It was the McFadden Brothers, performing to an intimate crowd at Oak Room at the Intercontinental Hotel on the Country Club Plaza.

It began with Lonnie McFadden alone, and his irrepressible grin, telling stories and promising us a good time. From the first notes of “The Girl from Ipanema,”  through “Under the Boardwalk” and a cover of a Rev. Al Green sultry song, he owned the music. It was part of him, swingy, playful, joyous and just brimming over with something wonderful.  It was all punctuated with his trumpet and occasionally,with his delightful dancing.

Joyous. Then, in the second set, his brother Ronald joined him on the tiny, taped-down hardwood stage over the carpeted lounge floor. Energy doubled.

The two perform knowing each other’s every move. They tease each other a bit, riff on each other’s comments, tell stories about growing up in a performing household (their father was “Smilin’ Jimmy McFadden,” who performed with Count Basie, Cab Calloway, Jay McShann and other legends).

Seeing the two brothers dance, side by side, and then alternating in increasingly difficult and showy steps, I was reminded of the comparisons between Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire.  In this duo, Lonnie is like Gene Kelly, with playful in his movements, while Ronald is like Fred Astaire,  the essence of pure elegance. (Lonnie even broke the tap off his shoe!)

There was more. Lonnie’s daughter Gina was up next with a solo performance; followed by her younger sister Chloe with a searing cover of an Etta James blues song.  It sent shivers down my spine, and I’ll admit, made me cry. Then the two girls sang together; the kind of song that leaves one breathless. There was a touching moment when their dad turned to wipe away a tear.

The brothers came back to finish off the show with flourish and panache. They always do “Mister BoJangles” and this was no different. Except the moment that stuck was at the very end, as the two were closing the song, arms outstretched, slowing rising — the backs of their hands touch. Linger a moment. Sharing something for a moment.

The hands don’t clasp. They’re just together, intently, a subtle reach by both, to touch. It wasn’t just a too-small stage. It was a tender collaboration, an affirmation, a moment of deep connection.

We were privileged. I left thinking, “Was this the best performance I’ve ever seen?”

I’m not a professional reviewer. I don’t know if there might have been a better arrangement or sound levels might have been mixed differently or if the choreography was compromised by the tiny tap stage. Maybe so. All I know is that I recognized something profoundly powerful and joyous.

Go experience it for yourself.

I mean it.

I’ve been privileged to get to know them, earn their trust and see firsthand their skills and challenges. And I’ve been privileged to be there with them, side by side, in most cases, working to achieve a goal that’s bigger than any one of us. And in that process, I’ve come to understand them, care for them, and yes, love them.

Here’s another example of what it means to love your customers.

It’s from the local Curves franchise in the Waldo neighborhood of Kansas City. I have seen  firsthand the way they have treated a “guest” customer, a temporary member.

My sister has spent the last six weeks visiting the Waldo Curves, usually four or five days a week. She’s gotten to know the women who work there, and it’s been an amazing thing to observe.

After all, it’s just a workout spot. A room with machines and stand-in-place exercise spots arranged in a circle, with lively music to keep everyone going from one station to the next — “change stations now” every 30 seconds or so. It could be so easy to be jaded or bored or condescending.

Yet, when she comes to workout in Waldo, she’s greeted with hugs and smiles! The crew knows her by name and knows how to talk with her, speaking to her directly so she can hear them. And they offer encouragement and laughter. It’s OK if she wants to sing along; they’ll encourage it!

It works. She feels welcome, at home there, and can hardly wait to go visit there each day.

This isn’t a gimmick. It’s real. The women care about her, and she cares about them. It’s a special place for her — just for her. I know it’s not about the money; they truly care about her and are happy when she’s happy there, too.

This is what loving your customers is all about.

She will always support the Waldo Curves, and I will encourage everyone I know to support this business too.

My thanks go out to Lisa, Halley, Karen, Beth and the other women who are there. I appreciate your warm welcome and support for my sister. It’s been a very important place for her to stretch her wings and gain confidence.

I’m inspired by your actions — you’ve given us such a great example of how to  love your customers.

A son, husband, father, successful businessman, a rugby player. The service was overflowing, and speaker after speaker talked about how beloved he was.

