This is a story about how he had the chance to grin like a small dog with a big bone. But instead he got as tight as a 38 bra on a 44 frame. This is a story of Rick Perry’s youngest opponent.

  I write this not as a journalist, a columnist, a sometime political analyst. No, I write this as a dad who was having some fun, yes, admittedly a little at Rick Perry’s expense, for sure, but not that it really mattered. I never met a politician — and I’ve met ‘em by the thousands — who couldn’t laugh at a good joke. At least smile a bit. The good ones turn it back on you, make you the butt of your own joke. But then I never met anyone like Rick Perry who sells himself like Corny dogs at the State Fair.

   This all began when my youngest son, a proud native son of Texas, just like Perry, was 5 years old. The year was 2002. I was watching television with Austin. A Rick Perry commercial came on. He was running for his first full term of governor. An announcer said that his opponent, Tony Sanchez, laundered money through his bank. Another ad came on. This time, an announcer said Perry pocketed $1 million from the insurance industry. Neither charge was actually true. Enough already.

   At that moment, Austin turned to me and said, “I feel good, Daddy. I feel like a chicken.”

   This comment made no sense, but certainly it made more sense than anything the two candidates for Texas governor had said in their ugly campaigns against one another. The boy’s comment was more authentic and heartfelt than anything said in these political ads.

   Then it came to me. The best idea I had in years. Perry and Sanchez were conducting their campaigns like little children. As long as I had a little child myself, I figured, why not run him for governor?

   So Austin and I traveled to the Alamo. He wore a Texas flag shirt. I photographed him. Then a friend made several hundred campaign buttons that showed that picture and had these words: “Austin J. Lieber for Governor.”

   I wrote about the little jokey campaign in my newspaper column in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. I sold the buttons for $5 each for a charity I started in 1997 that has become one of North Texas’ largest children’s charities. It’s called Summer Santa. We sold 300 buttons, and with that $1,500, we sent a dozen area children in need to summer camps the next year who never would have gone.

   The campaign did better than I could have imagined. In one story for my paper, I quoted the Speaker of the Texas House of Representatives — Pete Laney — commenting that he supported Austin for governor, or more accurately, the idea of it.

   Laney told me, “What I like about his candidacy is his first name because I have a grandson named Austin. Hopefully, he will be part of the generation that won’t succumb to the negative politics that’s going on now.

   “A lot of it is consultant-driven. It’s a lot easier for a paid consultant to say negative things than it is to say positive things. The neat thing about somebody like Austin is that in a campaign he would probably say what he thinks.”

   When I told the speaker that the idea began when Austin said, “I feel good, Daddy. I feel like a chicken,” Laney replied, “The honesty of a young man like this is what we all want in politics. If you do what you think is right for the system and you do what you think is right for your constituents, 99 times out of 100 the politics takes care of itself.”

   Surprisingly, the whole affair struck a nerve. Dozens of people, when they met Austin after the election, told him that they had voted for him as a write-in. Austin would look up, smile shyly and explain, “Aw, that was just a joke with me and my dad.” But voters were frustrated by all the negativity, just as they are today. Some of them really did vote for the 5-year-old. But when I called the county elections office to get a vote total, I was told that they didn’t bother counting write-in votes. Oh, well.

   This whole endeavor worked so well that four years later, in 2006, when Austin was 9, we did it one more time. This time we got sophisticated. We got our friend Chris Gomersall, a talented videographer, and made an actual campaign commercial. You can watch it here. I promise it will crack you up, especially the scenes from the TV debate.

  But now back to Perry. One time, in 2002, a few weeks before his election, I got a chance to tell him about this. We were in an elevator at Texas Motor Speedway. I had just interviewed him seriously for another story, which you can read about here. But then, when the elevator was about to open, I switched gears and said, “Governor, there’s something else I want to share with you. You have an opponent that you may not know about. For fun and for charity, my 5-year-old son is running for governor, too. Here’s one of his campaign buttons.”

   I whipped the button out of my pocket and handed it to Perry. He took a look at that little boy in that Texas flag shirt standing in front of the Alamo. Then he turned around so all I could see was the back of his head. His arm quickly popped back over his shoulder and he handed the button back to me. The elevator door opened, and he scooted out without saying a word.

   Maybe he was as angry as a preacher with the devil camped out in his backyard. But I wouldn’t know. I never saw his face. Only saw him charge out of that elevator into a ballroom filled with Texans.

   As I’ve said, I’ve met thousands of politicians in my lifetime. I’ve covered city councils and school boards, county officials and state leaders, congressmen and women, state legislators, even written a few stories from the White House. But I never met one who couldn’t look at something cute, something done for fun and make a little joke about it.

   In my mind, if that had been Perry’s predecessor, George W., whom I’ve met and liked, he would have smiled and said, “Mind if I take this home and show Laura? She might even want to vote for him.”

   But not so with our Gov. Perry, a man about to lose his first race, and maybe not his last.  

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 Dave Lieber‘s newest book, Bad Dad, is a personal memoir that’s a true Texas thriller about parental responsibility, small-town corruption and the consequences of being a public figure. Read Chapter One here. Dave is The Watchdog columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. This first appeared on his personal book blog.

   What’s killing newspapers, first and foremost, is the lack of advertisers. They’ve all but disappeared. (Exhibit A: Your thinning newspaper.) And no, legacy print advertisers haven’t moved all their ad money into Internet advertising. Why? The big secret in our business is that online advertising doesn’t work. Yes, it builds “brand awareness.” But people don’t buy because of it. Feel like arguing the point? OK, ask yourself: do you click on ads and actually buy stuff because of the ads? Of course not. When I read online, I don’t even see the ads on a page.

   Advertisers have slashed their budgets because of the Great Recession. If the economy were stronger, they’d be back. But that’s not happening.

   With Internet, we still have newspapers. Without advertisers, we’ve got nowhere to go but down. And we’re getting there fast.

   I submit another reasons why newspapers are dying. There’s no mandatory read in them anymore. And I have two words for that.

   Lewis Grizzard.

Aside from Erma Bombeck, he is, in my opinion, the most popular American columnist of the last half of the 20th century. He died in 1994, a year before the Internet began taking over our lives. He never knew what it was like for his stuff to be given away for free. But I submit that if Lewis were still alive and newspapers only offered his stuff in their printed edition, at a cost, we’d still be selling papers.

   Yes, the syndicated Atlanta Constitution columnist was THAT good, and his following was that strong. He had fans throughout the nation that looked forward to his columns in a way that no other columnist since has matched. (Apologies to my many National Society of Newspaper Columnist pals.)

