“Haven’t you heard? It’s a battle of words,” the poster-bearer cried.
“Listen, son,” said the man with the gun, “there’s room for you inside.”
— Pink Floyd, “Us and Them”
 
Ironic that I would follow up a blog about the need to keep talking with one about people who talk entirely too much.
 
As I stress whenever I lead a workshop on communication, there are two ways of talking: at each other, which is largely useless; or with each other, which is where communication happens.
 
Nowhere is the first more evident than the horrifying rhetoric we’ve witnessed in the past week between U.S. President Donald Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un. We would already be staring at a radioactive wasteland were the risk of nuclear war measured solely on chest-thumping.
 
Thank God it isn’t. But when you consider the power of words, the bombastic exchange of recent days represents the first salvo.
 
North Korea has been a major irritant for decades, one that the West has failed to manage. With its increased nuclear capability—including, claim intelligence experts, devices small enough to fit inside its missiles—Kim is now the wanna-be playground tough showing off the brass knuckles he got for Christmas. Then there’s Trump, who thinks he’s the tough guy, going around the playground reminding the other kids of this, only to see most ignore him—or worse, snicker at him.
 
And like any playground clash, every “Oh yeah?” “Yeah!” exchange escalates the tension, bringing the inevitable fisticuffs closer and closer to happening. Problem is, it isn’t just the two chest-thumpers who will end up with bloodied noses.
 
Trump’s “fire and fury” ad-lib did exactly what he wanted it to do: It played to his base. Put crassly, his supporters measure America’s greatness by its ability to kick everyone else’s ass. That’s why Trump piled on, both verbally (“utters one threat…he will regret it fast”) and on Twitter (“Military solutions...locked and loaded”).
 
(Amusingly, actor Kal Penn asked Twitter if Trump’s tweet, in essence a threat to attack North Korea, violated Twitter’s terms of service.)
 
While Trump’s tirades succeed with his followers, they’ve been worse than useless in resolving the crisis. Kim, who frequently blusters about destroying the United States, has met every threat with threats of his own, promising to bomb—or more likely near-bomb—the U.S. territory of Guam. (Incredibly, this prompted Trump and Guam Gov. Eddie Calvo to suggest the standoff will merely increase tourism.)
 
I’d like to think neither Trump nor Kim want a nuclear war. I’d like to think both believe their back-and-forth is mere theater. I’d like to think there’s a plan for these tensions to bring both nations to the bargaining table. But I fear there are those on both sides who would applaud a war.
 
Even if the goal is peace, we cannot forget the risk of escalation. Words have power. And in this case, every careless threat is an exchange of fire. Every eye-for-an-eye promise is a troop movement. Increasingly harsh words risk bringing us to a point of no return, where words give way to weapons.

This isn't limited to the looming conflict with North Korea. Consider the National Rifle Association's appalling video threat against the New York Times, all but a rallying cry to its membership to carry out violence against the Times or anyone in the Fourth Estate who dares question the NRA's gun-brandishing gospel.

Again, words have power. Words can heal or they can destroy.
 
And there’s a reason why bombast hangs on the word “bomb."

You never talk to me. But I can’t show my weakness. —Pink Floyd, “Keep Talking”

We shouldn’t be surprised.

Much has been said, written and lamented about our society’s inability to converse. We’ve become so polarized that “compromise” is now a synonym for “capitulate,” which we find unacceptable. In short: “I’m right. You’re wrong. If you don’t agree with me, I won’t just protest you. I will destroy you.”

That attitude played out tragically today on a baseball field in Alexandria, Virginia. James Hodgkinson, apparently dissatisfied with Republican leadership in Washington—and President Donald Trump in particular—attacked a GOP charity ball team, shooting at least five people before authorities shot and killed him.

As I perused the news coverage, an opinion piece in the Sacramento Bee caught my eye. While hoping that the post-shooting bipartisan unity will endure, the Bee was insecure enough to ask, “Is it too naive to hope this will be a turning point—that this shooting will shock us out of complacency and acceptance?”

Given the evidence, I fear it's unlikely.

The heart of communication is dialogue—an exchange of ideas and perspectives with the goal of reaching an amicable agreement. That means active listening. That means respecting the other person, even when we disagree. That means being willing to give a little ground so everyone can move forward.

