Bozell
SHORT STINT, LONG STORY
Advertising had always been a kind of mystery to me from childhood. The ads made interesting reading and I felt that I was getting my money’s worth (15 cents each day) if I read even the ads. Just as well that I made advertising my career after leaving the family business. Ended up spending more than 20 years in three international advertising agencies. The first agency I joined also remains the one with the most memories. Grant, Kenyon and Eckhardt was an established agency of English pedigree.
While waiting for some artwork to be completed in the studio by the artist, I explored the various odds and ends pinned on the soft brown board. Among the clippings of strange stories, phone numbers of suppliers was a chart which resembled a spread sheet of sorts. Names of staff ran down the list on the left. Horizontally, the squares were numbered 1 to 13. Crosses were marked in the grid. Each staff member had one “x” marked against his name along the way.
It looked interesting. In response to questions and whether I could participate in whatever game it was about, the answer was a flat no. The chart continued to pique my curiosity over the coming months but I still did not know what it was all about. Then one day, there was no chart. What happened, I asked aloud to no one in particular. Loud laughter from the Studio Manager down to tea lady who happened to be there.
It was explained to me that the chart was the “betting slip” to see how long I would last in my dream job! No one thought I would last more than 13 months, which was the record of the longest serving executive in the history of all those who worked under “YP” , my immediate boss. When I completed my 13th month, naturally all. bets were off! I stayed 24 months in the end and left not because of YP but potential growth opportunities.
Most of the bets had centred around three months, on the assumption that I won’t clear the probation period. The reasoning was simple. My previous work experience of the prior few years was in engineering, with zero experience in advertising. However, I started advertising class shortly after I started work.
Advertising is seen to be colourful and dramatic. And it did not disappoint. I had a dictionary thrown at me after I disputed with a Kiwi copywriter on the correct spelling of a word. An art director, when told that the client did not approve of some minor aspects of his work, opened the nearest window and threw the artwork out of the window. I ran six floors down the building to retrieve it. It had to be rescued before the next bus came along that stretch of Orchard Road.
YP got his training and initial advertising experience in London. While he did not speak in a snobbish English accent notwithstanding his years there, he did demand that words be expressed clearly and enunciated. One morning, he could not take it any more. One of our clients was Nippon Paint. By the third time I mentioned the client’s name during the review, he said: Our client is Nippon Paint, emphasizing the “t” at the end. You give me a pain in the neck when you speak.
During a presentation, YP slipped me a note on one of those (again) brown writing pads: Your spoon’s stirring of the tea is not part of the presentation. And I can hear your tea going down inside you. No more tea for the rest of the meeting!
Melissa dumped a thick Manila folder-file on my desk one day, announcing that she was clearing stuff. The file in question contained the application letters submitted for my position. And the applicants were way ahead of me in experience. When asked why he chose me when there were so many more qualified and experienced candidates, his simple answer was: old dogs are hard to train; puppies are easier. My personal assessment was that I must have been the cheapest candidate money could have bought.
My departure was also a little bit dramatic if I may say so. I timed to hand in my letter of departure at around 5-45pm, the usual time that BIll the managing director left the office. When Sani came out of his office carrying his briefcase on the way to the car, I moved in. He invited me to sit down across his table.
After the perfunctory mumbles, I passed him the letter. He pushed it back on the table, unopened. You can’t quit, he said.
Yes, Bill, I can quit. I have enjoyed myself here. Time to move on.
Possibly after one or two more pushes, he said: We will give you whatever they are offering you down the road. (I was getting $200 more; may not seem a lot today but it was about my monthly car installment).
NO. I AM LEAVING, the poor yet-to-be-opened envelope travelling again across the table. I could see the light darkening outside the window behind him. Driver Sani peeped in and said, “Bill, it is time to go. You will be late for the cocktail.”
I was really worn out by now. To end the discussion, I had to make an offer that he could not accept. “Okay, Bill, since I am now worth $200 more a month, I must have also been worth $200 more a month for the past two years. If you back-pay me the amount for the past services, I will stay.”
Bill was a gentleman. He got up, shook my hands and said goodbye.
For me too, it was goodbye to the wonderful people who worked there, including YP, with whom I still visited during Chinese New Year for decades after I left. Victor, who sacrificed lunch to work out something for me to bring to a client. The client’s job request was totally missed by me. Joyce spent a couple of Sunday mornings at her house teaching me how to interpret the statistical tables on newspaper readership and television viewership. Her husband cooked chicken curry after the tutorials. Clinton, who showed me his personal chart of checklists of things to do/bring for a client meeting.
This company was the only one where I cried on my last day. And went back for a few days after I left, to complete some of the unfinished work.
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