I was eleven years old in 1975. I was also quite conceited, and VERY insecure.
I’d lived a fairly sheltered life in Great Neck, NY (Wall Street’s wealthy backyard – though I had the honor of living in one of the poorest houses in one of the country’s richest communities)
That all changed in the summer of 1975.
And no, I’m not talking about puberty… that was actually relatively uneventful (with the exception of an incident I won’t go into with a girl nick-named “Big Kim”)
I’m talking about one specific drive home with my sister and my Mom.
You see my Mom worked in NYC. She was a fledgling psychotherapist (like 17 other people in my family) just starting to see patients in her midtown office. I forget exactly why Laurie and I were with her that day, but I’ll NEVER forget the ride home.
Ask anyone from New York … getting across town in midtown Manhattan on a hot summer rush hour is much faster on foot than by car. Which is why my Mom drove us home through Harlem. It was easier to go straight uptown and head east on 125th street than to try and get anywhere on 57th (around the corner from Mom’s office)
So uptown we went.
And Harlem was quite a site for a spoiled Great Neck kid.
I had heard all the stories on TV, the shootings, stabbings, drug dealers, prostitutes, muggers, etc. I had expected to see a veritable prison ward let loose on the streets.
But what I saw instead was quite a friendly, busy neighborhood with street vendors, men dressed all sorts of ways (some in suits and ties, others in jeans and t-shirts, others with “bling”, though they didn’t call it that back then, …. even a juggler and a guitar player, etc)
It lit up my eyes.
Until Mom turned down a side street and the car stalled.
She seemed a little worried, so of course Laurie (my sister) and I were too. But she remained calm and said we should just sit there for a moment.
So we did.
And then it happened…
A large, Pink Cadillac (I’m really NOT kidding you) with fuzzy dice pulled up behind us. And two large, lean black men got out and started walking toward our car.
My Mom turned to us both in the back and said “You guys have been great kids and I love you very much. But we’re probably going to die now and I want you to know it’s OK” (At least that’s how I remember it - Mom might have something different to say)
Of course, a wave of anxiety shot through me. I’d like to say I was planning something macho… but let’s face it, I was eleven and I didn’t even shave.
Before I knew it the men were on both sides of the car, motioning for Mom to roll down the window.
She did. I don’t think she really had any other choice.
And then, much to our surprise, the men didn’t take out any guns or knives. Instead, they gently leaned into the car and said “Is everything alright? Your kids OK?”
She smiled and said yes.
“What’s the matter then, car won’t start?”
The rest of the conversation I can’t remember.
But the two nice men pushed the car (with my Mom, myself, and my sister in it) over a half mile to the garage they were most familiar with.
And THEN they drove us home in their big Pink Cadillac 35 miles to Great Neck.
My Mom offered them $50 for their troubles and gasoline (a lot of money back then), but they refused saying “We’re all brothers on the road”.
And that was my first exposure to Harlem.
The people we THOUGHT were our worst enemies in a scary situation actually saved us.
And that’s the moral of the story for we marketers.
Because we spend so much time worrying about the competition, we never stop to think how we might work WITH them.
So that’s the question I’ll leave you with …. have you considered how you might work WITH your worst competitor? The one you’re most afraid of? (Howie Jacobson and I, for example, refer people back and forth all the time, even though we compete for the same traffic. Same with Terry Dean. We each have our unique strengths and weaknesses, and dozens of clients buy from all of us)
I’m not saying to make yourself vulnerable. By all means, be careful.
But they just might be relieved to think of YOU as a friend instead of an enemy too, and it might be worth a conversation.
Food for thought, do you think? (Let me know below)
Dr. G 
Do It Yourself | Let Me Help You
