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I do it My Way 6/11/2016 4:15:04 AM
A luncheon recalled from 1961 Creepy Middlemen
I do it My Way
June 11, 2016 – 6:45 a.m.
I just woke up with a series of thoughts, one leading to another. I bought a lotto ticket last night and have yet to look at it, but one of the thoughts I had in bed was that if I had won, I would hire a body guard.
You see, if I won a pile of money, I would become very active, out and about, and these days an 88 year old, no longer able to take on a couple of muggers, would need protection.
I would audition the body guard. I mean I would want him to be able and fierce, not just big and muscle-bound. He’d have to be agile in some martial arts, too.
And I’d want him to also have a sense of humor and some smarts. I mean, he’s going to be spending a lot of time with me and so he would have to become a buddy and buddies can’t be bores; they have to be good company.
All this reminded me of a luncheon near the docks in downtown Boston in 1961. I had arranged it with Clem Riley, Commissioner of Massachusetts’ DMV, and Ralph Schiff, EVP of Sackel Jackson Associates, the ad agency for the hot brand of the period, Lestoil.
Our Lestoil had rattled the whole world of cleaning products by selling itself as a universal cleaner, good for kitchens and garages and even scrubbing down elephants.
Up to that period, cleaning products, to give themselves a reason to proliferate, sold themselves as specialized items. This one was for walls, the next one for floors, the third for kitchens and the fourth for bathrooms.
In personal products, to be analogous, soap makers should have sold their soaps specialized for left ears and right ears, some for the face and others for the crotch. But the originator of Lestoil didn’t know the packaged goods industry and launched Lestoil as something that cleans everything, and that rattled even the giant Procter & Gamble which quickly introduced the bald headed Mr. Clean to counter Lestoil.
A Cash McCaul type entrepreneur named Dan Hogan had bought out Lestoil which came with a house ad agency named Jackson Associates, which did everything wrong, but which worked fantastically for a limited time - and then it all started to fall apart and Hogan had picked it up for a song.
Hogan had known just one ad man, a tubby little jerk whom he had met on an airplane who had given him a business card. This was Sol Sackel who had a little ad agency in Boston. And now Hogan contacted Sackel who asked for the Lestoil account which was huge by any standards.
Hogan told him he couldn’t afford to run the Lestoil account so Hogan bought out Sackel for much more than his little shop was worth and merged it with Jackson Associates and installed Sackel as president, a very dumb choice, but Sackel was an excellent ass kisser and industrialists, having to deal with a lot of people, often prefer ass kissers to men who have ideas and stand up for them.
Since 99% of their ad efforts involved TV and none of them had had any TV experience, they brought two of us up from New York; Len Tarcher as VP for media, and me, as VP Creative.
With the biggest TV ad account in Massachusetts I was quickly approached by all sorts of potential suppliers one of which was a dear fellow named Bob, something-or-other, the surname escapes me now. He was an ex-football player who was a nice guy, scraping by with a little film production company.
Sadly, small business folks, and I suppose in a similar manner, big business folks, have to suck up to potential clients, which I find demeaning and unable to do, which is why I’m not a billionaire.
One day Bob called me to ask a favor. He was trying to get film production assignments from the DMV and had found out that Clem Riley had a daughter named Gail who had singing ambitions. Bob knew I wrote songs and made records on the side. Now he asked me to record Gail so that he could get into Riley’s good graces.
I informed him that the record business is incredibly risky and here he was asking me to record a greenhorn? He quickly explained that Riley would pay for the recording. I still had some doubts but agreed to audition the girl and see what’s what or what could be done. If I didn’t feel she had any potential I wouldn’t allow her dad to blow money on a recording session.
Well, Gail showed up at Ace Recording Studio and I liked her immediately. She was quite plain looking but had good features. Proper makeup could give her a great look.
She was a bit shy, but there was a decency about her. She informed that she’d had classical training which meant she could probably hold a note – but the industry was all rock and what could I do with a classical singer?
