In honor of my father’s birthday, a plug for his memoir in Adland…

My 50 years in Advertising, Larry Postaer

I first wrote this post when dad’s book came out a few years ago. Happy to publish it again – the least I can do for a man who’s inspired me so much…

In my father’s memoir on his career in advertising, Pickett, Plunkett & Puckett he mentions a test he had to take in order to qualify for a job as copywriter on the Sears’s catalog. In the early sixties Sear’s Roebuck (and its iconic catalog) was literally the textbook for retailing in the United States. Called the “Wish book,” anything and everything could be found in the Sear’s catalog (even houses!) and it was a staple in every home, kind of the Amazon of its day.

Yet, the job was hardly glamorous and wasn’t supposed to be. Sears Roebuck was about as old school as it got: dress codes, pneumatic tubes, and a cafeteria.

All his pages detailing the inner workings of Sear’s marketing department are fascinating but, for me, it was the test he took to get hired that stands out. Anachronistic now, back in the day, psychological profiling was used at companies all over America to determine whether an applicant was the “right fit” for the job and company. Back then folks entered into a career hoping –nay expecting- to work at a given firm the rest of their lives. The companies’ wanted that too and so standardized tests, however futile, were developed to insure its likelihood.

The “Wish Book.” You know you want it!

My father singles out one question from the test: Would you rather write the play, star in the play, or sell tickets to the play? My father rightly guesses they are not looking for big creative egos at Sears and answers “sell the tickets.” However, like any writer, what he really would like to do is write the play. These days, I’m guessing that’s what every aspiring writer would like to do. Honestly, the way things are now, I’m betting quite a few young creatives would just assume star in at as well.

It’s easy making fun of this archaic test, so corny and out of touch. But the question is pretty damn interesting when you think about it, as I have. From day one copywriters have wrestled with their urges to be creative versus their mandate to sell. Even now the challenge is still a major aspect of the job. Whether one works at a conservative shop or some rogue boutique, all on staff struggle with it. The lame rejoinder “Well, you gotta do both” is generally where everyone nets out. Sears had no such dilemma, which makes my father’s anecdote provocative nostalgia.

My father writes he faired poorly on the test but got the job anyway. As I said, the stories around this are fascinating and, like many others in the book, well worth reading. It’s available in paperback or on kindle, via Amazon.

The Sears Catalog stopped printing in 1993. Today, the company struggles to remain relevant.

If “simplicity” is the new mantra then Honda was way ahead of its time.

Making simple cool, circa 1980

New York Times marketing columnist, Stuart Elliot recently wrote an article heralding “simplicity” as the new, new thing in Adland and popular culture in general. He cited numerous examples of modern marketers capitalizing on a trend to “get back to the basics” and to provide consumers with “simple solutions.” Somewhat wearily, trend spotter Marian Salzman added, “We envy the time we had just three TV channels to choose from.”

Anyway.

Reading this article I could not help but think of my father’s agency, Rubin Postaer & Associates and their decades-long, mostly marvelous campaign for Honda: “We make it Simple.” Later (and fittingly) RPA simplified the tagline to “Simplify.” And while the brand is not overtly using the copy now it informs everything they do. Sort of like “dependability” permeates Maytag.

Somewhat snarkily, I tweeted that Honda was touting simple before simple was trendy, linking Elliot’s story. Within minutes Stuart replied to my Tweet, claiming he’d written about the heritage of simplicity mentioning Honda but it had been edited for space. I responded (more sheepishly now) that I’d merely been looking after my father’s legacy and thanked him for the prompt reply. Author’s note: My father’s legacy does not need me watching it. But I had to tweet something.

A couple things:

First: How cool is it that I can comment on a piece in the New York Times and within seconds receive a reply from its author? I love that about our new world, which is contrary to Salzman’s blather about envying old timey media. Back then you wrote a “letter to the editor” and were most likely ignored. If you got in the paper it was after the fact, when people likely didn’t care about the story anymore, let alone remember it.

