by Don Potter
“Can’t we talk to Chock full o’Nuts and get their okay to participate in the GF presentation?” I asked.
“Would you tell your girlfriend you want to talk with another girl to see if she might be interested in going out with you? And if the new girl turns you down you’ll stay with the original girlfriend and the relationship will continue as before?”
“I see your point” I answered.
“Pittsburgh wants the Yuban business, knowing there could be more to come from GF if we do a good job. Shall I call Chock Full with the news?” Charlie asked staring directly at Mary.
“It’s my account. I’ll do it,” Mary said while her eyes said I want to kill you, Charlie O’Brian.
“But first I want to talk with our PR people and layout a strategy for publicizing all that we’re about to do and the timing to announce how we do business even here in New York,” Charlie continued with the confidence of a winner.
“You’re certain this is the right move?” Mary asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t blame me if it falls flat on its face.”
“Lever didn’t.”
“You had an insider there.”
“What makes you think I don’t have one in White Plains?” Charlie O said and left.
“Damn him,” Mary said and slipped a pill into her mouth.
“This is a big gamble,” I said.
“Which means we need the pitch to be big,” she replied, gathering her emotions and acting as if she was still in charge. “Bigger than you’ve ever seen.”
A few days later Mary and I were meeting when Charlie popped in and said, “I’m bringing Ed Gardner back to New York to spearhead the Yuban presentation and work on the business when we get the assignment.”
“What if we don’t get it?” Mary asked.
“Oh ye of little faith. I know you’ll dazzle ‘em with your creative work. The brass in Pittsburgh believes this could really put us on the map. As for Ed, the bakery people love him. There’s plenty of ways I can use him around here and Ed’s ready to come back to the Big Apple.”
“But is the Big Apple ready for him?” Mary asked knowing there was nothing she could do to stop this move.
Mary and Charlie fought over every inch of ground in preparing for the pitch. She played the woman who knows women best card, with mixed results, while Charlie was relentlessly trying to get everyone working together. We kept going back to the presentation script until each of us could recite what was supposed to sound unscripted in our sleep. The effort was worth it. The pitch was flawless, and the Yuban team seemed to relate to the idea of working with our young staff. Finally the wait was over. We were awarded the Yuban account, and suddenly people on Madison Avenue were beginning to refer to us as the hot shop in town. In the year since Carlson/Andrews purchased Mary Parsons’ agency, which she always incorrectly referred to as a merger, the New York office had nearly doubled in size, due primarily to new business acquisitions - she always found a way to take credit for this too.
Articles were written about landing the Yuban account and Carlson/Andrews philosophy for addressing possible new business conflicts. They also mentioned the pantyhose and feminine hygiene accounts that Mary had brought in, although they were not big spenders and did not warrant much ink. Charlie O was clearly running the operation with the blessings of Pittsburgh’s top management. Mary was upset about this and became increasingly difficult to deal with.
It was true, the advertising world is not a place for weaklings. And I had toughened up my mental muscles and developed some survival skills. But I still needed a steady girlfriend to help sooth me in times of undue stress.
19
Ike warns about the military-industrial complex. A Russian, Yuri Gagarin, becomes the first man in space. Chubby Checker wows us with The Twist. Women discover “The Pill”. And Robert meets a new love.
* * *
Television was taking a big bite out of the advertising dollar and we in the agency business were all learning how to better use this medium. Charlie O and Mary kept up their battle. As part of her demand that we all learn more about women, every day at lunch, after work, and on weekends, I made the rounds of the department stores, specialty shops, supermarkets, and drug stores armed with a pocket tape recorder, a note pad and pen. The purpose was to find out about women’s attitudes towards products they bought as well as those they did not buy and ask why. Once I engaged them in a conversation those being interviewed often offered opinions on a host of other subjects including what they thought about various ad campaigns. Not only was this a great way to learn from a cross-section of real women, it was fun as well.
On one of these survey excursions I met Shelly, a gorgeous dark-haired woman, about my age, living in an Upper Eastside neighborhood not far from my apartment. A spark seemed to ignite the moment I said, “Excuse me, may I ask a few questions about your shopping experience?”
“You make it sound romantic,” Shelly said. “What should I be experiencing?”
“Let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you more, so very much more. Anything you want to know.” How did I become so bold?
“The secret of life?”
“That’ll take at least two drinks.”
It was all so effortless and we talked for hours. Shelly was born and raised in Manhattan. Her father was a professor of Journalism at Columbia; her mother was the chief administrator at one of the city’s pricier private schools. Shelly enjoyed her work as a clinical dietician for the New York Public School system. I was impressed with her commitment to help children learn about good nutrition and how she encouraged them to carry the message home. Her passion impressed me; especially since my claim to fame was that I wrote ads and tried to get people to buy our client’s products, whether they were particularly good or not.
