It seems that two of our top VPs, the head bean counter, and the head of HR, in their finite wisdom, decided to terminate a manager's job that day. I'm pretty sure the timing didn’t occur to them. They called poor Fred up to the executive suite around mid-morning. While Fred went into the back to meet his professional demise, the secretaries in the executive suite (who knew exactly what day it was and were quite appalled) entertained his daughter.

The next day, the media calls started. SDRC, our obscure little company, was suddenly famous. The story made all the national newscasts. Paul Harvey talked about it. It was even on Armed Forces Radio Network. You can't buy PR like that, although you'll have to pay, nevertheless.

We paid a great deal in diminished reputation. My boss eventually paid with his job. The two VPs who did the deed were pretty much untouched. Fred got a lot of sympathy, though, and a bunch of job offers to choose from. (I'm sure his daughter also learned a lot from this experience.)

SDRC itself deserved a better fate, but that was its only major claim to fame. It was acquired a few years later and is forever consigned to obscurity. Many recall the event, but few recall the company.

It was a textbook case of dealing with a PR crisis. First came denial, then an attempt at cover-up, followed by damage control, and the blaming of the innocent. I greatly admired my boss's handling of one particularly obnoxiously morning talk show host. This guy called every morning trying to get my boss to talk to him on the air. My boss returned every one of his calls – each afternoon.

No one else was in the office the day The Wall Street Journal needed a quote, so I took the call. Making that year's PR blunder list was, I said "An honor that we did not seek." The article was published on the front page of the second section, below the fold.

Bruce Pilgrim is the CEO and janitor of Bruce Pilgrim Marketing Communications, LLC. He recently published his first book, Talking to My Cats: A Small Business Journal.