But that’s not where our society is at today. Our individual opinions are precious and above reproach. We proclaim them from our soapboxes of social media, strengthening our belief that they are sacrosanct. When we face disagreement, we dig our trenches deeper. We hold stubbornly to our viewpoints. We may even see the opposition as traitorous, or perhaps as a physical threat. From there, it’s a pretty short leap to eliminating the threat by whatever means necessary.

Many people will nod their heads at the paragraph I just wrote—and then point to those of a differing political persuasion as proof-positive of my words. Indeed, that’s already happening. Within hours of today’s shooting, conservative pundits such as former House Speaker Newt Gingrich were broadly blaming the left for the tragedy, rather than the behavior of one deranged man. No doubt progressives will soon respond by accusing the right of onerous acts that drive people like Hodgkinson to crazed action.

None of this is helping. Posturing won’t solve the problem. In the words of Stephen Hawking, hauntingly present in the Pink Floyd tune “Keep Talking”: “It doesn’t have to be like this. All we need to do is to make sure we keep on talking.”

I’ve spent 35 years of my life in communications. It’s not a career about brochures, press releases or corporate videos. Those are merely tools. Communication is about dialogue. It’s a process of interaction in which information is exchanged, relationships are built, and perspectives and decision-making are influenced to achieve mutually beneficial results.

If we won’t interact, if we refuse to build relationships, if we believe our results are the only ones that matter, how can we think that another Alexandria won’t happen?

The late Fred Rogers once said, “It's very dramatic when two people come together to work something out. It's easy to take a gun and annihilate your opposition, but what is really exciting to me is to see people with differing views come together and finally respect each other.”

Let’s pray for more of that kind of drama.

I wasn’t going to weigh in on the morass that is now consuming United Airlines—not because it isn’t worth analyzing, but because it’s been dissected every which way by professional and armchair communicators alike.
 
Instead, I’d like to look at United’s Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Time from the perspective of Danny Rand.
 
If you’re a Netflix-and-chill kind of person, or a Marvel Comics fan, you might recognize the name. Danny Rand is a fictional character also known as the Iron Fist. Lost in a plane crash in the Himalayas, Danny is rescued by monks who teach him martial arts and train him to be the latest in a line of warriors protecting their realm.
 
In the new Netflix series based on the character, Danny returns to civilization and takes his place as heir to a major corporation. He immediately upends corporate behavior. When the company develops a life-saving drug, Danny insists it be sold at cost. When a mother tells Danny his company environmental failures gave her son cancer, he promises to help – to the dismay of corporate lawyers.
 
Danny Rand brings something that’s clearly lacking not only in United’s public response, but in most corporations: empathy.
 
Businesses like to say they put the customer first. Few actually do. “Customer first” means a company understands the needs and feelings of the people it serves, and it adjusts its business decisions and behaviors accordingly. In reality, too many businesses tell customers what to need or feel.
 
Therein lies the problem with United Airlines. It failed to adapt to the needs and feelings of its customers. Instead, it adhered to a poorly planned (or poorly executed) process. The result – dragging a screaming man through an aircraft in front of horrified passengers and ultimately a world full of YouTube viewers – is an epic reputation disaster. (Nor is it the first time United has threatened a bumped passenger.)
 
United made things worse with its bland, lawyer-drafted initial response, then a flaccid apology from the CEO – “re-accommodate” will live forever alongside “alternative facts” – followed by an internal message that praised employees and criticized the passenger. United’s seemingly more heartfelt apology, issued Tuesday, is a step in the right direction, albeit a late one.
 
Many other PR pros have pointed out what United needs to do, or should have done in the first place. I won’t repeat those wise words here. But I do hope United and other corporations take serious note of what happens when empathy is an afterthought.
 
Yesterday’s New York Times ran an opinion piece that explained how United isn’t alone in its lack of empathy, especially when it comes to “less privileged” audiences. But empathy isn’t just a nice add-on; it’s essential to our humanity. And if that statement makes you uncomfortable – how sad if it does – then think of empathy as a competitive advantage for business.
 
