Being Miss America: Behind the Rhinestone Curtain (Discovering America) (20 page)

First of all, it’s critical to understand one fundamental truth. Regardless of the pageant’s popularity and/or success throughout its nearly one hundred years of existence, the internal structure of the company has pretty much always been definable in one of two ways: at any given moment, it is either completely chaotic or tightly controlled. The Disorganized Mess Years most certainly began at Miss America’s inception, and they continued until Lenora Slaughter exerted her iron grip on the day-to-day activities of the pageant. And the Autocratic Leader Years were marked by the bosses themselves: Slaughter’s term, for sure, and the respective rules of Marks and Horn. Nearly every moment of the pageant’s history fits snugly into one
of these categories, with the other popping in from time to time to keep things interesting. One could argue, for example, that Miss America lapsed into a bit of a Disorganized Mess moment while the women’s movement was in its heyday—back on its heels, unsure how to react, slow to adapt and re-brand itself—even though there was a strong individual leading the program at that time.

Additionally, the pageant’s progress has always had one wild card: the impossible-to-predict arrival of a transformational Miss America, who pushes the organization forward with her presence, her innovative ideas, the mere force of her personality, or some combination thereof. Jean Bartel did it, Bess Myerson and Yolande Betbeze did it, Lee Meriwether did it—although mostly by timing and circumstance. Rebecca King (1974) and Tawny Godin (1976) did it, when they refused to hide their more-liberal-than-average political views at the height of second-wave feminism. Vanessa Williams did it, partly because of her racial identity and partly because at that point, all press was arguably good press. Kaye Lani Rae Rafko did it not only by turning her year into a crusade, but by accomplishing that with enough grace and passion that Horn quickly incorporated her initiatives into the institutional structure. Marjorie Vincent (1991) was the first to take on a dark and complicated platform; she repeatedly pointed out that there were (at the time) more shelters for abused animals than for abused women. Leanza Cornett shelved the crown at a time when Miss America badly needed intellectual and social legitimacy. Heather Whitestone allowed the pageant to ride the wave of societal acceptance for people with disabilities, reinforcing the commonly stated ideal that mentally or physically challenged Americans could still achieve remarkable things.

So Miss America herself, depending on her message and how well she articulated it, certainly had the ability to light up the pageant in the minds of the public and the media.
But no matter how successful she might be in this undertaking, she has always depended on an administrative structure and efficiency of execution that are completely beyond her control. In a very specific way, she remained as passive as her critics had always accused her of being: she could go out and give a barn burner of a speech, but the next day she was required to pack up her belongings, have someone else load her luggage, and go wherever she was told. It is a unique kind of autonomy, unaccompanied by actual independence. Her moments to shine were—and still are—utterly controlled by the organization’s leadership of the moment, and executed by an ever-changing staff in the national office.

Since Leonard Horn’s departure in 1998, there has been a curious phenomenon at work: the Miss America Organization has, more often than not, been operating in
both
the Disorganized Mess
and
the Autocratic Leader modes. Much of this, it can be argued, is specifically attributable to the evolution of the pageant’s governance. Technically, the board of directors is in charge of the Miss America Organization; like most boards, they have hiring and firing power over the chief executive officer. But over the years, the executives got stronger and more savvy, while the board remained largely composed of local volunteers who were gradually given more influence. Miss America has never had a board, for example, with substantial collective ability to raise capital and solicit sponsorships. Nor has the board been made up specifically of individuals who were powerful in their respective fields. The majority of the board members, in fact, have historically been dedicated volunteers who were ultimately promoted to top-dog status. To those who spent years, even decades, giving their time as hostesses or on security detail, being asked to join the board was the ultimate compliment. Miss America was consistently the most revered event within a hundred-mile radius. Being invited to serve on the board of directors was
its own reward; it represented a social status and significance that were to be respected.

Not that the board members stopped trying. Quite the opposite. As a body, they donated thousands of hours per year. They organized, managed, and staged a massive event, one that grew into a multimillion-dollar nonprofit company. Each had his or her own specific spheres of responsibility, but not all of them were skilled at overseeing the performance of an executive with a six-figure salary. In fact, since many had achieved significant private-sector success—to a degree that allows a person to make this kind of volunteer commitment—it could be difficult for some of them to gain perspective on the salary issues, staffing, and operations of the tax-exempt corporation Miss America had become.

So with a governing body made up of volunteers, most of whom had earned their board of directors stripes through Miss America itself, the burden of big-picture thinking and strategy naturally shifted toward the staff side. Lenora Slaughter was, of course, a tough Southerner determined to bring the pageant respectability above all else. Al Marks was an investment broker; after his thirty-five-year term ended, he was referred to as “the Miss America Pageant’s pygmalion.” And Leonard Horn, who among other things was an extremely skilled talker, learned to work the board votes through a combination of persuasion and strong-arm tactics.

What this inevitably created was a board of directors who, by and large, were accustomed to receiving updates, instead of creating big concepts and assessing deliverables. And Miss America could function like this, as long as the right CEO was in place. The right CEO was familiar enough with the pageant to recognize both its greatest assets and its inherent Achilles heels, along with a fairly encyclopedic knowledge of what had worked—and what had not—in the past. If the executive possessed these quali
ties, it was possible for the board members to expend most of their energy on actually executing the annual pageant, while the staff and CEO did the work on messaging. It’s a counterintuitive way for a corporation to function; most nonprofits, for example, assign the big-picture policymaking to the board of directors and the day-to-day tasks to the staff. But it can work the other way as well. There is a price, however: this approach can create a more passive and less empowered board of directors, not to mention cause the poor soul charged with conducting an institutional audit to have an aneurysm in light of the possible negative outcomes of such an arrangement.

