THEN: Secretary of State (KY), 1996-2004; Candidate for Lieutenant Governor, 2007
NOW: JYB3 Group (Owner) -public affairs consulting firm; Miller Wells law firm (Of counsel)
Full Biography:link
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jan 18, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
It was just another Sunday afternoon.
The Kansas City Chiefs were playing the Green Bay Packers on TV. I remember that.
And my father was playing cards with some friends, probably gin rummy. My mom was hosting and I was just kind of hanging around….I remember getting one of the men there to play basketball with me earlier in the day. We had a basketball goal in the driveway but not much room toplay. So we just shot around instead of playing HORSE or one-on-one. In the back we had a kidney shaped pool and area for grilling out. It was on the beach and I loved staying there because at nighttime you could hear the ocean waves crash rhythmically against the beach sand until I fell asleep.
But this was a Sunday afternoon and I was bored amidst all the activity. Not much for an 8 year old kid to do. Mostly adult fun. And so I walked out back and looked onto the beach. An older lady in a bathing suit wrapped in a towel seemed anxious and waved to me. She had long gray hair large sun glasses and asked if I’d seen a young child wandering on the beach. She described the child but I was only half-listening. She told me that she had fallen asleep on the beach watching her grandchild and just woke up. A man from the party, I didn’t recognize him, walked up to us and listened as she explained again what had happened. Suddenly, I had something to do. Like a game almost. My job was to find this wandering baby before anyone else did. I walked up the beach a bit and down and didn’t see any young children. The older man from my parent’s party acted like he was looking hard but really wasn’t. He stood by the grill area and craned his neck a little and used his hand to block the sun from his eyes so he could get a better view. But he saw no children either.
I felt bad for the grandmother but was also getting a little annoyed that she wanted me and not an adult to help her out. I was bored and had nothing to do but didn’t want to spend the next half hour looking for a child I didn’t even know. But I tried. Or at least pretended to, like the man from the party. I walked around to the front of the house and saw nothing. It was getting windy and a little chilly and I wondered back to where I had seen the grandmother and she wasn’t there. I figured she left. And I stepped toward the pool and walked alongside the curve where the pool was shaped like turned-in side of a kidney. My job every morning was to take a long pole and skim the pool of any debris that had collected from the day before. And I was imagining doing that as I walked toward the deep end and saw a child-like blur languishing at the pool bottom. I dashed inside and screamed to my father that a baby was in the bottom of the pool. My dad leapt out of his chair where he was playing cards, knocking it over as he ran outside and in seemingly one motion dashed outside and dove straight into the deep end and pulled out the baby. He had been a competitive swimmer growing up and got to the baby faster than anyone else there could have.
My mother called 911 and it seemed the paramedics were there instantaneously. My mother seemed calmer than she was as tears welled in her eyes and she led the paramedics to the baby. I was kept on the other side of the pool away from all the activity. I remember hearing that they turned the baby upside down and water apparently came flushing out of its tiny body. But it was too late. The baby had been underwater far too long and had drowned and could not be resuscitated.
I don’t remember much after that. It was a horrifying shock that wasn’t supposed to happen on a Sunday afternoon when parents are socializing with friends and kids are bored and it’s too chilly to be on the beach in Hallandale, Florida. And the Chiefs and Jets are playing a football game that everyone seems interested in. And a baby wanders off from a sleeping grandmother on the beach outside your house and falls into your pool and drowns…. and the whole world turns upside down and your life is changed forever. On just another Sunday afternoon.
And the waves at night never sound quite the same as they crash rhythmically against the beach sand while I try to fall asleep.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Jan 17, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Great moments in family conversations.
Three dudes or guys (Johns, really) in a typical guy-like conversation.
The one on the right (that would be me) is enthusiastically trying to communicate something of moderate interest to himself and, he thinks and hopes of at least moderate interest to his father and perhaps some remote interest to his son.
The one in the middle (that’s my son, Johnny) knows what I am doing and knows the topic is not of any interest whatsoever to him and probably of no interest to my father either even though I think it may be —and the main goal now is to look distracted by something going on elsewhere in the room so he person can keep thinking about whatever it is he is thinking about and not be expected to respond to my comment. And eventually be able to change the subject to something of greater interest to him and his grandfather.