   I never met Grizzard, but by some strange quirk my memorial column after he died appeared in his final book, The Last Bus to Albuquerque (Longstreet Press, 1994). I had sent a copy of my piece from the Fort Worth Star-Telegram to then-Atlanta Constitution columnist Cynthia Tucker (Pulitzer for commentary, 2007). She passed it on to the book editor. And there it appeared, following a tribute piece by the legendary sports columnist Furman Bisher. Wow.

My lead: “That summer in Atlanta, 16 years ago, on my very first newspaper job, I discovered the South and hush puppies and Southern belles and okra and pickup trucks and fried catfish. I also discovered the works of a great Southern writer who explained it all to me: Lewis Grizzard.

   “The only thing Southern in my hometown, New York City, was the South Bronx. The newspapers there didn’t carry Grizzard’s syndicated column. But reading him for the first time in the Atlanta Constitution made me laugh. Out loud. And when you move to a new region, you need to laugh. Get comfortable. Understand your surroundings.

   “I never met Grizzard. He worked in the Constitution’s eighth-floor newsroom; I was a college-intern reporter down on the sixth floor, at the old Atlanta Journal. But late one night, after a few beers left me feeling bold, I waited for the security guard to pass on his rounds, then sneaked into Grizzard’s office.

   “Didn’t touch anything. Just stood and looked at this big, messy desk. Tried to absorb some of the energy in that room. Wondered how one writer could make so many people laugh.”

   Now I don’t have the space here to look at the wonderful ways in which he wrote, how his writer’s eye saw things the rest of us didn’t see, how he was, perhaps, the first politically incorrect columnist of our generation.

   My only goal here for you, the columnist, is to remind you of him. He’s not talked about anymore. And perhaps inspire you to go to eBay or Amazon and buy yourself a cheap, used collection of one of his many column collections.

   He was the best. And although he’s gone to Columnists’ Heaven, the work he left behind is enough to inspire us to be great like he was.

Read some of Grizzard’s columns here.

 Dave Lieber is founder of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists Education Foundation. This piece originally appeared in the December 2011 issue of The Columnist, the official publication of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists. Lieber has written a column for columnists.com since 1995.  Learn about his newest book at BadDadBook.com.

Dave Lieber’s Bad Dad book made its national debut on the Here & Now radio show heard on 175 National Public Radio stations. Listen to the 10-minute interview here.

Bad Dad book was featured on Good Morning Texas on WFAA-TV. Watch the fun interview here. Host Chris Flanagan calls Bad Dad “fantastic.”

Read a book review of Bad Dad book by Fort Worth Weekly’s Betty Brink here. She says the book is “a fascinating read, full of humor, drama and pathos.”

Watchdog Nation enjoyed its debut on national public radio when the popular Here & Now show on Public Radio International interviewed Dave Lieber about how to protect yourself using Watchdog Nation techniques. Listen to the Dave Lieber radio interview here.

The Bookcast shares a candid conversation with author/speaker Dave Lieber here.

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Read what Tory Johnson of Good Morning America writes about Dave here.

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Looking ahead at 2011, Watchdog Nation’s Dave Lieber appears on Houston NewsRadio 740 AM here.

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Speaker, author, newspaper columnist Dave Lieber usually does the newspaper writin’. But in recent weeks newspapers from across Texas have profiled The Yankee Cowboy after hearing him speak at public events. Here are excerpts:

From Sarah Greene, Publisher Emerita of the Gilmer Mirror:

Unlike most writers, he is an excellent speaker, and he wrested many a laugh from his stereotypically hard-bitten, cynical listeners.

Lieber told of being raised as a New York City Jew, and working for 10 years for the Philadelphia Inquirer before moving to Fort Worth in the early 1990s in pursuit of his lifelong dream of becoming a columnist.

On the way to achieving that goal he ran into some amusing roadblocks, since the first step was to become a Texan.

Some of the shocks were predictable: he had to be instructed that “y’all” is a singular noun and “all y’all” is its plural.

Invited to spend an evening at Billy Bob’s Texas he showed up in his New York outfit with blazer jacket and tie, and wondered why everyone else was in “cowboy costume.”

BUT THE BIGGEST problem he encountered came from a white Labrador retriever owned by a Texan divorcee he fell for soon after his arrival.

The female dog was totally devoted to her female owner, who had rescued her from a pound after the previous male owner had abused her.

Lieber soon learned to get along with his two prospective step-children, a girl, then 10, and a boy, 12. But Sadie the Psycho Dog was another matter. Lieber introduced her to the Star-Telegram readers in a 1994 column which also served as a proposal of marriage (Karen said “yes”).

Winning Sadie over became such an important part of Lieber’s Texanization that he wrote a touching column when the dog died at age nine.

HE QUOTED the late Texas Observer editor and writer who wrote a book titled My Dog Skip. In it Morris said that the dog of your boyhood “teaches you a great deal about friendship, about love, and death.” Lieber said that since he didn’t get his first dog until he was 37, he came to those lessons late.

The columnist also told about learning that instead of “cowboy costume,” real Texans wear “Western attire.” He not only got some, but himself became a rodeo cowboy after a fashion. A 1,300-lb. bull he rode at a church rodeo on a dare obligingly staged in the chute for most of the 8 seconds Lieber needed to stay on. And he actually won a later celebrity steer-riding contest.

Lieber came to dub himself “the Yankee Cowboy everybody loves to hate.” He published a book, The Dog of my Nightmares, now in its fourth printing.

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From Robert Brincefield, Vice President and Publisher of the Brownwood Bulletin:

Dave Lieber, The Watchdog reporter for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, gave a luncheon speech that resonated with Carol and me. Before moving to his current beat as consumer advocate, Lieber wrote a human interest column three times a week for the newspaper. Originally from New York, Lieber gave a humorous account of his difficulties with adjusting and adapting to life in Texas and his conflicts with Star-Telegram readers. His observations of the Texas culture and the customs practiced by Texans may have seemed humorous to a former New Yorker, but they were not going over well with the natives in Fort Worth.

Lieber’s transformation came nine months after his arrival when he met the woman of his dreams and the dog of his nightmares. He soon stopped fighting with readers and began embracing his new environment. As a metro columnist, he started writing about small town along with big city life, pets, kids, spouses, ex-spouses, the rich, the poor, politicians, school boards and local people as one of them – not as an outside observer.