As this article in Fast Company notes: “Progressive companies, almost without exception, are experts at intuiting customers’ discomfort and acting on it. … Empathy isn’t merely a foundation to build a business on; it’s also a way to adapt when the market inevitably turns.”

Or in United's case, building a corporate culture around empathy, truly caring for and structuring procedures around customers first, could have prevented a disaster that will haunt them for a long time.
 
Empathy rarely shows up in business plans. It never figures into shareholder speeches. At best, it gets lip service in annual reports. In the business world, empathy isn’t normal.
 
On that point, corporate America would do well to listen to the Iron Fist:
 
“Then normal is not the path to take.”

So this is how liberty dies: with thunderous applause. – Padme’ Amidala, Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith
 
Hard to believe it’s been less than a month since I blogged about the effort by the Trump administration to demean the news media and why people must pay attention. “Discrediting the Fourth Estate is the first step toward totalitarianism,” I wrote. “Not caring is the second.”
 
In four weeks’ time, those first steps have become an all-out sprint.
 
President Trump’s bizarre, often inaccurate news conference this week—essentially an hour-plus-long attack against every news outlet that hasn’t sung his praises—was followed by his far more ominous declaration via Twitter:
 
“The FAKE NEWS media (failing @nytimes, @NBCNews, @ABC, @CBS, @CNN) is not my enemy, it is the enemy of the American People!”
 
There is your formal declaration of war, folks.
 
Of course, Trump is hardly the first president to beef about the news media. Chief executives as diverse as Bill Clinton and George W. Bush complained regularly about journalists. Richard Nixon bluntly told his Joint Chiefs of Staff “the press is your enemy” that’s eager to “stick the knife right in our groin.” Even Thomas Jefferson, early on a champion for the press, lamented in his presidential years, “Nothing can now be believed which is seen in a newspaper. Truth itself becomes suspicious by being put into that polluted vehicle.”
 
But such whining is far short of what President Trump has done. By declaring the media “the enemy of the American People,” Trump placed journalists in the same category as a wartime opponent.
 
Think about that for a moment. If we take Trump at his word—which is his expectation—the New York Times is ISIS, the Washington Post is al-Qaeda, CNN is Reagan’s “Evil Empire.” Further, Trump’s use of the term “fake” is deliberate. He is accusing the media not merely of negligence, but of a willful, calculated effort to undermine American society.
 
Thus comes the declaration of war. In Trump’s war, all patriot Americans must resist the enemy with heart and soul. Any sympathy for the enemy is treason—and in war, we know what happens to the treasonous.
 
This is where the United States of America now stands.
 
There’s a disturbing parallel. In 1933, when Adolph Hitler became chancellor of Germany, his government quickly implemented a policy called Gleichschaltung, in which every aspect of German society came under Nazi rule. Trade unions, political parties, even churches lost their independent roles and influence. And in less than a year, the Nazi government took complete control of all news outlets—a process that began with Hitler’s complaint of lϋgenpresse, or the “lying press.“
 
There’s a familiar ring in today’s America.
 
Let’s be clear: The news media aren’t always accurate. That’s especially true today, when getting a story first is more important than getting it right. So it’s essential for the news media to find the balance between speed and precision. It’s also crucial for the media to stop being played by the White House and start being champions for accountability—of themselves and of the government. That’s their role in a free society, a role that they are struggling to play effectively. If nothing else, Donald Trump has made that shortcoming plain.
 
That said, Trump’s declaration of war against the Fourth Estate, his labeling of journalists as America’s enemies, his as-yet-unspoken next step in that war, are truly frightening.

As in Revenge of the Sith, we’re in the moment of the Senate’s applause, the moment that Padme’ Amidala noted with despair.
 
What came next in that film? The death of the Jedi, and the founding of an empire.

Two questions lobbed at me this week drove home what a radically different country the United States of America has become.
 
A few days ago, I met with some high school students from a nonprofit community program. They wanted to know about my career and how they might better promote their program. I shared a few war stories—they were most interested in my Star Trek exploits—and then opened it up for questions.
 
One of the first queries was also one of the most profound: “With all that’s happening with our country right now, do you think America needs some good public relations?”
 
