You Don’t Have to Become a PR Professional to Respect Public Relations

I posted a shorter version of this article on my LinkedIn this past weekend and it must have struck a nerve. It’s gotten more than 5,000 impressions, 86 percent are out of my network. 

I’m sure many communications people will not like this post. I’m retired now, but I spent more than 40 years in public relations. I’ve worked for publicly traded companies and top universities, taught at two journalism schools, and run my own consulting business. I am an accredited public relations professional, a designation I earned in 1987 by passing both written and oral tests.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen several posts from former journalists who, after realizing they weren’t going to get rehired as journalists, pivoted to public relations. During the interview process, they apparently convinced some VP they would be GREAT at public relations BECAUSE they were journalists. Then they joined our profession and had an epiphany: “OMG. Maybe we should have given public relations professionals a little more respect.”

Oh, please.

I’ve been dismissed, condescended to and called a “PR flak.”

One of my favorite examples happened in 2001. At the time, I worked for a medical company that accepted tissue and bone donations from people who had died and whose families had chosen to donate their loved ones’ tissue and bone. The company turned those donations into products that could repair, replace or restore damaged human tissue and organs.

Once, I talked to a business reporter at the Orlando Sentinel who thought it was awful that our company was profiting from donated tissue and bone. I asked how that was different from blood donations. At least companies and organizations working with donated tissue and bone turned those donations into medical products used to repair or restore people’s bodies.

Blood donation was different? Organizations collected the blood, gave the donor a cracker and some apple juice, tested it, and then sold it to hospitals at astronomical prices. I asked if he had ever looked at the salaries of the CEOs of those organizations or the size and cost of their massive campuses.

He wasn’t interested. He blew me off, ignored my points and wrote a scathing article.

Was I frustrated? Absolutely. Was I surprised? Not really.

That was the deal. Journalists ask tough questions, and we’re supposed to take it. I have enormous respect for good journalism. I understand the role journalists play and why they sometimes need to be skeptical of the people they cover—including people like me.

Another time I was working as a consultant to gain approval of a large retail store in a small town north of Gainesville. We had just finished a contentious public hearing and our team was trying to clarify a few points that had been said in error. I was attempting to connect a reporter from the Gainesville Sun who covered county government with our attorney for a short interview. She snapped at me and said, “Leave me alone. You’re a PR flak. I don’t need your help with anything.”

But here’s what bothers me about these recent posts from former journalists now praising their newly-found public relations profession.

I’m genuinely sorry about the state of local journalism. The layoffs, shrinking newsrooms and loss of experienced journalists are terrible for communities and our democracy.

But please give me a break with the idea that someone loses a journalism job, lands a job in public relations, and suddenly realizes: “Wow. I really should have treated those PR people better.”

Sorry. I’m not buying it.

Public relations is a profession that requires its own skills, judgment, ethics, experience and expertise.

Perhaps the most important lesson is this: You don’t have to become a PR professional to understand that PR professionals deserve respect.

Maybe we could start there.

Remembering 9/11 and my Daddy, Part II

9/11 New York City

Twenty-five years ago, our nation—and my family—lived through the worst time in our lives. Several years ago, I wrote a blog post about our experience, and as we enter the 25th anniversary of those awful days, I’m sharing an update. I posted Part I a couple of days ago, which takes us through Daddy’s funeral on Monday; today, I share the rest of the story.

We slept in a little later than usual that Tuesday morning after having had such a long day on Monday. We had gathered in the family room to plan the day’s appointments when my phone rang. It was Dana calling.

“Mommy, we’re stuck in the Atlanta airport,” she said, which I immediately assumed was because of the incompetence of ASA, the regional Delta jet that flew into Gainesville.

“No, Mommy,” she said as her voice cracked. “You don’t understand. Turn on the TV. Planes have just flown into the World Trade Center.”

The rest of the day is a blur—we certainly kept the television on, and we did get the errands done. As was the case in cities and towns around the country, many flocked to church services, as we did at Beaver Dam Baptist Church that evening. Mommy and I sat behind Page and Becky Ashby who were really close to Daddy and have since become—along with their parents Terry and Donna—our special friends. Larry and the girls ultimately made it to Gainesville later on Tuesday, thanks to a UF student and her dad. I drove to Gainesville on Wednesday, searching for radio stations along I-65, I-24, and I-75 to keep up with the latest news.

We all stumbled through the next few weeks as we figured out what to make of this newly disrupted life. These days are seared into our memories, and although we ultimately recovered, we never forgot. Our family still sheds tears watching videos from those days, still remembering the trauma our nation endured and the personal loss of our family.