In 2002, Lieber was rewarded for his about face when he won the Will Rogers Humanitarian Award from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists. The award is named for the philosopher-humorist who used his public forum for the benefit of his fellow human beings….

What makes me optimistic about our future are the human interest people stories illustrated by Lieber …. It is columns like the one about a growling dog that is suspicious of an upstart cocky Yankee wanting to date his owner…. That is where our roots lie, and as long as we do not stray from them we will be fine.

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From Ellen Cameron in the Coppell Sidekick:

“All ya’ll is the greatest word in the dictionary. Well, it will be when I’m done,” David Lieber vowed. Strangely enough, this promise of the Texan bastardization of the English language occurred in Coppell’s William T. Cozby Public Library.

Lieber, a comedian, sartorialist and columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram was the guest speaker at the library’s latest tea party and spoke of his experiences on the journey of becoming Texas-condoned beginning in 1993 with his move from Philadelphia to Bedford to work for the paper.

While the comfortably-attired middle class women of Coppell drank tea with their finger sandwiches, Lieber talked about his often-disastrous journey to acceptance—and while it may not be polite to laugh at other’s misfortunes, it is perfectly fine if they laugh first.

And laugh they did, as Lieber described learning that there is, in fact, a wrong answer to the question “Where are you from?” and only realizing the insults wrecked upon him after reading the book How to Talk Like a Texan and being terrified of chimichangas (because really, they do sound quite dangerous to the untrained ear.)

But Lieber’s rather catastrophic journey had a chick-flick ending that left the tea-drinker’s hearts gushing: at the end of his wits, he asked God for a woman to lead him through Texas barbs and queues. Her name is Karen.

“The turning point came on Oct. 2, 1994, when newspaper readers opened their Sunday paper and read a column by me that began: ‘Here in Texas I’ve met the woman of my dreams. Unfortunately, she lives with the dog of my nightmares.’” Lieber said. “The story went on to describe my burgeoning romance with Karen, a local woman, and her two wonderful children. The problem came with Psycho Dog, Karen’s pooch, who detested me. It was a funny story about how the dog tried to drive me away from Karen, but in the end, the dog and I reconciled (somewhat) when I apologized on behalf of humanity to Psycho Dog for her previous owner, who had brutalized her. The story ended with me realizing that I couldn’t live without Karen, her two children, and the doggone little dog. The last line was, ‘Karen, will you marry me?’ She said yes. We just celebrated our 15th anniversary and I love Texas!”

Texas seems to love Lieber as well; or, at least, the suburban Texas library did.

The 2011 Member of the Year for the National Speakers Association/North Texas

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See a list of Dave’s special topics for your group here.

Laugh at a sampling Dave’s video clips here.

See Dave’s speaker demo video here.

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From Anne Kucinich, Exec. Director of the Association for CME Excellence:

“Thank you very much for your wonderful presentation on communication last month at the Improving Public Health Through Best Practices conference. We surveyed our attendees after the meeting and asked them to identify the speakers they most enjoyed and your name was first on the list. Here are a few of the comments we received:

- “Dave was not only a wonderful speaker but he kept the audience intrigued with his stories. Excellent choice!”

- “I will use the storytelling technique to make my presentations better.”

- “The opening talk by Dave Lieber was great.”

- “I enjoyed Dave Lieber. His lecture style is quite refreshing.”

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From Crystal Andrews, Program Trainer, South Plains Community Action Association:

“I hoped that Dave could end our day on a positive, refreshing note, sending our staff on their way with some joy and amusement. Boy, did he ever! From the moment Dave started speaking, the room was filled with roars of laughter and you could see smiles everywhere. Dave brought us these incredible moments of humor along with moments of tenderness and heartfelt memories. He encouraged us to see the value in everyday living and to cherish  moments in our lives. To work with Dave is a joy and is something that I  will never forget.”

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From Ruth Primm, Henderson Literary Society:

“Laughing is so good for the soul, and we were rolling on the floor.”

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From Byron Keelin, American Soybean Association:

“Thank you for speaking at the ASA Leadership College. Your presentation about Storytelling Marketing was right on the mark with the type of leadership training ASA strives to bring to its grower leaders and state association staff. Everyone commented on how great the sessions were and how useful the information and tactics were to their positions and operations. They are excited to share these new skills with their friends and co-workers.”

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From Ann Dodson, Sun City Community Association:

“Thank you so much for wowing the Sun City resident volunteers.”

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From Janis Filewood of Hurst, Texas:

“You remind me of Erma Bombeck!”

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From Keela McGraw, principal of Arlington Classics Academy:

“Thank you so much for the invigorating stories you shared with our staff. You’ve given us a boost that was very much needed. Your stories touched us in ways that will make us sensitive to diversity — and better educators.”

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From Bill Webb, Southlake Kiwanis:

“As an aside, I had my 11-year-old son join me and he talked about you for a couple of days. Not every speaker can effectively cover that range of demographics.”

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From Kirte Kinser, Rockwall Rotary:

“You have an easy delivery style and I appreciated how you interjected tidbits that you had learned at the meeting.”

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From Carolyn Cochran, Highland Park Book Club:

“I wish I could laugh at my awkwardness as well as you do.”

Contact Dave using the “Contact” button on the top right-hand corner of this web page for a fast response, or if you’re a fan of Alexander Graham Bell, call 1-800-557-8166.

See a list of Dave’s special topics for your group here.

Watch a sample of Dave’s videos and laugh here.

See Dave’s speaker demo video here.

Dave’s books include:

What happens when the worst 10 minutes of your life go viral? Find out in his new Texas thriller.

Dave Lieber, The Watchdog columnist at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, has been chasing after people in his newspaper stories and columns for more than 30 years. For a dozen of those years, he chased after one police department in particular for all manner of wrongdoing. Then one day that police department went chasing after him.

Mr. Lieber recently spoke about the experience and the writing of his new book. Bad Dad (192 pages, hardcover, $23) is a true-story thriller, a parenting book about parental responsibility, child-rearing practices, child discipline and how society defines bad parenting. It’s also about small-town corruption and the moral consequences of being a public figure.

Learn more at BadDadBook.com.

Q. What made you write a book about the worst 10 minutes of your life?

A.  As a professional speaker and writer, I know that it’s not what happens to me that matters, but what happens to your audience. In today’s world, anybody at any time can fall victim to one small incident getting blown out of proportion. How often does Fox News show a mother spanking a child, as captured on a Wal-Mart video camera? I’d say every other week. Something like this happened to me. It could happen to you or someone in your family, too. We’re talking here about maintaining good behavior in public and, of course, good parenting skills.