It was the second time in 24 hours I’d been asked about the American brand.
 
The previous day, a Canadian friend phoned me with a concern. His daughter and son-in-law are contemplating a career move to California. His question: “Should I be worried that they may be moving to a country in such turmoil?”
 
Not so long ago, I thought I’d never hear such questions. The American brand was one of opportunity, of an escape from persecution and despair, of a new beginning for building a better life. While never a perfect place, of course, America nonetheless held promise and hope found nowhere else in the world.
 
That brand isn’t merely tarnished, it’s obliterated. Left behind. In its place is something far darker, more hostile, decidedly belligerent.
 
We can blame lots of things and lots of people for the fall-off. It’s politics, yes. It’s self-centered and self-serving policy decisions. It’s internal strife, especially along racial and economic lines. It’s the false belief of exceptionalism, the celebration of greed, the might-makes-right fallacy, the conviction that we’re right and everyone else is wrong.
 
But in my experience, the biggest threat to any brand—whether a product, a business or a nation—is apathy.
 
Somewhere along the way, the United States stopped caring. It stopped caring about what was morally right. It stopped caring when evil threatened others, so long as evil kept its distance—hence the rallying cry, “America first!” And when evil came to call, America eventually stopped acting in the best interests of all and insisted on the interests of itself.
 
And the real tragedy is that, by and large, America doesn’t care anymore.
 
It was American compassion that Canadian writer Gordon Sinclair celebrated in a 1973 editorial, at a time when the U.S. was under harsh criticism for its involvement in Vietnam. “This Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for the Americans as most generous and possibly the least appreciated people on all the earth,” he wrote. I can name you 5,000 times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trouble. Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trouble? … Our neighbors have faced it alone, and I'm one Canadian who is damned tired of hearing them get kicked around.”
 
One wonders whether Sinclair would pen such an op-ed today—or whether Americans would care.
 
As I’ve said many times in this space, “public relations” is not about merely delivering a message. It’s about forging relationships, about building dialogue so that we understand each other’s needs and work toward mutually beneficial results. It’s about a willingness to listen and to move together toward the collective good. That’s how progress is made. That’s the starting point for a solid, enduring brand.
 
So yes, America does need good public relations. It needs to remember that it isn’t alone, that the world counts on it to be a champion for what’s good and right. It needs to admit when it’s wrong, commit to doing better, and help others to do the same. It needs to re-embrace its image as a land of opportunity and welcome, and living out those ideals. It needs to re-engage with its compassion—for its citizens of all walks, and for the people of the world.
 
Those are the things that made America truly great. Those were the things that the world admired. And I firmly believe those things are still within us, if only we have the courage to let them out once more.
 
That was the assurance I gave to my Canadian friend—the potential to be what we were, the potential for goodness to endure, and the wise insights of people like his daughter and son-in-law to encourage it
 
“My dream is of a place and a time where America will once again be seen as the last, best hope of earth,” said Abraham Lincoln.
 
Lincoln shared his dream a long time ago. Now would be a good time to start making it real again.

Much already speckles the blogosphere about White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer’s mic-drop news conference yesterday—here’s one of the best, from PR pro and friend Matt Friedman—with much more to come following presidential advisor Kellyanne Conway’s defense of “alternative facts.”
 
What I have to say has already been said, and by people far more articulate than I am.
 
But woe to us as a nation if it isn’t said again. And again. And again.
 
The Trump administration has made it clear: The news media are the enemy, and war has begun.
 
A sad truth of human nature is that people love conflict. They’re tempted to sit back with popcorn and beer, turn on the telly and revel as President Trump disdains reporters as purveyors of “fake” news and chuckle as Spicer’s news conference—which the dictionary defines as “a formal meeting for discussion,” a definition he apparently failed to read to the end—consists of him turning a fire hose of contempt upon reporters.
 
Then there’s Conway’s threat—and that’s the only way to characterize it—that if the media continues to challenge the press secretary’s pronouncements, “we’re going to have to rethink our relationship here.”
 
Still entertained? You shouldn’t be. You should be horrified.
 
