The origin of “marquee” goes back to 1690 and means “large tent.” It was actually a linen canopy placed over an officer’s tent to distinguish it from those of the enlisted men. It was first used to describe the canopy over a theater’s entrance in 1934 which often included the name of the film or play and its stars. In those days, it was the hope of every aspiring entertainer to see their name in lights on such a marquee. Even with today’s massive and instant technology, seeing one’s name in lights on a marquee still conveys a sense of “I have arrived.”
Now whether the person truly has arrived may or may not be accurate. In reality, that doesn’t even matter because his name is on the marquee so we believe he has arrived and we pay attention. We may even put down some hard-earned cash to see what all the fuss is about. We pass under the marquee and enter the venue with the unproven, yet strong assumption that said person has indeed arrived. If we are wise, we will also enter with a healthy dose of skepticism, looking for proof of “arrival.” Often, however, we lay aside good common sense and carelessly believe what is up in lights. And that is what every good marketer is hoping for.
I can say this without malice because I have spent a good portion of my adult life marketing everything from used cars to life saving messages to…well…myself. I have a knack for taking what might be considered ordinary and easily passed over (including me) and making it appear significant, desirable, and necessary. This skill isn’t bad or evil when mixed with integrity. In fact, I know I would have missed out on many great entertainers, authors, and causes if a good marketer hadn’t done their job. Conversely, many great books, music, and worthwhile deals go unnoticed because they are not marketed well.
For example, the wonderful house we lived in while in St. Louis, MO would never have been our home if God had not intervened. Several years ago my husband took a job in St. Louis, MO and it fell on me to find a place for us to live. So I packed a suitcase, grabbed my favorite pillow, and made the eight hour drive. I had three days to find a home and settle the arrangements. With the help from the largest marquee of them all, the Internet, I had a formidable list of potential rental homes. I even found a realtor or two willing to show me a few properties.
By the end of day two, I had drilled down the list of dozens to two very nice, but very different properties. I had one problem though: neither was just right and I was conflicted. I made a final call on a property that seemed okay. It was realtor number three who answered. She would be glad to meet me the next morning at ten ‘o clock to show me the property, and she would bring some other potential properties she knew about.
The marketing of house number three should’ve have excited me. The description, the pictures, and the location all screamed this is the one. But I was still conflicted. My daughter can attest to that thanks to the midnight phone call. Thankfully, she is a night owl.
Anyway, ten ‘o clock rolls around and I am walking through house number three. I could’ve saved myself time and just turned around after I walked through the front door because I knew instantly it wasn’t the right one. But I was afraid I was being too skeptical, too picky, and besides, I was running out of time. I sighed and so did the realtor at my disappointment.
However, true to good realtor form she pulled out a dozen MLS sheets. I’d seen them all except for two. I really liked one of the two. She called the owner, but I couldn’t see it until two days later. That was two days too late. I was down to the last house.
I told her I had seen that house listed several different places on the Internet and it just wasn’t very appealing. Just one picture taken of the front and it was pretty blah…actually more like ugly. She assured me it was great on the inside and it had a nice view, something very important to me. As we pulled into the driveway, I decided I had been wrong; it was not that ugly. It was just odd, as were the rest of the houses in the cul-de-sac. They were best described as eclectic and so were their occupants, a wonderful diverting feature of the neighborhood as I later discovered.
I cannot describe the despair and sense of failure I felt as I dragged myself to the front door and waited for my new house guide to finagle the lock box and get the door open. Then I stepped inside! In front of me, looking through the massive L-shaped windows was the most magnificent view one could ask for in a big city in the Midwest. I walked onto the deck. I was in the tree tops and in my version of heaven on earth. This was it!
I remember walking through the rest of the house trying to concentrate on important things like structural integrity and running water, but all the while wondered why the owner didn’t show off that back view. The most important aspect of the house was never marketed. It was the worst feature, the front view that was publicized. I almost missed the perfect fit for us.
One Another Living 