Q. What happened exactly?

A. I took my 11-year-old son to McDonalds for breakfast. He was ready to leave before I was through eating and reading the paper. He wouldn’t settle down and kept insisting, “Let’s go!” I got so fed up that I told him that if he didn’t wait ’til I was done, he could walk the 7/10th of a mile home alone and think about what he did. He didn’t listen, so I left him at the restaurant. Ten minutes later, when I doubled back to check on him, there were two police cars waiting. Someone had called 911.

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Dave Lieber’s newest book is his best writing yet. BadDadBook.com

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Q. What was your relationship with this police department?

A. For a dozen years, before I started The Watchdog column in 2005, I covered 25 cities and school districts in North Texas. One of the police departments is situated across the city border in Watauga, Texas, a few blocks from where I live in Fort Worth. This particular department had no end of problems, from police chiefs on down. Thanks to the wonderful Texas Public Information Act, which I use all the time in my reporting, I was able to document one terrible incident after another in this department. Nobody ever disputed the facts. Watauga mayors, city council members and firefighters were also subjects of my columns. In Texas, people pay attention when they are given the straight, behind-the-scenes facts about what their government is doing. Powerful people lost jobs and and more. Then I came close to losing my job and more because of a “mistake” I made.

Q. What happened with those two Watauga police cars?

A. The officers took witness statements, lectured me and let me go home. Then they called Child Protective Services, which visited my house. By then, I’d already shared what happened in my newspaper column. I learn from my mistakes as well as the mistakes of others in that watchdog column. Shockingly to me and a lot of others, I was eventually arrested and charged with two felony counts of abandonment and endangerment. Suddenly, my family, career and reputation hung by a thread. My column was suspended. My mug shot was everywhere. From around the nation and even the world, TV newscasters, radio talk shows, newspapers and bloggers weighed in with their opinions. Inside Edition and ABC News called. Fox News national had a mini mock-trial about me. It was a small incident that quickly spiraled out of control. I was the guy in an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

Q. How did you tell the story in the book?

A. Like a movie. I unfold the story through scene-by-scene construction, dialogue in full and other writing techniques favored by some of my writing mentors, the “new journalists” such as Gay Talese, Tom Wolfe, Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill. I use literary techniques to take the reader back decades in time. How do past events lead to a sudden outburst like that (by me, as well as by my son)? What happens in a person’s childhood that sets the stage for later bad moments in adulthood?

Q. What about the police angle?

A. That, of course, gives the story its driving dramatic arc. I point out early on that a city police officer who stopped me once for speeding and let me go with a warning was later berated by the chief: “You never let Dave Lieber go with only a warning.” That thinking kind of sets the stage for what happened.

Q. Do you think this would have happened to you in other towns in North Texas?

A. Well, I’m inclined to believed I’d have gotten a lecture, but not the threat of prison time. Over the decade, I’ve written a lot of tough stories about a lot of police departments, but I’ve also worked closely with police departments throughout Texas on community projects such as National Night Out, Citizens on Patrol and Texas TLOFT (Texans Lookin’ Out for Texans). I speak at their events, enroll in their citizens police academy classes and support police whenever support is required. They are my sources, my readers and sometimes, my friends. I’m certainly not anti-police. I supported some Watauga police officers in print whose treatment by their superiors, I thought, was unjust.

Q. It sounds like a unique Texas thriller, but three years later, how are things between you and your son?

A. He’s 14 now, and we have our challenges like everybody else. But we continually work through them, learn and grow together. I’m grateful to Austin because not only did he give me permission to share this story, he also helped me create the book trailer video. He did a great job. See for yourself. Watch Bad Dad Book trailer by Dave Lieber here.

Q.  Before we go, what was writing the book like?

A. Good question. It was brutal. Or I should say brutally honest, which is never easy, but that’s how a book like this should be. There was no sugar coating. My focus was this: how do you take this story and craft it so readers stay on the edge of their seats? How do you make it come to life so they feel as if they  walking through these experiences with us? And most important, so they can see elements of their own family experiences within mine. My challenge was to write this so people can’t put it down. I’ve been told I succeeded, and that’s through blood, sweat and, yeah, tears. I’d write, come downstairs and my wife Karen would ask, “Have you been crying?” I called on every self-disciplining writer trick I knew. Butt in the chair. Keep writing. Rewrite and rewrite some more. But it was worth it. Bad Dad will help people everywhere remember the new rule in today’s modern society: “Live your life as if you’re always on camera. Don’t do anything you don’t want seen by millions.”

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Buy Bad Dad book here.

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Excerpt Notes from official Dave Lieber Biography:

Dave Lieber is an American newspaper columnist, public speaker and author.

He is The Watchdog columnist at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. His Facebook page is FB.com/Dave.Lieber. On Twitter, go to @DaveLieber.

The father of three children, Dave lives with his wife Karen and their youngest son, Austin, in Fort Worth, Texas.

Lieber is co-founder of one of North Texas’ largest children’s charities, Summer Santa, which provides help to thousands of children in need each year through an all-volunteer charity with no physical office or paid staff. For this he won the Will Rogers Humanitarian Award as the newspaper columnist who makes positive contributions to his community.

Bad Dad is Lieber’s latest book. His other books include Dave Lieber’s Watchdog Nation: Bite Back When Businesses and Scammers Do You Wrong and The Dog of My Nightmares: Stories by Texas Columnist Dave Lieber. Visit the Yankee Cowboy Store to find all of his books and more.

   Better get used to it.

   The only true way to beat Perry is to beat up Texas. Or at least his version of Texas. A Texas of success, of wealth, of jobs creations, of liberty.

   Only when it’s not.

   The presidential candidates have to attack Texas to attack Perry. It’s not hard. Texas ranks near the bottom in many national categories, including lack of health insurance, children living in poverty, dirty air and funding for public education. Now the rest of America will hear this. Again and again.

   There’s a model for this. In 1988, Massachusetts Gov. Michael Dukakis ran on what he called “the Massachusetts miracle.”

   In a famous TV ad, his opponent, Vice President George H.W. Bush, took that idea apart. The ad was called “The Harbor” and it showed the polluted state of Boston Harbor with the memorable tagline: “And Michael Dukakis promises to do for America what he’s done for Massachusetts.”

   Switch Texas for Massachusetts and you can imagine what’s about to happen.

   Watch the famous 1988 ad here.

