A Steamy Night in Jupiter

2006

Here's a pro tip about how to access marijuana if you suddenly feel like you want to get high but find yourself in a jurisdiction where it’s still not legal so you can't pop over to the nearest convenience store to get your fill.

Truth is as I write this memoir I'm a little surprised I was sixty years old before I discovered this tip. It's likely that I just never needed to know earlier because when pot was part of my life it was just there. But by age sixty I had long passed my still getting stoned date.

So on a steamy night in Jupiter, Florida December 2006 Margie and I were dining out during the first iteration of our annual winter holiday away from Toronto with our friends the Bermans, our 25 year old son and his childhood platonic lady friend Judy in the Food Shack, one of the cool, hard to get into restaurants, close to our rented condo, when Barb, Mrs. Berman, discovered suddenly that she could not face the future without getting high. As I recall we were having quite a raucous time and Barb wanted to take it to the next level. By the way I've changed the names to protect all but my wife and I.

Turns out Judy was the linchpin to this pro tip. As you can imagine with our son there Barb took a few veiled moments to get to the point. We were the generation that didn't get high with their kids. But slowly step by step with appropriate innuendo Barb got the message out. I remember Judy saying “Are you serious? Do you really wanna get high? Wow that is so cool.”

Then Barb chimes in with her two part pro tip strategy. First thing, and this really shows how worldly that Barb is. Speaking with the wisdom of many years experience Barb tells us that one of the bus boys will solve the problem for us. Second thing Barb tells that it will work better if willowy Judy is the one to approach the most likely bus boy. That wasn't really a pro tip but completes the story. I later learned that Barb has used her busboy tip in places as varied as Israel, ski resorts, Mexico, beach resorts and Germany.

Judy was then, and still is, a vibrant fun loving person so it didn't take much cajoling to get her to buy into the plan and then to buy some weed from the most convenient bus boy. I, of course, had to pay. You know how that works. Einstein's third law of family economics. A child never pays for anything if a parent is anywhere close by.

Judy accomplished her mission with relatively ease. The first thing was to identify which of the bus boys spoke English. Ten years ago jobs like that were done mostly by recent economic  immigrants who were new to the English language. The project took two stages. Firstly Judy had to corner her target somewhere comfortably innocuous. That took place publically in an aisle of the restaurant. The ask was made. A rendezvous in a more private area was arranged and about ten minutes later the exchange was made outside the ladies room.

What happened next made the night even more memorable.

We waited until we were outside the restaurant to roll and smoke. We were in Florida not Amsterdam so that precaution was taken.

We got high while driving back to our condo. And were gently buzzed as we climbed the one flight up to our front door. Now the Berman's had done the driving as they had a spacious rental car so we discovered when we went to open the condo that none of us had a key. That's a difficult enough problem when you're straight. In our extra sensitive state it led to jocular laughter mixed with my wife screaming at me; quietly, in respect of the neighbors.

We marched down the stairs and around to the back of the condo in the hope that the balcony door was unlocked, which was likely because we had a screen door that allowed for a nice breeze. And even if it was locked it would be easier to crash thru.

Alas when we got to the back there was no obvious way to get up to our second floor balcony. No combination of strength and lightweightedness produced an acrobatic team tall enough to deposit one of us on the balcony.

Contacting our landlord was out of the question so we began exploring the neighborhood for something tall and mobile that would allow the ascension we needed. We were cautiously optimistic because all the garages were open air.

Well it all turned out well. Stumbling around we happened on a ladder that allowed our ascent and the screen door was open so no crashing thru.

A happy ending to a rollicking life lesson.

The Father, The Son and His Son

1984-2010

There's some question as to who my father really was. It might have been Fred MacMurray on the My Three Sons TV show in the 50s. Or maybe Ward Cleaver, you know the Beaver’s dad on Leave it to Beaver or maybe even Danny Thomas, Marlo’s dad on Make Room for Daddy. These men all had something in common. Their children gave them entertaining problems to solve with wise advice delivered sincerely to a receptive thankful child.

My childhood wasn't like that. At least what I can recall. My dad was mostly absent, working long and hard hours and ill as a result until he died when he was 48 and I was nine. I have some  pictures and a few memories. There are  eyewitness reports of a man who was gregarious, the life of the party and a husband and father with anger management issues.

To be fair, my dad was born into a bad situation at a bad time and then the Russian revolution made things worse. He emigrated to Canada in 1927, married, started a family and was living the  Canadian dream. Along with my mum he suffered Holocaust related psychological bruising as their families were dying in Europe. I'm willing to give him a break if all he had was anger. He was a successful immigrant and I've had a good life in part because of wealth he created but didn't have time to spend.

