About Carolyn McClair Public Relations
Founded in 1988, Carolyn McClair Public Relations has been responsible for the development and maintenance of hundreds of memorable, high-profile campaigns in music, comedy, religion, health, community outreach and more. Our clients include music and arts festivals, radio stations and programs, record labels, non-profit organizations, concert and conference producers and churches as well as entertainers, authors, artists and lecturers. We will design a campaign just for you and promote your concerts, tours, recordings, events and more.
In addition to being a mainstay in the entertainment industry, we are skilled in corporate image campaigns and crisis control for companies and individuals around the world. With established and extensive worldwide print/broadcast/online contacts, our team is known for landing in-depth feature placements and generating enormous impressions for its clients. Hands-on, one-stop-service at its best! |
About Carolyn McClair
Carolyn holds degrees in journalism and English from Northwest Missouri State University and took advanced classes at University of Missouri and Duquesne University. Prior to opening the agency, she worked as director of public relations for KDKA-TV in Pittsburgh from 1980 - 1988. In 1974, she became the first African-American woman on the management staff of Aluminum Company of America (ALCOA), where she served in the headquarters office and other ALCOA locations for six years.
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Message From The President
By the time I was in Pam Cummings first grade class at Root School in Carrollton, MO, I already knew the power of the printed word, and even more so, the power of hype. Not from the many books my parents, Paul and Dora McClair, bought me nor from the frequent trips to the Carrollton Public Library, but I knew about that power because of Dorothy's Diary.
I am the youngest of six children. I grew up in the 'baby girl' role that comedian Bernie Mac holds high in his stand-up routines, his TV show and, no doubt, in his heart. Born when my mother was in her mid-forties and not really thinking about another child, I didn't have to do much to earn a special seat in the McClair household. While I was a Daddy's Girl to the max and I adored my mother, two brothers and other two sisters, it was my sister Dorothy who captivated me.
Dorothy was the 'baby girl' for three years before I came along and booted her out of that special spot. All the same, she loved me, played with me and, of course, teased me to no end. She teased me, maybe even tormented me, with that diary. She treated it like an heirloom family Bible or the secret formula for life itself. If you came close to her when she was writing, she'd hunch her shoulders, cover the pages with her hand and sometimes even run from the room. For years, she carried that thing everywhere she went, and I carried a burning desire to know what was in it.
As we matured, the diary lost some of its mystique. I now had a whole world outside of Carrollton to conquer. When I was about 14, I was hanging out with my Dad in a nearby city when we came upon a political rally. While Daddy was listening to the speech, I noticed a rather stately older man at the rear of the platform. Still curious and interested in details, I asked my Dad what the man was doing. In his special way of teaching us to explore, question and think, he said, 'I don't know, go ask.' I did my best to get past the barricade, but back then I wasn't as savvy at getting past burly, bald security men with walkie-talkies. Finally, my Dad intervened and we got the man's attention.
When I asked the stranger who he was and what he was doing, he nodded toward the speaker and said, 'It doesn't matter who I am, tell your father to vote for him.' Not easily put off, I persisted. This time, he asked me why I wanted to know. I told him that the politician may be on the stage, but he himself must be the really smart one, because he was standing in the back telling everyone else what to do and say.
My answer must have struck a chord, because he turned his back on the adults and said, 'I'm a press agent. See those men with cameras and all those people out there listening? Well, I helped to get them here. I tell people who we are, what we're doing, where, when and why we're doing it.'
I didn't know it then, but I had just received my first lesson in the five W's of journalism. But, I did know without a doubt that I wanted to be a press agent; and from that day forward, I declared it.
Years later when we were grown, I asked Dorothy about the diary and she showed me what was left of the many volumes. I remembered it as a precious secret that would unfold mysteries and open doors. What I saw were tattered sheets of notebook paper tied together with faded, yet colorful, yarn. What I read were notes like 'My little sister really, really, really wants to read my diary, but I'm not, not, not going to let her.' 'We got new dresses today. Mine is blue, what else is new?' 'Boring day, nothing to do, nothing to write, but she still can't read, read, read this!'
Maybe Dorothy should have been the publicist and opened a PR agency instead of becoming a nurse, albeit a great one. Even if she were unaware of her persuasiveness, she sure knew the power of the printed word and the power of hype. It made me curious and downright desirous to read whatever was written, and today I still carry those traits.
While Dorothy and all of my family remain in and around Carrollton, MO, I have made homes in several cities in Ohio, Pittsburgh, Alcoa, TN, back to Pittsburgh and finally in New York. Never once did my desire and declaration to become a press agent ever falter. I learned about it, I claimed it, I dreamed it, I prayed for it, and thank God, I am it and more.