   Perry has one more problem he must overcome and overcome quickly if he wants to become the nation’s 45th president. He described his shortcoming in his Aug. 13, 2011 presidential candidacy announcement when he said:

   “I am also the product of a place called Paint Creek. Doesn’t have a zip code. It’s too small to be called a town along the rolling plains of Texas.”

   Obviously, Perry doesn’t see that as a shortcoming. Why should it be? Coming from a small town is heartwarming and wonderful. You develop strong values and a caring for others that’s impossible to duplicate in a big city.

   But the problem is when the adult doesn’t expand his horizons. I fear that Perry has difficulty understanding the rest of us. This is a big country with lots of different people. I base my worry on my experience when I met him during his first run for governor in 2002.

   At the time, for fun, I ran my then 5-year-old son in a campaign for governor against him. Using my metro column in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram as the vehicle, I publicized the mock campaign by printing buttons and selling them to readers to support my Summer Santa charity that sends kids to summer camps. We raised about $1,500 off those little buttons and sent a bunch of little Texans in need to camp the next summer. When I told Perry about it and showed him the campaign button, he didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he turned his back on me and returned the button by passing it over his shoulder without looking at me. 

   Contrast that with then-House Speaker Pete Laney, who, going along with the fun, actually “endorsed” my son for governor. (He liked the name Austin, Laney said.)

   But it was another part of my first meeting with Perry that left me unsettled and showed me how far he had to go when meeting people from places that do have zip codes.

   I described the encounter in a 2002 column in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. It’s also reprinted in my collection of stories, The Dog of My Nightmares: Stories by Texas Columnist Dave Lieber.

 Stereotypes are hard to overcome – just ask the governor

   The first time I met Gov. Rick Perry at a campaign rally in Southlake seven weeks ago, we had a pleasant conversation, but he said something that surprised me. We were standing in the third-floor hallway of Southlake Town Hall when I introduced myself.

   “Hi, Governor Perry,” I said.

   “Hi,” he replied.

   “My name is Dave Lieber, and I’m a columnist for the Star-Telegram.”

   He asked, “Is that L-E-I-B-E-R?”

   “No sir,” I said. “That’s L-I-E-B-E-R.”

   Then he said, “Did you ever live in Israel?”

   In my life, I have never been asked that question. The governor is either an incredible mind reader or he looked at me, learned how to spell my name and quickly tagged me as Jewish, which I happen to be.

   I say he might be a mind reader because I was holding an envelope that contained a 2-year-old column I had written about being Jewish in Texas. But he didn’t know that yet.

   I had wanted to share this column – “Bible Belt can sometimes feel too tight for comfort” – with the governor because of an incident that occurred a year ago at Palestine Middle School in East Texas. Perry had prayed publicly at a mandatory school assembly, and afterward, when he was criticized for his apparent violation of the U.S. Supreme Court ruling against organized prayer in public schools, he said he didn’t agree with the court ruling.

   Many don’t agree with that ruling. But as the state’s highest elected leader, Perry, I would have thought, had a responsibility to lead by example. Instead, at the time, he said, “Why can’t we say a prayer at a football game or at a patriotic event like we held in Palestine. I just don’t understand.” He said the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks make public prayers more appropriate and necessary.

   I wanted to share my column with Perry to help him understand a different view. The column was my favorite, and my favorite experience in Texas – not because of what I wrote, but because of the extraordinary reaction from readers. I heard from dozens, and hardly anyone had a negative word. It was not what I expected.

   A North Richland Hills woman wrote me, “I am embarrassed to say that I had never thought of what my Jewish, or for that matter, any other non-Christian brothers might be feeling when the words ‘in Jesus’ name’ are used. I do believe in school prayers, but I see your point. Tolerance of each others’ beliefs is the only way the human race is to survive, and I thank you for opening my eyes.”

   A Fort Worth woman wrote: “Having lived in North Texas my entire life I never had the exposure to other religions until I was an adult and felt comfortable asking questions of close friends. . . . I looked at prayer as a positive thing to bring people together, but now I realize it can be hurtful to people not of the same religion. Your column made me feel your pain and realize that what we need to unite on is a common respect for all people as human beings.”

   Because the governor had said, “I just don’t understand,” I wanted to show him a different side. I didn’t expect to change his mind.

   But after he asked “Did you ever live in Israel?” my mind flashed to an image of a black person standing in front of him and the governor asking, “Did you ever live in Africa?” But I remembered that I was there for a reason.

   “No, sir,” I said. “I haven’t lived in Israel. But it’s funny that you mention that because I have an envelope here for you that has an old column I wrote after the U.S. Supreme Court ruling about organized prayers at public school events. It’s about being Jewish in Texas, and I thought maybe you’d enjoy it.”

   “Oh, I would,” he said. “Thank you very much. I’ll read it.”

   We were walking down the stairs and I said, “Because you know, governor, you and I really come from different worlds.”

   “We really do!” he said. “We really do!”

   Then he started to talk about the Israeli air force pilots he met while he was in the Air Force. “I just always admired those guys,” he said.

    He talked about how he once led a trade mission to Israel. “It’s just the most incredible place,” he said. And he spoke about President Bush’s strong support for Israel, which, he said, surprised many American Jews. “He never projected that support before,” the governor said about his predecessor. “He did some really positive things for them.”

   We shook hands, and I said, “Please read my column and let me know what you think.”

   “I will,” he said.

   Weeks went by, and I didn’t hear from the governor. But I talked to a communications professor at University of Texas at Arlington about the governor’s question about my living in Israel.

   Alex Mwakikoti told me that the governor had stereotyped me. “Because of stereotypes we have, we don’t understand much about others,” he said. “We use preconceived ideas of what we have from others, and then we use that with everyone else we meet. That type of stereotyping is really dangerous, especially when you are dealing with individuals who are in leadership positions. Leadership ought to learn about other cultures, so they don’t make those kinds of mistakes.”

   Last week, I caught up with the governor again before he made a speech at Texas Motor Speedway. He remembered me.

   “Did you ever get to read that column?” I asked.

   “Yes.”

   “What did you think?”

   He answered, “I don’t necessarily agree with you that [public prayer] is a slap in the face to individuals of the Jewish faith. I’m a big fan of us talking about our faiths openly.” He said that talking about our religion publicly was more important after Sept. 11.