So why might Fred MacMurray, Ward Cleaver or Danny Thomas have been my father. Well  because it's from them I learned about fathering. Not from my own distracted dad.

I learned from them that fathers spend intimate time with their children in order to set boundaries, keep their children inside the lines and dispense sage advice when needed.

Along with my wife I was active with the boundary setting and lines keeping. And I took every opportunity to stand in line, fill out forms, suck up to teachers, second guess coaches, drive, write and edit.

But there hasn't been much Fred MacMurray like ministering. My children, Amy and Stephen were independent thinkers from an early age. Amy was  entrepreneurial. She had her first business at 10. Stephen first showed leadership in grade one when he led a revolt against the curriculum.

I have had much more time with Stephen over the years. A high point for example was when I suggested he become a lawyer. That happened dark and early one Saturday morning in the sandbox when he was three. It never seemed to be a question after that.

As a teenager there were a few times when money not advice solved his problems.

For example when he was seventeen Stephen wrote home from camp asking us to send him some new contact lenses. A problem solved by money. He was a counselor but still a kid so no surprise that he'd run out of contacts. But he's a boy; strong and silent. How strong. How silent. He needed new contact lenses because he’d lost his pack on a canoe trip. It happened when he let his pack sink while he saved one of his campers. Their canoe had tipped shooting rapids. We heard about this from the camper’s grateful parents not from Stephen.

I yearn to be the wise solution provider. I've had lots of success with that in my professional career. I've wanted it as a parent as well.

So while my wife was busy working to form Amy into her image I took a large role with Stephen. One tactic was father son holidays. Eleven of them by my count between 1993 when he was 12 and 2010 when he was 29.

The first was to spring training in Dunedin Florida. After that just golf. The destinations as I remember them almost in chronological order; Myrtle Beach, Jupiter, Sarasota and Naples in Florida, Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Northern California, Northern Ireland, South West Ireland and South West Scotland.

I was partially successful influencing Stephen on these trips. We talked a lot about politics and economics then and mostly see eye to eye now.

But there wasn't much Ward Cleaver life advice on these trips. Where to get off the highway was not a problem that needed wise modelling. He didn't need my advice on dealing with women. No one does.

There are memories from all these trips which I think speak to Stephen’s makeup. He has the gift of the quip.

My favourite is from the trip to spring training. One night we went into Tampa to see Jai Alai at a fronton there. Jai Alai is a betting sport like horse racing. Except you're betting on men playing a handball kind of game. It’s a race track, pool hall kind of atmosphere. The one we went to was distinctly down market. The leather seats were old and torn. The arena smelled of stale smoke and misaimed urine. Not to mention we were in the minority of english speakers. So there we are in our smelly seats feverishly hoping the man in the dark blue shirt, with the number 7 on his back, will win at five to one. My son, who loved gambling already, even though he was only twelve, leaned over to me and said “dad, I can't imagine ever being this happy again”.

Another memorable quip was from our trip to Northern Ireland. We were teeing off on the second hole at the Portstewart Golf Club in a steady drizzle. Now this a special hole. It's a 400 yard par four from an elevated tee to a fairway lined with 100 foot dunes. I've never seen another hole like it.  As we’re taking in the scene Stephen says to me “dad, this is like a video game”.

As a teenager Stephen joined me as co-owner of Margie's Marriage Counselling, our fantasy  baseball and hockey team. This gave us some more time together for a decade or so until I lost interest and he took over completely.

One nice thing that happened recently was I saw a reflection of my father in Stephen. It was a life of the party image. It wasn't the first time I had seen his animated side but it was the first time since I was determined to write about my dad and was thinking about him more. It brought a tear to my eye.

My take away from all this is that the job of fathering is not the wise problem solving. That's for TV. What works is talking to your kids in the sand box when they’re too young to understand what they are saying yes to and then an overdose of face time for the rest of your time together.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want. But Sometimes You Do

1984

Nineteen eighty-four was the year I learned that asking leading questions can lead to good things happening.

As a coach I know that people with goals tend to make better decisions.

But sometimes karma puts goodies, or baddies, in your path that you have to go for, goals or no goals.

I started a new job in May of 84 which meant I had a new secretary, Lynn. One day while talking to her at her desk I noticed a picture that took my breath away a bit. This led to a relationship with one of two women I've loved unconditionally and unambiguously.

The picture was of Lynn’s dog, Carly.

I asked Lynn about Carly and discovered that Carly was half Irish Setter and half Golden Retriever. Tall. Willowy. Dark Red. Could catch high flying Frisbees in a single bound.

