“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “I used it as an example of excellence in one of our board meetings. Continue.”
“Things were going well until I ran afoul of our creative director, Peter Potts.”
“What happened?”
“His fiancée wanted to get to know me better.”
“Not good.”
“No, sir. Because it was a personal matter, Potts couldn’t fire me, so he demoted me and sent me as far away as he could—the New York satellite office. That’s pretty much it.”
He thought over my story for a moment, then said, “Okay, now let’s leave that all behind. You’re very good at what you do, Joseph. Your ideas are fresh and memorable. On our rating scale these are seven plus. Some of them border on genius.”
He stood, walking to the side of his desk. “Leo Burnett said, ‘I have learned that any fool can write a bad ad, but that it takes a real genius to keep his hands off a good one.’
“Unfortunately, we have a shortage of geniuses. In today’s advertising environment, no one can keep their hands to themselves.
“The quality of today’s advertising is in decline. There was a time when admen were as revered as poets and statesmen. In the fifties, more people watched the television commercials than the programs. Can you imagine that? In the sixties, the David Ogilvy days, Alka-Seltzer ads became America’s catchphrases.
“I believe that we’ve lost our way, not because admen are getting less creative, but because they’re becoming more cautious—and that’s because our clients are becoming more cautious. On the surface this might sound like a good thing, but it’s not. Caution never breeds greatness. Caution is the birthplace of mediocrity.
“Look at the movie industry. Indies aside, all Hollywood produces these days are prequels, sequels and comic books. Will we ever have another Casablanca or Citizen Kane? I doubt it.
“The reality is that the more people there are who have to sign off on a campaign, the more diluted and weaker the campaign becomes. All great ideas, every revolution, started as a spark, not in a boardroom, but in one man or woman’s mind.
“This worldwide agency was built by one man with big ideas. Leo Burnett created icons the world embraced for generations. And as a reward for their trust, his clients made billions. Could you imagine trying to pass the Jolly Green Giant through one of today’s marketing committees? It would never happen.
“Today, creative ideas are being run through bureaucratic grinders until everything is pablum.”
“Pablum?”
“Mush,” he said. “Flavorless, bland and pasty. I want to see if we can counter that trend. I’ve been looking for the right talent to wrestle Creative back from the committee mentality. I think that someone is you.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Me?”
“I didn’t just see those campaigns of yours today. I’ve been studying them for weeks. I’ve shared them with the people I trust most. There’s a raw brilliance to them, maybe more than you know.”
“I’m flattered, really, but I don’t have much experience with the business side of advertising.”
“Exactly,” he said, pointing at me. “I want someone unblemished by the internal systems we’ve created that have fostered this decline.
“I have a dream of a creative renaissance starting right here at Leo Burnett. I want you to champion our creative teams as the direct liaison with our clients. I want to weaken the committee syndrome and bring about a new golden age for advertising. I want you to encourage our creative teams to do what they do best—create. I want you to find where and how we are punishing our innovators and remedy that. This will be a new, unique position, answering only to me.” He sat back against the edge of the desk. “So, what do you think?”
“About the concept or your offer?”
He smiled at my question. “Both.”
“I believe you’re right about the committee effect. I started my career in a small agency with mid-range regional clients. That gave us a lot more control and flexibility, which is why we were able to outperform our larger competition, both in awards and results.”
Ferrell nodded. “My point exactly.”
“As far as your offer, I hope your faith in me is not misplaced, but I’d be a fool to turn it down. When do we start?”
Ferrell smiled. “Right now,” he said, walking to the front of his office. “Come over to the table, let me show you how we’re going to realize my dream.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-six
I have wondered why it is that our greatest triumphs spring from our greatest extremity and adversity. Perhaps it is because we are so resistant to change, we only move when our seat becomes too hot to occupy.