by Don Potter
“Rob, it is so good to see you, even under these sad circumstances,” Carlson said. We sat in two over-stuffed leather chairs in the suite’s living room.
“Thank you, Mister Carlson.”
“Ralph from now on.”
“Ralph.”
“We have much to talk about. Tell me what you think I can do for you?”
“The first thing that comes to mind is the European PR effort. Is it as good for us as some in the agency proclaim?”
“Yes, although I wish George wasn’t stepping down.”
“We have two good candidates in Nancy Gates and David Jennings to take his place.”
“Agreed. Whom do you prefer?”
“I was going to ask you. You’re the CEO now.”
“David is well qualified, somewhat traditional, while Nancy is an energetic thinker. She’s hoping her success in Europe will get her the job.”
“You still haven’t said which one you prefer.”
“I would like to think about it longer.”
Carlson gave a wicked little smile. “I do know you and Nancy have been fierce rivals for years. The eternal battle between advertising and public relations.”
“That won’t affect my decision.”
“Much.”
“I want only what’s best for the agency.”
“Remember this, Rob; there are folks on the Board with years of experience in the world of business politics. They have a vested interest in the agency. Seek them out, ask their advice, and use what makes sense. Asking the opinion of others makes you an ally rather than the enemy.”
“Thank you, Ralph. And I have made a decision about the best candidate to take George’s place.”
“That was fast. Your choice?”
“Both of them. They can share control and neither becomes king, or queen.”
“A Solomon-like decision.” Carlson laughed and raised his glass of iced tea in a salute. “We are in good hands.”
I flew home with many things settled but with decisions still to make, hard decisions. Ginger and the kids had grown used to living in California. We were a family that had put down roots. We owned a house, rather the bank did and we were making monthly payments on it. But now I would be forced as CEO to spend much of my time in our Pittsburgh headquarters. I worried about how it would further affect my marriage and possibly Ginger’s mental state.
37
Walter Cronkite announces his retirement from the CBS Evening News. Mount St. Helen volcano in Washington State erupts. A new car costs $7,000. And Rob has Universal trouble.
* * *
Ginger sat motionless on a sofa in the middle of the living room. I sat down next to her.
“Are you all right?”
She said nothing and her eyes were focused far into the distance as though she did not see or hear me. I moved closer to her.
“Ginger?”
“Do you know what I was watching alone last night?”
“Ginger, I have to go to work.”
“Do you know what I was watching alone last night?”
“What were you watching last night?” I glanced at my watch. She saw me do it and her face tightened.
“The Way We Were.”
“Nice picture. Streisand and Redford.” I got up to leave.
“Redford’s very handsome and -“
“Streisand’s the mousy activist madly in love with him. I’m going to be late. Where’s this going?”
“When Redford is gliding around being Redford playing Hubbell Gardiner, someone says about him, “In a way he was like the country he lived in, everything came easy to him.” That’s you, Rob.”
I sat down again. “I appreciate being compared to Robert Redford, but nothing comes easy and I work hard for what we’ve got. Like this fancy and very expensive house.”
The phone rang and I turned toward it, but hesitated.
“Go on, answer the phone,” Ginger said. “We both know it’s your mistress.”
“Ginger, are you taking your meds?”
“Ginger, are you taking your meds?” She mimicked me. The phone stopped ringing.
I exhaled a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m late, and I do not have a mistress.”
The phone rang again. It seemed to echo off the walls.
“There she is again. Answer it.”
“I am not going to answer it.” I got up and turned away. “And we’ll talk about this later. Please call your therapist and discuss how you’re feeling.”
Ginger snatched up the phone, listened and held it out to me with an odd, twisted smile, “Told you. Your mistress, Carlson Communications, wants you.”
I took the receiver, put it to my ear and heard my secretary’s panicked voice. “Mister Fleming, it looks like we might be losing the Universal account! Mister Newmar wants to see you at his home, immediately.”
When I got to his house in West Hollywood after bullying my way through traffic, Jeff Newmar was close to a full scale melt-down. I knocked, the front door jerked open and Jeff shrieked, “What took you so long? Either you fire him or I’ll kill him.”
“Jeff, let’s not do this out here. Can I come in so we can talk about what’s happened?”
He disappeared into the house and I followed as he waved his arms and grumbled, “It’s that two-timing, lying, cheating Keenan Carpenter.”
“What did he do?”
“What didn’t he do would be a better question. Who he didn’t do would be the easier answer.”
Jeff led me into the kitchen which looked as though something exploded on a set from a slapstick silent movie. He glanced at the mess. “Things got ugly last night.”
“Is Keenan here?”
“No, he’s gone and won’t come back if he knows what’s good for him.”
I cleared some space and sat at the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and flopped down. His bloodshot eyes with dark circles showed Jeff had been up all night and probably crying much of the time. After struggling with a lighter, he finally lit a cigarette.
