. Even after days you will never forget.