Sh-Boom

by Don Potter

“Beats what you had when I first met you,” I replied.

  “But you should see me now.”

  “Bet it’s an inside office, no view and so small you have to step outside to change your mind.”

  Ed laughed. “You’ll do well here. Either that or get your tongue cut out.”

  “I’ll take the first option.”

  “If the brooms don’t claim their closet back and leave you homeless, want to grab lunch?” Ed asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Noon.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll come down and get you.”

  “Come down? Oh, you hot-shot account service princes are flying around up in the heavens while we grunts sweat it out down here shoveling coal into the furnaces.”

  “Top of the world, ma.” Ed called back as he left, “As it should be, my friend, and always will be. So keep stoking the fires.”

  I was part way through reviewing various ads the agency produced when Pete Erskine leaned in and said, “Creative conference room. Now.”

  He was gone before I could answer so I left my desk as it was and hurried after him. The conference room was empty, except for Pete standing next to a projector. “Kill the lights, sit down, don’t talk, watch and concentrate.”

  I did as I was told, Pete switched on the projector and a reel of commercials played. We watched to the end in silence and Pete asked me to turn the lights back on.

  “Well?”

  “Good work,” I said, blinking against the light.

  “You noticed we do more than industrial ads?”

  “I did. The reel was all consumer ads.”

  “We’ll discuss them and go over your first writing assignment after your lunch with Ed Gardner.” He smiled at my surprised expression. “How did I know about your lunch? Hard to keep secrets around here. Best way to survive is to not have any, or at least never share them.”

  “Ed was my mentor for two summers here.”

  “And he’s an up-and-comer. Just be careful what you share with him, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  Pete leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Doesn’t mean you can’t listen to what he tells you, though. Better yet, encourage him to talk.”

  “Be a spy?”

  “Be wise. Different departments have different ideas about how to run the agency. The old school guys on the account side want things to stay the same. But there’s new blood up stairs. They see the world differently and are all for change. So you’re here as the battle for the agency’s future begins. Enjoy your lunch.”

  The clientele at the Stouffer’s restaurant was a mixture of businessmen having lunch and women taking a break from shopping at the Joseph Horne department store next door. The restaurant was comfortable with red leather chairs and booths and beautiful art on the walls, but certainly no match for the exclusive Duquesne Club. Since neither of us qualified for club membership, nor would we for some time, Stouffer’s was just fine.

  Ed ordered a drink the moment he sat down. “Extra dry vodka martini on the rocks with a twist of lemon - and as fast as you can make it. Want are you drinking, Rob?”

  “Iced tea,” I replied not wanting booze on my breath.

  “You’re an ad agency guy now. A couple of pops at lunch is the way we do business.”

  “This is my first day on the job, but you go ahead.”

  “I’ll have yours too so it doesn’t go to waste.” He grinned.

  “How do you like the business so far?”

  “So far so good considering that I’ve been on the job less than four hours.”

  “It ain’t always sweetness and light, pardner.”

  “No?”

  Ed glanced left and right before whispering, ”There’s friction. The old guard is pulling back, spending half their time down in Florida, while the younger management guys want to be more than a regional or industrial agency.”

  “Like the beer, baking and supermarket accounts you work on?”

  “You got it. If we don’t expand into a national consumer products agency, we’re goners in a few years”

  “Westinghouse is a big client in both the consumer and industrial sides of the business.”

  “One big client. One martini does not make a drunk.” He drained his glass and called out, “Another glass of poison, garcon. Right away and there’s an extra nickel on your tip.”

  “So there’s a civil war going on?”

  “A mild revolution.”

  “That’s a big deal. Got any tips for me?”

  “Yeah, try the Salisbury steak. It’s good here.”

  Pete called me into his office as soon as he returned from lunch. “How many martinis?”

  “Ed or me?”

  “You.”

  “Ice tea, no booze.”

  “That’ll change.” He slid a file across his desk and put a loaf of bread on top of it. “We need a tag line for this new enriched bread for outdoor, radio and television. Newspaper coupon ads, too. The file contains the research info and strategies as well as concepts the other so-called creative geniuses came up with. Nothing great. Nothing even good. Deadline’s yesterday. End of day, okay?”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah, today. By six. Problem?”

  “No.” I scooped up the file, the bread, and fled.

  Four hours later I had nothing but scribbled bits of paper scattered all over the cubicle and a rapidly growing fear in my mind. This was not going to be the day Rob Fleming took the advertising world by storm. Storm? Not even a drizzle. By five fifteen I still had nothing, by five forty-five I considered heading for the elevators and mailing in my resignation. At five fifty-five a tortured scream died in my throat as a phrase appeared right behind my eyeballs like a little neon sign: “Baked in Pittsburgh for your particular taste.” It is amazing how terror can activate the creative mind.

  Pete‘s voice came through the intercom. “It’s six. Where are you?”