It was profoundly sad — made nearly unbearable by all the funny photos of him clowning with his kids, grinning like mad, adoring them. The photos ran in a loop on a giant screen, continuously reminding us of his life.

I realized that I only knew part of him.

We had been acquaintances, tied by the rugby circle. But as an outsider to this theater, I only saw him from the sidelines. I thought he was loud and crude, and yes, funny in that rugby way — but not much more. I didn’t see him as the best athlete in the group, nor the smartest strategist. But he did bring the team together, usually with laughter. So I liked him but I didn’t get to know him well.

It wasn’t until much later, when he contracted the disease and decided to use his very existence for something larger, that I saw him from another perspective. And I wished I’d paid attention to him sooner.

He was in a wheelchair but not not relenting from fighting that f***ing disease as he called it — he was loud, lively and brash, still outspoken and sometimes crude. Since he couldn’t make an entrance quietly, he made everything larger than life. He was a spokesman for the cure, he was an advocate for stem cell research and he challenged everyone to help beat it.

Last September, he traveled to Aspen to watch his Kansas City Blues teammates at the annual rugby tournament there, easily one of the best events in this sport. The Blues have never missed a tournament and frequently win. This year, as always, every level of the club was gunning to beat the Gentlemen of Aspen.

He gave a little talk at the halftime of the game, over the loudspeakers, for the work that would lead to an ALS cure. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it wasn’t about him, it was about winning. It was emotional only for its bold statements of truth.

At the end of the final game, a rough battle, hard fought between the Blues and the Gentlemen, the entire Aspen team walked to the far corner of the pitch to shake his hand or give him a hug. It was an extraordinarily gracious gesture from a team of rugby warriors, brothers all.

It was larger than life, just like him. Full of courage, laughter, love.

BATS stands for Better Alternative Trading System. It’s a registered securities exchange that started up about 4 1/2 years ago in Lenexa, a Kansas City area suburb. The exchange competes directly with the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) and Nasdaq (which used to be an acronym that used to stand for National Association of Securities Dealers Automated Quotation).

BATS was founded to increase competition in the market. It’s succeeded. BATS is the third-largest exchange in the world. BATS now accounts for about 10 to 11 percent of the trading volume, while the Giant NYSE has about 11 to 12 percent.

All from a humble Midwestern location — NOT Wall Street.

Ratterman, soft-spoken and precise, carefully laid out the company’s amazing story:

• Speed is the differentiator. Trades are executed in millionths of a second, incomprehensible speeds. The human eye can register a 250,000/1,000,000th of a second, these trades occur faster than that, he said.
• Customers are broker/dealers, and include all the big names: Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sach, Credit Suisse, eTrade, Deutche Bank, etc.
• BATS is on a path to achieve 18 to 20 percent market share in the next several years.

He gave an overview of the company strategy (Go big or go home), investment approach (Venture capital? No thanks), marketing approach (big customers are equity partners who draw other big customers), and growth opportunities (options market, Europe, maybe Asia).

Then he spoke about their hiring strategy, and I nearly fell out of my chair.

“We never recruit outside Kansas City,” he said.

An extraordinarily successful company that willfully, purposefully, hires only local talent?

I’ve lived here for about 25 years, and that’s the first time I’d ever heard a CEO or any corporate executive break with the conventional wisdom: The best talent comes from the coasts, you can’t get smart people here. I can’t tell you how many smart people believe that you just can’t get smart people to live in the Midwest, and how many others believe that to be successful, you have be in the center of action — Silicon Valley for technology innovation, New York for marketing, Wall Street for finance.

BATS slayed that convention. Ratterman gave some insight to the company’s hiring approach:

• Hires have to fit with the company’s ethic and, first and foremost, be willing to do the right thing.
• The company looks for “deep discipline”, deep expertise in the selected field, whether it’s accounting or hardware or communication.
• Passion for the markets is required. An example: a software engineer makes a point of reading SEC filings and competitors’ press releases. Not for his job, but for his passion. He cares about the markets and wants to know everything he can.
• The hiring process is strenuous and can take up to 15 interviews. And every interviewer, from the receptionist to the hiring manager, peers, and leadership has to give an unqualified two thumbs up on a candidate before they’ll hire. Any hesitation from any one, and they’ll pass. “We spend a lot of time not hiring the wrong people,” Ratterman said.

