Sh-Boom

by Don Potter

“Hollywood star? I can’t think of a damn movie she was in.”

  “One of the bigger ones was Tattooed Teenage Alien Fighters from Beverly Hills.”

  Vince shot me a disbelieving look. “Forget Hollywood. Let’s talk advertising. How do we get this Sh-ball rolling?”

  “Meet and greet. Use my address book and go drumming for business.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. What else are you going to do, watch the Dodgers’ game on TV?”

  Vince made a face and ordered a martini. “We don’t have any leave-behind materials yet.”

  “We? Maybe not you, but I’ve been busy,” I said and took a folded sheet of paper from my pocket and handed it to him. Before Vince could unfold it, I took it back. “Don’t bother reading it, you’ll need both hands for your martini. I’ll read it to you.”

  I unfolded the paper and read aloud. “At Sh-Boom Advertising we don’t create just to show we’re creative. We create to sell our clients’ products. Sometimes the approach is subtle, sometimes we tap into emotions, sometimes we use humor, sometimes the message is direct and hard-hitting. But any advertising we create must always be strategically sound to make the most impact for our clients in the marketplace.”

  “Pretty lofty.”

  “When we stick to our mission statement, we can always be proud of our work. And the people in the trenches, once we have people in the trenches, can be assured you and I will always defend that kind of effort.”

  “Ain’t you just the advertising maven. Good command of the English language too.” Vince laughed. He loved to pull my chain when I got on my soap box.

  “I’m trying to be serious,” I replied.

  “Okay. Here’s a serious question. You gonna’ try to corner the Oriental market, again?” Vince asked.

  “Asian.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The proper term is Asian.”

  “When did they make the switch?”

  “Doesn’t matter. That’s what it’s called now.”

  “So the Japanese aren’t Japanese anymore?” “From a geographic prospective Asia refers to a vast region ranging from Saudi Arabia to Indonesia, from parts of the old Soviet Union and China in the north and onto Japan. But each country still has its own entity with its own name. For instance, Japan is an Asian country and the Japanese are its people. But most of the potential clients planning to do business in the States will probably be from Japan, South Korea, and Hong Kong. Down the road the list will include China, and India.”

  “Thanks for the lesson, but I’m totally confused. If we have a meeting with any of these Asian folks, tell me what to call them. And, if we go over there will we be flying on Northwest Asian Airlines?” Vince let out a loud and hardy laugh.

  “You’re impossible after a couple of drinks.”

  “I certainly hope so. That’s the reason I drink.”

  “By the way, I ran the agency name past a few prospects. Americans liked the name Sh-Boom. The Japanese had no idea what it meant but thought it sounded strong.”

  “You and your informal research.”

  “I also talked to them about market segmentation. So once the agency is running smoothly and has a good client base, I want to look at the possibility of opening a division specializing in advertising to African-Americans and another for Hispanics. This will give us a foothold in these important demographic segments and allow us to provide more services for our clients.”

  “As long as it makes money it’s a good idea. But first, let’s get going on the business at hand. After another martini.”

  “Not too many. We’ve got work to do,” I said.

  “Hey, one more of these beauties and you’ll start looking like Zsa Zsa Gabor.”

  “One more of those and you’ll think you are Zsa Zsa Gabor.”

  The next few weeks were a frenzy of interviews and hirings as Vince built up our creative staff and I did the same with account executives, media, promotion and PR. I also added a personal touch to the agency by installing a continuous loop of the Crew Cuts’ recording of Sh-Boom on our telephone answering system. Folks found it amusing and original. More to the point, they remembered the agency’s name. Meanwhile money, my money, was going out the door with nothing coming in. We needed clients, soon. Maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew. Too late to go back now.

  A friend from my past called when the financial situation was tighter than I expected. “You always were an original thinker,” Jim Hanson said. “I didn’t want you to pick up the phone because I was enjoying the music.”

  “Hi, Jim. How are you?”

  “Still having fun pushing Detroit iron. That’s why I called. It’s probably nothing compared to the Acura account you had.”

  “Carlson Communications had.”

  “True. But if Sh-Boom is Sh-interested I’d love you to pitch the Cadillac West Coast Dealers Association business. It would be a good start for your new shop.”

  “It certainly would be a great start for us. When?”

  “First thoughts by end of the month?”

  “Looking forward to it. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” Jim said and sang off-key, Sh-Boom, Sh-Boom.”

  The Cadillac Dealers account came in and opened the door for us, not wide, but wide enough to get us going while helping to cover some of our overhead expenses. Soon after that win, Clorox, up in Oakland, came along with an enticing offer. They had two new products they wanted us to work on even though Carlson Communications, now operating under the ConCom banner, had the rest of the business. We would be fighting the enemy, and I could hardly wait. SunKist called next. Life was getting very interesting.

  In the meantime, Vince’s wife came out to visit for a week. The three of us had dinner the night before she was scheduled to return home. I decided this was the perfect opportunity to put on a full-court press to get them to move out here.

