Based on my recent article on how Mayor Daley is going to cope emotionally with his retirement, Chicago documentary king Tom Weinberg interviewed me, on why Chicagoans will miss Mayor Daley, "the personification of our weird city."
Clever doesn’t cut it
As you might have noticed, I've been digging int0 some of my pappy's old stuff lately, for inspiration and moral backup. I have a book of memos from his days as creative director for Detroit ad agency Campbell-Ewald in the 1960s, I ran across this letter of Mar. 28, 1966, thanking a Kenneth B. Walker, for some ideas:
While some of them are quite amusing, I refer you back to my letter of several months ago in which I told you that it's fairly easy for most of our writers to coin a phrase or use a pun, but rather difficult for them to solve marketing or product problems that are usually the assignment. Keep in mind, Ken, that many of our writers have been or are novelists, gag writers for comedians, greeting card writers, movie writers and so on. So it is very, very easy for them to come up with something like, "A SUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE OFFICE!" As a matter of fact, we have books in our library filled with puns that could easily be applied to our product, if we felt this could result in meaningful advertising. All this by way of saying please don't expect us to fall backwards at a few well-turned phrases.
Dad let him down easy, concluding,
I have been busy with a new reorganization and haven't poked my nose out of the office for several months, but would always find time for a talk with you about advertising, islands, or women.
The man knew how to handle it.
My inner 20-year-old asks: How is life at 42? It’s strategic, Son.
Even as recently as 10 years ago, I used to argue against the notion of "strategic communication"—that every hour and budget dollar spent needed to be justified as contributing directly and robustly to the stated aims of the mother organization.
I'd point out the impossibility of reaching such a rational ideal, and I'd laugh at the square-headed, straight-laced nature of the desire for perfect productivity.
Why can't we just be, man? And I meant that. I still do. Sometimes it's good to have communicators—and friends—who are just there, ready to handle that which comes down the pike. The idea that every corporate communication need—or every human need—will fit in your PowerPoint deck and align perfectly with management's goals and objectives—well, that's silly.
Still, I argue less often these days against the stultifying strategists.
Probably, that's because I am 42 years old now, and just about every blinking moment of my life is now strategically justified.
If I am running, it's because I am taking care of my body.
If I am reading, it's because I am taking care of my mind.
If I am cooking, it's because cooking is my new big thing.
If I am napping, it's because I believe napping keeps me from ever getting colds.
If I am playing golf, it's because I need to enjoy myself sometimes.
If I am riding my motorcycle, it's because I need to feel young sometimes.
If I am drinking—and my drinking these days is usually strategically planned, with plenty of time built in for recovery—it's because I need some time away from the Goddamned strategy table for a few hours, to communicate on a purely tactical basis.
The only moments in my life when I don't feel the need to make every moment count for something strategic is when I'm working, or on the bum with Scout and her mother. Those in themselves are strategies—they come close to the ultimate purpose of the enterprise—and so inside that time and space, I feel, comparatively, like I'm following my bliss. Otherwise, though, it's a lot of heavy fuckin' planning.
Here's my dad at about the age I am now. I think I know how he felt.
I reckon the 20-year-old me would read all this and feel sad. Or more likely, be determined not ever to become so rigid.
Well, good luck, young man. Good luck.