The process pays off. Ratterman notes that all of the original 13 employees are still there.

“The best and brightest like to be around the best and brightest,” he noted. “The people who are here like to stay here.”

Ratterman said BATS has brought in some employees who had a compelling reason, a need, to be here, and he admits they’ll entertain a candidate who wants to be here. But they don’t seek them out.

A lesson might be: You can find good talent, if you’re willing to look for it. Note that it’s not just hiring a recruiter with East or West Coast connections — you have invest the time to be sure that your next hire is the right one.  Like the BATS approach.

A second lesson might be a bit more subtle. Candidates have got to WANT to work at BATS to get in there. They’re not hiring just for a “job,” they’re hiring for the long term, for those who can help the BATS team — already at the top of their game — go on to the next level. Depth of knowledge, passion for the business, willingness to do the right thing wins out.

BATS is proving that it pays off to be unconventional, in more ways that one.

I like the holiday because I like the idea of consciously inviting the world to pause on one day and give thanks — for whatever it is each of us chooses. For some it’s babies, family, friends. For others, it’s health and home. I’ve been grateful for a good boss, for a job I love; I am always thankful for people who care about me.

But what if we could hold this simple thought of thanksgiving every day? What if the act of appreciation was a common as breathing?

Every morning, I hold my little cat and we open the front door. We stand there and breathe in the air of the new day, full of fresh promise.

“Look at the day,” I whisper, and she always leans up into me, as though appreciating the moment. “This is a good day,” I tell her and I think she agrees.

Then we look around for squirrels or birds or bunnies or fluttering leaves to watch for a moment, before we walk down and pick up the newspapers at the end of the yard. On the way back, we walk by the tree where she eagerly sharpens her claws and gazes upward into the branches.

It’s just a moment, but I really mean it. I really try to welcome the day and appreciate it.  I try to carry it forward throughout the hours, appreciating the totality of it all.

It’s a good day. Everyday.

Kansas City infoZine^®

Kansas City Blues in Aspen 2009

There’s a routine that my husband goes through, painstakingly, whenever he gets to play rugby.

It’s remarkably similar to what all the guys on the team go through. And remarkably similar to how ruggers all over the world prepare.

First, there’s dressing — shorts, socks, boots.

Then the ointment. You can smell Icy Hot and all the other ointments and rubs all over the field on game day.

Next comes the tape. Bind up anything that might come loose or need a little support. Some guys will tape their wrists. Some tape up their boots — around the sole and up over the ankles — so they won’t come off. Some guys will tape their little finger to the next littlest one. After the athletic tape comes the electrical tape, which guys will wind around the head to hold their ears on. (I’m not kidding.)

Then the protective gear, which might include a back or waist brace, shoulder pads, rib padding, knee brace and ankle brace. Some wear a soft helmet, too.

Next, off with the ring and watch, handed over to me for safekeeping.

Then comes the warm up. Some stretch, an elaborate routine; some partner up and start pushing in preparation for the scrum; some jog around, some skip and jump, generally limbering up. After a while, they’re all out, tossing the ball and running drills.

It’s more than a routine, it’s a ritual. It is invested with symbolism and tradition, an act of preparation, both physical and emotional.

A serious preparation, it is a cautious and deliberate process, each step taking the rugger a bit closer to the game: ready for the run, ready for the scrum, ready for the contact.

As with any ritual, there’s meaning invested in each phase. Rituals honor the event; rituals show respect. There is a commitment in investing in the ritual, and in a team ritual like this, there is collaboration and camaraderie. Sure, there’s bravado and swagger, joking and poking fun –masking other emotions or part of the ritual, I can’t say. Maybe both. But the ritual is personal.

Watching a lot of rugby on a recent weekend got me comparing the preparations, and noting the similarities, even between international teams. I started thinking about my own rituals: making coffee in the morning, sitting down to write, preparing for a dinner party.

Not so different. I love the process of making coffee — the aroma of the ground beans, the clear cool fresh water, then the slow gurgle of the drip, the frothy pour and ahhh — the first sip! Anticipation of the outcome is one of the hidden underlying steps of the ritual.

