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Kimball, Minnesota
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July 16, 2009     Tri-County News
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Thursday, July 16,?009 &apos;TP 1 Tri-County News Kimball, MN v8888V88 Half a century ago marketing consultant James Vicary pulled a hoax on the American people as a way to promote his advertis- ing agency. He reported that he flashed the words "Drink Coca- Cola" and "Eat popcorn" on the screen for a millisecond during a movie in a theater, and caused large numbers of people to visit the concession stand. He called the effect "subliminal advertis- ing." Subliminal means that the effect functions below the thresh- old of consciousness. Years later, when others failed to duplicate his results, he admitted that he made the whole thing up. Nevertheless, the myth continues. So, is there any advertising that does work below the thresh- old of consciousness? Yes. Much of advertising is clearly designed to speak to you on a subconscious level. Ads are created to get you to relate to the setting; the back- ground music; the age, race and gender of the actors; their clothing; and the activities in which they are involved. The idea is that you will recognize yourself in these peo- ple and, in turn, make the connec- tion, "A'h, this is my kind of prod- uct." You don't think it ... you feel it. And feelings rhove us to act. A fewyears ago I was involved in non-profit fund raising for a Chris- tian mission in Africa. In order to learn what type of appeal would bring in the most money, we con- ducted a series of focus groups. We asked, "Which would you be more likely to do: A. Give money to feed starving babies; or B. Give money to teach people how to grow drought-resistant crops that would end starvation in their com- munity." The answer they gave was almost universally "B." The comments we heard frequently included the proverb: "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; Teach a man to fish and you feed him for life." We then tested both appeals. Oops, the focus groups were wrong. The appeal for feeding starving babies won by a landslide. The lesson we learned was that the emotional appeal to save the life of a child is much more powerful than a logical appeal for teaching a village survival skills that would eliminate starvation. From that THE UN-COMFORT ZONE with Robert Evans Wilson, Jr. . Bleed it out point forward, the heart-tugging stories of babies dying headlined every ad we ran. Emotion trumps logic every time. Take for example, Nick Ut's 1972 photograph of a 9-year-old Vietnamese girl who was naked, shrieking and running away from her village that had just been bombed with napalm. Fear, despair and suffering were written all over her face. More than any- thing it was her complete vulnera- bility that captured our attention. One snapshot revealed the gut- wrenching horror of war, and mil- lions of people whose hearts were touched turned their attention toward ending the Vietnam War. Perhaps you recall hearing these potent words in a speech by Jesse Jackson back in 1984: "These hands.., theseblackhands.., these hands that once picked cotton will now pick presidents." Thrilling words. Exciting words. I remem- ber them well. And, even though 1 wasn't his target audience, they created a powerful image in my mind and, when he finished, all I could saywas, "Wow!" Meanwhile, for millions of African-Americans, it was the motivation needed to put apathy aside and go to the bal- lot box. We are charged and moved by many emotions. Here are just a few: acceptance, amusement, anger, angst, annoyance, antic- ipation, arrogance, awe, anxi- ety, bitterness, calmness, caution, confidence, courage, determina- tion, disappointment, discontent, disgust, desire, delight, elation. embarrassment, envy, excitement, fear. friendship, frustration, grati- tude, grief, guilt, hate, happiness, impatience, inadequacy, irritabil- ity, inspiration, joy, jealousy, kind- ness, loneliness, love, lust, mod- esty, negativity, nostalgia, para- noia, patience, pity, pride, regret, resentment, sadness, self-pity, serenity, shame, surprise, timid- ity, torment, worry, yearning, and zeal. Which ones move you? Robert Evans WiLson, Jr. is a moti- vational speaker and humorist. He works with companies that want to be more competitive and with peo- ple who want to think like innovators. For more information on Robert's pro- grams please visit <www.jumpstart yourmeeting.com>. DEADLINE: 2 p.m. Mondays Materials received after deadline will be considered for the next weeks issue. Page 5 Compiled-by the Kimball Area Historical Society , " :o ii00 Learning to drive that old ModeI-T By Elizabeth Cooper Mike From the pen of Elizabeth Coo- per Mike, Kimball Historical Society member in her book "The Girl From Stickney Hill, Kimball Prairie, Min- nesota." (Reprinted with permission of the author.) It was an old, black Model-T Ford, with no side curtains, three diamond-shaped pedals on the floor, adjustable windshield, and a gas tank under the front seat. It was the car in which I learned to drive. My mother was my teacher. I was 14. I remember well that summer when I got my license and learned to drive. My brother Jack was 13 in June and Daddy came home from town with a driver's license for him. As I looked at Jack strutting around waving the license in the air, I thought, "Sure, boys get to drive. Girls don't." But my mother had other ideas. She grabbed her coat and said, "Come on, Elizabeth." She cranked up the car and we sailed down the road at about 15 miles an hour, past the neighbors working in the fields and always gawking at Mud- dy's driving because none of their wives drove a car. In fact, when I was younger, Daddy reported to the family at the dinner table one night that the neighborhood men had sent a representative to talk to my