to make any drastic changes that'll give Murphy a
coronary."
“Let me get this straight. Murphy bought your
ad...and you’re unhappy?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t get it.”
I left Higgins scratching his head.
22
Wednesday, Oct. 13 -- Noon
No one needed a watch to pinpoint high noon
at Big Norm’s. The crowded dining area and the line at Willis’
maitre’d stand were as telling as any timepiece.
Ken Cunningham had suggested the lunch. When
he heard of our mild disagreement over the Avion ad, he called
Higgins and me into his office like a couple of quarreling school
kids. He explained we had to work together now more than ever; he
would be out of town frequently during the coming weeks. The
agency’s major accounts needed assurance that the Adams &
Benson Advertising Agency was solid enough to withstand the loss of
the American Vehicle Corporation business, if it came. He
recommended a peace-making lunch, on him.
Ken was right, of course. I decided to try my
best to convince Higgins I didn’t consider him a tasteless bore.
With a smile as wide as it was phony, I made small talk while we
waited for a table.
"Until I was here the other day, I'd
forgotten how much I missed Detroit's restaurants," I said as we
finally got to our table.
"What convinced you to come back?" Higgins
asked. "The challenge...money?" He seemed to be trying, too.
"Neither, really. It was just time to face
the fact that my marriage has been over nearly five years.”
Finding the topic uncomfortable, I shifted
gears. "What about you? What brought you to the Motor City?"
"I was born here. Grew up twenty miles from
downtown Detroit, in Royal Oak. Went to Brother Rice High
School."
"And played football?"
"It put me through college. But I studied
too." He added the last almost defensively. "My parents made sure
both my sister and I hit the books hard.”
“You have a sister?”
“Patricia.” Higgins paused, then: “She and
Darren Cato were engaged.”
“Darren Cato?”
Higgins must have noticed the surprise in my
voice. He hesitated, but knew he had gone too far to stop. “Turned
out Cato wasn’t really serious. He broke the engagement and it took
Pat months to get over him. She admitted later that she cried
almost every night.”
“I can empathize. My marriage wasn’t exactly
a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, well, the hell of it is, I introduced
them. Pat’s married now, with a couple of nice kids. But I never
forgave Cato for the pain he caused.
“That’s where that remark about Cato’s
sunglasses and a certain orifice of his body came from,” Higgins
said. The hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I just
want you to know that I’m not entirely insensitive.”
With that, he picked up one of the two menus
in front of him and handed it to me.
“I can recommend the seafood. The catch of
the day is always fresh."
A waiter appeared, reeled in two orders of
broiled pickerel, the catch du jour, and headed for the kitchen. As
our conversation continued, I actually found myself enjoying
Higgins' company. For a moment I thought, maybe just maybe, I had
misjudged him. But then, like a jaguar lurking in the brush, he
steered the conversation back to the AVC account.
"Okay, let's talk shop for a minute," he
said. “It's important we reach an understanding on a couple of
points."
"Shoot." Shoot? I felt like shooting him. I
could feel this conversation taking on the tone of a one-sided
lecture.
"As you noticed on your 'pedal mettle' ad,
our client John Murphy is pretty conservative."
Conservative? How about afraid of his own
shadow? "But what if a concept that seems out of the ordinary sells
cars?" I asked.
"Murphy's not about to take chances because
some off-beat approach might win your group an award for so-called
creativity."
That did it. The suggestion that I’d choose
personal glory over selling a client's product was pure BS. “I'm
not talking about awards," I shot back. "You know damn well
coronary."
“Let me get this straight. Murphy bought your
ad...and you’re unhappy?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t get it.”
I left Higgins scratching his head.
22
Wednesday, Oct. 13 -- Noon
No one needed a watch to pinpoint high noon
at Big Norm’s. The crowded dining area and the line at Willis’
maitre’d stand were as telling as any timepiece.
Ken Cunningham had suggested the lunch. When
he heard of our mild disagreement over the Avion ad, he called
Higgins and me into his office like a couple of quarreling school
kids. He explained we had to work together now more than ever; he
would be out of town frequently during the coming weeks. The
agency’s major accounts needed assurance that the Adams &
Benson Advertising Agency was solid enough to withstand the loss of
the American Vehicle Corporation business, if it came. He
recommended a peace-making lunch, on him.
Ken was right, of course. I decided to try my
best to convince Higgins I didn’t consider him a tasteless bore.
With a smile as wide as it was phony, I made small talk while we
waited for a table.
"Until I was here the other day, I'd
forgotten how much I missed Detroit's restaurants," I said as we
finally got to our table.
"What convinced you to come back?" Higgins
asked. "The challenge...money?" He seemed to be trying, too.
"Neither, really. It was just time to face
the fact that my marriage has been over nearly five years.”
Finding the topic uncomfortable, I shifted
gears. "What about you? What brought you to the Motor City?"
"I was born here. Grew up twenty miles from
downtown Detroit, in Royal Oak. Went to Brother Rice High
School."
"And played football?"
"It put me through college. But I studied
too." He added the last almost defensively. "My parents made sure
both my sister and I hit the books hard.”
“You have a sister?”
“Patricia.” Higgins paused, then: “She and
Darren Cato were engaged.”
“Darren Cato?”
Higgins must have noticed the surprise in my
voice. He hesitated, but knew he had gone too far to stop. “Turned
out Cato wasn’t really serious. He broke the engagement and it took
Pat months to get over him. She admitted later that she cried
almost every night.”
“I can empathize. My marriage wasn’t exactly
a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, well, the hell of it is, I introduced
them. Pat’s married now, with a couple of nice kids. But I never
forgave Cato for the pain he caused.
“That’s where that remark about Cato’s
sunglasses and a certain orifice of his body came from,” Higgins
said. The hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I just
want you to know that I’m not entirely insensitive.”
With that, he picked up one of the two menus
in front of him and handed it to me.
“I can recommend the seafood. The catch of
the day is always fresh."
A waiter appeared, reeled in two orders of
broiled pickerel, the catch du jour, and headed for the kitchen. As
our conversation continued, I actually found myself enjoying
Higgins' company. For a moment I thought, maybe just maybe, I had
misjudged him. But then, like a jaguar lurking in the brush, he
steered the conversation back to the AVC account.
"Okay, let's talk shop for a minute," he
said. “It's important we reach an understanding on a couple of
points."
"Shoot." Shoot? I felt like shooting him. I
could feel this conversation taking on the tone of a one-sided
lecture.
"As you noticed on your 'pedal mettle' ad,
our client John Murphy is pretty conservative."
Conservative? How about afraid of his own
shadow? "But what if a concept that seems out of the ordinary sells
cars?" I asked.
"Murphy's not about to take chances because
some off-beat approach might win your group an award for so-called
creativity."
That did it. The suggestion that I’d choose
personal glory over selling a client's product was pure BS. “I'm
not talking about awards," I shot back. "You know damn well
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