THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, April 21, 1996 TAG: 9604200030
SECTION: COMMENTARY PAGE: J5 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: Keith Monroe
LENGTH: Medium: 89 lines
One way or another we all get educated in the ways of the world. My daughter learned a lesson this week she won't soon forget. It's a small thing, but perhaps indicative of our times.
It began innocently enough with a school assignment. The class was reading a variety of biographical and autobiographical material. The assignment was to write a friendly letter to one of the celebrities or authors.
My daughter is not exactly a bookworm, but one of these readings captivated her. It made a deeper impression than anything she's read since Goodnight Moon. Like millions before her, she fell under the spell of The Diary of a Young Girl.
Though Anne Frank's now been dead for more than 50 years, her diary spoke directly to another young woman - heart to heart. That's the magic of reading, of course. So the letter assignment was a no-brainer. Any correspondence would have to have something to do with Anne Frank.
Since the author perished in the Holocaust, she was unavailable. A letter was sent to the publisher of The Diary - Pocket Books, a part of Simon and Schuster, a subsidiary of Viacom, the folks behind Nickelodeon, MTV, Paramount Pictures, Blockbuster Video and so on and so forth.
The letter asked how the firm had become the publisher of the famous diary, whether the book had been changed in any way when translated into English and - in a nice human touch - what part of the story the publisher liked best.
Off went the letter in the mail and the wait began to see what kind of reply would come back by return post.
I remember taking part in the same kind of assignments when I was a child in the '50s. Then, you'd send off for information to the Ford Motor Co. or Ma Bell or Kelloggs. They'd write back with glossy brochures and learning aids showing how cereal was made or the phone system worked or cars were designed.
Or you might write to Panama or Luxembourg or Wyoming and get back from friendly PR people maps and pamphlets showing exotic animals, the principal exports and manufactures of the region, annual rainfall and tourist attractions. The wait was delicious and the fun of tearing open the big envelope and going through the contents was substantial in those simpler days.
Well, times have changed. Several weeks after the letter went off, a return arrived. We waited until after dinner to open it and see what Pocket Books had to say to a new reader about one of the great best sellers in publishing history. Since zillions of schoolchildren read The Diary every year, I figured a form letter was all we could expect, but the publisher undoubtedly understood how much The Diary of a Young Girl means to so many readers. They'd surely treat any correspondent with respect - if only because sales so massive guarantee a certain level of respect even among the most gimlet-eyed of green-eyeshaded bottomliners.
So the letter was opened and read. But its recipient was neither gratified nor disappointed by the contents. Rather, she seemed perplexed.
``Is it cool?'' I asked. ``What did they say? Did they answer your questions?'' She shrugged and handed me the letter. I reproduce it verbatim.
Thank you for your recent query letter. Unfortunately, the material you wish to submit doesn't suit our list at the present time.
Thank you for thinking of Pocket Books and good luck in finding an appropriate publisher for your work.
Sincerely,
Pocket Books Editorial Staff.
My daughter didn't know what she'd received, but I certainly did - a rejection slip. The sort of thing sent out to importunate authors of unsolicited manuscripts. A euphemistic Get Lost! But not the sort of thing usually sent to schoolchildren writing out of love for one's product. What could Pocket Books have been thinking?
Nothing, obviously. The rejection slip was either sent mechanically by some human robot who hadn't even bothered to read the letter or Pocket Books has adopted an innovative corporate strategy to deal with mail: Reject it.
One might be inclined to excuse this as an aberration if it didn't look so much like business as usual. We've all grown only too familiar with surly salespeople, shoddy products, hot lines without answers, a maze of voice mail that leads nowhere, angry workers with no pride in their work, harried managers fixated only on squeezing expenses and jacking up profits.
In the 1950s, there was time enough and ease for a few amenities. In the hypercompetitive '90s, the sidekick of lean is mean. The customer is not always right. And fan letters are greeted with rejection slips. Two Viacom customers have been taught a lesson. One of them, at least, looks forward to the day when Viacom will learn a lesson of its own. MEMO: Mr. Monroe is editor of the editorial page of The Virginian-Pilot.
by CNB