I urge everyone, no matter how old, to dream, claim and pray for what you want in life. Know that you can't do everything by yourself. Along with the Higher Power, find a mentor. Also, be a mentor. I've had many guiding forces before and after that press agent - my first grade teacher who is still in my life four decades later; the late Marjorie Haggard, my high school and National Honor Society advisor; Opal Eckert, the head of my college Journalism Department; the late and very great Hazel Garland, the editor of the Pittsburgh Courier, who gave me my first journalism job so I could take writing samples to get my first PR job; and, of course, my ever-loving and much-loved family.
The mystery, the curiosity and the knowledge within build us today and shape us for tomorrow. Everyone is intrigued by something. Everyone has a Dorothy's Diary. You just have to recognize it, realize it and reach for it. And, maybe one day, you'll read it.
I am the youngest of six children. I grew up in the 'baby girl' role that comedian Bernie Mac holds high in his stand-up routines, his TV show and, no doubt, in his heart. Born when my mother was in her mid-forties and not really thinking about another child, I didn't have to do much to earn a special seat in the McClair household. While I was a Daddy's Girl to the max and I adored my mother, two brothers and other two sisters, it was my sister Dorothy who captivated me.
Dorothy was the 'baby girl' for three years before I came along and booted her out of that special spot. All the same, she loved me, played with me and, of course, teased me to no end. She teased me, maybe even tormented me, with that diary. She treated it like an heirloom family Bible or the secret formula for life itself. If you came close to her when she was writing, she'd hunch her shoulders, cover the pages with her hand and sometimes even run from the room. For years, she carried that thing everywhere she went, and I carried a burning desire to know what was in it.
As we matured, the diary lost some of its mystique. I now had a whole world outside of Carrollton to conquer. When I was about 14, I was hanging out with my Dad in a nearby city when we came upon a political rally. While Daddy was listening to the speech, I noticed a rather stately older man at the rear of the platform. Still curious and interested in details, I asked my Dad what the man was doing. In his special way of teaching us to explore, question and think, he said, 'I don't know, go ask.' I did my best to get past the barricade, but back then I wasn't as savvy at getting past burly, bald security men with walkie-talkies. Finally, my Dad intervened and we got the man's attention.
When I asked the stranger who he was and what he was doing, he nodded toward the speaker and said, 'It doesn't matter who I am, tell your father to vote for him.' Not easily put off, I persisted. This time, he asked me why I wanted to know. I told him that the politician may be on the stage, but he himself must be the really smart one, because he was standing in the back telling everyone else what to do and say.
My answer must have struck a chord, because he turned his back on the adults and said, 'I'm a press agent. See those men with cameras and all those people out there listening? Well, I helped to get them here. I tell people who we are, what we're doing, where, when and why we're doing it.'
I didn't know it then, but I had just received my first lesson in the five W's of journalism. But, I did know without a doubt that I wanted to be a press agent; and from that day forward, I declared it.
Years later when we were grown, I asked Dorothy about the diary and she showed me what was left of the many volumes. I remembered it as a precious secret that would unfold mysteries and open doors. What I saw were tattered sheets of notebook paper tied together with faded, yet colorful, yarn. What I read were notes like 'My little sister really, really, really wants to read my diary, but I'm not, not, not going to let her.' 'We got new dresses today. Mine is blue, what else is new?' 'Boring day, nothing to do, nothing to write, but she still can't read, read, read this!'
Maybe Dorothy should have been the publicist and opened a PR agency instead of becoming a nurse, albeit a great one. Even if she were unaware of her persuasiveness, she sure knew the power of the printed word and the power of hype. It made me curious and downright desirous to read whatever was written, and today I still carry those traits.
While Dorothy and all of my family remain in and around Carrollton, MO, I have made homes in several cities in Ohio, Pittsburgh, Alcoa, TN, back to Pittsburgh and finally in New York. Never once did my desire and declaration to become a press agent ever falter. I learned about it, I claimed it, I dreamed it, I prayed for it, and thank God, I am it and more.
I urge everyone, no matter how old, to dream, claim and pray for what you want in life. Know that you can't do everything by yourself. Along with the Higher Power, find a mentor. Also, be a mentor. I've had many guiding forces before and after that press agent - my first grade teacher who is still in my life four decades later; the late Marjorie Haggard, my high school and National Honor Society advisor; Opal Eckert, the head of my college Journalism Department; the late and very great Hazel Garland, the editor of the Pittsburgh Courier, who gave me my first journalism job so I could take writing samples to get my first PR job; and, of course, my ever-loving and much-loved family.
The mystery, the curiosity and the knowledge within build us today and shape us for tomorrow. Everyone is intrigued by something. Everyone has a Dorothy's Diary. You just have to recognize it, realize it and reach for it. And, maybe one day, you'll read it.