  I gathered up everything and went to his office, clutching the file and the loaf of bread. He gestured for me to sit. I did.

  “Astonish me. Overwhelm me. Blind me with your staggering creative genius,” he said.

  My slogan suddenly seemed really weak. “I have some ideas that might work.”

  “No.”

  “No? I haven’t started.”

  “I said no because you never, never, never tell anyone your idea is less than stellar, particularly when you about to present your creative work. The word might does not exist in advertising.”

  “I hear you.”

  “And always make your pitch standing up.”

  I stood up.

  “And stop squeezing the life out of that bread.”

  I put down the mangled loaf and started my pitch. “Customers love this brand.”

  “Says who?”

  “Our research. Taste tests show this bread is preferred four to one over any other bread on the market.” I paused, but Pete didn’t.

  “Go on.”

  “The new product is enriched and, therefore, more expensive than the client’s current white bread or any of the competitors. So we have to prove this bread, our hometown’s favorite premium white bread, is unmatched by any others,” I said and tried not to show how much I was sweating.

  “How?”

  “Because this bread is,” I took a deep breath and with a confidence I didn’t feel, announced, “Baked in Pittsburgh for your particular taste.”

  Pete stared at me for a dozen lifetimes before saying, “I like it better than our other ideas. The visual?”

  “For outdoor boards, civic pride suggests using a shot of the Golden Triangle with a loaf of the new package in the foreground and an appetizing sandwich on an expensive looking plate sitting next to it. The particular taste phrase suggests this product costs more but it’s worth it. The concept should translate easily to all media. ”

  “And those who don’t want to fork o
ver a quarter instead of nineteen cents for the regular loaf can keep buying the client’s popular priced product,” Pete added. “Not bad. You might, oops I used that naughty word, you could have a future in this business.”

  “Thanks.” I hurried away. I had a future in advertising and didn’t need Pete Erskine to tell me. First pitch, first swing, home run.

  It was still raining the next morning and the world missed another opportunity to gaze upon a real adman as I drove to work. I was stopped for a red light and looked over at the bus shelter on the corner. Someone waved at me. It was a wet Nancy Gates, ace gossip merchant. I felt obliged to offer her a ride.

  “Nancy?”

  “Rob. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hop in.”

  She climbed in, showering water over me. “Nice car. Just get it?”

  “New job, new car,” I said.

  “It smells new.”

  “Where can I drop you?”

  “Gateway Center.”

  “Which building?”

  “Two.”

  “What floor?”

  “Twenty-two. The floor above you.”

  “Carlson/Andrews. You’re interning in account service?”

  “No. The public relations people thought my journalism education at Northwestern fit their needs for the summer. I’m so happy to see you, Rob.”

  “Me too,” I lied. Nancy had a big mouth, a loose grip on the truth and now we worked for the same company. Not good. I will make it a point to stay clear of her. Thank God it’s only a summer job.

  Pete Erskine was sitting in my cubicle when I entered. “I’d say sit down, but there’s only one chair and I’m sitting in it.”

  “It’s okay,” I answered.

  “The client liked your idea,” he said.

  “Great.”

  “But we’re not going with it.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going with ‘Talk of the Town’ instead.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Pete stood. “They liked your idea, but they didn’t love it. According to Ed Gardner, who had dinner with the client last night, they thought the Pittsburgh angle was too restrictive since their distribution area far exceeds the boundaries of our fine city. They came up with the slogan on their own. You don’t get to win them all.”

  “Wasn’t anyone from creative there to defend the concept?”

  “We usually only bring in the forces for major new campaigns. Otherwise, we depend on the account guys to sell our work. In this case the client was right. After all, it is the client’s money, so they have the last word.” He patted my shoulder as he left. “You’ll win plenty before it’s all over. A lot more than you’ll lose, if you’re as good as I think you are.”

  I didn’t buy what Pete said. This was not the way it should work. How can we convince the client to accept good ideas if we don’t fight for them? And who better to do the fighting than the one who created the ad? Did I make a mistake signing on here?

  11

  Ford showcases the Edsel. Buddy Holly dies in a plane crash. Barbie is born. The Hula Hoop is a hit. Jerry Lee Lewis marries his thirteen year old cousin – goodness gracious, what was “The Killer” thinking? And Rob loses another one.

  * * *

  Nancy Gates had gone back to college, taking her gossip with her, and after years of standing in the shadows of the New York agencies, Carlson/Andrews was finally awarded several product lines from Pittsburgh-based HJ Heinz. And I had a concept that was going to knock their socks off. The time was right and this one was mine to win.

  I shot into Pete Erskine’s office, leaned over the desk and said, perhaps a little too loudly, “Baked beans.”

  Pete just stared at me.

  “Heinz baked beans. I’ve got the campaign that’ll get people, especially kids, to eat more of ‘em.”

  “Go on, but stop leaning over me.”

