The fourth member of the agency quartet, Bladen—Celia hadn’t caught his first name—was an assistant account executive. (Was there anyone in the business, she wondered, who didn’t have an important-sounding title?) Bladen, who seemed little more than a youth, had been busy helping move storyboards and artwork around for viewing by the company representatives headed by Celia.
Additional agency people—probably another dozen—had come and gone as segments of the presentation succeeded one another. The most recent segment had been for Healthotherm—a new advertising proposal begun before Celia’s arrival on the O-T-C scene.
The others with Celia from Bray & Commonwealth were Grant Carvill, who headed marketing; Teddy Upshaw, representing sales; and Bill Ingram, a young product manager. Carvill, a stolid longtime company man in his fifties, was competent but unimaginative; Celia had decided that sometime soon she would move him sideways to another job. Ingram, boyish, with unruly red hair and only a year out of Harvard Business School, was apparently keen and energetic, but otherwise an unknown quantity.
Sam Hawthorne, as an officer of Felding-Roth, was senior to them all. The ad agency president, in acknowledgment of Sam’s presence, had looked in briefly to say hello.
But Sam, in announcing during a telephone call to Celia the day before that he would attend the advertising review, had made his own role clear. “I’ll just be sitting in, observing. Because you’ve a big responsibility to which you’re new, and a lot of dollars are involved, the brass over here will feel more comfortable if someone from the parent company keeps an eye on what’s happening and reports back. But I won’t intervene and it’s your show.”
Now Celia glanced at Sam, wondering if he agreed or not with her comment of a moment earlier. But Sam’s face was impassive, revealing nothing, as had been the case all morning.
“All right, Mr. Orr,” Celia said briskly, addressing the account supervisor, “you can stop wondering about how to react, and how to handle me. Let’s have plain talk about the advertising, why I don’t like it, and why I think this agency, whose work I’m familiar with, can do a whole lot better.”
She sensed a stirring of interest among the advertising group and even, perhaps, relief. All eyes, including those of her own people, were focused on her.
Kenneth Orr said smoothly, “We’re all delighted to listen, Mrs. Jordan. There is nothing among what you’ve seen which anyone in the agency is cemented to. As to new ideas, we’ll be happy to produce them, or develop yours.”
“I’m glad about the cement,” Celia said with a smile, “because my feeling about what we’ve seen is that everything would have been good ten years ago but is out of tune with here and now. I’m also wondering—to be fair—if some of that is because of instructions and restrictions from our company.”
She was aware of Orr and Dexter Wilson looking at her sharply, with respect. But it was Bladen, the young dogsbody, who blurted out, “Gosh, that’s just the way it was! Whenever anybody around here came up with a ‘with it’ idea, or wanted to jazz up your old products—”
The account supervisor cut in sharply, “That will do!” He glared at his subordinate. “We do not blame a client for shortcomings in our advertising. We are professionals who accept responsibility for what goes out from here. Furthermore, you will never refer to ‘old products’ in that tone. Mrs. Jordan, I apologize.”
“That’s a load of horseshit!” The remark shot out from Celia’s side of the table before she had time to answer Orr. It came from young Bill Ingram, whose face had flushed red in sudden anger, matching his hair. He went on, “They are old products and we all know it, so what’s wrong with saying so? No one’s suggested discarding them, but they sure can stand jazzing up. So if we’re going to have plain talk, the way Mrs. Jordan said, let’s have it.”
There was an awkward silence which Kenneth Orr broke. “Well, well!” With an eyebrow raised, he seemed divided between surprise and amusement. “It seems that youth has spoken up for youth.” He turned to Celia. “Do you mind?”
“No. It may even help us progress.”
Behind Celia’s attitude today was her opinion, gained from a study of Bray & Commonwealth files, that past advertising had been inhibited by overly cautious, status-quo policies, an inhibition she intended to shed.
“To begin, I’d like to discuss Healthotherm,” she told the others. “I believe the new advertising that’s proposed, as well as our old advertising, takes the wrong approach.”
With a mental salute to Andrew, Celia went on, “All our advertising, going back years because I’ve checked, shows children smiling, feeling better, happier, after Healthotherm has been applied to them, rubbed on their chests.”
The account executive, Dexter Wilson, asked mildly, “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” But Kenneth Orr, watching Celia’s face intently, waved his colleague to silence.
“Yes, it happens,” Celia answered. “But it isn’t the children, happy or otherwise, who go into stores and buy Healthotherm. It’s their mothers. Mothers who want to be good mothers, who want to do something to make their sick children feel better. Yet, in our advertising a mother is either not in view or is merely in the background. What I would like to see, right up front, is a happy mother, a relieved mother, a mother who, when her child was ill, did something to help and now feels good about it. We should use the same approach for the print media and television.”
Suddenly there were approving nods around the table. Celia wondered: Should she add Andrew’s comment, “Maybe that’s what Healthotherm is all about. It isn’t for the kids at all; it’s for their mothers.” She decided not. She also put resolutely from her mind Andrew’s description, “that ancient greasy goo” which, he claimed, would do neither harm nor good.