I said to Lynn exactly these words “I'd love to have a dog like that”.

My wife, who is the other woman in this story, and I were between dogs at the time. The kids were six and three. We lived across the street from a busy dog friendly park. And we'd enjoyed having a dog before.

Karma was my friend that day. Lynn replied with this. “Well if you want her you can have her. I'm moving in with my fiancé and have to give her away”.

Carly joined our family a few days later and for the next twelve years was loved and admired. We spent oodles of time together, walking, talking, running, climbing air and sometimes just hanging out.

Soon after I met Carly a surprising bit of fun came my way.

In early June I was at a meeting with sales reps from CHIN Radio. They were trying to get the ad agency I worked for to buy advertising time for our client Shoppers Drug Mart. It was pretty routine. Media companies were selling us all the time.

As the meeting with CHIN was winding down a thought exploded in my 36 year old brain. I asked, expecting nothing, as a hopeful joke, “How does someone become a judge at the CHIN bikini contest?”. It's history now but at the time was a high profile item among all varieties of culture warriors.

No surprise in the reply. “You can't. There's a lineup. We’ll put you on the list”.

Well lo and behold if karma didn't rear her head again. Less than a week later I got a call asking if I could judge one of the preliminary events at which the long list of entrants would be whittled down. I made myself available.

That was the beginning of nine years of judging the contest. My run ended after I left the agency as was no longer of interest to the CHIN sales department.

I suppose the funniest story was the time the auditors from the big accounting firm who counted the judge’s votes had to warn us that we had made a mistake in our selection of semi-finalists. It was a voting not a counting error. In a nutshell they told us there could be violence from the audience if we didn't revote and put this one especially attractive contestant into the final three. We took their advice.

Since 1984 I've had other occasions where asking for what I wanted has been helpful. But none as memorable or pleasurable as my time with Carly and CHIN.

Have a Coke and a Smile

1980

They say that the politics on a church board of directors is so vicious because the issues are so small.

It’s similar in the advertising industry. It's not politics that are so vicious it's the stress. And it is generally because the issues are so small. Unless you're close up.

I lived thru two crises in my advertising career that were stressful beyond the pale.

But first let me tell you about one time a truly world shaking event affected me personally.

In 1979 I was a seasoned 31 year old account supervisor at Ogilvy and Mather’s Toronto office. At that time Ogilvy was the best ad agency in the world. And ours was the best office in the network. I had drunk the Kool Aid they served up to inculcate the team. I liked my work.

And, I had had a nice run at the agency. Over my time there I had worked for good clients like General Foods, Seagram’s and American Express. I had also developed an expertise in the important direct mail aspect of the advertising business and the new Managing Partner of the firm had been my mentor for a few years.

And it was stressful for me. Generally I’m not comfortable in my skin. I find it hard to do the politics of business life. I knew everyone. I liked most of them. And most of them liked me. But I made very few solid friendships. So I was a bit, or a lot, of a loner. I got by doing a good job in my silo.

The world shaking event happened late in 1979. One of my small clients was the promotional campaign selling Coins Commemorating the 1980 Olympic games in Moscow. After the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in December 1979 to back its new communist government there was much condemnation which escalated quickly into a boycott of the Olympics. My client decided to quit the business to cut their losses. I had to go see the President of the agency to report the loss of the client. My president was an Alfred Hitchcock sort of man.

When I got to his office his door was open but his head was down.

I said, “excuse me, can I bother you for a minute”.

He looked up and totally in character replied “you already have”.

Ooops a bad start, but I plowed on. “Sorry to tell you this boss but we’ve lost the Coins client.”

He replied by asking “what have you done to try and keep them as a client?”.

To which I could only reply “you mean like calling up Brezhnev to see if he’d withdraw from Afghanistan?”  

Brezhnev was the dictator in the Soviet Union at the time. I was being sarcastic. My president was not amused. His lack of a sense my humour was a stressful part of my job.

By September of 1980 I was in a new job in a new agency. In retrospect with decades of hindsight it was a dumb thing to do. They liked me at Ogilvy and it would have been good to finish my career there but my personality that likes to chase shiny objects took over.

My new job was on the Coca Cola account at McCann Erickson for a hefty increase in salary. Coca Cola was the best brand name in the world at the time and I needed more money. Interest rates were 20 per cent and I owned a home.

I recall my last interview for the job. Gary Cooper was interviewing me. He was a crusty old veteran of the advertising wars not the actor. When it came time for me to accept the job or not he kept increasing his salary offer by $1,000 each time I asked a question. He wouldn’t answer my questions. He just kept raising the offer. I don’t know how far he would have gone but it was too much pressure for me. I stopped him too early.