The Daily Show with
Jon Stewart

All four of us ended up living in New York City at some point during the past 25 years. We’ve visited Ground Zero multiple times, walking the hallowed halls and grounds of the 9/11 Memorial & Museum. I remember once being in a hurry returning to Barnard from a meeting in lower Manhattan when I suddenly realized that, as I’d woven my way through the city blocks, I’d stumbled upon the grounds. I stopped for several minutes, standing near the Memorial’s twin reflecting pools, the footprints of the Towers.

Remembering.

As I shared in my earlier story, it is still hard to remember my Daddy without thinking about 9/11. Still today, I can’t separate one event from the other, and the memories will remain with me for the rest of my life. I also remember how this country came together after the tragedy, and unfortunately, that’s now lost. While I never want another event like 9/11, I hope at some point our country will come together like we did in those early days after the Towers fell.

A lot has happened to our family in the past 25 years.

Mama Doris

My Mommy moved to Gainesville to be near us a few years after Daddy died. She enjoyed her time in Gainesville, especially being close to us and the girls. She died in her sleep in July 2014, and we celebrated her life back in Kentucky a few days later.

In 2015, Larry and I left Gainesville and moved to New York City. We had always talked about what it would be like to live in the best city in the world and enjoy the urban lifestyle we’d always coveted. We loved it. We stayed in NYC through COVID-19, and in 2023, we moved to the beautiful city of Portsmouth, NH. We loved Portsmouth, but not the weather, and in June 2025, we left the Northeast for Lexington, Ky., which gives us better weather, affordable living, and a lovely SEC city.

Dana and Giacomo

Dana graduated from Florida State University with her bachelor’s degrees and then worked for six months in Rome, an ancient city that stole her heart. She returned to the U.S. and earned a master’s in global public policy from Duke, then moved to NYC, where she lived and worked for several years before moving back to Rome right before COVID-19 hit. She has since married a wonderful Italian man, and they live in Rome and are expecting our first grandchild in December.

Jenni went to Columbia University in 2007 and earned an earth and environmental engineering degree, then spent two years in the Peace Corps in the Dominican Republic. She returned to the States and earned a global environmental public health master’s degree from Emory University.

Jenni

She left the U.S. as soon as she finished and has lived and worked overseas ever since: Ghana, South Sudan, Iraq (Baghdad and Erbil), Nepal, Ethiopia, and today, she works in Gaza. She has traveled the world, visiting 75 (and counting) countries.

9/11 certainly had an impact on the lives of our family, and I believe it gave all four of us the courage to follow our dreams, no matter how crazy they might have seemed. I’m proud that we kept going, dreamed big, and didn’t give up.

As we all reflect on 9/11 in the coming days, may your memories of the past 25 years provide you comfort as we remember those we lost on 9/11 and those

Quentin Payton

who died defending our country in the subsequent wars.

And please remember my Daddy.

Remembering 9/11 and my Daddy, Part I

Twenty-five years ago, our nation - and my family - lived through the worst time in our lives. Even all these years later, it sometimes feels like it couldn’t possibly have happened - that it must have been a dream, or looking back now, a nightmare. Several years later, I wrote a blog post about our experience.  You can find it here. Now, I’d like to share a little more of the background, or as Paul Harvey used to say, “the rest of the story.” Today I’m posting Part I which takes us through Daddy’s funeral on Monday; look for Part II on Friday.

On this date 25 years ago (Friday, Sept. 7), I landed at the Gainesville Regional Airport after leaving Washington, D.C., where I’d spent most of the summer lobbying on behalf of Regeneration Technologies, an Alachua, Fla.-based company that along with the rest of the human tissue industry was being investigated by Congress and the FDA. 

When I pulled up the voice mails on my cell phone that morning, there was a message from Brother Glenn Armstrong telling me my Daddy had died that morning in Hartford, Ky. After leaving me that voice mail, he next called Larry who desperately tried to get to the airport before I retrieved the message. Alas, he arrived at the airport after I had left and I drove home knowing my Daddy was gone. I called Larry, crying, from my car saying “My Daddy died.”

Three days later after gathering family and friends in Kentucky, we held my Daddy’s funeral at Beaver Dam Baptist Church where hundreds of friends and family gathered to honor him. He was beloved in Ohio County, which was evidenced when the day before more than 700 people visited the funeral home, signing the book. We were there for more than nine hours. He had taught hundreds of people to waterski over the years and had been a godsend to young people, talking with them while they played basketball and walked the track at Beaver Dam Baptist’s CAC. 

Larry grew up in the Bronx and never really understood Kentucky, but he tried and grew to absolutely adore my parents. He took me to New York City in October 1981 shortly after we married in August. I had never been to a big city - let alone NYC - but he wanted me to visit “his city.” Even though Larry’s Mom had moved him and his siblings to Florida when he was in middle school, he remained a New Yorker. I fell in love with the city immediately. You have to understand that NYC in 1981 was about the time that the city reached rock bottom, and yet, I loved everything about it. The dirt and trash, the bums (what the homeless were called in those days), the topless clubs, and the electronic stores on every block (which were probably selling mostly stolen goods).

