The 100 Guy

I was a devoted sports fan when I was teenager.

Sure, I give presents to friends and family this month – and I make annual donations to my list of nonprofits.

I wrote “Headscape: How a bald guy replanted his hair and restarted his life” to help others address a subject many avoid.

My girlfriend Edith, overhearing me tell a prospect how we’d find each other – “I’m 6’1” and balding,” – giggled uncontrollably.

During my first wedding at age 22 – three weeks after the partial meltdown of nuclear reactor No. 2 on Pennsylvania’s Three Mile Island – college fraternity brother Hank West grabbed the small remaining dollop of my brown forehead hair, proclaiming to the entire wedding party, “Two Mile Island!”

My best hair day ever was in seventh grade when the yearbook photographer took class officer photos.

“The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.

As we adjust to the deep structural changes the pandemic has wrought upon industry economics, perhaps none is more of an existential threat than the Great Resignation.

Lawyers say picking a jury is the most important part of a trial.

Returning to its first in-person conference following a 2.5-year break, the executive committee of PRSA’s Counselors Academy was looking for a new idea to build momentum and community for its September 2021 Nashville event.

I’ve lived that Jefferson quote since I was a teenager. Amazing I lasted 13 years in corporate America before launching my own communications firm.

My dad wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor.

Some of my friends were elated by the Republicans’ $1.9 trillion tax cut in 2017.

Other than in intramural boxing class or my best friend’s single slug on the second grade playground – I’ve never been in a fistfight.

A group of lifelong friends gathered outside for a socially distanced dinner to celebrate my birthday last month.

A favorite moment when I’d meet with business owners (in-person, pre-pandemic) occurred when I’d casually mention I’d sold my business (three years ago this month).

Amidst pandemic, economic collapse, racial disparity and political warfare, do you wonder how America would be faring if we instead followed what God asked us to do?

Most major religions share the tradition of making a pilgrimage, a journey to increase knowledge of self, nature and/or God.

Two years ago, I spotted Washington Post columnist E.J. Dionne exiting our plane at DCA.

When Pharaoh refused to release the Israelites from slavery, 10 plagues changed his mind.

Two years ago, a business prospect was unable to meet in person and suggested a Zoom meeting.

When people gather at Boston Harbor to watch a sunrise or sunset, they often grow silent, watching the miracle respectfully as another day is dedicated.

Americans have been divided for much of our history. (See the election of 1800.)

Six years ago last month, the first issue of The 100 landed in readers’ inboxes, delivering concise insights into business, history, travel – even public policy.

A few weeks ago, I helped with my granddaughter’s nighttime routine. It always starts the same way: she selects four books from her impressive library, hops in my lap and follows my narration.

In my 20s, when I was put in charge of a 25-person marketing team spread over two floors at The Charlotte Observer, I observed our biggest weakness was communications. Ironic, since we were in that business.

I hadn’t seen a $2 bill for years when I noticed schoolmate Rip Black tipping with them. Having loved them since attending its 1976 re-introduction, I adopted Rip’s paean to Mr. Jefferson, tipping with them since. I gave one to an Uber driver recently – he stared at it, announcing, “This one’s going in the wallet!”

Leveraging off The 100 Companies’ success in 20 geographical markets from Denali to Dubai and our launch of The Travel 100, our publishing network expanded last week into a second industry vertical: The Association 100.

For three years, I’ve written the same words on Airbnb’s reservation field that says “tell your host why you’re in town.”

I fly weekly without fear despite one turbulent flight above Asheville’s mountains and a roach-infested Air Cubana flight.