   “I’m a Christian,” he said. “I have a very biblical connection with Israel. The Israelis are God’s chosen people. My political support of Israel is because of my Christian beliefs. I don’t have a problem with a rabbi coming to schools, the Legislature, or, for that matter, a Christian preacher coming and saying a prayer. I think that is good for America to get back and grasp our values.”

   I said, “Governor, you know it means a lot to me that you read it, and I appreciate it. One more quick question. When we met for the first time and I introduced myself to you and you asked about my name and how to spell it, you said, `Did you ever live in Israel?’ I was a little taken aback by that. It was like, maybe you saw me just as a Jewish guy standing in front of you.”

   The governor’s voice became higher pitched when he quickly said, “No.”

   He changed the subject and asked if I had heard about a young Jewish man from Dallas who had died last month fighting for the Israeli army. I told him I hadn’t.

   “Anyway,” he said, as he walked away to give his speech.

   Later, I talked to the communications professor about the encounter.

   Mwakikoti said, “I tend to forgive a lot of individuals who I believe don’t understand what they are talking about. I try to call to their attention what they are doing wrong, just as you did. They don’t want to be found in that situation again with someone else. But not everyone will accept what you are calling to their attention to correct.”

   Candidates running for office are carefully protected in a campaign bubble. Sometimes, only the briefest of encounters can illuminate a candidate’s personality or beliefs. In this instance, I only wish that the governor of Texas could have looked at me in a different way the first time we met.

October 6, 2002

Dave Lieber is The Watchdog columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Read his current work here. See his books at Yankee Cowboy Store. Twitter @DaveLieber

The above story appears in:

Well, technically Desiree is not my little girl. Yes, I am her legal father, but when I first met her she was already 11 years old. And taller than me.

Heck, when we first met she piped up and called me “Little Man.” Her mother, whom I fell in love with and soon married, told her to stop. But it took years for Desiree to stop calling me that.

Then one day, suddenly, she called me Dad.

From others, there are parenting books about child-rearing practices, child discipline, parental responsibility and even bad parenting. From me, there were simple newspaper columns about her life, a lot of fun, but not much in the way of theory.

There's an APP for that!

Because I’m a columnist at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, years ago, when she was a teenager, her life was sometimes inserted into the newspaper like a diary by me. Why not? Watching her grow up into the lady she has become is one of the most fun and funny stories I’ve witnessed in my storytelling life.

Sure, I always asked her permission before writing about her, and often, she would extract in exchange for her private life going public a new pair of shoes or something similar. She was a great sport about it.

Looking back, there were a couple of times I abused the process. When she was 14,  I ran her loopy first boyfriend off. Not in person. No, that wasn’t possible. I never got to meet him face to face because I think he was scared of me. But I wrote a newspaper column about him. I wrote:

My Rule goes like this: Desiree can “group date” with a large group of other teens – but only if her escort first comes into my house and sits with me in the living room for a brief chat.

Apparently, word about My Rule has spread through the neighborhood. Desiree, of course, blames me for her sorry social life.

Still, there was that Sunday afternoon a few months ago when the boy who has shown the greatest interest in Desiree announced that he was coming over. I call this boy Midas for reasons that will soon become apparent.

When he visited, I heard a horribly loud noise coming from down the street. The bathroom windows began shaking from the awful vibration.

As the noise grew closer, it sounded as if a B-52 bomber was about to land on the roof. I quickly wiped the shaving cream off my face and jumped in the shower. The horrible noise stopped, and a car door slammed.

The windows rattled, but soon, the noise faded in the distance. I threw on clean clothes and ran out of the bathroom screaming, “Is he here yet?!”

Desiree smiled like a cat who just ate a goldfish and said, “He was, but now he’s gone.”

“What was that horrible noise?” I demanded.

“His muffler,” she replied.

So I had missed Mr. Midas. And the teen had vroomed off before this old man could begin the interrogation.

“OK, since he didn’t meet me, no group dating!!” I shouted in frustration. “You know My Rule. And furthermore. . . .”

After that,  he never came around again.

The other abuse was the story about my promise to buy her “a shiny red convertible” when she got her learner’s permit. I wish now I could take that one back.

“And because it’s a convertible, the wind will blow through your hair on hot summer days,” I wrote.

I described how she would find it in the garage, tied up with a pretty bow. I bragged about its special features – electronic ignition, radial tires with shiny hubcaps and the way it handled sweetly on the turns.

When the moment arrived, we walked into the garage for the unveiling. There it was. Shiny and new. Bedecked with ribbons. Just as I had promised.

Desiree looked at her gift. She screamed, “Oh, you’re so mean!”

It was a new Toro walk-behind power lawn mower.

He makes her laugh.

Slip ahead a dozen years. She is 28 years old, a nurse, about to marry a wonderful guy, Alex.

I like him. A lot. He makes her laugh.

What does a dad think about on the eve of his only daughter’s marriage? As I stand poised to walk her down the aisle, I am thinking about the name. In our family, the name means so much.

On her 18th birthday, I wrote about the name. The story began:

When I have flashbacks about my daughter’s life, they don’t begin – like those of most fathers – on the day she was born.

I didn’t meet Desiree Lauren Bertschinger until she was 11 years old.

Desiree, early teens

She was nearly formed, with messy closets, strong opinions and high ideals.

So I must skip ahead a few songs on her life’s album to her middle school cheerleading days … singing in the high school choir … first days driving … graduation day from high school.

My flashbacks are snippets of a little girl grown big, a girl who does not hear from her biological father, a man who lost the only important things he ever had – a terrific wife, Karen; a great daughter, Des; and a wonderful son, Jonathan. And he lost them all to me.

After I married Karen, Desiree went through a brief period where she tormented me. Once I asked her why, and she said, “I want to see if you are going to stay.”

There’s no genetic link between us, but there are similarities. She is left-handed and a little clumsy. Like me. She’s also a back-talker. Like me. (Our arguments have no endings.) We both love practical jokes.

People see her with me and do double takes because she is 2 inches taller. I explain that she’s my stepdaughter, and they say, “Oh, that makes sense.”

Fortunately, Desiree no longer uses her original nickname for me, “Little Man.”

Until recently, she called me David. In the past year, however, she began calling me “Daddy.” Maybe she’s making up for lost time.

Exactly a month ago, on her 18th birthday, my present to her was not something that fits in any box. There was no gift-wrapping or fancy bow. It is not something you usually give to another person.

Our family, including Karen’s parents, John and Joan Pasciutti of Keller, gathered in the living room, and I handed Des a brown envelope.

Des cut her finger on the envelope’s metal clasp, then accidentally let go of a helium birthday balloon she was holding. A big frown spread across her face.