  I straightened up and moved back from his desk. “Beans aren’t exciting, they sort of lie on your plate looking like-“

  “Beans?”

  “Yes, beans. There are successful brands in a variety of food categories using loveable cartoon-like characters to sell their products such as the Green Giant, Kellogg’s Tony the Tiger, and the bear for Hamm’s Beer. So why not humanize beans.”

  “How?”

  “Animation. Our heroes are talking beans, almost human beans. They’re goodwill ambassadors who will promote the great taste and nutritional benefits of Heinz baked beans.”

  “Uh huh. Do they fart?” Pete laughed at his own wise crack.

  I ignored his remark and kept going. “I see animated TV spots interspersed with live beauty shots of the client’s product being enjoyed by kids with a happy mom serving them. We’ll use magazines and newspaper coupon ads, too. What do you think?”

  “I find it rather disarming,” Pete said.

  “That means you don’t like it.”

  “I didn’t say that. Let me sleep on it and we’ll talk some more.”

  I turned to leave, but Pete must have known I was disappointed in his reaction. “It’s a very good idea, Rob, well done. Give me some time to run it past the big boys. I like it. I really do.”

  He liked it, but no one else did. The old guard shot it down, because it was too edgy for them. At least that’s what I concluded. The one bit of good news was someone on the account side thought we should pitch the client on running an altered version of the concept in the UK, where it seems they look at beans differently. But that probably won’t happen either. Strike two. This was getting old.

  Ed Gardner had a martini waiting for me as I slid into the booth at Stouffer’s. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

  “No more bad news,” I said. “Losing the human beans concept still hurts.”

  “Sorry, but here’s more bad news. Continental Baking is buying our bread client. In fact, they’re gobbling up a bunch of bakeries around the country. Some kind of strength through consolidation move.”

  “What’s the good news.”

  “Continental wants us to handle the advertising for all their new bakeries.”

  “But Continental’s headquarters is in New York.”

  “You got it,” Ed said and waved to the waiter for another round. “And that’s why we are opening an office there and that is where I’ll be working.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Problem is, in typical Carlson/Andrews fashion, we’re doing it on the cheap. Our offices are going to be on Lexington Avenue not Madison Avenue. Management’s trying to say these are just temporary digs and blew some smoke about Madison Avenue being a state of mind rather than a street address. It was their way of saying we were a New York ad agency, only several blocks away from the action. What a bunch of crap.”

  “Well, at least we’ll have a presence there, now.”

  Ed quickly changed the subject. “I also hear that there are many folks within the agency who don’t like you,” he said with a smirk on his face.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re too good.”

  “Not according to my track record.”

  “It’s the way you think and the ideas you develop that makes the other creative folks a little scared. You’re a comer and they know it.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “It will materialize, just hang in there. My heading to New York is good news for you because my Shadyside apartment will be open to rent, and, for the right guy, it even comes with my little black book, which is packed with the names and phone numbers of Pittsburgh’s finest ladies.”

  “Now that is good news.”

  “By the way, you know that Nancy Gates gal is quite a tiger in bed. You ought to check her out when she comes back to the agency after graduation. I think she likes you, mentions your name a lot,” Ed said.

  “That’s bad news.”

  “Because she has a thing for you?�
��

  “No, because she’s going to be working at Carlson/Andrews.”

  12

  A couple of monkeys return from space. Dion and the Belmonts have a hit with A Teenager In Love. The price of a first class postage stamp jumps to four cents. And Rob, now a single man about town with his own pad, meets Ginger.

  * * *

  Pete Erskine could read my thoughts. I swear he knew what I was thinking before I did. I reached for the phone to call him, it rang and he was on the other end. “Come see me,” he said and hung up. I left for his office.

  When I entered, Pete was in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Grab a seat and let’s talk. What’s up with you? And don’t ask me how I know you’re not happy.”

  For a moment I didn’t know how to give him an honest answer, but I had come to trust Pete, so I blurted out what I had been thinking. “How come I’m not the writer-of-record on any significant accounts?”

  “You’re making an important contribution on local accounts and other projects. I’d say that’s pretty good for a young man who’s been here for only a year.”

  “I can do more.”

  “I know you can. You have a bright future in the agency business, but you need challenges and the right mentors along the way to be the best creative guy you can be.”

  “I have a mentor, you.” I meant what I said, but it felt insincere the moment the words left my mouth.

  “I’m just the one who got you started. You’ll be needing a real heavy hitter in the packaged goods area to mold you into shape.”

  “I’ve learned a lot from you already.”

  “Thanks, but I know my limitations. I have your best interest at heart, which will also be good for the agency. To show how serious I am, I got you a sizeable raise. Effective immediately, you’re getting a bump of $2,000. This should help pay the rent on your Shadyside bachelor’s pad. How’s that new place working out for you?”

  “I’ve only been there a few weeks, but I met some of the neighbors.”

  “Any of them from the opposite sex?”

  “More than expected.” I blushed.