The one on the left (my father, Big John) is engrossed reading something of interest to him but also realizing the comment the one on the right is making is taking a very long time and some sort of response will be expected of him since it is directed his way, mostly, and he needs to hear enough of it to comment adequately without having to listen to everything I am saying, especially since the one in the middle doesn’t appear that he will help out by offering a comment of feigned interest to help out.
We have a lot of great conversations this way when we are together.
One of my Russian martial art coaches loved chess; which may be more of a national sport than Sambo.
Often he’d see me worried about the size, strength or speed of my opponents, and he’d recount an old proverb, “After the game, the king and… the pawn go into the same box.”
He had once continued, “You have anxiety because you are getting sucked down into the mere game. Look from the top. imagine you are pieces on a chessboard. Your pawn only weakens because you feel small next to his front, and so you feel anxiety about your lack of potential. But now view it from the top, see your pawn in its full strength, what it represents to your opponent, and realize it is the most important piece on the board.”
He taught me that my pawn could have the greatest courage and cause the entire opposition to rattle. If I remained brave enough to approach the opponent’s rear line, even a pawn could transform into the most powerful piece on the board: a queen. “Even the humble, unexpected pawn can change the course of a game,” he’d insist.
So what are you going to do in this game? If all you are doing is going back into the box, if you can’t take it with you, then HOW you play the game remains the only point to this all.
Your true powers exceed the movements you may feel restricted to execute. Your importance lies not in your potential powers, but by your very courage. So, how you choose to stand, how you decide you will act while you are on the board, is the entire point of our game. Even the humble, unexpected pawn can change the course of the game through bravery. None of us are getting out of here alive, so let us enjoy the game, but more importantly, let us not be deluded into collecting pieces or wins.
Let us focus our goals upon the courage to follow our values even against overwhelming odds, even with those who have become blind to the point of he game, and the inevitability that we will all go back in the box.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Jan 15, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
The magic of moms.
Recently my wife and two kids and I were flying together. As always we somehow lucked out again and got the next to last row in the airplane. We usually get the very last row, but this time we did almost as well.
The important thing, though, is that midway through the flight I looked over at my son (in aisle seat), daughter (window seat) and wife (middle seat) to my left as I worked away on my laptop on the aisle seat across from them.
They were all laughing and the kids were commenting as my wife told stories about them when they were little. Funny stories they love to hear and be reminded of as each child gets older and sees a different wrinkle of insight about themselves in the story while also being reminded of the family bonds and good feelings of an early time in our lives.
The engaged laughter and commentary made it to a low roar that seemed to last the entire flight and at one point, even though I was listening and smiling to myself, I had to gently “shush” them to keep from distracting those around us.
That didn’t go over well with them –and they got even louder.
And I was reminded that without the magical mom in the middle, the two children would have been quiet, well-behaved kids enduring a long flight reading to themselves while father worked. And no one laughed or commented on anything– except what to have for lunch when asked by the flight attendant.
Which was neither funny nor worthy of engaged commentary.
And what a different flight (life?) it would be. For all of us.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jan 11, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Facebook needs to decide what they really want to know about us.
Ya know?
I mean, when I joined Facebook a few years ago, the empty status box always stared at me with the question, “What’s on your mind?” It was a respectful question that showed interest in my intellect and lured me in initially. Someone (rather “something”) wanted to know what little ole me was thinking. At that moment. And so I’d try to answer best I could. About what I was thinking at that moment. Even if I hadn’t been thinking of anything at all, I’d still come up with something because my intelligence was being respected and inquired about. And I didn’t want to let Facebook down. It was a wholesome and respectful relationship.
That lasted for awhile.
And then Facebook took an intimate, touchy-feely turn. The status box suddenly started asking, “What are you feeling?”
That’s a little too personal for me, to tell you the truth. It felt like being asked, “What color underwear are you wearing?” What happened to all that respect for my mind? It sounds contrived too…. like the kind of line you’d hear if the characters played by Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson in Wedding Crashers took over Facebook. The red head in that movie should never have trusted Vince Vaughn’s character. And we shouldn’t trust the new “warm and fuzzy” Facebook solicitousness. I just don’t believe Facebook really genuinely wants to know about my feelings. And that there must be some self-serving motive behind it. And they may even make a funny movie about this question one day starring Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson….and the laughs could be at our expense. No, thanks, Facebook. My feelings are strictly between me and my mood ring.
