business; an airline; and International Motors, presently striving to become one of the Big Four auto companies.
Begin noted the flicker of desire in Harold’s eyes at the mention of International Motors.
It was a subtle reaction, but Begin had trained himself to be alert to such small signs. He wondered if Harold May had a future with Doran. Judging from his credentials alone, probably yes. Then Begin wondered if Harold had a future in the International Motors account. Likely not for a long while. The level at which Harold would enter the company was light years away from such an important account.
By the time they had all but finished their lunch, Begin had just about completed his guided tour through advertising in general and Doran in particular. The waiter returned to ask if they wanted coffee. They did. And Harold ordered his third martini. Begin took note. Then he opened the conversation to Harold.
It was the moment for which Harold had patiently waited.
While not derogating from anything Begin had said, Harold launched into a flood of knowledge acquired over the years. When he felt that Begin was sufficiently impressed, Harold played trump: Los Angeles, Hollywood, television. “There’s always going to be a place for print advertising, of course, Mr. Begin. .”
“Bob, please.”
“Thank you. Bob. It’s just that, to be effective, print has to have longevity and consistency.”
“You’re right, Harold. And that’s the way we project at Doran. The client has to be sold on the woodpecker theory.”
“Woodpecker?” Harold didn’t think he’d missed a term, but this was unfamiliar.
“The woodpecker, hitting the same spot over and over again, just the same way!”
“Of course,” Harold agreed. “But something different happens when you get to TV advertising, don’t you think? I mean television imposes itself on its audience-where print gives you the option of looking or not looking.”
“Keen observation,” Begin commented. “But you mentioned Hollywood, television. I’d be interested in your views of TV as it relates to advertising.” He tried to affect a casual tone.
Harold caught Begin’s heightened interest. He was not surprised. He’d expected it.
“From what I’ve been able to put together,” Harold said, “effective TV advertising is going to have emotion, humor, and fancy production.”
“And print ads don’t?”
“Not really. The TV medium is, by its very nature, more flamboyant, more flashy than print. The emotion is right on the surface. It can fool with humor in a way that print can’t afford to. Pratfalls, clips of old Mac Sennett comedies, dancing cigarette packs, things like that. And when it comes to fancy production, the print medium simply can’t compete. You’re going from a single picture per page to production numbers staged maybe in Busby Berkeley style.”
Begin could not hide his excitement. He urged Harold to tell him all he knew about this monster that threatened to skyrocket the ad industry. While Harold still had much to learn, he was not the complete innocent when it came to hoarding bargaining chips.
So, in sketchiest detail, Harold told of his experience behind the camera, building sets, staging, cutting and editing film, even a bout or two in the director’s chair-albeit in extremely small productions. Nonetheless, the sum total of all this hands-on experience gave him a very distinct advantage over the garden-variety creative ad person. A conclusion with which Bob Begin concurred.
The waiter presented the check. Begin, accepting it, asked Harold if he wanted another drink-one for the road. Harold declined. Begin took note. Three martinis, par for the course. And Harold showed not one ill effect. This one might be a winner.
In short order, at the recommendation of Robert Begin, Harold was hired by the William J. Doran agency.
Harold was assigned to the bullpen. The bullpen was christened such by the copywriters who had occupied that position, paid their dues, and eventually escaped it.
It did not take Harold long to figure out that the bullpen separated the floaters from the self-motivators. Junior copywriters essentially were unassigned. The go-getters would find projects. The others would contemplate the ever-changing universe. There was no doubt that Harold intended to work-and to climb. But no one offered him a project, and he couldn’t find the rope.
So, in the beginning, Harold spent much more time looking for work than actually working. Timing his entrances carefully so it would not be apparent that he was, in effect, begging for work, he wandered from office to office, asking, “Anything I can help you with?”
That was how he got his first assignment. It was an “on pack.” One of the agency’s toothpaste accounts was offering a sample-size tube of toothpaste along with a small toothbrush. It was a travel package. All that was needed was filler body copy for the enclosed ad. Harold wrote the copy in about the time it would have taken to dash off a memo. He hadn’t invested all this preparation just to write filler copy.
But it was a learning experience.
One does not climb quickly by wandering about offering one’s services. The next most logical step was to seize the ball and run with it. He planned that step more carefully.
Weeks passed before he completed and introduced his next venture. He approached Fred Ruhman, an associate creative director in charge of the team that handled the Kingbrew account.
“Fred,” Harold began, “I had a hell of a lot of trouble getting to sleep last night. But just before I drifted off, I got this idea for a Kingbrew Beer presentation. The video possibilities knocked me cold.”
“No kidding. C’mon into my office and let’s talk about it.”
Once they were ensconced in Fred’s office, Ruhman gave a great performance as one who was politely interested in an underling’s idea, amateurish as it might be, and who would out of kindness hear the subordinate out.
Harold knew that, in reality, Ruhman was well up the creek with no paddle. The Kingbrew people expected a presentation for a major TV ad campaign in a couple of days. And Ruhman’s team hadn’t been able to get off the dime.
Ruhman listened patiently, showed little emotional response, and ended by thanking Harold and urging him to feel free to come in for a consultation anytime.
Harold did not have long to wait. Shortly after the meeting with the Kingbrew execs, word spread rapidly throughout the agency. It was a winner. Kingbrew bought the entire concept. They were thrilled with the presentation. Everything was coming up roses at the William J. Doran Agency. And it was all due to the fertile imagination of Fred Ruhman.
Fred Ruhman!
It was another learning experience.
There was no possible way Harold could claim credit for his pilfered concept! If push came to shove, it certainly would be Ruhman’s word against his. And Harold knew whose word would prevail. Although it would be a cold day in hell before Ruhman arrived at a similar campaign on his own.
Go for the jugular.
Harold plotted.
It took another several weeks-during which he wrote filler copy and found pretexts not to attend meetings, lunches, dinners, or have contact of any sort with Fred Ruhman-for him to perfect his next presentation.
This time he went above Ruhman’s level to the creative supervisor, namely, Bob Begin, who, it turned out, was more than willing to become Harold’s protector.
Begin listened to Harold’s presentation, his graphics plan, his proposal to combine live actors with animated cartoon characters, his imaginative use of International Motors vehicles. International Motors. Begin recalled their luncheon and that flicker of naked desire in Harold’s eyes at the mention of International Motors.
So, Harold was closing in on the quarry. Well, more power to him.
The presentation was good-no, superior. Better than anything the Doran Agency-or any other, for that matter-had done heretofore. If this proposal were given an appropriate setting, worthy of its intrinsic importance, International Motors would belong to Doran for the foreseeable future, if not forever. And Harold’s star would go into orbit.
Another, in Begin’s position, might have feared helping a subordinate to, in effect, leapfrog over himself.