This is not unique to Miss America, of course; CEOs have manipulated and pressured trustees and directors for . . . well, about as long as there have been CEOs, trustees, and directors. In this situation, however, very few checks and balances existed. One notable exception was the National Association of Miss America State Pageants (NAMASP), a half–support staff, half-union entity composed of high-ranking volunteers from around the country. NAMASP held regular national meetings (usually one in the first quarter of each year, and one during Miss America week in September). It provided training and support for the pageants and directors—both local and state—that were new to the program. How to raise scholarship funds. How to put on a pageant on a budget. How to position your organization within the community and solicit support and sponsorship from business owners. How to legitimately gain nonprofit status, so that donations from outside entities can be pitched to those entities as tax deductions.

But NAMASP also policed both its own members and the national MAO office. Because it actually shouldered all the man-hours and most of the expense of running the state pageants (on which the national office is completely dependent in order to have fifty-plus contestants show up at the national competition each year), it had built-in lever
age. With its revolving democracy of governance—leadership positions rotated according to geographical region—NAMASP could often keep the CEO in check when the board either didn’t understand the big picture or couldn’t get the votes to have sufficient influence.

After all, NAMASP members, along with Miss America herself, were the ones who were actually on the scene; while the national executive could certainly have perspective on the big picture, he or she did most of the pageant’s business nestled in the Miss America–loving haven of Atlantic City. Miss America was out in front of the public every day, and even the least attentive titleholder witnessed the full spectrum of reactions to both her title and the organization as a whole. But because of the logistics of her travel schedule, it was difficult for her to consistently report back to the board of directors in order for them to initiate action and changes.

NAMASP, on the other hand, found plenty of time to offer input. Its members, along with the volunteers they supervised, have always been the ones knocking on doors, making cold calls, and soliciting sponsorships from small businesses across the country. They know why a dress shop or a car dealer might sponsor a “closed” local pageant (only contestants from that town or region can compete) and might turn down an “open” local (with participation allowed from across the state, meaning that theoretically, Miss Upper Peninsula could actually live in Detroit). The volunteers are the recipients of feedback at every level: when Miss America’s branding and/or identity slips, it takes the heaviest toll on the locals. At the national level, “Miss America” has always been a recognizable brand. Even at its nadir, it conjures up images of traditional family values that provide sponsorship hooks. But when the Atlantic City leadership allows the messaging to become vague, the smaller pageants suffer. It’s more difficult to secure support for the tiny Miss Vermont pageant, for ex
ample, because that state doesn’t have a built-in pageant obsession like Texas does. The New England states, the mountain states, and many others need strong, sellable, and substantive branding at the national level, so that they can turn around and solicit community support for their own organizations. Mississippi, California, and South Carolina, for instance, can coast somewhat on the popularity of pageants in general (and Miss America in particular), but the trickle-down effect of big-picture marketing—or its absence—can be a make-or-break factor in areas of the country without a thriving pageant culture.

Of course, NAMASP was by no means a perfect organization. Its members were prone to jockey for position within the group; even among those who should have the most faith in the judging integrity, there is a misconception that being “in good” with the national office might benefit your state contestant at the annual competition (the MAO leadership, as one might expect, does little to correct this). There were internal squabbles over power. Issues of vastly varying importance were routinely given equal weight; the same near hysteria might greet a proposed small change in the telecast as, say, an amendment to the rules for the national competition. Those who did disagree with MAO policies would often hide behind one aggressive spokesperson, despite the reality that a united front could have provided the leverage they were seeking—especially since the Miss America Organization reserves the right to revoke any volunteer’s state franchise agreement at any time, for any reason. The member states radically disagreed over the ideal priorities and meaning of Miss America, prompted by the wildly diverse view of pageants in their respective regions. Factions and cliques developed often; at one point, the Southern states decided to secede. But when the members were in agreement and avoided dysfunction, NAMASP could be very powerful.

Horn notably had squabbles with NAMASP, although
he was a good enough leader (or manipulator, depending on whom one asks) to keep the group largely in check. His speeches about transforming Miss America “from being a passive beauty queen to a motivated social activist” were generally pretty inspiring. And unlike some other executives, Horn actually listened to many of the concerns of the states. He may have believed that he had most of the answers, but he could admit when there were questions he hadn’t thought of. Plus, his introduction of the platform issue gave the states something to sell to prospective supporters. When a local bookstore owner asked why she should sponsor Miss America instead of any number of other worthy organizations, the answer was far more valuable to everyone than it had been in prior years. Not only was Miss America using that money for scholarships, not only was the donation a tax write-off, but the bookstore owner should probably know that the current Miss America was dedicating her entire year to adult literacy (1997). Or school-to-work programs (1996). Or education (2001). Horn’s platform issue had marketable value and credibility that the smaller-scale pageants desperately needed to stay alive.

But then Leonard Horn left Miss America. It has been strongly rumored that he was pushed out, either by a board of directors that was tired of being marginalized or by the NAMASP volunteers who feared that his influence was becoming too great. Ironically, it would be the power vacuum left by his departure that would cause the pageant far greater long-term problems.

By most accounts, Horn was directly involved in the selection of his immediate successor, Rob Beck; in fact, he was on the six-member search committee that interviewed the candidates. Beck, who had headed up both Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the U.S. Soccer Feder
ation Foundation, was intentionally chosen because he was an outsider to the pageant world. The belief among many was that the years of promoting staff from within the organization may have caused MAO to operate in a bubble. Beck’s skill set met what the search committee claimed to be looking for: “a CEO with Horn’s energy, leadership skills and vision. A marketing and financial background, along with good personal skills, are essential,” then–board president David Frisch remarked during the search process. Additionally, Horn was reportedly “looking forward to training his replacement.”