I got an idea and asked her if she knew any lullabies? Yes, she did. I asked her to sing one a cappella and I got the engineer in the control room to add some echo to her voice and here I found a sound suitable for a ballad or folk song that might find commercial acceptance in the contemporary market. I told her I’d be in touch and went off scratching my head for musical ideas.
On the following weekend I found myself on a beach with my wife and two young sons. There was a slight breeze blowing in off the ocean and in the breeze my mind thought it heard a melody. I grabbed a pad and pen and started writing a romantic lyric titled, “I had a Dream.” It was a simple lyric and melody.
A few days later, I learned that Clem Riley was about to launch a gubernatorial campaign. He was running for governor of Massachusetts. That gave me another lyric idea – to write a gender crossing update on the old 1911 Harry von Tilzer Tin Pan Alley hit, I WANT A GIRL (Just like the Girl That Married Dear old Dad)
I quickly dashed off “I WANT A BOY, (Just like the Boy, Who brought my Mother Joy, I Want a Boy like Dad.)
Gail loved the songs and did an excellent job. It was a fast and easy session and I had the master quickly pressed on my Tibor Label.
Several weeks later I had seen a creepy little Irishman slipping into and out of our offices at the ad agency and I inquired about him. I learned that he had been talking to our Exec VP about getting us the gubernatorial campaign for Clem Riley in return for some money under the table.
The world is filled with little wannabe middle-men who live off connections. Washington and, presumably all government offices throughout history had their ilk creeping around the powerful seeking favors on behalf of other would-be power grabbers.
I walked in on Ralph Schiff and explained that there was no need to deal with little bribing creeps. I knew Clem Riley and would talk to him about doing his advertising.
I called Riley and he suggested we meet him at a famous restaurant which I had never seen and that’s how that Luncheon meeting had come about.
Clem Riley had brought along a huge and very serious and quiet man whom he introduced as “My chauffeur.”
Well, I’m sure that giant could drive a car but I know a body guard when I see one. This “chauffeur” didn’t sit with us. He took the table next to us and constantly surveyed the restaurant looking for possible trouble makers, as security men would do, not as chauffeurs do.
We had a great meal, and chatted a bit. Clem told us an interesting and sad tale. He’d had some friends to his house for a party and an old buddy of his had drunk too much. Clem didn’t want the man to drive home. He had said to him, “You know I can lift your license right here and now.” As Commissioner of the DMV he was in that position.
His friend assured him he was in control of his faculties and would drive carefully. On the way home he got into a car accident and was killed and Clem kicked himself over that. Drinking and driving was a particular problem in Massachusetts, possibly because there are so many Irish-rooted men there.
Clem outlined how we would need to work with him if he gave us the account. He must have had poor experiences with ad agencies before. He said that if we gave him a quote for the cost of any item, he didn’t ever want to have us come back later with an excuse as to why it would end up costing more. We assured him this wouldn't happen.
Then he wiped his mouth with the serviette, rose, and addressed me, “If you can do half as good a job for me as you did for my little girl, I’ll be satisfied. You got the account.” And with that he left, followed by the oversized chauffeur.
This whole set of events came back to me in bed this morning and I also thought of Donald Trump who along his route to billions would have had to suck up to powerful politicians making ‘contribution’ in seeking favors, the kind of crap I’m incapable of, dammit.
Clem Riley didn’t make it to governor. Their convention was in Springfield, if I recall correctly. He was a likable cuss and had practically all the delegates wrapped up but then the Kennedys came in. They wanted one of their men to get the governor gig; a fellow named Peabody. They bought off the delegates with cash. Not a hell of a lot of cash, too, as I recall.
It all goes back to the bible, I guess. Instead of throwing out the money changers from the temple, Jesus could have relaxed and married a rich woman and ignored all the shit. And then he’d never have got crucified, too.
Oh, and I just checked my lottery ticket. Nobody won but I won a free ticket for next week and it will be $50 million. Keep your fingers crossed for me. I’d like to get myself an oversized chauffeur.
