The House on Glenayr

1990

On June 13, 1990 I was expecting another exciting day in my high pressure executive life at a mid-sized advertising agency in Toronto. I had the unrelenting  responsibility to keep our franchise client, Shoppers Drug Mart, happy, manage the staff and take some responsibility around finances and materials. The owner of the agency, my boss, was very hands on. He was Robin Hood and I was Friar Tuck with a lot on my shoulders in the high octane atmosphere.

One of the nice things about my job was that my children could see my work when a commercial I worked on showed up on TV.

Another nice thing about my job was that I was asked to do interesting volunteer work. Six years earlier I had been asked to start the marketing and advertising division for the United Jewish Appeal in Toronto. That meant that I and my co-chair had to recruit people who worked in our industry to participate in fundraising and, for some, to sit on committees to organize outreach events.  

Events were organized to introduce more people to the work of the charity.  That could lead to more donations and more volunteers. There was an event committee made up of volunteers and paid staff.

The event designed for June 13, 1990 was a cocktail party at my boss's home. This was one of a series of events where the draw was a chance to see the homes of the rich and successful in advertising in Toronto. The expectation was that a couple of dozen industry people would be curious enough to show up. Many invitations had been sent out.

By 5:15 there were 10 people in the living room enjoying the cocktail party aspect of the event. Six committee members and four paid staff. Speeches would happen at 6pm so there was still time for the invited crowd to arrive. But I was worried.  I took a field trip to check a house down the street with a similar address. The numbers in a different order. No one had showed up there by mistake.

My boss arrived just in time for the speeches. I went first welcoming everyone. Then the executive director of the organization briefly reviewed the purpose and history of the charity and what kind of roles were available to volunteers. My boss welcomed everyone to his home and asked people to enjoy themselves.

The home was an out-sized family home, nicely, but not uniquely, decorated in 4500 square ft. The special attraction was the art; paintings and sculpture. The house seemed to reflect the taste of my boss’s wife, the former Maid Marion, while the art revealed the thoughtful side of an accomplished investor.

The next day during a meeting on some other subject my boss asked me about the evening before. He had thought the turnout was a little sparse. “How many of the people there were employees of the charity or volunteers?” he asked.

Then came one of the toughest moments of my career. I had to tell my boss that no one, not one person, was attracted to the event to see his house. He gave me a look that seemed to go on and on. Was he terminally disappointed in me and my effort? Or was he more embarrassed that no one wanted to see his lovely home. Was he less of a success or was I? He knew the homes of his competitors had attracted a number of voyeurs.

It was one of life's moments that passed quickly for both of us. So embarrassing I wanted to ignore and forget it. And so memorable my stomach still turns when the thought of it crosses my mind.

Not to mention that I drive by the house every so often.