Kenneth Orr said slowly, “That’s interesting. Very interesting.”
“It’s more than interesting,” Bill Ingram injected. “It’s damn good. Do you think so, Howard?” The question was to Bladen, so now Celia had the missing first name.
The young agency man nodded eagerly. “Sure do. What we’d have is a kid in the background—I guess you’d have to show one somewhere. But momma right up front, and not too smoothy a momma. Her hair a bit ruffled, maybe her dress a touch untidy. As if she’d been working, sweating, worrying, in the kid’s sickroom.”
Ingram picked it up. “Yes, make her real.”
“But happy,” Bladen said. “She’s relieved, not worrying any more because she knows her kid’s okay, thanks to Healthotherm. That’s a must. Mrs. Jordan put her pinkie on it there.”
“We can work out the details,” Orr observed. He smiled at Celia. “Mrs. Jordan, there seems a consensus that you have something promising.”
“And something else, Mrs. Jordan,” Bill Ingram said. “At our end we ought to change the product a bit. Then we could call it ‘New Healthotherm.’”
The account executive, Dexter Wilson, nodded. “That always helps.”
“New Healthotherm.” Teddy Upshaw mouthed the words as if trying them on, then affirmed, “Yep! Be good for our sales guys out front. Give ’em a new angle, something fresh to talk about.”
Grant Carvill, the Bray & Commonwealth marketing man, leaned forward. Celia had the impression he felt the decision process was passing him by, therefore he should say something.
“Changing the product won’t be difficult,” Carvill volunteered. “The chemists do it by revising an ingredient. Just something minor, not critical, maybe a difference in the perfume.”
“Great!” Bladen said. “Now we’re cooking.”
In a separate compartment of her mind, Celia wondered if all this was really taking place, and how she would have felt about it only a short time ago. Well, she reasoned, for better or worse she had accepted Sam Hawthorne’s advice and suspended critical judgments. How long would she have to go on doing it? If Teddy Upshaw was right in his prediction about her moving on from O-T-C, it would be merely for a year. Celia observed that Sam was smiling
and wondered at what.
Her thoughts returned to her responsibilities. Observing the two young men, Howard Bladen and Bill Ingram, Celia had an instinct about whom she would be working with closely in the future, both at Bray & Commonwealth and Quadrille-Brown Advertising.
Even in her most sanguine moments Celia had not expected her merchandising program for New Healthotherm—the “happy-momma” plan, as it became known to company insiders—to produce the astounding results it did. As Teddy Upshaw declared cheerfully during a private session in her office, “Celia, baby, it’s dynamite!” He added, “I knew all along you were good, but you turned out to be a friggin’ genius.”
Within a month of launching a TV, radio and print campaign orchestrated by Quadrille-Brown Advertising, sales of Healthotherm had multiplied by six. Moreover, in the fourth week a fresh flood of wholesale orders made clear this was merely a beginning. Sure enough, within another month the previous high had doubled, with still further gains predicted.
The success of Celia and New Healthotherm were duly noted at Felding-Roth corporate headquarters. Consequently, through the remainder of 1964 when plans were developed to revitalize other Bray & Commonwealth products, approval of the expense was automatic. As Sam Hawthorne explained, “We still want to know what’s going on, Celia—after all, we might learn something over here—but while you continue producing, you’ll be given freedom to operate your way.”
Celia’s way consisted of creating new images for elderly, existing products.
One of them had been known simply as B&C Shampoo. At Celia’s suggestion the old name was retained, but in minuscule type with a large new added name—EMBRACE. Immediately below and almost as prominent was the slogan: As Gentle As Your Dream Lover.
Not only was the slogan remembered by those who saw EMBRACE advertised, and those who bought it, but—to the delight of all concerned with sales—it was bandied around to become a national catchphrase. TV comics milked the line for laughs. Parodies appeared in newspapers—among them an editorial page feature in The Wall Street Journal, criticizing a White House tax plan and headed:
No Gentle Embrace From Your Dream President
This, and more, brought EMBRACE shampoo unprecedented attention and sales exploded.
Again, the Quadrille-Brown agency developed the advertising program for EMBRACE, but this time under the direction of Howard Bladen, promoted from assistant to full account executive. Young Bladen had also played a role in New Healthotherm, eventually eclipsing the earnest, worried Dexter Wilson who simply disappeared from view, so Celia never did learn whether he had left the agency or was pastured to a lesser account.
Similarly, at the Bray & Commonwealth end of the equation, the youthful Bill Ingram had been moved up by Celia to become marketing director, replacing the veteran Grant Carvill. For Carvill another slot was found where he was now—as someone said unkindly—“counting paper clips until early retirement.”
Ingram, taking his cue from Celia, came up with innovative marketing ideas. It was Ingram, also, who brought to her the news that a small pharmaceutical firm in Michigan was available for purchase. “They have several products, Mrs. Jordan, but the only interesting one is System 5, a liquid cold medicine, a decongestant. As you know, that’s a gap in our own line, something we don’t have. If we could buy the Michigan company, dump their other products and take over System 5, we could build it into something big.”
Remembering Andrew’s views about all cold medicines, she asked, “Is System 5 any good?”
