Page 58 - How We Lead Matters

A Super Sale

Frankly, selling snow to Eskimos would have been an easier assignment than
trying to convince the Super Bowl committee that January in Minnesota had
all the makings for a festive national get-together. When I accepted the
Governor’s invitation to chair the Super Bowl committee, I knew there was
no predisposition whatsoever to bring the game north. They had tried that
only once before—in Detroit—in a snowstorm.
We would have to pull out all the stops.
I went for a little humor. At a bidding committee meeting, when my
competitors were asked about the mean January temperature in their cities, I
knew I was in trouble. “78, 81, 68, 77. . . .” As my turn approached, I braced
for the inevitable. I must have hesitated because the NFL official repeated
the question, “Mean January temperature?”
I replied, “Yes.” Laughter is a good deflector.
I resorted to a little exaggeration. When asked how many limos we had
in the city, I counted the ones at the mortuaries. No matter if fans had to ride
to the game lying down.
I threw in a little chocolate—always hard to resist. I personally dropped
off life-size chocolate mallards at the NFL team owners’ hotels and was
known thereafter as the “The Duck Lady.”
In 1992, Minnesota hosted the Super Bowl. The weather was on our
side. We showed off our city beautifully. But perhaps most important to me,
my father, who was considered an American icon of salesmanship, was there
to enjoy my triumph. He sat beside me at the game, never once casting his
shadow.

Marilyn Carlson Nelson 41