I remember the frown because of what happened next. Her face changed dramatically as she pulled a document out of the envelope and began reading it. She smiled, turned to me and said, “Thank you!”

Then she began crying. She brought her hand to her mouth, then covered her eyes. Tears toppled on to the document.

Karen hugged her. Austin, her 3-year-old brother, asked, “Why is she crying?”

I put my arm around her and explained, “All you have to do is take this to a notary public and sign it. We mail it back to the lawyer. And then she files it in court and it becomes official.”

Des read the document again:

Original Petition For Change Of Name Of Adult

Petitioner requests the Court to grant a change of Petitioner’s name to Desiree Lauren Lieber.

The reason for the requested change is that Petitioner wants the same last name as her mother and stepfather.

A few legal words on two sheets of paper. The start of the second side of songs on her life’s album.

“You and I need to get dual bathrobes with our initials monogrammed on them!” I joked.

See, we both would be DLL.

In the weeks that followed, Des practiced signing her name the way a bride practices before her wedding.

Desiree Lauren Lieber.

Desiree Lauren Lieber.

At the Tarrant County Courthouse on Thursday, my father-in-law and I made a side bet over which woman in the family – Des, Karen or Joan – would cry first at the hearing. Silly me. I let him pick Des.

“All rise, please,” the bailiff said.

“Thank you. Be seated,” Judge Frank Sullivan said.

The bailiff looked out and called, “The Bertschinger case.”

Desiree walked with our family lawyer, Lori A. Spearman of Grapevine, to the judge’s bench.

“Are you Desiree Lauren Bertschinger?” Spearman asked her for what would be the last time she could legally say yes.

“Yes.”

“Are you 18 years old?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” Spearman said, rolling through the required questions, “have you ever been convicted of a felony?”

At that moment, Desiree burst out crying. The lawyer told me later that she thought that maybe Desiree was hiding a criminal record.

Actually, though, Desiree suddenly realized what was happening.

The judge asked, “Why do you want your name changed?”

Desiree turned, pointed at me in the front row and answered, “Because that’s my rightful father.”

Thinking about it a few days later, I’m certain that those are the five greatest words anyone has ever said about me.

Desiree was the one who received the new name. But now I see that I am the one who actually received the greater gift.

She gets a name, but I get a daughter.

Desiree Lauren Lieber. Desiree Lauren Lieber. What an honor.

For me. Her rightful father.

# # #

Today, five hours and 12 minutes from now, God willing, I will walk her down the aisle and present her to Alex. A man I trust and admire. A man whom Karen and I are honored to call our new son. They will be married by the same judge, Sharen Wilson, who married us 16 years before.

A dad and a mom live a lifetime for a day like this. My little girl is getting married today. Desiree Lauren Guthrie. We’re so proud of you. May a world filled with love come your way.

# # #

The following story also appears on Dave Lieber’s new Bad Dad book site here.

    Some presidential candidates this year are giving the rest of us professional speakers a bad name. They are breaking key rules taught to us as members of the National Speakers Association.

   Our slogan this year at the North Texas chapter, where I’m a member, is “It’s All About YOU!” But for some candidates, it’s quite the opposite. It’s all about them.

   For example, we’re not supposed to talk about fees in public. But listen to Newt Gingrich.

   Explaining to an audience in Bluffton, South Carolina that he didn’t need to engage in lobbying after getting booted out of Congress, Gingrich gave as his reason that he was already making a ton of cash on the celebrity speaking circuit.

   “I was charging $60,000  a speech and the number of speeches was going up, not down. Normally, celebrities leave and they gradually sell fewer speeches every year. We were selling more.”

   It’s about him.

  Worse, Herman Cain violated another cardinal tenet of the NSA when — allegedly — he used his out-of-town speeches as reasons for extra-curricular hookups. NSA teaches us to live a life of honesty on the road so as to set a fine example for our audiences.

   Yet Ginger White claimed she met Cain in the late 1990s in Louisville when he gave a speech as president of the National Restaurant Association. She was impressed and said afterward they shared drinks and he invited her back to her hotel room.

   After they, er, hit it off, she said he pulled out his travel calendar and invited him to another locale, Palm Springs, where he was supposed to give another speech. She accepted, and let’s just say, she helped him keep his speaking calendar filled.

  Then there’s the matter of book tours and book sales. For the first time in memory, several candidates were accused of using their campaigns as vehicles to a) build their book sales and other back-of-the-room products, and b) build their reputations so after the campaign they can charge more for their keynotes.

   On its face, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what all professional speakers ought to be doing. But isn’t running for the presidency more of a sacred act than what the rest of us are doing, earning a decent living?

   Columnist George Will said it best during a roundtable discussion on ABC’s This Week when he accused Cain of being an “entrepreneurial charlatan” and an opportunist.

   He said that Cain “used this [campaign] as a book tour, in a fundamentally disrespectful approach to the selection of presidents.”

  I agree, but please don’t think I am only bashing Republicans. I have a serious problem with our incumbent Democratic president on this subject, too. Why?

   Several times, President Obama has violated another unwritten tenet of NSA.

   The man keeps telling the stupid starfish story.

Author Dave Lieber is The Watchdog columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and 2011 NSA/North Texas Member of the Year. This story originally appeared in the chapter’s newsletter.

Dave will be leading a 90-minute workshop at the NSA Winter Conference in Dallas on Feb. 4, 2012 called “How to Get Audiences to Stop Checking Their Watches; 10 Secrets of Amazing Storytelling.”

www.womenforhire.com

Note: Tory Johnson is one of America’s top motivators for women business leaders. Maybe you’ve seen her regularly on Good Morning America as head of its “Job Club” or heard about her national conferences called Spark & Hustle. Dave Lieber had a fun opportunity to work with Tory at her Dallas conference. In her follow-up post, Tory shows why she is such a great motivator. Notice the way she ties Dave’s journey to her own and then to the reader. Masterful! She writes:

I‘ve got a thing for newspaper columnists.

I first met the one I’d ultimately marry when I was a college intern at ABC News assigned to assist the PR department. I was charged with calling Peter weekly to pitch items about upcoming segments on 20/20 in hopes of getting a line or two in his USA TODAY column. Even though I was only 19 and he was 35, we instantly clicked. Similar humor made it possible to chat effortlessly. He always said yes, and four years later I did too when he proposed in 1994.

But immediate connections aren’t a given.