We continued to date into the summer when her parents left the city for the cool and quiet of a lakefront cabin near the town of Roscoe in the Catskills. I was invited to spend several weekends there. Besides being with Shelly, I enjoyed talking with her father about the book he was writing. It was a wonderful summer, well beyond my expectations. I loved Shelly’s open mindedness, especially when it came to sex. She told me the pill had taken away the worry of an unwanted pregnancy. She knew where she fit in the world and was a true supporter of the civil rights struggle going on in the South.
Returning to the agency after spending time in the Catskills was not easy, in fact things continued to get worse. Accounts were won or lost while Mary got angrier and angrier. Charlie O was not easy to deal with either, because Mary always found ways to irritate him even when the business was doing well. More often than not I was pulled in two different directions, since both the combatants demanded my loyalty. I felt trapped.
One day Ed and I were having lunch when out of left field he asked, “You’re not a happy camper these days, right?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If you’re not happy I got me an idea. Wanna hear it?”
“Shoot.”
“I had drinks the other night with a friend who works at the Ted Bates agency. They’re looking for a young but experienced writer, and your name came up.”
“I don’t know. That shop’s creative is very formula oriented. You know USP and all.”
“Yeah, the Unique Selling Proposition concept is pretty hard sell. But they have new people over there and management is open to a softer sell, especially since they’re looking to attract a broader range of clients.”
“I don’t even have a resume.”
“Put one together. But do it fast.”
“I don’t know.”
“Meet with him. You never know.”
So I met him, this friend of Ed’s, and the agency made me an offer. I took it. No more Charlie versus Mary slugfests.
I was sad about leaving. Both Mary and Charlie tried to convince me to stay. I chose not to say they were part of the problem rather
than part of the solution. Pete Erskine in Pittsburgh called and offered me more money. But my mind way made up; it was time to move on.
20
Marilyn Monroe dies. Wilt “The Stilt” Chamberlin, scores 100 points in a single NBA game. Rocks first all-girl group, The Shirelles, have a hit with Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. And Robert, who went back to being Rob, sees another side of life.
* * *
The CEO of Bates, Rosser Reeves, wrote a highly acclaimed and controversial book on his Unique Selling Proposition (USP) philosophy, so the first thing the personnel director handed me was a signed copy. I hoped there wasn’t going to be a test.
I was shown my desk and sat down. Five minutes later my supervisor came in with file folders under his arm. “Okay, Fleming, time to get to work. Read the research and the creative platform for Fab. Colgate is our biggest client and this is their top brand in the laundry detergent category. Problem is market share is slipping. Your work on Lever helped stop the slide for Rinso. We need something to turn Fab’s sales around. Give me half-a-dozen concepts by the close of business today. Ten would be better. Any questions?”
“No.”
“Go to work,” he said and left.
I heard the pace was fast around here, but this was more than anticipated. Just before five, I took the ideas to the copy supervisor’s office. He kept me standing and read my twelve concepts.
“You have two maybes. The rest don’t make the cut. Half of them are off strategy. Have five more on my desk before I have my coffee in the morning. This time, make sure they’re all on strategy.”
I stayed late and developed more concepts. They were tighter than the first batch and used product demonstrations, which the agency liked as a way to drive home the USP. My boss still shot down all my concepts.
Shelly had a meeting one evening with parents at an elementary school in Harlem and coaxed me to go along. She thought it could take my mind off the problems at work. “We’ll go up there early and you can do some store surveys to find out if the people in this part of the city respond differently than those you’ve been talking to in the white part of Manhattan. You never know what might happen at these interviews,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember, that’s how you met me.”
“Yeah, it seems so long ago.”
“How soon one forgets,” she chuckled. “You’ll be home in plenty of time to get your beauty rest. But first, we’ll eat.”
After doing my research, we met at a small restaurant with a country look and greeted with the aroma of home cooking. Shelly was seated at a table near the storefront window.
“This is real soul food,” Shelly said as we looked at the menu. “I always go for the special of the day.”
“Sounds good to me.”
It was good, but I had a problem. “I have a question. How do I speak to these people?”
“You could try English.”
“That’s not what I mean. What is the proper, non-offensive word. Is it Colored, Negro, or Black? I’m confused.”
“Depends on who you ask. The younger people refer to themselves as Black.”
“Black it is then,” I said.
We skipped dessert and hurried to the school were Shelly chaired the parents’ meeting. I was surprised to see such a large crowd, but Shelly told me these parents were interested in their children getting a better education than they had. The subject of diet and education resulted in a lively discussion. The parents were particularly interested in what foods to serve at home to enhance their children’s stamina and brain power. The evening was a revelation to me.
“Enjoy yourself tonight?” Shelly asked on the cab ride to her apartment.
“The trip to Harlem was an eye-opener in many ways.”
“Want to come up for a cup of hot chocolate.”
“No thanks. I have an idea for a great Wonder Bread commercial that I’ve got to write while it’s still fresh in my mind.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. Hot chocolate makes me very amorous,” she said.