For writing, I have my own set of preparations, both physical and emotional. I turn on the light and the computer, I clear away distractions in email/tweets/posts, etc., and I think about the story. Whoever might read it, what will they feel? What words will be important? Sometimes I need research and I take notes by hand — silly, but I feel as though I can absorb the knowledge better, more intimately, than taking notes on a computer. There are other steps, but then I’m IN the game. It’s on. It’s happening and the ritual has worked its primordial energy again.

There’s a richness to ritual, but rituals are easy to overlook… as routine. Sometimes they become so common as to be boring, just a social rite. But if you dig, there’s still meaning underneath the routine.

I’ve started looking more and I find more to savor the closer I look at the preparations. Rituals give comfort and apply balm to trepidation. Rituals are sweet, a commitment to engagement, a show of respect and an act of love.

I’m paying closer attention to my own routines, and as I do, and I’m finding that the more I prepare, the more engaged and energetic and committed I am. Maybe there’s a business case for rituals…

The airline attendant announced that it was time for preboarding. We rose to join the line. I was still coaching her, and as we moved to join the line, we cut in front of someone.

I hadn’t seen him.

Or maybe I saw him but didn’t imagine him in a preboarding line.

Nevertheless, I stepped in front of him guiding my sister.

“I don’t mind you going ahead of me,” he said, “but I was in line.”

I felt like crawling under a rock, how stupid of me — why didn’t I see him and register that he was in line? I was preoccupied but my lack of respect was as stunning to me as a blow. How did this happen?

I apologized, but he insisted that my sister go ahead of him. Then with a big smile and gesture full of welcoming grace, he offered to help her get settled on the plane. She happily took his arm and they trotted off.

Suddenly I’m alone there, without a chance to say anything further but call out my thanks as they walk down the jetway.

Later, I replayed the scene in my mind. I had made an assumption that he wasn’t in line, my concern for my sister had propelled me to block out others — and it was exactly the wrong behavior.  I was wrong, acting without seeing and without concern for others.  It was a powerful lesson, and I send my thanks to my unknown teacher for opening my eyes with his personal coaching. It was an uncomfortable moment, but a necessary one.

I thank him because his actions changed me.

I know what it feels like to be invisible to others, to be overlooked. I pride myself on my enlightened respect for others — yet here I was, utterly blind to others in this moment. I was so appalled at myself that I have been consciously training myself to see more — to observe and watch and think and serve others more actively. To really see.

I am learning, and while I have a long way to go, I will get better at this as I practice it more.

They came up with an idea: let each individual identify their own capabilities, skills and interests. The business leaders could then use this directory to find people with the right skills for the right jobs. A side benefit could be to understand what key skill sets are lacking, and then provide training.

A good idea. But it never came to pass.

On further discussion, the leaders decided they’d need some form of verification over what the individuals cited as their skills. What if people lied about their certifications or experience? Then there was the whole matter of capabilities — they’d need specific definitions for each level: interested, novice, apprentice, skilled, expert, etc. Who would judge? And just think of all the people who would certainly list inappropriate or non-business interests — why would we want to know that you coach a pre-teen baseball team?

The project fell apart under the added weight. It could have worked — if leaders had been willing to demonstrate trust. Trust was lacking in this organization.

Employee surveys later proved this: employees didn’t feel they were treated fairly, given enough information or valued for their contributions.

I remembered this story when I recently heard Brad Whitworth, senior communications manager at San Jose-based Cisco Systems Inc. He was a guest at a recent meeting of the Kansas City chapter of the International Association of Business Communicators.

Brad told about the employee directory at Cisco. The company had the idea to set up an open directory like a wiki: let employees describe themselves and be accountable for themselves.

This time, a different culture nurtured the concept. Cisco, a worldwide technology giant, promotes the “Human Network Effect” and uses slogans like “Knowledge is Power” to describe benefits of collaboration.

To kick it off, Chairman and CEO John Chambers listed his own areas of interest … including globalization, collaboration, TelePresence, Duke basketball and Diet Coke. (Folks around him say he’s practically a Diet Coke addict; he was willing to admit it and show 65,000 co-workers a human face.)

As others entered their info, the directory provided the link to individuals’ assets that were previously invisible. Communities started to form across the organization around business topics. These groups started sharing their collective wisdom on intranet pages that they “owned” as part of a user-built Ciscopedia.

