Defining what an annual report is. I believe I've figured it out—why the huge gap between us and them. We're not on the same page. The "us" is the men and women, professional communicators (at least most of them), who want to tell their companies' story to their various audiences: stockholders, both individual and professional; directors; job prospects; friends of the company, including perhaps the news media. Acquisition candidates. When we talk about the annual report, we're referring to the document produced lovingly for stockholders, individual (including employees) and otherwise. A book that quite possibly uses color and other readership devices to enliven it—just as a newspaper or magazine would do. Indeed, some if not many annual report producers come from the ranks of professional communicators. (A year ago, my 16th annual Producer Poll indicated that only one in four producers came from the ranks of investor relations, one in five had finance in his or her background. Employee communications was cited as a credential by one in four. (Biggest group: 37.1 percent listed public relations as a credential.) This year's results are most preliminary, but public relations is listed by more than half the early respondents, finance and employee communications by one in nine. Investor relations? 22.2 percent. Between one in five and one in four. Getting to the point: When the chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission, one Harvey Pitt, talks about the annual report, it finally occurred to me: He's not referring to the same document annual report producers are. He's talking about the legalistic Form 10-K. When Pitt advocates that companies get the CEO to sign off on the financials, he's talking about the 10-K—which in most instances the boss does sign off on, and has for years. When Pitt talks about getting the annual report out faster than the current three or four months after close of a company's year—when he advocates that, he's talking about a one-color product of a corporation's finance and accounting departments. Not the elaborate, time-consuming product intended for popular consumption. I'm reminded of a debate, 15 years ago, before New York graphic designers. It was in the basement cafeteria of a Manhattan building, as I recall. My debate opponent was a staff attorney for the SEC. She held aloft, for these artistic types, the 10-K. I admonished her for not even knowing the difference—between the down-and-dirty, legalistic filing, and the book with an external orientation, which is what graphic designers produce. When the debate was over, she was rushed out of the building by two bodyguards with nary a backward glance. Poor Harvey Pitt. Both Democrats and members of his own party are taking pot-shots at the portly chap. Then he gets silly, and commends to a couple of audiences a 1937 report, consisting essentially of a letter to shareholders, as an example of what he'd like to see today, 65 years later. The report was by one Brockway Glass Co. The poor guy was unaware Brockway subsequently was charged with antitrust violations. (Hello! Is anybody home?) So much for using Brockway Glass as our idol, Mr. Chairman. How's about Enron? WorldCom? Better yet, Tyco International? Maybe, for good measure, Arthur Andersen. Or its ex-client, Waste Management. Hey, you're the greatest, man.

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