My Ad Man Wasn't A Mad Man

They were an unexpected breath of fresh air as they walked into my office located in the corner of a tire warehouse. My assignment in 1987 was to conduct a promotional campaign for an elite service organization's fall conference in Vancouver. The boss had given me $30,000 to spend, and recommended a small ad agency whom he had used previously from time to time.

After the door closed, and the tow motor noise quietened a little, I discovered the ad man, Bob, and his graphic artist and writer partner, Sally, were gracious, non-threatening, and very interesting. It took me  two minutes to decide these people had my business.  Bob was tall, outgoing and a little on the loud side, while the graphic artist, a beautiful blond, was more reserved and quiet. I learned that wasn't a correct assessment. Sally and I had hour-long, animated discussions in her office more times than not.

They helped me with a successful campaign and produced some great work at a reasonable price.

After the campaign I sent what little business I had their way, and we kept in contact. Bob had teased me and said, "if you ever want to go out on your own, I need someone to be my PR arm of the business". While I had a good job (making a lot more than the previous one), I didn't give the suggestion much thought.

Christmas with Dede, Sally and Bob

That changed one day in 1989; I walked into my office and was told that money had run out, and I would be jobless that afternoon. Lot of notice, right? I told the CFO who delivered the news "I would have worn black if I knew this was going to happen today." 

Trying not to panic (a single mom with an eight-year-old), I was faced with the immediate need of finding another job. I called Bob on vacation in Florida; our conversation went something like this:

"Bob, you told me I'd work with you sooner or later. How does sooner sound? I am unemployed."

"Sure Betty come into my office next week and let's talk about it."

That began a two-year association which provided more fun than I can describe and kept a roof over my head. Bob gave me an office and the necessary items to work, and in turn he received a part of what I brought in with selling my PR and marketing skills.

Being self-employed is not my cup of tea because I've never been good at confrontation, and when people don't pay their bills, there's bound to be confrontation. While I was giving it my best shot, the days were filled with laughter and great stories. Bob's dad had been one of the first ad men in Nashville, and Bob grew up in the business. I found out about campaigns that they had conducted for some of Nashville's most popular merchants.

Digging the 80's hair

Sally and Bob dealt with frustration in a rather unusual way.  It might include Bob humming "If I Only Had A Brain" from the Wizard of Oz when a client had requested something totally stupid. Or, Sally giving the "Velvet Elvis Award" or my bestowing the "Chocolate Covered Fish" trophy to a client or prospect who was not in the real world.

Fax machines were making their way into offices all over Nashville, and when ours was installed, we watched it like a chicken laying an egg until the first piece of paper rolled out of the technologically advanced device. My how things have changed. We thought we were so sophisticated and up to date with the fax. It did cut down on the trips to the printer, typesetter and clients. In 1991, after suffering through a couple of full-time job prospects that didn't materialize, I finally found a place in another ad agency where I'd be paid a salary and wouldn't have to do any bill collecting. It was a nice place to work, but never as much fun.

Jon Hamm

By now I hope you realize Bob was not a slick ad man like the ones portrayed on  AMC's Mad Men. We weren't on Madison Avenue, but the processes were the same. I'm not being critical of  Mad Men; I've watched every episode and would be entertained just to watch John Hamm brush his teeth.

Bob had a huge heart, had raised his children as a single Dad for several years, remarried a lovely woman and would never consider anyone else being his partner in life.

A while back, Bob passed away, and it was like a light went out for those of us who knew and worked with him. Sally and I still eat lunch from time to time; she's one of the most entertaining and creative people I know.

When I stop to count my blessings, spending a couple of years with Bob, Sally and the gang is on the short list.