Anyone who's ever driven to Atlantic City knows that Trump's got

The words of Regis Philbin, though wrapped in humor, carry with them the quiet weight of wisdom: “Anyone who's ever driven to Atlantic City knows that Trump's got a big billboard. For years, you used to see his angry face on it. I said, 'Trump, that expression is making people afraid to go to the Taj Mahal. Why don't you give them a big smile? 'C'mon in, folks! Spend your money here!' I think we got that corrected.” At first, this may sound like nothing more than a story of advertising. Yet beneath it lies an ancient truth: the countenance of a man is the gateway to his world, and the face he presents becomes the herald of what lies within.

The billboard here is more than mere canvas—it is a symbol of the way we project ourselves to others. An angry expression, stern and unyielding, may guard authority, but it also closes doors. It speaks not of welcome, but of warning. To those who pass by, it suggests danger, distance, or distrust. But the smile, radiant and inviting, is a banner of hospitality. It tells the traveler that warmth awaits, that joy may be found, that this house is not one of fear, but of fellowship. Regis, in his playful counsel, touches the eternal truth: that the image we show the world shapes the world’s response to us.

This wisdom has echoed throughout history. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who, though often weighed with sorrow, understood the power of expression. He was known to soften the harshest arguments in his cabinet with humor, with a smile that diffused tension. His face, though lined with struggle, carried kindness, and in that kindness men found trust. Had he chosen anger or scorn, his legacy might have been very different. His example, like Philbin’s words, reminds us that how we present ourselves can alter the fate of those around us.

There is also a lesson in perception. The angry face on the billboard may have been meant to project strength, dominance, or seriousness. Yet to the common passerby, it inspired fear, not loyalty. This reveals the eternal danger of mistaking intimidation for influence. True influence is not born from making others cower, but from inviting them to share in your vision, to walk willingly by your side. The smile, then, becomes not a weakness, but a weapon of persuasion, an act of leadership disguised in gentleness.

The story also reminds us that joy must be intentional. It is not enough to build palaces, towers, or empires if the spirit of welcome is absent. What good is the Taj Mahal of commerce if no one dares step inside? Regis teaches us, with laughter, that success is not merely built by walls of marble but by faces that radiate warmth. Hospitality, whether in business, in family, or in daily life, is the foundation upon which lasting bonds are formed.

The lesson for us is this: guard carefully the face you show the world. Do not mistake scorn for strength or anger for authority. Choose instead the expression that opens doors, that invites trust, that creates joy. Whether in business or friendship, a smile has the power to attract, to heal, to draw others closer. The angry face may command respect for a moment, but the smiling face wins loyalty for a lifetime.

Therefore, let us act with wisdom. In your dealings, whether great or small, strive to be the one whose face is a beacon, not a barrier. Let your smile speak before your words, and let your warmth welcome others into your presence. For the legacy of a man is not only in what he builds, but in how others feel when they approach him. Carry this truth as torchlight: “Why don’t you give them a big smile? ‘C’mon in, folks!’” In these simple words lies a truth for the ages—that the greatest invitation to the world is not in wealth or power, but in the warmth of a smile.