Pretty soon, the wealth of knowledge paid off.  A sales team needed help finding a systems engineer in home networking who was fluent in Mandarin. Using those search terms in the directory, they found a colleague who was able to answer a customer’s questions and seal a deal.

It’s all about trust.

Open up with the people you work with, and you can find common ground. Show trust if you want others to trust you. Share information if you want others to share with you.

Collaboration wins over fear of risk every time.

Her work is modern and non-traditional; her technique is to patiently draw and color tiny shapes in fluid lines until her page is utterly full.

The result is a swirling mass of colors, with an illusion of movement. Often there will be a surprising omission in the pattern, a jarring break in the movement that forces a deeper look at the image.

A bit of her background: She has worked for 25 years at her local public library, and now holds the distinction of being the longest-serving employee there.

You wouldn’t describe her as an athlete, although she competed in gymnastics and swimming with respectable results during her school years.  But is fanatical about the workout routine she follows at Curves, where she is an inspiration to friends and staffers.

She loves to travel and one of her favorite things is dining out and trying new foods.

She loves music of all types. She’s quick to start up a song by herself in the car with family, and she loves live music, especially Irish traditional by Eddie Delahunt.

But her art is her passion.

She starts by laying out her colored pens in an arrangement of her design.  Next she makes a few foundational points on the page — defining if the work will be based on circles, triangles, squares or lines.

The foundational points might be at the corners, or in a cluster somewhere on the page. From there, she fills in the rest with alternating colors in a pattern she can see at the outset.

Her name is Beth Tracewell, and (full disclosure) she is my sister, and in many ways, my teacher.

She does her art because she loves doing it.  It’s that simple.

She reminds me to be open to possibilities, to embrace creativity in any form. Sometimes she astounds me with the things she can see, sometimes making me feel blind.

She doesn’t worry about things she doesn’t understand, but she loves to learn new things and she takes delight in exploring the new.

Being around her is a reminder to refocus.  Somehow, that’s what she accomplishes with her art, too.

Mike Russell was the first entrepreneur I ever met. He shaped my perspectives on entrepreneurship and business.

Mike was the founder and CEO of the Kansas City Business Journal, which ultimately grew into the newspaper group American City Business Journals Inc.  He died last week.

When I met Mike, I was a 20-something reporter, struggling yet full of ambition and can-do fearlessness — but I’d never been around someone who dreamed as big as Mike did. It was liberating and infectious, and it was from Mike’s example that I came to a  desire to become an entrepreneur. I admired Mike, and I learned a lot from him, including principles that I continue to hold.

The first thing you would notice about Mike was his confidence and charm. He was always self-assured, self-reliant. The next trait was his curiosity and his ability to come up with ideas — he always had a dozen ideas in motion, in various stages of fruition. His longtime business partner Doc Worley used to say that it was his job to help Mike toss out the bad ideas and focus on the good ones. (In fairness to Doc, I think the original quote was a lot more colorful.)

Then there was his business acumen. Mike would talk with reporters about their stories and always be full of  questions: what’s their strategy? why would they do this? what will happen next? who will benefit from this? He led us to become better reporters and editors by always pushing for more insight, using all the information we had at hand and working hard to develop the instincts to anticipate what might be unfolding — and then ask about it.

But perhaps the best trait I saw in Mike was his willingness to give people a chance. He believed in people — all kinds of people, but underdogs especially. I think he liked seeing how people respond to opportunity and I think he delighted in seeing others grow and benefit, sometimes in intangible ways. I wonder if he saw an underdog in me? I like to believe that he did.

For example, in those ACBJ days, Mike and Doc and Don Keough, the editorial mastermind, would hire folks based on attitude they displayed. If you were smart and willing to work and willing to learn, they would be willing to teach you how to do the job. It was a stroke of genius that instilled incredible loyalty in the young reporters and editors, like me.

There was one more example of Mike’s respect for people. He had a simple rule that was inviolate throughout the chain: Always return phone calls. No exceptions. Mike believed that if someone took the effort to call, it was our obligation to listen. No matter if it was a sales pitch or a wacko — you never know where the next idea or connection or valuable information might come from, besides the simple matter of showing respect.

Respect for others. What a powerful idea — no wonder Mike Russell was such a brilliant entrepreneur and successful leader.