Selling kitty litter can be fun

There are so many things I remember about my No. 1 professor in journalism school, the esteemed Conrad Fink, a former high-ranking AP executive. He was responsible for me getting into the field of journalism in the first place. I had wanted to be a CIA intelligence analyst of all things.

Did I mention I was a Newspapers major? I have no doubt I’ll be explaining what a newspaper actually is to my grand kids.

One day during Opinion Writing class–yes, it is a class, and yes, it’s actually one of the best classes I’ve ever taken–Fink was chiding a young PR major.

“Why do you want to be in PR?” he asked, tongue in cheek, his bushy eyebrows almost pointing in the direction he was talking. “Do you really want to help some company sell kitty litter? Or do you want to be a light in a dark corner?”

Fink’s a legend. He was one of the first to report on the run-up to the Vietnam war when he was in that country. He helped shape the profession.

Anyway…I can’t remember the young PR major. But I do remember my reaction. “I want to save the world,” I thought. “I want to be that flashlight in the corner where the powerful want dark, that barking dog in the night when the corrupt want silence.”

“I don’t want to sell kitty litter!”

“I WANT TO BE A JOURNALIST!”

My first job, I was too much of a flashlight. I looked for corruption in every corner. When I did actually find it, I was told to ignore it…lest I find myself in a ditch. Sadly, I acquiesced. But I never wound up in a ditch at least.

By the time I became a business journalist, I was excited about writing “sophisticated” stories about things like corporate expansions and R&D and investing. That will certainly make me more savvy, I thought.

After a couple of years, I realized I was hardly saving the world. Rather, I was making other people money while I…well, we all know journalists aren’t in it for the money.

I became disillusioned.

Meanwhile, those around me continued to diss PR people. One downright detested them. Don’t be a flack! They’re lazy. Clueless. Soulless. Detestable even.

“I don’t want to be in PR!”

To be fair, I disliked PR people too, because many are, frankly, clueless. Many agencies think it’s perfectly acceptable to have some 22-year-old pitching the media on things like market roll-outs. These young PR people didn’t know a thing about business or  journalism, let alone anything about what my paper was looking to cover. Some of the pitches I’ve received over the years have been ludicrous.

But that doesn’t mean all, are even most, are clueless.

I eventually found the so-called lazy, clueless and soulless industry of PR and marketing is, in fact, fun, challenging, rewarding and occasionally full of soul.

Does your company manufacture kitty litter? Good marketers can differentiate it. We can put emotion in it. Does it last longer? Smell better? Look cleaner? Cost less? Is it shaped like diamonds? Diamonds are a cat’s best friend. Do cats like it better? Does it have to be changed less? Is it environmentally friendly? Has the company discovered a new formula that works better? Can we start a social media campaign for brand enthusiasts? Do we have some sort of cool lore to tell?

That, to me, is a challenge.

But…writing a story on said kitty litter company expanding to the Midwest, or how Q2 profits dipped 8 percent because of an unforeseen baking soda shortage, or how that company just raised $1.5 million in bridge financing? Is that really so much more full of soul?

Occasionally, I–and I’m sure many other of Mr. Fink’s ex students–wonder if I’m letting my professor down by being a marketer. Maybe. Probably. But I feel better about myself, even if he might not feel the same about my profession. I feel I have more value. I know I have tremendous value. I enjoy what I do.

Yet, there are things left unfulfilled.

I never went to far-off places like Vietnam.

I never told the world of important things like troop build-ups, genocides or coups.

I never became a shining light.

Or a barking dog.

I never saved the world.

Maybe I never will.

That’s OK.

I can brand that flashlight as a cutting-edge device everyone will want to root out bad politicians with.

I can get that barking dog some serious press for his selfless deeds.

I can sell the hell out of kitty litter.