  “Read in the paper this morning that New York had ten inches of snow yesterday and more is on the way.”

  “There’s something to be said for the four seasons and the various weather conditions associated with them,” Vince said as if he knew my pitch was coming.

  I turned to his wife and said, “I’ve tried every trick in the book to get Vince to move here so we could build the agency together. Do you think you could learn to like living in LA?”

  “LA, no. But one of the beach cities, yes. I told Vince moving here could be an adventure.”

  “She’s a lot more adventuresome than me,” Vince said.

  “So, it’s not your wife that’s afraid of the move, it’s you.”

  “Guess I’m not one to stray too far from home.”

  “I guarantee, we’ll be so damn busy, you won’t have time to be home sick.”

  “What do I say to that?”

  “Try yes.”

  By the time we finished dinner, the D’Angelo’s were ready to pack up and head west. Now all we had to do was generate enough business to keep Vince busy and enough money to keep his wife busy spending it.

  A phone call from doctor Scanlon made life real, again. One of the caregivers had taken Ginger for a routine check up and I had thought nothing of it. Wrong.

  “I like the music,” Scanlon said. “Catchy.”

  “Thank you, but you didn’t call to reminisce with me about the Crew Cuts’ big hit.”

  “No, I didn’t, although I’d like to have their hair. The note you sent with Ginger mentioned she is getting more depressed.”

  “Yes. I often find her just sitting in her bathroom, or wedged in a corner, weeping. When I ask what’s wrong, all she can do is shake her head. It suggests to me that Ginger doesn’t know or understand what’s wrong with her.”

  “You remember we discussed a care facility? Have you visited any of the memory units I recommended to you in Studio City?”

  “It’s too early for that, don’t you think?”

  “Ginger
needs more help than you realize.”

  “She’s just going through a bad period.”

  “I know you are doing everything you can for your wife, but these periods will become more frequent and her depression could grow deeper as time goes on. I know it’s a heartbreaking decision, but denial will do more harm than good. She’s at the point where 24 hour a day professional supervision and care is the best thing for her overall wellbeing.”

  “Give me a few days to think it over.”

  “Do that. And, Rob, make sure you take care of yourself too. There’s more stress on you than you realize.”

  “Thank you, I will.” I hung up and looked at all the eager faces around me; young men and women with their busy plans and original ideas, their schemes and ambitions. They had all their lives ahead of them, their limitless days, while I was standing in the middle of a Hollywood office building contemplating putting my wife away forever.

  61

  Russia replaces the KGB with the SVR, same thing different initials. Junk Bond King, Michael Milken, gets ten years in prison. Prince releases Diamonds and Pearls. And Rob tries to balance joy and sorrow.

  * * *

  We were still afloat. I looked at each of the employees packed around the oversize lunchroom table. A conference room would come later. All those employees egger to spend my savings made me more than a little resentful. Is this part of the dream?

  “Fresh coffee and donuts for all,” I said trying to at least act like a caring boss. “But only one each and leave the chocolate one with white frosting for me. We’re going to talk about our commitment to make Sh-Boom the best agency ever to hit the West Coast.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?” Vince D’Angelo, my ever-willing foil asked. We had rehearsed.

  “Make noise.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Ads in the LA Times financial section, and the Wall Street Journal West Coast edition. And direct mail to our list of prospects and selected business leaders.” I don’t know why I was upset with the staff. I was the one who decided to spend more money. Guess I wanted to shift the blame onto them in case the effort failed.

  “Saying what exactly?” Vince asked.

  “We’ll say that Sh-Boom is changing the face of West Coast advertising. We’re coming in with a loud Sh-bang, so let the explosion work for you.”

  “More. Tell us more,” he shouted.

  “We’ll feature the faces of our people and their credentials along with couple of client testimonials. Even though we don’t have all that many clients to extol our capabilities and tell the business community, those we have will gladly talk about why they’re excited to be part of the Sh-Boom explosion. Is that simple or what?”

  “It’s a good flag to rally around.” Vince edged close to me and whispered, “Let’s hope it works before the bank waves a white flag.”

  I left the office early to look at some care facilities for Ginger. I did not want to go. It was far too real, too painful, and too final. Death is a known, although an often denied part of life. A loved one dies, you grieve and eventually come to terms with the loss and carry on as best you can, knowing they are gone forever. But the thought of my beloved Ginger existing, yet dead to the world, in one of those places was impossible for me to accept. Day and night she would be there, just a few miles away from me, but sealed off in her silent mental prison. Ginger would be outwardly perfect, immaculately dressed, complete with an array of stylish eyewear, but broken inside, never to be repaired. I understood the appeal of putting a gun to your head.

  I visited several places before I had to stop, exhausted both physically and emotionally. They were well-run, clean, bright, and all with a staff patently concerned about their charges. But there was an awful inevitability to them. Music, dance and other activities could not hide or protect the shambling, mind-damaged inhabitants. They were inside, never coming out except when closely supervised by family or staff, and all that lay ahead was a constant erosion of self. Humor, anger, joy and sorrow would all be erased, leaving only a shell. Ginger was much younger than the most of the residents in the facilities and in good physical health, which meant she would probably live longer than these other poor souls. Live longer, one oblivious day after another in there. How could I put my wife away? I called Vince and asked him to meet me at the office because work would keep me sane. And a few Musso & Frank killer martinis might dull the pain.