The first crazy event after I started the new job was a bottler meeting scheduled for mid October about one month out. Bottler meetings were important. The franchisees who owned the plants that turned tap water and chemicals into Coca-Cola had to be happy. Good advertising made them happy.

The agency was feverishly adapting a new US campaign called Have a Coke and a Smile for use in Canada. It was exactly the kind of Coke advertising I loved. It was musical. It showed happy beautiful people enjoying themselves and paying off their activity with a deeply satisfying pull on a bottle of Coca-Cola. The word ‘pull’ seemed strange to me describe drinking Coke from a bottle. But it was part of the heritage of the brand’s advertising. (Play commercial)

Our adapting included creating a French Canadian version of the advertising campaign. Quebecois french is different from Parisian French so advertising flourishes in Quebec both for local clients and for national and multinationals who sell in Quebec.

Our Quebecois commercials used the same visuals but had their own soundtrack. The slogan was translated into Prend Un Coke et Souris. That was a very easy translation that was well received by all the stakeholders. We were moving along smoothly. Good for us.

Nothing is ever easy but we raced over the finish line a few days before the bottler meeting and were ready to put on a good show.

And a good show was doubly important because Roberto Goizueta Coca Cola’s new worldwide Chairman and CEO was in the room.

And then what could go wrong went wrong.

Mr. Goizueta, Cuban by birth, was attending with his French born wife. Parisian that is. They were sitting in the front row on the aisle so they had the best view of the new Quebecois advertising campaign as it was unveiled for the bottlers for the first time. The commercials had been seen and approved by our French Canadian team at the agency and by the French Canadian Coca Cola executives in Montreal and by a sampling of French Canadian bottlers who liked to use their power to say ‘non’ in advance when they could.

After the commercials were played to the 1,000 or so people in a large ballroom Mrs. Goizueta, that’s Mrs. Goizueta from Paris, France leans over to her husband the most powerful person in Coca Cola world and says

“Why is the slogan Have a Coke and a Mouse?”

Well don’t you know that what translates to Have a Coke and a Smile in Montreal translates to Have a Coke and a Mouse in Paris. Our slogan was dead as a dormouse.

Coca-Cola world hates like heck the thought of a mouse being in the bottle when a customer is enjoying one of those orgasmic pulls after some sweaty activity. Apparently it happens a few times a year around the world in spite of all the efforts to avoid the repugnant event.

Well, of course, some smelly stuff hit the fan. My senior colleague in Quebec lost his job PDQ. It also spelled doom for Gary Cooper as a senior exec in McCann Erickson’s Coca Cola world.

They agency suffered a few weeks of torment before the ship was righted and we sailed from port into the usual rough waters of our endless war against Pepsi Cola.

Surprisingly, all this was good for me. As the new guy I was seen as a breath of fresh air and the messiah for a future where this kind of thing never happened again. Ha Ha Ha

I didn’t know it when I took the job but Coca Cola is one of those brands where there is an inverse relationship between the positive perception of the  brand and the chaos that goes on behind the scenes. Pretty as a summer’s day on the outside. A cold winter week in Siberia on the inside. Where I was.

Case in point number two.

I was sitting at the our beautiful blond wood dining room table eating breakfast on November 5, 1980 reading, as I did every day, the Globe and Mail. When I looked at page A7 my heart skipped a beat and I said to myself ‘that’s not good’.

Page A7 was a full page ad for Pepsi Cola showing taste test research concluding that Pepsi tasted better than Coke. This was the advent of the Pepsi Challenge in Canada. As they say ‘one giant step for mankind, a descent into hell for me’.

My idyllic, disaster free, four week holiday since the Have a Coke and a Mouse meltdown was over. Once again crisis mode set in. This time it wasn’t enough to be the new guy on the block.

The Pepsi Challenge was both an advertising war and a merchandising war. There was a price war in stores between Pepsi and Coke. One brand or the other was always on sale for half price. The price war was so vicious that my senior client told us his mother wouldn’t buy Coca Cola unless it was half price.

Our wonderful new Have a Coke and a Smile campaign was quickly changed to hard hitting commercials featuring Bill Cosby. I couldn’t understand the strategy. Coca Cola’s  way of fighting the Pepsi Challenge was to advertise that since Coke had the largest market share it must be the best tasting. I’d say the ads were tortured at best to make their point. It was only the merchandising war that saved the day for Coke.

My tenure at McCann Erickson ended in 1982. I missed the relatively successful launch of Diet Coke soon after and the disastrous temporary replacement of the original formula with New Coke in 1985. That must have been some exciting journey. I’m glad I missed it.