Politics has nothing to do with it. Even the most fervent Trump supporter should be appalled by these antics. Spicer insists he will hold the news media accountable, and so he should. But accountability to truth and facts, to balanced and fair reporting, is not what he and Conway are championing. What they want is the news reported their way.
 
That, folks, is known as propaganda.
 
Not every news outlet is robust in its reporting. But the moment we dismiss them all—or allow our government to do so—is the moment we stop being a free nation.
 
As in my last blog, I quote Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black: “The Founding Fathers gave the free press the protection it must have to bare the secrets of government and inform the people.” (emphasis mine).
 
That protection comes straight from the Constitution. That’s the rulebook that President Trump—and by extension, his administration—swore to “preserve, protect and defend” last Friday. It’s a protection that every journalist, every PR professional, every politician, every American citizen must vigorously defend.
 
The old saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” was never more true and relevant than it is today, with the destination frighteningly near.
 
Discrediting the Fourth Estate is the first step toward totalitarianism. Not caring is the second.

I have deserved my fate; for what had I to do with wings and clouds, who can with difficulty move about on the earth? – Aesop, “The Tortoise and the Eagle”
 
Aesop’s Fables are rich with lessons that resonate through the centuries, not always comfortably. In “The Tortoise and the Eagle,” a tortoise complains about her earthbound life and wishes for the power of flight. A passing eagle obliges, lifting her to the clouds, then releasing her to be dashed on the mountainside. The moral: Be careful what you wish for.
 
We’d do well to listen to this warning as the voices railing against the news media grow louder.
 
No voice is more insistent than that of the incoming U.S. President Donald Trump and his administration. Trump’s first post-election news conference was a wild mix of disdain, bluster and dismissiveness beyond anything I’ve seen in such a setting. When “Saturday Night Live” tried a satirical turn of the event a few days later, it seemed almost tame in comparison.
 
Trump is hardly the first president (or president-elect) to call out the media—in this case, Buzzfeed and CNN were the subject of his ire over alleged, unsubstantiated Russian intelligence about Trump—but rarely, if ever, has it been done with such contempt.
 
More than a few people welcome Trump’s approach. Many of his supporters believe news media have it in for him, and for the conservative/right wing in general. For them, it’s about time the press was put in its place.
 
But what should trouble all of us is the post-conference rumblings that the White House press corps is about to be displaced.
 
Incoming White House Chief of Staff Reince Priebus said the administration is considering moving future news conferences—and those who cover them—to a larger venue, such as the White House Conference Center or offsite to the Old Executive Office Building. The current locale, a short stroll from the Oval Office, would no longer serve as a place for reporters to camp out and monitor what’s happening.
 
Priebus—who made clear no decision has been made—presents this as an issue of fairness, to allow more reporters to cover news conferences. Reporters fear this is a step in the direction of limiting access to the president and his administration.
 
Given Trump’s ongoing war with news media—remember, this is the man who threatened to weaken First Amendment protection of the press—I think the reporters are correct.
 
As I’ve noted before, journalism today is in a sad state. Staff reductions, budget cuts and the hard shift toward click-bait over hard journalism have decimated the industry. In this landscape Trump has proven incredibly adept at creating the headlines and distractions he wants—and make no mistake, he knows exactly what he’s doing—with a simple, seemingly misguided tweet or two.
 
But the challenge is more than overworked and underfunded newsrooms. A large swath of the American public doesn’t trust the news media—just 32 percent, according to a recent Gallup poll. Trump himself, with a historically low approval rating of an incoming president, scores better.
 
Modern journalists need to take this seriously. I would call this a crisis, and one of the most crucial tools in a crisis is a solid, well-executed communication strategy. Yes, that’s work over and above being good, responsible journalists who ask the hard questions and hold leaders accountable. But solid journalism alone, while absolutely critical, is hard pressed to break through the loss of credibility.
 
All this said … the news media are not the tortoise in this fable. The tortoise stands for the American people who celebrate the decline of journalism.
 
“Only a free and unrestrained press can effectively expose deception in government,” wrote Hugo Black, a U.S. Supreme Court justice in 1971. “And paramount among the responsibilities of a free press is the duty to prevent any part of the government from deceiving the people and sending them off to distant lands to die of foreign fevers and foreign shot and shell.”
 