”I don’t know what’s going to kill me first, these cancer sticks or Kennan Carpenter,” he said.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“You know how Keenan can be.”
“Only at work, and this is not about business.”
“Oh, it’s business all right, monkey business. He’s been carrying on behind my back. Seems everyone in the gay community knew about him being unfaithful except me. Now I’m the laughing stock in my social circles. It’s humiliating. I wish I could just roll up in a ball and die.”
“Cheating is tough to live with, I know, I’ve been there. Like moving from place to place, no matter how many times you go through the process it doesn’t get any easier.”
“If I live through this, maybe I’ll be able to wax poetic in the future. For now, I feel as if every nerve in my body is raw and exposed. It hurts so bad.” Jeff put his head in his hands and cried with all his might.
“What can I do to help?
“Just being here is important. I don’t want any of my gay friends around. They know too much about Keenan and me as a couple. I don’t need their phony sympathy or pop psychology advice to the lovelorn. Besides half of them have probably had sex with Keenan. Problem is I don’t know which half.” He lifted his head and offered a strange smile, as if he thought the last remark was mildly entertaining.
“See, the sun breaks through even when we least expect it.”
“I wish I had your positive attitude.”
“Sometimes it takes work to see the glass as half full rather than half empty. Now, what can I do to help?”
“Besides firing Keenan?”
“If that’s what you want, considerate it done.”
He swiped at a tear. “That would make you happy, too.”
“Keenan has always been unpredictable and often volatile, so we’ve had issues
over the years. Only the Universal account has kept him around.”
“You have a beautiful way of shooting someone down without actually saying anything bad about them.”
“We don’t need to play games. If you’re unhappy with any of the people assigned to your business, we’ll make changes. In Keenan’s case he would be out. But, what if he makes amends for his mistakes?”
“There were no mistakes. He knew what he was doing. Keenan betrayed me. There’s no fixing that.”
“Give it until tomorrow.
“I won’t change my mind. Please get rid of him.”
“You’re the client.”
“And don’t you forget it, Mister.” He managed a chuckle.
“You won’t let me. Call me anytime,” I said and left. Jeff was calmer, but I expected to hear from him again before the day was over.
Meanwhile I had Keenan Carpenter to fire, which didn’t please our office manager, Brad Martin, at all. He gave a theatrical shudder and said, “We can kick him out of here, but what if these guys kiss and make up, then what?”
“I don’t think they will. Jeff knows now what all his friends know, Keenan played around on him. Jeff’’s pride is shattered beyond repair. Their relationship is over, but ours with Universal isn’t.”
Brad sighed. He was not convinced. Then Keenan breezed in, waved at us offhandedly and said, “So sorry I’m late. Hectic night last night.”
He walked toward his office.
“Ask your secretary to get you a box,” I called after him.
He stopped and turned to me. “A box?”
“Yeah, to put your things in. You’re fired.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He took a few paces toward me. “No Keenan Carpenter, no Universal Studios for you.”
“No Keenan Carpenter, happy Universal Studios for me.”
“I’ll call Jeff.”
“It was his idea. You’re done. Leave.” I took a few more steps toward him. “Or, with the greatest of pleasure, I will toss your ass out of here myself.”
He left in a dramatic huff.
I was seated in the corner at a nearby bar. I was blessedly alone and jotting down my thoughts of the agency’s future. Only my secretary knew where I was sequestered, and had orders to not reveal my whereabouts to anyone. I was enjoying a martini as I scribbled on a legal pad when Brad Martin found me, slipped into the booth and said, “David Jennings was killed in a plane crash.”
“Jesus. Give me the details.”
“He was on a private aircraft that left Pittsburgh late yesterday afternoon headed to a meeting with our client, Dow, in Midland, Michigan when a freak storm came up over Lake Erie. The plane was apparently struck by lightning and crashed in the water. The Coast Guard retrieved his body.”
My very first thought was that Nancy would no longer have to share control of all our PR operations. She was now about to assume sole control of Carlson Public Relations and that would make her very happy and probably add considerably to the growing stress level in my life. An unkind thought, but not unrealistic. I ordered another martini.
“What do we do?”
“What I’m going to do,” I said and pointed to the approaching waiter, “I’ll finish that martini heading my way, then go home.”
“But David Jennings?”
“He’s dead and there is nothing I can do for him now. Send flowers and sympathy. We’ll deal with the details later. I’m going home to try and put out a fire of my own. Keep me informed about the funeral arrangements.” The martini came, I drained it in one experienced gulp and left.
38
The first DeLorean stainless steel sports car rolls off the production line. Kim Carnes releases Bette Davis Eyes. Pope John Paul II is shot. And Rob has issues, both foreign and domestic.