  The second one helped. “We’re doing well, Vince, especially for a brand-new agency, but the cash flow is still heading in the wrong direction.”

  “You knew it would take time.”

  “I have an idea, before we’re successful and bankrupt.”

  “What is it?”

  “We focus hard on direct marketing and infomercials. Low cost, high profit margin. These businesses use the direct response model because they don’t have retail distribution.”

  “But their products can’t profitably coexist in both retail and direct channels.”

  “That’s not true. At Carlson we tried that with a car wax product and it was so successful retailers ended up stocking it on their shelves too.”

  “But that’s a huge amount of specialized work. Who’s going to run that while we’re out chasing regular advertising clients?”

  “Ed Gardner,” I said.

  “Ed? I wasn’t expecting to hear his name.”

  “He did well at Carlson overseeing this kind of work, and I know Ed’s not happy where he is right now.”

  Vince played with his martini glass, rotating the base to line up with a wet circle on the tablecloth. “Ed’s a long-time friend of yours, so I don’t want to be unkind, but to use an old-fashioned word, he’s a lush. He’s always been a heavy drinker and that makes him unreliable. You want him staggering around your nice new agency scaring all the kiddies?”

  “Ed’s been sober for years.”

  “Wishful thinking?”

  “Certain knowledge.”

  “If that’s the case then talk to him. If he’s sober he’s a good man to have on our side. But not if he’s just a drunk.”

  “I will and I agree.” I left and drove home, mentally and physically exhausted. All I wanted in the whole wide world was to go straight through the front door, climb the stairs and face-plant on the bed to sleep all night long. It was the simplest of wishes. That wish was not to be granted.

  62

  Cyclone in Bangladesh kills 200,000 people. The Internet opens to unrestricted commercial use. Whitney Huston sings The Star Spangled Banner at Super Bowl XXV. And Rob’s life gets much more complicated when his children get involved.

  * * *

  It might have been that I was tired, or perhaps it was the martinis, or more likely a combination of both, but the moment I stepped into the living room I wanted to turn around and run away.

  Stevie and Beth sat on the sofa facing me and sandwiched between them was Ginger. There were no smiles.

  “This looks like a hanging jury,” I said.

  “We need to talk,” Stevie said.

  Ginger looked frightened.

  “Should we let your mom go to bed first?” I said.

  “It’s about her, so she should stay.”

  “She wants to stay,” Beth said.

  “Do you, sweetheart?” I said and leaned toward Ginger.

  Ginger tightened her body, pulling into safety between her two children, and nodded her head.

  “All right,” I said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Putting Mom away,” Beth said.

  “That sounds like I’m taking her to the vet to have her put down.”

  “Isn’t it, in a way? Locked up forever,” Stevie’s voice was rising and I was concerned about Ginger. She could no longer handle stress. Anything out of the ordinary frightened her.

  I sat down and rubbed my eyes. God, I so wanted to sleep. And maybe not wake up. “I have spoken to doctor Scanlon so
many times about your mother and resisted his recommendations regarding what he thinks is best for her. I have looked at scans and test results and charts and they all point the same way. This disease is progressive. It—“

  I stopped because Ginger was staring at me and this time it was not a blank, uncomprehending stare, she was listening to me, she was aware. And that was a living horror.

  “I don’t want Ginger here while we talk,” I said.

  “I do,” Beth said. “She’s my mother.”

  “And mine,” Stevie spit out the words. “She stays.”

  I stood. “Then we don’t talk. She has gone through so much and I will not have your mother more upset then this discussion has already made her. It’s time both of you learned more about her condition rather than reacting emotionally like this.”

  “Locking her away won’t upset her?” Stevie leaped to his feet and Ginger whimpered in fright.

  I stopped from pointing angrily at him. “You will notice, Stevie, that my voice is low and even. It is taking all my willpower to keep it that way.” I turned and faced Ginger as I continued, “Ginger and I, my wife and I, will do nothing unless we are both completely in agreement. I love your mother and her well being is my only interest.”

  “Oh, really?” Beth said and now she was on her feet, her face blazing and tears forming. “Is that why you were always away, Dad? Is that why you missed birthdays and parties? Because your wife and your family came first? Or is it because you’d rather sell Heinz pickles?”

  That hurt, that really hurt because it came from my child. And it was true. I had created her anger, and Stevie’s too.

  “I have a lot of fences to mend with both of you,” I said. “But this is not the time or place to do it. I am going to take Ginger to visit a facility and then I will bring her home. When she is ready, we will take the next step. And not one second sooner.”

  I put out my hands to Ginger and she got up from the sofa. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the world’s greatest dad, but I’m trying now, and promise to try harder. I will do my best for you, but your mother comes first.”