For my Spark & Hustle conference in Dallas, Dave Lieber, a Fort Worth Star–Telegram columnist, graciously agreed to share his humor and storytelling with our audience. He had everyone in stitches as he recounted his early days at the paper. As a divorced Jewish guy from New York, Dave didn’t exactly fit the mold of a church–going Texan family man. Without a clue about who Garth Brooks was and whether chicken–fried steak is chicken or steak, he struggled to find his place — and his voice — among the natives. The process took considerable time and even more determination. To win over his community, he rode a bull and learned an entirely new language. (He discovered that “all y’all” is plural for “y’all” in Texas, for example!)

A lesser person would have thrown in the towel, packed up and fled. Not Dave. Today he’s an award–winning writer and sought–after speaker who couldn’t be happier or more successful living and working anywhere else. (Find his story here.)

Anyone who has felt like an outcast would recognize herself in Dave’s story. We face uphill battles all the time as we seek to make our products, services or ourselves known to a new audience. We worry about fitting in, finding acceptance and being well–liked. It’s frustrating, uncomfortable and, quite frankly, it hurts our feelings. Too often we give up before we break through. That’s because we’re conditioned to expect overnight results. And if not overnight, then we want them in a few days — a week tops.

Instead of looking for a quick fix or instant gratification, be patient as you persevere. Believe me, I get how hard this is. I battle my own impatience everyday, too.

But during our three days in Dallas, I let go of some of it because I realized how many years I had been hustling to win over the hearts (and wallets) of several conference registrants. With just one or two exceptions, none of them discovered me 24 hours prior to the event and forked over nearly five hundred bucks to attend. I attracted a great crowd because I’ve worked at it tirelessly for a very, very long time.

Give yourself the required time to achieve the goals you’ve set out to accomplish. Sure, at some point you may have to decide if “this dog don’t fight” — meaning you’re barking up the wrong tree which requires you to change your message or your audience. But don’t make that assessment before you’ve truly given your all.

Make it a GREAT week. I’m rooting for you.
Tory Johnson

Bud Kennedy, my columnist colleague at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, has an advantage that most columnists don’t enjoy. He grew up in the town he now covers. He sees history everywhere he goes.

Bud Kennedy of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram

For much of his career, he was like the rest of us columnists, writing four columns a week, covering City Hall, politics, trends and strange stuff. But then Bud discovered Facebook and he blossomed like a Texas wildflower.

On any day, Bud communicates with thousands of people on Facebook about the latest — and I mean latest, up-to-the-minute developments — in our hometown about restaurants, art, music, events, politics, neighborhoods, anything and everything. You can’t blink in Fort Worth without Bud mentioning it on Facebook. It’s like he sees and knows all.

All of this gives his Facebook pages a multi-dimensional feel that captures the emotions, up and downs and even the soul of our town in a way that you can’t do in 800 words. I asked him how he does it:

Q. Bud,  how would you define your goals in social media on any given day?

I just try to find out everything I can about Fort Worth and Texas, and then post everything I find out. I see social media as like a big breakfast cafe table where we all get together and talk about what we saw or heard and what we think about it. And I hope to meet younger readers and hand down those Fort Worth history tales and stories that give us a sense of place in a big, bland DFW area.

Q. When did you realize that this was your new forte and you enjoyed it and people enjoyed your insights?

Political reporters have been on Twitter for a while now — ever since we found one of the state representatives tweeting inside info about the speaker’s race last session. So we learned quickly that if you’re not on social media, you’ll get beat on a story. I originally set up a Twitter feed to Facebook just because it’s so easy. Why not? Then I found that people on Facebook loved to talk about the columns and ask questions. And Facebook readers share columns more, so it draws more readers.

Q. When you post, your comments often draw a large response. With all this back and forth, are you getting column ideas?

Facebook has become a test market for column ideas. I post an idea or a link from somewhere else and just watch the reactions roll in. It helps me see all the different questions readers might have. Plus, I try out my snarky one-liners and see which ones work.

Bud Kennedy's Facebook profile pic

Q. How many times a day, on average, do you post.

I post my column about 9 a.m. the day the paper comes out, because that’s when people get to work. Generally, I don’t tweet more than 3 times a day, because I don’t want to seem overbearing. I promise readers if they’ll follow me, they’ll get about 3 tweets and I’ll make them count. Most of the tweets are original news items or exceptionally good retweets or links. I post many more links on Facebook, and I don’t have a limit there, because readers can just skip over them.

Q. With four columns a week, some TV analysis that you do, too, how do you find the time? How much time does it take?

Twitter and Facebook aren’t time-consuming. They’re something to do while you’re waiting at the red light, or for the coffee to brew, or at the doctor’s office. They’re also something I do while I’m waiting for the next idea. The most time-consuming part is editing the comments, and I only do that because I want readers to enjoy reading my Wall.

Q. You got married around the same time Facebook became popular. How does your bride react when you are buried in your phone?

She just laughs that it’s all her fault because she introduced me to the iPhone. But you learn pretty quickly that there are times to put down the phone and live life.

Q. What particular tools do you use for social media, in terms of your phone, computer and special apps such as Tweetdeck?

I’m not a geek about apps. But I like the new Hootsuite because you can post across Twitter, Facebook and Facebook fan pages at the same time, and it has an easy link-shortener. I have an iPhone, Facebook, a Facebook dining page and two Twitter accounts (one general and one solely for restaurant news). And I use text alerts so I know immediately when a few certain writers post or tweet. If you have a specialty that has an intense following like dining, or if you’re going to livetweet something, use a separate account so you don’t alienate other readers.

Q. Any special posting tips?

The biggest mistake is posting or tweeting at off-hours. Do it at 9 a.m. and 4:30 p.m., and secondary times are 11:30 a.m. and 1 p.m. before or after lunch.

Q. What suggestions do you have for other columnists who want to get more involved?

Just jump in and create an account. You’ll be amazed how many readers will follow. When I created a separate dining page, I did it a midnight on a Saturday night, put up one post and didn’t tell anybody. When I woke up Sunday morning, 100 followers had already discovered it. Log in, throw your elbows around, make some mistakes. The readers will tell you right away what does and doesn’t work. Don’t be afraid of them. They are nicer than editors.

# # #

Check out what Bud does at Facebook.com/Bud.Kennedy and at Facebook.com/Diningguy. On Twitter @BudKennedy and at @EatsBeat.

The author, Dave Lieber, is founder of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists Education Foundation. His website is DaveLieber.org. This originally appeared at Columnists.com.