“I had our chemists check it out. They say it’s okay. Nothing world-shaking, and no better than we could produce ourselves, starting from scratch if we needed to.” Ingram ran a hand through his perpetually untidy red hair. “But System 5 does what it’s supposed to and it’s already on the market with a reasonable sales base, so we wouldn’t start from zero.”
“Yes, that’s important.”
Celia was aware that economics were on the side of adapting an O-T-C product which had some acceptance already, rather than introducing something entirely new. Not only was any new item incredibly costly to launch, but most new products failed, often taking their supporters down to obscurity with them.
“Give me a written report with all the details, Bill,” she instructed. “I’ll look them over. If I think it’s a good idea, I’ll talk to Sam.”
A few days later Celia did think it a good idea and made a recommendation to buy the Michigan company—and thereby the cold medication System 5. As a result the small company was quietly acquired through an intermediary law firm, the vendors unaware of whom the lawyers represented. Such methods were standard, since announcing that a major drug house was interested would have pushed the purchase price sky high.
Soon after, the other products of the acquired company were sold off and the Michigan plant closed. Manufacture of System 5, and a few of the people working with it, were transferred to Bray & Commonwealth’s New Jersey plant.
Bill Ingram was charged with improving and expanding sales of System 5.
He began by ordering a striking, modern package design in orange and gold, an attractive matching plastic container to replace the green glass bottle in which the medicine had been sold previously, and renaming it System 500.
“Those extra numbers,” he argued, when reporting to Celia, “will imply we’ve strengthened the product at the same time we redesigned it. Matter of fact, our chemists are making a change or two in formulation so manufacturing will be more efficient.”
Celia studied the material presented, then said, “I suggest an extra line of copy immediately beneath the name.” She scribbled on a sheet of paper:
System 500
The SYSTEMATIC Cold Fighter
and passed it to Ingram.
He regarded her admiringly. “Brilliant! It’ll make people feel they can be organized in getting rid of their colds. They’ll love it!”
Celia thought, Forgive me, Andrew! She reminded herself once more, All this is only for a year—then remembered how quickly time had gone by and that it was already a year and a half since her transfer to Bray & Commonwealth. I’ve become so engrossed, she reflected, sometimes I forget about moving back to the prescription drug side. Besides, what’s happening here is fun.
Bill Ingram was continuing, enthusiastically as usual. “In another six months, when the new packaging has taken hold, we can launch the tablets.”
“What tablets?”
He looked pained. “You haven’t read my memo?”
Celia pointed to a stack of papers on her desk. “It’s probably in there. So tell me.”
“Okay. Tablets are just another way of selling System 500. Ingredients will be the same, the effect the same. But we’d advertise separately and get double exposure. Of course, we will dilute the ingredients for the children’s version. That one will be called System 50, the smaller figure showing …”
“Yes,” Celia said. “Yes, I get the idea—smaller figure, smaller people.” She laughed.
“Next winter,” Ingram went on, undeterred, “when whole families are down with colds, my memo suggests we introduce a large, family-size System 500 bottle. If that catches on, we’d follow with an even larger one—in the trade they call it an ‘Oh-my-God!’ size.”
“Bill,” Celia said, still laughing. “You’re getting to be too much! But I like it. How about System 500 in aspic?”
“For the carriage trade?” Now he was laughing with her. “I’ll work on it.”
And while Celia and O-T-C were meshed fructiferously, events elsewhere moved on as always—with tragedy, comedy, conflict, nobility, sadness, laughter and human folly—bounding or shuffling onstage, sometimes as entities, occasionally all together.
The British and French announced confidently, as they had on and off for a hundred and fifty years, that work would shortly begin on a Channel tunnel. Jack Ruby, killer of President Kennedy’s assassin, Oswald, was found guilty and sentenced to death. President Johnson succeeded, w
here Kennedy had failed, in having a strong civil rights bill passed by Congress. Four saucy, charming Liverpudlians with the unlikely title of the Beatles were causing their music and a cult dubbed “Beatlemania” to sweep the world.
In Canada, during a nationwide wrangle combining anger and silliness, the country adopted a new national flag. Winston Churchill, who had appeared likely to survive forever, died at ninety. And in the United States something called the Gulf of Tonkin resolution, relating to a faraway country, Vietnam, was eased through Congress with little attention paid, and less awareness that its consequences would alienate a generation and tear America asunder.
“I want to watch the TV news tonight,” Andrew told Celia on an evening in August 1965. “There’s been rioting and burning in a place called Watts. It’s part of Los Angeles.”
They were at home for a family evening, which both of them cherished, though recently such occasions were fewer since Celia’s work now required her to travel, and sometimes she was away for days at a time. Because of this, and to compensate, the children joined their parents for the evening meal whenever possible.
Celia liked the children, also, to see their grandmother, though—to general regret—the visits from Mildred were less frequent nowadays, due to her failing health. Asthma had long been a problem for Celia’s mother, and lately it had worsened. Andrew suggested that Mildred come to live with them, where he could take care of her, but she declined, preferring her independence and the modest Philadelphia home where she had lived since Celia was small.
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