The tortoise made a thoughtless wish and paid a deadly price. Should we do likewise regarding the role of the press in American society, our fate may be just as tragic.

I confess to feeling a little smug as I texted my wife by speaking into my smartwatch. Despite the Dick Tracy image, it’s not as convenient as simply texting from my phone, but who cares? I enjoyed the admiring stares and eager questions.
 
But questions of a different sort are flying at Pebble Technology Corp., maker of said smartwatch, this week after announcing it was shutting down its business. Formed in 2012 on the heels of a $10 million Kickstarter campaign—one of the most successful ever—Pebble recruited an army of loyal followers that  now are feeling disappointed, angry or both.
 
The first rumbles of concern began in September with delayed shipments of the new Pebble 2 to backers of a new Kickstarter effort. Even those shipments were limited. When backers heard that some of the new watches were going to big box stores like Walmart, the dissatisfaction grew.
 
“Pebble, the maker of the original e-ink smartwatch, has a lot of passionate and loyal customers, and those customers are pissed,” began an article on Gizmodo. It reported on rumors that FitBit was purchasing some of Pebble’s assets and intellectual property but would not continue the brand.
 
Backers complained on Pebble’s Kickstarter page. The company largely kept quiet.
 
Finally, there was today’s announcement from Pebble: “Pebble is no longer able to operate as an independent entity. We have made the tough decision to shut down the company and no longer manufacture Pebble devices.” Kickstarter backers who hadn’t received watches will get refunds—though through Kickstarter itself, meaning several months’ wait.
 
In short, Pebble’s more recent customer engagement strategy has been discouraging to an enviable customer base.
 
Will I still be able to voice-text my wife, check the weather and track my fitness with my Pebble? Yes, for awhile, at least. Two consecutive sentences from Pebble’s website don’t instill long-term hope, though: “Fitbit will maintain services so that Pebble devices continue to work as normal. Pebble functionality and service may be reduced in the future.”
 
While this is certainly no fun for the Pebblers, another big loser in all this may be Kickstarter. It’s another high-profile example (remember Oculus Rift’s buyout by Facebook?) of the risk that goes with investing through crowdfunding. “If Pebble, one of Kickstarter’s biggest success stories, can fail so spectacularly, then why should a consumer put trust in any of the smaller crowdfunding campaigns out there?” asks Gizmodo.
 
In crowdfunding, the mantra is still caveat emptor.

Maybe you heard about the big event in sports this week, how a team in Chicago ended a century-long losing streak, stunning the sports world and touching off a huge celebration on the streets of the Windy City.
 
By the way, I’m not talking about the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series.
 
Rather, this long-awaited victory happened days after the Cubbies’ championship. Saturday’s international rugby clash at Soldier Field between Ireland and New Zealand marked the first time ever that the boys in green defeated the All Blacks. That’s 111 years and 29 Test matches.
 
The All Blacks have a global reputation as a rugby powerhouse, and deservedly so. Out of 549 Test matches going back to 1903, their winning percentage is better than 75 percent. The first time they met Ireland, on Nov. 25, 1905, at storied Lansdowne Road in Dublin, the All Blacks handed them a 15-0 defeat and never looked back. Ireland’s come close just once – a 10-10 draw in 1973 – until Saturday’s 40-29 win on mutually foreign soil before the largest-ever crowd for a rugby match in the United States.
 
Ireland is hardly an underdog in international rugby, but the narrative was a given: The All Blacks would hand the Irish their lunch as usual.
 
In fact, Ireland dominated nearly the entire match, playing an aggressive offense and a mostly drum-tight defense. At one point well into the second half, Ireland led New Zealand by 22 points; had the Irish held onto that lead – not to be, as a six-minute scoring surge by New Zealand narrowed the gap to four – it would have been the All Blacks worst international defeat in its history.
 
So, in 80 minutes of play on the pitch, the narrative was rewritten. Suddenly, the haka-wielding All Blacks are no longer indomitable. Suddenly, the Irish side is no longer ineffectual against its down-under rival.
 
Of course, the aforementioned Cubs did a similar rewrite last week, ending their 108-year championship drought in an extra-inning nail-biter. Ultimately, a well-executed, determined victory can recast the tale.
 