“Can I have a rain check?”
“Okay, but don’t turn me down too often or I’ll end up with a complex or something.” She laughed and kissed me goodnight.
I was in the office early the next morning with the concept finished and caught my supervisor as he arrived. “I have an idea that’s pure dynamite.”
“Talk while I eat my bagel.” He opened the bag from a nearby deli and pulled out a container of coffee and his morning nosh.
“I was up in Harlem last night.”
“Glad you made it back in one piece,” he said with a chuckle.
“Black people are as brand conscious as white people, maybe more so.”
He stopped chewing long enough to say, “Go on.”
“Our research shows only numbers not feelings. For Black housewives it’s important to show family and friends that they buy the better brands. The people in Harlem have Heinz Ketchup on the table, Cutty Sark Scotch in the cupboard and Wonder Bread is the one they bring out of the bread drawer. My talks with store managers confirmed my assumption.”
“So?”
“We can serve both the Black and white communities with this spot. It opens on two boys, between ten and twelve, at a school cafeteria. They each have a packed lunch. Before opening their brown bags, the boys decide to split whatever sandwiches their moms’ prepared. Turns out they both have peanut butter and jelly. Both sandwiches look the same. They split theirs and each takes a bite of the white kid’s sandwich, and then the other kid’s. They agree the Black kid’s is better. The white kid asks why and the Black kid says, “Cause my mom always buys Wonder Bread.” Cut to a beauty shot of a wrapped loaf with a P&J sandwich next to it. Announcer says, “Wonder Bread Helps Build Strong Bodies, and friends, 12 Ways.”
“It’s pure dynamite all right. You want to start a riot or something?”
“It’s two kids sharing lunch at school. Think Norman Rockwell.”
“Tell that to the general manager of a Wonder bakery south of the Mason-Dixon line.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Make it two white kids and maybe.”
“You miss the point. People of any race or economic level agree that Wonder is the only bread to buy.”
He finished his bagel and wiped his fingers clean. “Come back in twenty years. Now, think banks.”
“Banks?”
“Chase Manhattan bank in particular. That’s where your energy is going next.”
21
Kresge 5&10 cent stores unveil discounter K Mart. Sam Walton opens his first store. Bob Dylan sings Blowin’ In The Wind. Gene Chandler hits it big with The Duke of Earl. Rob gets a taste of what it’s like to be Jewish.
* * *
I turned out more concepts for Chase Bank than Liz Taylor has husbands, only to be rewarded with the opportunity to do the same thing for a new baked goods product from Wonder Bread. How many ways can you make bread interesting? It probably doesn’t matter, because I can’t seem to sell my boss on any of my ideas.
Shelly sat me down at dinner that night with her serious face on, “You’re invited to our family Seder, and I have to give you a warning.”
“What did I do wrong?”
She laughed. “For once, it’s not about you. My grandparents are coming to the Seder. They’re from Russia.”
“Yes?”
“So you need to know something.”
“They don’t like gentiles.”
“How did you know?“
“Lucky goyische guess. Oy vey, tell me more.”
“They owned a store for years. A dry goods store in Rochester, New York.”
“Rochester? Miami? They couldn’t choose?”
“Stop it with the schtick. Most of their customers were Christians, or at least not Jewish, and Bubbe grew to hate the way she thought the well-to-do customers looked down on
them.”
“It ain’t just a Jewish thing. My grandpa is that way with anyone who doesn’t look like him or think the way he does. Truth of the matter is everyone is prejudice about something.”
“I’m not,” Shelly proudly proclaimed.
“How come every time you want Chinese food you say, let’s go for Chinks, tonight?”
“That’s a New York thing. Everyone says it.”
“Did you ever consider that the Chinese people might consider it a racial slur?”
“Are you trying to pick a fight?”
“No just trying to make a point. Sorry to upset you.” I saw no reason to push the conversation further since Shelly had already decided she did not have a prejudicial bone in her beautiful body, especially since she was fighting for Black equality.
“Forget about making a point with me. But if you want to make points with Bubbe you might want to brush up on your Yiddish, because that’s about all you’ll hear from her. Truthfully, I don’t understand much of it either.”
“Except gelt.”
“No, you mean guilt. Just don’t do your Shecky Greene bit.”
“How about a little Milton Berle? He says Jews don’t drink much because it interferes with their suffering.”
We survived the Seder and I didn’t use my Milton Berle bit, although at times with Bubbe I was tempted. On the drive home Shelly brushed her hand across my cheek and said, “You were wonderful. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
I almost lied and said that everything was fine, but she knew better. “I hate my job,” I said.
“That bad?”
“It’s the work atmosphere. The only thing calming there is the rhythmic tapping of the new IBM Selectrics that replaced the banging from the old standard typewriters back at Carlson/Andrews. There’s no fighting and turmoil at Bates. It’s just not my kind of creative climate; hard as I try I don’t fit in there.”