Second: Although Honda rightly deserves providence over “Simplicity” in terms of modern advertising campaigns, I’m pretty certain the world has always come across as scary and complicated and that getting back to the basics provided relief. Just ask the Amish.

“Wish Pa would get a Honda.”

RPA delivers rollicking one-two punch for Honda & Acura on Superbowl Sunday.

Matthew Broderick plays hooky in his CR-V

Jerry Seinfeld stops at nothing for an Acura NSX

Having semi-retired from the agency he helped start, my father, Larry Postaer would be the first to acknowledge he had nothing to do with RPA’s new Super Bowl commercials for Honda and Acura. However, both spots do prove he left his company in excellent creative hands.

In my admittedly biased opinion, these two spots are legitimate homeruns. I like just about everything about them. And what little I don’t won’t matter because America will adore them unreservedly. They should. Both films are well conceived, finely written and expertly produced. Most importantly, they are a ton of fun. The Twitterverse will be abuzz on Sunday, to say nothing of water coolers on Monday.

The commercial for Honda features Matthew Broderick reprising his iconic role from the 80’s film, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. In it, Broderick plays hooky from work, choosing instead to gallivant around town in his CR-V. I doubt it will make the 60-second edit on Sunday but here’s hoping they keep the bit with the Walrus.

Jumping ahead to the 90’s, the Acura spot has comedian Jerry Seinfeld trying his neurotic best to be the first owner of Acura’s badass new sports car, the NSX. Only to be thwarted by none other than Jay Leno! Both comics are terrific. In particular, Mr. Seinfeld, who has more funny lines than anything we’ve seen from him in years.

Though the commercials play upon fun memories from bygone eras, they both come off as completely modern. If the CR-V vehicle seems a tad arbitrary not so the NSX. While Seinfeld is known for his passion for Porsche, it is hardly a stretch to envision him craving the NSX. It’s a wicked looking driving machine.

Over the years, I’ve grown cautious about pimping anything pertaining to my own agency or that of a family member. But given this is the Superbowl and my Pops has only just retired you’ll forgive a boy for being proud.

Good texture on creation of the Broderick spot.

Do mentors still exist in Adland?

Mentor, from Greek Mythology

As a beginning copywriter at Leo Burnett, I had two mentors who helped me immeasurably. The first was Ted Bell, a creative director plucked from Doyle Dane Bernbach in New York. He’d made a name doing some of the later adverts in the famed Chivas Regal campaign. He and his partner, John Eding (both perhaps mentored by the great Helmut Krone) had just been hired by Burnett to bring daring-do and expertise to our agency, specifically on the Schenley (now Guinness) account. Both men did just that, reinvigorating the moribund Dewar’s campaign. Their effort (and ours) would gather many creative awards for the agency. To this day, I hold the craft of print and poster making in the highest regard. And I owe much of that to these two exemplary creative people and, in particular, the writer, Ted Bell.

The Commodore, Ted Bell

Wanting to impress my boss and/or emulate him was key to my development as a copywriter. When you watch Mad Men observe how Peggy busts her ass to impress her boss, Don Draper. It was not sort of the same for me. It was exactly the same. Working all night –hell all week- to craft one paragraph and then, heart in my throat, presenting it to Ted was everything. At the time it just seemed normal. I wanted what they had and I was prepared to go to great lengths to achieve it. And Ted and John were almost always there for me. In addition to copywriting, Ted taught me, by example, the fine art of presenting. Watching him sell work was a privilege. He owned the room. Again, I think of Don Draper.

The other mentor I was born into. My father, Larry Postaer was and still is a model creative director and consummate writer. Obviously, I didn’t work for my dad but his influence on my chosen career was critical. Among other things, my father taught me about loyalty to company and client as well as the near-sacred nature in trusting one’s team and partner. While these qualities have lost meaning in today’s creative department that doesn’t make them in any less precious.

Father knows best…

I felt if I could bring the best of Larry and Ted to the office each day I would be set. Easier said than done. But that was my aspiration and that is what mentoring is all about.

