My Personal Contact Cards

I created this card around 2015. I wanted to show my creativity off when I met someone, rather than just tell them where I worked. I wanted to own my own personal brand.

I came across these cards from Apple online. The card read, “Your customer service just now was exceptional. I work for the Apple Store and you’re exactly the kind of person we’d like to talk to. If you’re happy where you are, I’d never ask you to leave. But if you’re thinking about a change, give me a call. This could be the start of something great.”

I loved the sentiment, so I borrowed it for my own cards and made this:

But where did I get the idea of a personal card in the first place?

It was the summer of 1999 and Merrill Ford gave me her calling card at the International Design Conference at Aspen (IDCA). The IDCA was the forerunner to TED—Richard Saul Wurman wanted to head the IDCA, but they didn’t let him, so he went off and started TED instead.

A calling card is different from a business card, slightly larger and with different dimensions. People used to leave it at a house when visiting someone who wasn’t home, a small note that you’d called.

My team had won the student design competition by creating a pen that transcribes what you write, and we were presenting our idea. These are pretty typical now, but they were a novel concept in 1999.

I was walking down the street with my friend Jeremy when we were stopped by three older people. “What are you doing walking!” they said. “You should come to lunch with us.”

So we went.

We started talking. Merrill gave me her calling card. The naïve 21-year-old I was, asked “Do you ski?”

I didn’t realize how silly a question it was at the time. I didn’t have Google then, and it took me years to realize that I was being taken out to lunch by some of the founding members of the Aspen community.

Merrill said, “Of course, but not since the injury.”

She walked with a cane, but not because she was old. She’d been one of the first Obermeyer ski models. Merrill had been married to Stein Eriksen, one of the most famous skiers. But she was in a horrible car crash in 1973 and since then, walked with a cane.

Merrill was sitting next to her boyfriend, Major General Robert Taylor, who everyone called “The General.”

Merrill would tease that people asked when she and The General were going to get married. “When I get pregnant,” Merrill would say. She was in her early 70s at the time. They eventually married in 2001.

The General said, “I came out to Aspen to ski. I’d learned to love the sport when I was in Europe in World War II. But now that I’m 85, my knees can’t take it anymore.”

Then we got to Ruthie. She said, “No. I don’t ski much.”

Then Merrill teased Ruthie: “Oh come on Ruthie. They named the second run on the mountain after you.”

It’s true! The third member of their group was Ruth Brown. The first run on the mountain was Roch Run. It was cut by volunteers in 1937 and was steep and difficult—the only other option was a sideslip down Spar Gulch. A decade later, that was still the only way down. But, as Ruthie told the Aspen Times, “To be perfectly frank, I was never a great, fabulous skier. All I did was just go down and have fun. I wanted to get down the mountain.” So she gave $5,000 to the Aspen Skiing Corporation to cut a kinder, gentler way down in the summer of 1948. Ruthie’s Run opened on December 16, 1948, with Ruthie leading the way, snowplowing down through 3 feet of powder.

That’s why I made my own cards in 2015. Not to show off where I worked, but because Merrill Ford taught me that the best cards say “I’d like to know you better.”

They’ve all passed on now. The general in 2003, Merrill and Ruthie both in 2010, just two months apart. I still have Merrill’s calling card. And at Aspen, Ruthie’s Run is still the kinder, gentler way down the mountain.

What amazes me is how casually they invited us in. They were founders of Aspen, married to Olympic champions, had ski runs named after them. And they treated two college kids like we belonged at their table.