A successful restaurateur in the quirky, blue-collar Baltimore neighborhood of Hampden, her life had turned upside down over time and was reaching an unmanageable stage.
Now, her chest hurt so badly that she was afraid she’d suffered a heart attack. Without warning, she would lapse into crying jags that left her feeling shaken and vulnerable.
She feared for her life, going so far as to sleep with a shotgun under her bed, not knowing if her bad dreams in the middle of the night were reality or not.
What had happened to cause such anguish to this otherwise stalwart and proud businesswoman?
Simply put, she’d been blind-sided by a crisis, with a root cause that appeared almost laughable—if the consequences weren’t so dire.
Her sin?
As the owner of the popular eatery Cafe Hon, a fixture on 36th Street in Baltimore since its opening in 1992, Whiting had dared to trademark the term “Hon” in order to protect her business interests.
Based on the advice of legal counsel, she’d been doing this for years, acquiring the rights to the term for restaurant services, retail services and T-shirts sold at her Hon boutique next door. Many other businesses had engaged in similar moves.
But “Hon” was a beloved local colloquialism—a cheerful term of endearment used by seemingly every waitress and hairdresser in town for decades. And once the media got hold of the story in late 2010—Who is this selfish, greedy woman ripping off a cherished piece of Bawlmer culture?—the backlash was swift and unrelenting.
Whiting’s initial explanation of why she had trademarked Hon—and her first halting apologies about causing such a fuss—drew ridicule. Even though Whiting explained that she was merely doing what every sharp business person does—protecting her business interests through trademarking—she didn’t realize the regional ire this move would provoke. Soon, protestors were demonstrating outside her restaurant holding signs that said “HONicide: Life on 36th Street” and “You Can’t Trademark our Culture, Hon.”
Yes, the community was pushing back—hard.
It didn’t end there. She was bullied and threatened on social media, particularly on two Facebook pages called “Boycott Cafe Hon” and “No One Owns Hon, Hon.”
In addition, she was blasted on the pages of City Paper and The Baltimore Sun. Sun columnist Dan Rodricks slammed her for a “crass effort to own a Baltimore regionalism,” adding “Hon isn’t unique to Denise Whiting, no matter how special she wants us to believe she is.”
One lunatic Whiting hater even took to popping his head into Cafe Hon during business hours and screaming “NO ONE OWNS HON!” Not exactly a soothing accompaniment to a nice meal.
Her fellow merchants on “The Avenue” had also turned against her. And there was talk of a boycott of HonFest, the annual Whiting-founded homage to Baltimore women of a bygone era who favored beehive hair-dos, cats-eye glasses and housecoats. HonFest was a financial boon to the area. Tens of thousands of people attended this event on an annual basis. Now Whiting was being accused of changing the vendor rules, mainly with her request that Cafe Hon retain exclusive rights to the sale of cats-eye sunglasses.
Clearly, Denise Whiting’s world was unraveling with astonishing speed.
Her business was tanking because of all the negative publicity. She had to lay off staff and withdraw $60,000 from her retirement fund to meet payroll. And the personal toll was devastating. She was hurt, humiliated and exhausted beyond measure.
“I contemplated suicide,” she recalled. “I was so devastated. I remember standing in my bathroom and thinking: ‘I could just end all this.’ Because I couldn’t take it. And it wouldn’t go away. Everything I spent my last 21 years working on (was) now just non-existent.”
My role as a crisis leadership expert was to quickly earn her trust, instill a sense of confidence and give her hope that there was a way out of this terrible mess. I had to be strong—for Denise and those that depended on her and the business.
The bottom line was that Denise was in a bunker and was refusing to come out, at least metaphorically speaking. Cafe Hon was no longer a safe haven, as folks would come into her restaurant during business hours and yell profanities.
Contributing to her problems was the fact that Denise was making no public statements about the Hon trademark and HonFest issues. She was not controlling the message or being heard. She was the neighborhood outcast and no one cared what she had to say.
Instead, the media, business community and assorted haters in Hampden and elsewhere were telling her story for her. It was a classic example of a lesson I’ve preached for years: “If you don’t tell your story, someone else will. And when someone else tells your story, it won’t be the story you want told.”
The story they were telling about Denise was simple: she was a classic villain. She was a latter-day Cruella Deville, sneering at the offended sensibilities of the good citizens of Hampden.
She was the Grinch Who Stole Hon.
But after speaking extensively with Denise, I saw a different side of this person I’d read and heard about. I saw a genuine, deeply-wounded person who needed help. Denise hated the isolated life she was now forced to endure. And she didn’t know how to navigate her way out.
We needed to change the “villain” narrative in a hurry and humanize this good person. At the same time, Denise had to become stronger and embrace the skepticism.
Our first order of business was to develop a core messaging and media plan, focusing on key points Denise would convey in answering reporters’ questions.
A few examples:
Q: Why trademark the word Hon. Do you own it?
A: As in any industry around the world, each business must protect its brand and ability to operate. It is a common and sound business practice embraced by many. (Business perspective was important as Denise was merely doing what every sharp business person does, man or woman).
Q: By trademarking Hon, did you steal something from Baltimore?
A: Not at all—we are sound business stewards for the term. Our business goal is to keep the term in its rightful home: Baltimore. No one owns the rich traditions of the city—we only embrace them for a period of time before we pass the baton to the next generation. If the term is not trademarked, anyone could move to own it and take it from our city.
Q: With the negative reaction to the trademark, why don’t you just give it up?
A: Cafe Hon has been in business for nearly 20 years and I plan to continue to operate here in Baltimore for years to come. If we give up legal protection of the term “Hon” for restaurant services, retail services or T-shirts, we expose the business and all that we have worked for. Again, the legal goal is solely to protect the business interest, not restrict speech or make others feel as if they cannot use the term in conversation. Others may decide to trademark the term who will not keep it in Baltimore.
The strategy was similar with the Cafe Hon website and the various digital platforms where she was being hounded. This was where the real conversation was occurring, not on the marble stoops that real Baltimore Hons still lovingly scrubbed with soap and water each weekend.
Denise had been avoiding everyone, paralyzed with uncertainty over what to do. We urged her to respond and be present, to tell her story with authenticity and meaning. We had to work on Denise’s confidence and build her inner conviction—the same determination she relied on to build her business as a single mother during the previous two decades. It was there, we simply had to light the fire again.
We also needed to deal with the very aggressive, hostile