But now I see we have a Facebook inquiry 3.0. I guess we weren’t the only ones who were “on to them” about the faux feelings “status” line. So Facebook is now trying to put all that behind them and go “Hip.” That’s right, “hip!” As in the new status box inquiry, “What’s happening, John?” Like they know me and are my new bro. It comes off over the top and feels like something akin to “Yo! Whassup John?!!” It’s just too informal and inartfully hip. We all know what Mark Zuckerberg is like. He’s brilliant and tireless and one of the great tech visionaries and innovators of our time. But hip? Nah. As Seth Meyer and Amy Poehler would say without having to even think about this one, “Really, Facebook?”
And I just checked to see if they had changed the question in the status box since I started writing this post 10 minutes ago. And they have. The newest iteration is the annoyingly invasive school marmish question, “What are you doing, John?” Geez! “What are you doing, John?” I immediately felt like looking down and trying to find my Number 2 pencil. I can’t decide if the sentence is coming to me through the visage of SNL’s Church Lady or the machine, HAL, from 2001 A Space Odyssey. Either way, I don’t like the accusatory way the question is posed. It’s as if by staring into the Facebook status box I am presumed to not be taking life serious enough. Why else would I need to be stared down with the paternalistic question, “What are you doing, John?” That feels bleak…and disrespectful. A far cry from “What are you thinking?” I even feels a little like “Gotcha journalism.” There’s just no winning. How can you answer that query in a way that you feel good about yourself?
“What am I doing now? Oh, staring at the Facebook status bar and trying to respond to…..trying to respond to an important social issue or event…I mean, trying to say something that is really, really important about something important that is happening now or just happened recently.
I mean….I know not everything I post on Facebook has a socially redeeming value and I’m glad you are asking this tough question in a pointed way to force people like me to be less shallow on Facebook. And maybe a little ashamed if they aren’t doing something socially useful in their status updates.
Which is what I’m trying to do right now. And can’t. So, you know what? I just won’t write anything at all then! You want to know what I’m doing? Not writing in my status box on Facebook.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jan 11, 2013 at 10:00 AM ET
Sign up for the fitness challenge right here:
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It’s a numbers game, right? Of course, it is.
When I started I knew 15 pounds was a lot of pounds to drop from the same body. That’s why I had “or at least 10” as a back up. A sort of high goal and low goal.
What I didn’t anticipate is how hard it would be to lose 10 pounds.
This whole weight loss and improving your health thing actually takes work. And change.
And change isn’t easy. Especially if it means doing something different, which is kind of what change means, I think. Or not doing something the way you’ve always done it –and frankly enjoy doing it (like eating what you want because it tastes good and not exercising because it hurts). That’s just plain hard! And gives one pause. And makes change seems like a really bad idea. You know? Which means you won’t change.
And, of course, change is especially tough if on this journey to change all alone.
You’ve heard the saying “There’s power in numbers”
I have to. But am not sure why I mention it here.
Oh! No, that wasn’t it. It will come to me….
Oh, I remember now. Yes, if you are …fat or overweight and lazy, like me, you may decide you want to change.
Well, good luck with that. If you are trying to do it alone.
There’s no accountability. No sense of commitment. No plan. No mentor. No process. No reliable resource offering guidance.
Just a fat, lazy guy who wishes he weren’t as fat and lazy as he feels at this moment. And no matter how intensely you feel that, it’s not enough in itself to lead to any sort of measurable change.
So what can help?
You have two choices.
1) You can be a miserable overweight and unhealthy person who hates yourself and will fail again trying to diet and get in shape.
If you are satisfied with this option, stop here. There’s no need to even go to the other option. I’m going to sleep on it myself (I joke) But if you aren’t satisfied with #1, try #2.
2) Sign on with The Recovering Politician and Jonathan Miller and me to try to make some real, incremental and lasting changes. Not for fun. It won’t be fun. Not for torture, even though it will feel like torture at first. Unless you are in to torture, which is none of my business. But rather because the pain of staying the way you are is greater than the pain of changing. That’s when I get motivated. And you can too. And not have to do it alone.
Seriously.
Jonathan and I joke a lot and try to have fun with our little weight loss undertaking, but if we had to identify a single silent health problem in America today, few would argue it’s obesity and lack of exercise. And as guilty of both as I am. I’m trying to make some small changes…that could create some pretty big results for me in the long run.
