Adventures In Advertising: The Account Guy Who Drank Too Much

This is one of my favorite advertising stories because of its highs and lows and its surprise ending.

It goes back to 1968.  I was a very young account executive at Delehanty, Kurnit & Geller (DKG).  It was one of the great creative agencies of the sixties.  They had just won the campaign to re-elect Senator Jacob Javits. It was a major account with big spending and very high visibility in New York.  While the agency pitched the account on great creative and strategy, political advertising required expertise the agency didn’t have in terms of day-to-day messaging and local media. Consequently, the agency hired a professional political account person to handle the account for the duration of the campaign.  (Until then, I had no idea there were executives who specialized in political advertising.  They worked from April through the election, but earned a year’s salary during that time.)   

The person who DKG hired was named was Chuck; I have no idea what his title was, but he was considerably older and more experienced than I was and he understood the ins and outs of  political  advertising.  I was delighted when the agency asked me to be his assistant; I was to guide him through the agency and make sure what needed to be done, got done.  I admired the Senator and thought working on a political campaign, would be fun despite being a lot of work.  It was in addition to my regular accounts.

On his first day, probably in May or early June, I was introduced to Chuck and he graciously asked me to have lunch with him.  We went to The Press Box on 45^th Street, which was a major advertising hangout in those days.  It was also the days of the two martini lunch.  I ordered one.   Chuck ordered a double.  I was a little surprised, but not too much so (it actually was not that uncommon in those days).  I probably ordered a second, while he ordered another double, which did surprise me. I stopped at two singles, but he ordered a third double.  I was astounded.

After a few weeks it became obvious that Chuck had a serious drinking problem.  All business with him had to be done before noon.  He was actually a nice guy and I liked him and he certainly knew his stuff.  He was always well dressed, and since it was the summer, I remember him wearing seersucker suits and a straw hat every day.

One day in late summer, as the campaign was in full swing, we had an afternoon meeting with the Senator at his headquarters in the Commodore Hotel (The Hyatt today).  At the meeting there was the Senator, his campaign staff and several people from the agency, including the president, Larry Spector, Chuck and myself.  After a few minutes, one of Javits’ aides came and whispered something in Larry Spector’s ear; they left the room for a couple of minutes.  When Larry returned, ashen faced, he whispered something in Chuck’s ear and then they left the meeting together.  Larry returned to the meeting alone.

On the way back to the office, which was only a few blocks away, Larry explained to me that the campaign manager asked for Chuck to be removed from the room because he was drunk.  Larry explained to me that the campaign never wanted to see Chuck again. This was a big problem for the agency since it was too late in the election season to screen and hire a competent new person to run the business. The solution was that Chuck remained employed, but was confined to the office.  I was asked to actually to hang out at the senator's campaign office and, when necessary, follow the senator around the state and report back to Chuck, who knew what to do.  It was a thrill for me. The agency’s campaign was, “Re-elect the Senator.”

Jacob Javits, who was immensely popular, was re-elected; Chuck left the agency as planned and was never seen again. 

Maybe five years later, I was working in the the Pan Am building (now Met Life) and taking the escalator down into Grand Central to take the train home to Westchester.  As I was going down I looked over the station and saw Chuck wandering around aimlessly.  He was disheveled, unshaven and dirty. I approached him and he was barely coherent.  I took him into a men’s room, washed him up, straightened him up as best I could and bought him some coffee.  I gave him ten dollars and then took the next train home. 

 

Sometime in the early 1980’s I was having lunch in the Oak Room of the Plaza Hotel.  Chuck walked in with several gentlemen. He looked great, was still wearing seersucker and looked just as I had remembered him from the 1960’s.  We made eye contact as he entered and he acknowledged me with a nod and a smile..  About twenty minutes later, he came to my table, introduced himself to the people I was having lunch with and asked if I could be excused for a few minutes. 

He and I walked out of the restaurant into the Plaza Hotel lobby.  He told me had been sober for over ten years.  He thanked profusely for my previous kindness, which he obviously remembered. He then handed me a ten dollar bill.   I was very taken aback.

I never saw him or heard of him again.  The story has always stayed with me.