Such is true among organizations. A commitment to saying and doing the right thing in the right way accomplishes much in the face of naysayers. The challenge is to be consistent. It wasn’t a single play on the pitch that won the victory for Ireland. It wasn’t a storied, grand-slam homer that sealed the crown for the Cubs. It was a relentless determination to stay focused and true to their respective missions.
 
As communicators, our job is to champion the good, advocate for the right, connect with the audience and develop every opportunity to drive the narrative.

I sat well within the you’ll-ruin-your-eyes zone of the TV set, volume turned down to a near-whisper, all so my mother wouldn’t realize I was up past my bedtime. When she did, the conversation would go something like this:
 
“You’re supposed to be in bed, mister!”
 
“But Mom, the show’s almost over! Can’t I watch till the end? Pleeeeaase?”
 
A long silence, a scowl … then, if I was lucky and otherwise infraction-free, a reluctant surrender. “I suppose. But you’d better get right up for school in the morning!”
 
I would, and without complaint. Star Trek was that important to me.
 
One of television’s – indeed, America’s – great cultural icons turns 50 years old today. It was on this date in 1966 that the starship Enterprise sailed majestically across TV screens for the first time. Star Trek told the tale of a spaceship and its crew exploring the galaxy in the far future. It was serious science fiction, a far cry from the campy Lost In Space and many other genre productions of the era.
 
Star Trek was an expensive and risky venture for NBC and Desilu Productions, one that would die a relatively quick death after three seasons – and then endure in countless forms into the next century.
 
My love affair with Gene Roddenberry’s creation began around 1970, when Star Trek reruns went into syndication. I was eight years old. My family was an early adopter of cable TV, so I watched the adventures of Captain Kirk, Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy and the Enterprise crew in crisp, glorious color. As the opening theme played, my heart would surge with those first musical notes and the voice of actor William Shatner proclaiming, “Space … the final frontier.”
 
The show captured my imagination like nothing before. And the timing couldn’t have been better, as I was just starting to connect with the joy of writing. I soon began penning my own Trek adventures. These first efforts were the usual boyish fare – space battles, explosions, phaser fights. But as I grew, the deeper themes of Star Trek struck other, more thoughtful chords. I began to explore those ideas as well, far beyond the Trek universe, but always with Star Trek as my muse.
 
As much as I loved Trek, it was also a catalyst for darker events. My schoolmates neither understood nor supported my obsession, and their disdain was a daily burden. At times I stepped away from Trek, judging the pain too much to bear. But always I returned to that ship and crew; something about the show kept calling, nurturing, urging me to boldly go.
 
By the 1980s, Star Trek was a reinvigorated success on screens large and small. (To date, Trek has spawned six TV series [a seventh is due on CBS next year], 13 films, thousands of books, magazines, comics, games, conventions and much more.) Likewise, the writer within me emerged in young adulthood – first as a journalist, then as corporate communicator. In years to come, I would pen many short stories and articles, three novelettes and a full-blown novel, as well as episodes of an online science fiction anthology.
 
And then, in the summer of 2012, I lived a dream that my eight-year-old self, huddled next to that TV, could never imagine. I sat in a perfect recreation of the Enterprise bridge, watching as a script I wrote was turned into an independent fan production of Star Trek. I confess: I shed a tear when that first scene was shot.
 
The experience would happen again a year later with my second episode. And the year after that with my third. And the year after that with my fourth.
 
I still shake my head in disbelief when I think about it. Because of Star Trek, I lived the impossible – just like the Enterprise crew.
 
What is it about Star Trek that makes it so captivating?
 
I’m often asked this, and my response is usually three-fold. I tell people Star Trek has endured because it signified hope for the human race at pivotal moments in our recent history. It invites us – and even fools us – to face our biggest issues as a society, issues we’d otherwise ignore. And it has the capacity to tell great, timeless stories that resonate with our storytelling civilization.
 
But for me, there’s still more to it. It’s also an issue of timing and inspiration. Star Trek beamed into my psyche at just the right moment to set the course for my life – and I’m forever grateful for it.
 
“Second star on the right, straight on till morning.”