Into and Out of the Ad Biz

Over at D&C my art director was Joe Genova. Joe was a neighborhood guy from Brooklyn. I only asked one thing of an art director: That they like Italian food. Joe was married to a Puerto Rican and his first words to me were:

Ever fuck with a red light on?

No.

Try it — its great.

We worked on a fashion account — a company that did takeoffs on designer originals, not a bad account but fashion was a dead end. There was no TV. We also worked on the True Stories Magazine account, a magazine of the type that featured stories about necrophelia and do-it-yourself sex operations and masturbating the family dog and people killing their grandmother and chopping her up in little pieces to feed to the family dog. Larry Dunst had done the original campaign — a simple concept which was to select the juiciest story from each issue and write the ad around that story.

For example: Old Folks Homes. The headline: The Eskimos Froze Their Old People to Death. We Bury Ours Alive.

For example: Mutant Children. Headline: Why Did Ann Flynn’s Parents Let Us Use This Picture?

For Example: Euthanasia. Headline: How Much Should It Cost To Kill Your Parents

Etc, etc. So we plugged away on the fashion account and True Stories Magazine and then they handed us a laundry detergent that was part of the Proctor and Gamble account. Proctor and Gamble spent 100 million a year on advertising and D&C was constantly pitching them for more work. But it was a horrible account. Everything had to be done 4 times. It got to the point you stopped trying. You concentrated instead on causing yourself the least amount of pain. This would never have happened at Carl Ally — but that job was history. D&C had a different philosophy: The only bad account is an account that is costing you money. Now Proctor and Gamble was coming out with a new product they wanted us to pitch: Glamourene 3 Minute Oven Cleaner, It was an aerosol foam can type application. You spritzed the inside of your oven and waited 3 minutes for the crud to be miraculously eaten away and you wiped up and you were in business.

They needed a commercial. So down we went to the local market to check out the competition and interview a few housewives and read the marketing reports and examine some ads and commercials the other products were hammering the oven-cleaning public with which was the usual garbage.

We sat in my office looking at this can of Glamourene.

Joe said: I dont understand why its called Glamourene 3 Minute Oven Cleaner. What difference does this make? Speed isnt the issue here. Youre not talking about a car that can do 0 to 60 in 4 seconds you are trying to sell to teenagers. Its an oven cleaner. You have a housewife cleaning her house. She is more concerned about how good this thing is — or how easy to use.

I said: I am with you.

We sat around thinking. Time for lunch. We went to a new place for sausage and peppers. Back to the office where we sat looking at this can of Glamourene. Meanwhile all the blood that should have been providing oxygen to our brain was in our stomach digesting the sausage and peppers. We came up with a few lame ideas and went home.

The next day we got in early to thrash with this thing in a serious way. We had many ideas but none bearing that touch of spectacular boldness and originality that had become the trademark of our work. The 3 minute concept had bit the dust. This was done at our peril which we knew very well. We called out for lunch.

The day wore on. We fooled with this idea and that idea. No dice. Five o’clock came and went. We went out and ate and returned to the office to hit it for another couple hours and went home.

The next day was more of the same. We had a deadline — 2 more days. We were starting to go a little stale on this thing — fried. The ideas were drying up. I had been through this before. Normally if you didnt come up with a solution to an ad after a certain amount of intensive thought you put it aside and returned to it fresh at a later date. We couldnt do that now. There was an idea out there somewhere that was exactly right for the problem we were trying to solve. This was always true. It would come to you at some point. Sometimes it came easy and sometimes it came hard. There was nothing you could do. You kept banging.

We got in early the next day and went back and forth some more for a couple hours and then left the office and took a walk. Over to DeBusscheres on 48th and Madison to check out the latest in Italian shoes. Then we went crosstown over to the United Nations.

I knew all about the UN. I knew the original design was by Corbusier which had been copied and taken credit for by Wallace Harrison who had been selected to head up the design committee. I was interested in architecture and had toyed with the idea at one point and Corbusier was one of my favorites.

We toured the UN and ate hot dogs from the Sabrettes wagon and went back to the office.

And then we got it. First Joe said something and then I said something and then he said something and then I said something and then it came to me. It came to me complete, in its entirety, from start to finish, including details.

I said: I have it.

Pause. I said: This is great. Its brilliant! Joe said: Im listening.

I said: There is a guy in a kitchen sitting at the kitchen table writing a note. What kind of note? A suicide note. The note says something like: darling please forgive me I cant take it any more blah blah blah. He finishes the note and signs it and then stands and goes to the oven, turns on the gas and sticks his head inside. The oven is filthy and he gets crap all over his face. He turns off the gas and gets a can of Glamourene and spritzes the inside of the oven. He wipes the oven clean. He turns the gas back on and sticks his head inside and kills himself. What do you think?

Pause.

Pause continues. Joe says: Youre a fucking genius!