I hope you join me in trying too.
And, yes, there is power in numbers to go back to that topic…but there’s much more the RP can offer to help you get serious….and then get fit. Or at least fitter. Hey, I will not be part of any health improvement process that allows striving for perfection to undermine small measurable progress. Real change is the most probably with realistic assessments and objectives combined with a liveable plan that has worked for others.
Click for details. We have all that here. Read about it.
And then sign up: either at the top of this post, or right below here:
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Jan 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
How I exposed myself to art. In a trench coat.
This print was hanging in our house while I was growing up. It was the first time I made a connection with trench coats, nudity and art.
But it wasn’t until my first job out of college working as a runner/clerk at Frank Haddad’s law firm that I get to live it.
George Salem, a wonderfully large and loveable fatherly figure and excellent criminal lawyer, asked me to help with research on a case. It was a case to disprove certain “images” published by a client were “obscene.” George’s idea was to have me, the new intern, take my Polaroid camera and trot down to the Speed Art Museum and tour the museum for examples of nudity in art. And click off a few pictures of what I found. We’d then be able to show the “images” the client was associated with were no more obscene than art on display in our fair city’s prized art museum.
Simple enough…and kinda brilliant, I thought to myself.
So, I threw on the tan trench coat my mother had just gotten me for Christmas now that I was needing “Big Boy” office clothes –and headed to Speed.
Fortunately for me there was a new display –probably something George Salem was aware of—featuring extensive and, well, rather provocative, nudity. It was in a cordoned off area but you could stand outside the ropes and appreciate the art. And even try to photograph it.
I noticed that there was a sign at the entrance saying “No photography.” I instantly realized that if I wanted to please my boss—and keep my job—I would need to be innovative and stealthy.
I waited until no guards or patrons were around and stepped toward the display, opened my trench coat –with my Polaroid hidden at chest level– and clicked off a couple of pictures.
Just my luck, a guard walked by at that time and kindly explained to me that I was not permitted to take photographs. I apologized and walked into the next room. And waited for him to leave.
I returned as soon as he left…and went to the other side of the display where there was even a greater show of nudity, opened my trench coat and continued completing my task. Click. Click. Went the camera.
The guard returned but did not see me take the last couple pictures. I smiled and tried to look fascinated—in a high minded and artistic way—in the grand display in the middle of the room. With all the naked people. I was in my 20s and not very persuasive. The trench coat didn’t help things.
The guard smiled back tolerably and, again, eventually walked away…..This last time I found the primo angle, leaned in over the roped off area and holding out my Polaroid for a final few shots, “Click!” and “Click!” And then….”Sir! Sir! I have asked you already to stop taking photographs of the display. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
And he did.
And I did. Leave.
With my non-obscene and purely artistic photographs. And I delivered them. To my boss. In full uniform. trench coat, and all.
And as a result, I will never ever be able again to wear a trench coat when visiting Speed Art museum. For fear of being mistaken for, well, a curious and camera-happy investigator, shall we say.
I felt bad for the grandmother but was also getting a little annoyed that she wanted me and not an adult to help her out. I was bored and had nothing to do but didn’t want to spend the next half hour looking for a child I didn’t even know. But I tried. Or at least pretended to, like the man from the party. I walked around to the front of the house and saw nothing. It was getting windy and a little chilly and I wondered back to where I had seen the grandmother and she wasn’t there. I figured she left. And I stepped toward the pool and walked alongside the curve where the pool was shaped like turned-in side of a kidney. My job every morning was to take a long pole and skim the pool of any debris that had collected from the day before. And I was imagining doing that as I walked toward the deep end and saw a child-like blur languishing at the pool bottom. I dashed inside and screamed to my father that a baby was in the bottom of the pool. My dad leapt out of his chair where he was playing cards, knocking it over as he ran outside and in seemingly one motion dashed outside and dove straight into the deep end and pulled out the baby. He had been a competitive swimmer growing up and got to the baby faster than anyone else there could have.
Great moments in family conversations.
It’s a numbers game, right? Of course, it is.
Oh, I remember now. Yes, if you are …fat or overweight and lazy, like me, you may decide you want to change.
And then some mornings–like this one–I feel like a cup of warm brown water run through yesterday’s coffee grinds.
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