father about letting his wife drive. "As if anyone could stop your mother from doing what she wanted," my father said looking around the table and laughing that deep amused chuckle he had that made us all smile with him. Besides, he pointed out, it was handy to have two drivers in the family. He could stay in the fields while she did the shopping, went for replacement parts for broken- down machinery, and carted us kids around places. When we arrived in town that day, we went to some kind of offi- cial where my mother filled out a paper, paid 25 cents, and assured the man she would teach me to drive. The man said, "Lyda, I know you've been buzzing around between town and your farm for quite a while now, so l guess you can do it. But you know that's mostly a man's job." My mother smiled and said, "Bill, you're 'an old stick-in-the- mud.'" She grabbed my hand and we went out and got in the car. When we were well out of town going north on Highway 15, she stopped the car and came around to where I was sitting. "Move over. You're driving the rest of the way home." I slid over behind the steering wheel, hardly knowing what Iwas doing, trying to remember to keep my feet on the right pedals and stepping on the gas at the right time and not the brake. I gripped the wheel for "dear life" while Muddy fiddled with the levers on the steering column, adjusting something she called the spark. The car jerked and sputtered a few times until finally I was driving down the road at a steady10 miles an hour. Past the Benson place, I turned left onto the narrow, dusty dirt road that would lead to the farm after about four miles. Then I met my first car com- ing down the road toward me. I couldn't take my eyes off the car as it came nearer and nearer head- ing right for me, me frozen behind the wheel and still stepping on the gas. "Brake! Brake! Hit the brakes," Muddy yelled, grabbing the wheel and turning the car. We stopped with two wheels in the shallow ditch at the side of the road, my mother breathing heavily, and me still gripping the wheel. Herbie Yanisch, a young man I sometimes thought 1 could be interested in, waved wildly and edged his car around us, a big grin on his face. "Learning to drive, are we?" He leaned out the side of his car grinning in my face. I was totally humiliated listening to his laugh- ter as he drove on down the road. ! had regained my confidence by the time we came to the steep little hill, about a mile from the farm, which was hard to get up if the car was low on gas, so I pushed the gas pedal down, gathering speed, hoping to get up the hill before the gas all ran to the back of the tank. The car chugged to a-stop half-way up. With Muddy's hand on the wheel and me hanging on tight, I backed down the hill with- out going in the ditch. Going for- ward a little, backing up a little, many times, Muddy finally man- aged to turn the car around. Then she backed slowly up the hill. She turned the car around again and I triumphantly drove home. The next day we went to town again. My mother said, "Come on, Elizabeth. You need the practice." And down the road we went. When we were passing the neigh- bor's driveway, Muddy said, "Oh, I meant to tell you to turn in here." I said, "Here we go." And turn I did. Right into the big oak tree that grew just past the driveway. The front end of the car hit the tree with a big bang and we came to an abrupt halt, me still hanging on to the steering wheel, ready to cry and give up driving forever. "That's the wishbone hanging down there," Muddy said, looking at the damage, and your dad can fix it, and she marched back up the road to our farm. A very silent Daddy hitched up the teim of horses and without a word or a look in my direction, pulled the car home. My father always said he could fix anything with "bailing wire and binder twine" and whatever he did, the car was in running order by after- noon. Muddy said, "Get in. You're driving back to town." "I can't," I wailed. "I'll never drive again. I almost hit a car yes- terday and I didn't get up the lit- tle hill and now I've run into Noth- nagel's tree and knocked out the wishbone." I pulled out a hand- kerchief and wiped my eyes. "I'll never drive again." "When you fall off a horse," my mother said, "you dust yourself off and you get right back on." She climbed into the passenger seat of the car. "Get behind thht wheel and drive." And drive I did. I drove to Kim- ball that hot summer day in 1932, and I've been driving ever since. The Kimball Area Histor- ical Society truly appreci- ates your friendship and sup- port from renewing membership and becoming a new member to attending our special events, vol- unteering where needed, and your continued generous tax-deduct- ible donations for the preserva- tion of Kimball's historic City Hall. Our Historical Society is the proj- ect director and fundraiser for this project, and we thank you again for your past and future support to preserve this national landmark on Main Street. Coming soon: The 2009 annual "Supper in the Park"is Friday, Aug. 7. All weekend the newest and old- est treasures for your enjoyment will be at our ninth annual Kim- ball historic exhibition in none other area than Kimball's historic and magnificent City Hall. We're now finishing up Phase 4 and beginning Phase 5. This is all part of the Kim. ball Days Festival, Aug. 7, 8 and 9 And don't forget Saturdaymorn- ing, Aug. 8, coffee and rolls/juice at Audrey's 30 So. Main St. Coffee Nook for you early-birds, open at 7 a.m. Join the celebration. Watch for special September and October events: Great gene- alogy and the unforgettable Armi- stice Day Storm Program, before the holiday social event. For more information on any of the above, contact the Kim- ball Area Historical Society, PO Box 100, Kimball MN 55353, (320) 398:5743 or 387-5250, or e-mail <cnewman @meltel.net>. k out our cl special on page 16