After that first visit, we went back year after year and then introduced the girls to New York’s magic when they were five- and eight-years-old. By the time they were in their early teens, they knew how to maneuver the NYC subways; explain the differences between the UWS and UES, Jersey, The Bronx, and Queens; and responsibly hail a cab.

In June of 2001, we did our usual NYC trip shortly after school was out and the Gators’ sports season had finished. That year, the trip was part of Daddypalloza week which happened when Father’s Day and Larry’s birthday occurred during the same week. On Father’s Day the four of us had brunch at Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. That Sunday morning’s weather wasn’t what we’d hoped for - it was a dreary, cloudy day where the clouds were hovering below us as we sat at our window table looking out on the city. Our daughter, Jenni, asked Larry how the airplanes knew how to fly without hitting the towers when it was cloudy and foggy, and he explained how radar and flight patterns worked. Looking back, it was a bit eerie that we had that conversation. And, of course, we took in a Yankees game, always a staple on our NYC trips. After our vacation, we went back to Gainesville for the summer to prepare for Dana’s junior year at Gainesville High where she was starting as one of the drum majors for the band, and Jenni’s seventh grade year at Howard Bishop Middle School.

As we started September, the fall was progressing nicely. The girls settled into school and football season started on Saturday, Sept. 1 with the Gators beating Marshall 49-14 in the opening game. I was still having to spend most weeks in Washington, D.C., working for RTI, but we were making progress on the company’s issues. So, as usual, I headed to D.C. on Sunday after the Marshall game. It was a positive week and that Thursday afternoon before flying home on Friday, we had a break and I went and sat in Lafayette Park across from the White House. It was a beautiful, cool September day and I stayed there for an hour, just soaking in the moment. It would be the last time I was in D.C. for months. 

After learning that Daddy had died that Friday morning, the girls and I flew to Nashville on Saturday, but Larry stayed in Gainesville to work the Louisiana-Monroe game. He flew to Nashville on Sunday, and arrived shortly before we headed to the funeral home for the visitation. After Daddy’s funeral on Monday, Larry and the girls headed to Nashville to fly back to Gainesville at 6 a.m. on Tuesday morning. 9/11. I had a car that I had rented in Nashville and my brother and I were going to stay for a few days to help Mommy.

Part II coming Friday, Sept. 11.

I miss writing so let's get this going again - Take 2

I started this blog back in 2015 when Larry and I made the crazy decision to sell pretty much everything we’d ever owned and move from our 2,200-square-feet suburban house in Gainesville to a 572-square-feet apartment on the Upper West Side of New York City (go back and read some of the earliest posts. It’s really funny to read about our first adventurous months).

I’ve been writing off and on ever since - although, honestly, the last five years have been more off than on. So, I’m dusting off my writing skills and seeing if I can get this thing going again. Let me know what you think! 

I’ve done a bit of a refresh on the blog and christened a new name. After returning to Kentucky last year, Harry Chapin’s “All My Life’s a Circle” seemed appropriate for a new title.

Larry and I moved to Lexington a little more than a year ago after spending eight years in NYC and two years in Portsmouth, NH. Honestly, we loved the Northeast and if it hadn’t become so prohibitively expensive, we’d have stayed. We were fortunate in both cities to live downtown which was what we loved about cities, although other than being walkable, NYC and Portsmouth had little in common! 

Our apartment in Lexington is beautiful, but it’s anything but walkable. The complex itself is beautiful with sidewalks and plenty of trees and luscious lawns, but its sidewalks don’t lead to any stores or restaurants. The city is nicely laid out and pretty easy to get around. It has one highway that completely encircles the city (something Gainesville never figured out how to accomplish) and another highway that goes about halfway around. So it’s easy to drive around without being caught in an east/west-north/south gridlock. It’s about twice the size of Gainesville/Alachua County so it offers a lot better shopping and restaurant options, although it doesn’t hold a candle to NYC (shopping and restaurants obviously) or Portsmouth (restaurants). It’s also got great healthcare offerings, unlike Portsmouth which was a medical desert. 

The girls are both good. Dana and her husband live in Rome and are expecting in December - our first grandchild! We’ve rented an apartment for 10 weeks and will be there to celebrate (and help). It will be good to see how it goes living in Rome (a city that’s also walkable) in case we decide to go more often after the baby arrives. Jenni’s working in Gaza as a water, sanitation, and hygiene expert for UNICEF. It’s very difficult, but important, work. She’s hoping to be in Rome for a few weeks while we’re there - so she can see her sweet Pomeranian pup Stella (and, of course, the new baby)!

Let me know what you think of the refreshed blog, and be on the look out next week as I go back 25 years and reminisce about the death of my Daddy and 9/11.