* * *
I wasn’t going to the office and I didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t a home, it was an expensive place where my wife, children and I (when not working or traveling) existed under one roof. I went home anyway, poured myself a drink. I sat on the sofa where Ginger sat when we had our early morning fight, put my feet up and opened my briefcase. The Nestle confectionery group was asking us to pitch their consolidated candy business, and General Foods wanted our New York office to pitch two new cereals to be marketed through its Post division. We needed the income.
And David Jennings was dead. Why didn’t I feel the loss? What should I feel? He and I were not close - not advisories, just not close. His death put Nancy Gates and me on a collision course. That’s what bothered me the most. This kind of conflict would not serve the agency well nor would it be good for me, but I suspected she would relish the situation.
“Have you seen the children?” Ginger’s voice echoed from the hallway and she stepped into the room. I sat up, startled.
“Something wrong? Where are they?” I asked.
“With Sandra.”
“Who’s she?”
She remained standing, a hand resting on the back of a chair, fingernails tapping a jagged rhythm. “The woman who has been looking after them for the last three months. When are you going?”
“Going where?”
A muscle twitched in her cheek and her eyes narrowed. “To Pittsburgh, your real home.”
I rubbed my eyes. I was drained. I was so damn drained. “I’ll do this again. Our head office is in Pittsburgh. It’s always been in Pittsburgh and it will always be in Pittsburgh. I am the CEO of a company based in Pittsburgh and that’s where they expect me to live.”
“And us, your family?”
“You can always come to Pittsburgh.”
“We just bought this house and the kids are settled in schools here. Our life is here.”
“Then you live here. I’ll live in Pittsburgh and fly east and west as often as I can.”
She shook her head in nervous little movements. “So, given a choice between your family and a Heinz pickle, the pickle wins every time.”
“Given a choice between flipping hamburgers and working my ass off to buy a house like this for my family, Pittsburgh wins hands down every time.”
“How long do you think we’re going to last like this?
“Ginger, I love you and only you. I’m doing this for you and our children. Even if I lived here I’d be away most of the time visiting our offices across the country. Give me one year is all I ask. If it doesn’t work out I’ll come back here.”
“And flip hamburgers?”
“And flip hamburgers,” I said and knew I was lying. I was lying to my wife. Perhaps she was right, I did have a mistress.
A few months later Ralph Carlson passed away in his sleep at his Florida home. He was 80 years old. Although retired for several years, he remained the heart and soul of the agency. His honest and respectful approach to business was an inspiration to all who knew him. I felt the loss deeply but more than that, I felt totally lost and more alone than ever. First Charlie and now Ralph. I was voted in as Chairman to replace him and remained CEO. Outwardly I had everything a man could want, but inside it didn’t feel that way.
A month later I ran into a former executive at US Steel who had a reputation for helping businessmen work through difficult times by using some kind of spiritual approach. We met at the agency’s suite in the Duquesne Club.
“You are a very successful adman,” he said.
“Thank you, but it seems the more I plan and the harder I try to make things happen the less I seem to accomplish. No, that’s not true. The less I enjoy what I accomplish.”
“We executive types fight hard to stay on top, but sometimes things are better when we let go.”
“Letting go? I’m now the Chairman and CEO, so there’s no passing the buck. It stops with me.”
“You can’t control it all. You surely can’t control the outcome of most things.”
“I motivate our key people and try to help them succeed.”
&n
bsp; “That’s not what I’m talking about. You need a partner.”
“Carlson Communications is a corporation with a Board of Directors and a long list of officers.”
“The partner I’m referring to is God.”
“I believe in God.”
“Do you pray?”
“When I need something or if I’m really worried.”
“And, you stop praying when you get what you want or the problem goes away?”
“Well, ah, yes.”
“Don’t you have situations that come up everyday where you could use help?”
“Sure, but they’re not something to pray about. You can’t ask God to take over your life.”
“Underestimating the importance of depending on God will help you deal with life on life’s terms through the power of prayer.”
“I don’t know. I’ve come this far on my own.”
“If that was good enough you wouldn’t have asked me to have lunch. How about trying something with me?
“What?”
“Pray every day for a month. Give God your problems and ask Him to show you the way to deal with them. I guarantee you’ll have the answers you need before the thirty days are up.”
“Guarantee is a big promise.”
“God is big. Perhaps your God is too small.”
“And if I don’t get the answers I want?”
“I didn’t say you’d get the answers you want, but you’ll get what you need.”
“How will I know that?”
“Because you won’t be worrying about them anymore.”
“What if I’m still worrying?”
“That means God is not finished. Did you ever consider that worry is just negative prayer?”
“Sounds too simple.”
“It is simple, but we make life complicated by trying to fix things ourselves. We must do our part by doing the footwork in faith and staying out of the results in trust. Sometimes the answer is a change in your thinking rather than expecting others to change or asking for a specific outcome. Are you willing to give it a try?”