Now that it is my turn to be a good mentor I know I often fall short. Being an introvert, I am not as inclined to work with others as I should be. However, I do try. My door is always open. In a very real way, I set up this blog to help newbies in advertising get a leg up. Fact is when I write here I imagine my audience as younger than I am. Always have.

So, whatever happened to mentors? My fear is that beginners in our field are less interested in being mentored than I was. There is a Keyshawn Johnson mentality pervading our industry: Just give me the damn brief! I have the know-it-all gene in me but I was smart enough to look up to others and ask for help. Being teachable is a virtue no matter who you are or what you do but it is especially valuable to the young in Adland.

Maybe they think, Hey, I’ve got X followers and Y friends so what do I need U for? By definition, social media breeds narcissism. A less cynical view: the average 25-year-old is afraid of asking for help. Or is the average 40-year-old afraid to give it? Probably some of both. My best response is the only response: Don’t be.

In terms of holiday parties in Adland, few came close to Leo Burnett’s. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try!

Getting down with the boss!

One of my all time favorite Homer Simpson lines is when he refers to alcohol as the “cause and solution to all of my problems.” Let Homer’s sagacity serve as fair warning, because it’s time again for that bit of bacchanal known as the office Christmas party. While just about every business has some kind of shindig few do it with such desperate ardor as Adland. After all, we have a reputation to uphold. Everyone knows adfolk like to throw down. Hell, Mad Men devoted an entire episode to it. I think it ended with a drunken secretary mowing over the leg of an agency partner. One can dream, right?

Growing up at Leo Burnett Chicago, I can tell you I’ve seen more than one mother of all office parties. Back in the day, it was typical for the agency to spend several million dollars “producing” the annual celebration. Of course, back in the day we made commercials costing that much. All. The. Time. Ask Joe Pytka. I say produced because that’s the right word. As early as June teams were assigned to the Breakfast. Scripts were written. Storyboards rendered. Talent booked. And whoever was responsible had better do a good job of it. Nothing took priority.

The day started with a posh breakfast for everyone, followed by a 2-hour show, replete with speeches, skits, films and surprises such as the appearance of a celebrity from a current campaign. One time, in a salute to Marlboro, an agency leader rode up to the stage on a horse. This year, I hear Allstate’s “Mayhem Man” might be dropping in…through the roof?

But breakfast was only the beginning. As soon as the curtain fell, everyone rushed back to the office to get bonus checks. That’s right, everyone got a bonus. And I’m not talking about paperweights and tie clips. Most people received a noticeable chunk of their salary. Some more than that. Crazy, huh? Such were the joys of private ownership. You had to be there. Seriously. (BTW, Breakfast Day wasn’t some greedy 80’s scheme. Adman Leo Burnett started it. No bourgeois poofer, Leo busted his ass to succeed and expected all who worked for him to do the same. For the effort you were amply rewarded. That simple.)

After breakfast, you went to your group party for dinner and fellowship. Speeches were given, toasts made, that sort of thing. That night, every good restaurant in town had a group of us in.

Round two was the main event. Everyone converged on one or two of Chicago’s biggest clubs. Here is where the naughty happened. Remember- folks had been drinking since 8 AM and, in addition, were newly rich. It’s a heady brew. In the age of political correctness, our holiday office party was like a “Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free” card in Monopoly.

Nowadays, we scoff at this excess, and we certainly don’t partake in it, at least not to the degree I’ve described. But that doesn’t mean you won’t see the boss making out with a coat check girl, the weeping assistant, or the normally conservative gal from HR, empowered by Jaeger bombs, doing karaoke on top of the bar; in other words all the things that make holiday parties fun.

Obviously, as a reformed drinker I’m more of an observer. While still enjoyable, the last few years I’ve slipped out from my party well before midnight. Tonight I’m not even going. Taking my daughters to their riding lessons in the suburbs. Yee-Ha!

And yes, I’ve written about all this before. (What can I say? I’m attracted to the dark side.) Here’s a favorite post, retelling an office party story my father told me.