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By Root 887 0

More recently, Ayer had also created the acclaimed, futuristic, David Fincher–directed “You Will” campaign and was in the process of shepherding AT&T through the complex waters of deregulation. With more than seventy-five years of a shared history, for Ayer to lose lead-agency status on its charter account would not only be a huge financial loss for a company that in recent years had lost a number of high-profile accounts, including Citibank, Seven Up, the U.S. Army, and Burger King; it would also be a crippling public relations blow.

The reason for the confidence, and some might say arrogance, that day in Siano’s office was that we’d put together a hell of a presentation for AT&T several days earlier in our conference room. Smart, tight, strategically illuminating, and creatively compelling.

Plus, after all, we were N. W. Ayer: one of the largest and most respected agencies on the planet. America’s first and oldest. Founded in Philadelphia as N. W. Ayer and Son in 1869.*1 Moved to New York in 1973. Originator of some of the most famous lines ever burned into the consumer soul:

When it rains it pours (Morton Salt, 1912)

I’d walk a mile for a Camel (R. J. Reynolds Tobacco, 1921)

A diamond is forever (De Beers, 1948)

Be all you can be (U.S. Army, 1981)

And, of course, Reach out… (AT&T, 1979)

My partner Kenny and I had several storyboards in the mix that depicted a humane and humorous version of the future of telecommunications. At the time it seemed as if the group of assembled clients liked our spots and the presentation in general. I remember a lot of talk about anytime, anywhere communication, and lots of commercials that showed people from around the globe coming together via twisted-copper, fiber-optic, and wireless connectivity.

After our portion of the presentation, my partner and I squeezed into the dark, glass-enclosed production booth in the back of the room and watched the smartest and most dedicated group of account execs, planners, and creative people I’d ever worked with commence with the closing of the deal. Of course, as we watched, we were brutally critical of one another—“I can’t believe she said that!” and “Will someone shut him the hell up!”—but the feeling was that we had put together something special.

The clients seemed to agree. You can tell in meetings like this. They were nodding along, laughing at the appropriate times. There was definitely chemistry in that room. I remember eight clients sitting rapt in the front row. Perhaps there were more in the back rows, but in the front row there were representatives from the corporate group, the regulatory/ public-policy group, the consumer group, the collect/800-number group, none more important at the time than the man in the middle, AT&T’s rising star Joseph Nacchio. And during my part of the presentation, Nacchio (who would soon become the CEO of Qwest Communications and be convicted of insider trading for his curious selling of $52 million of Quest stock) seemed to be laughing, too.

After the meeting had ended and the last client got on the down elevator, we reconvened in the conference room. We felt good. So good that we had a party, celebrating the presumably good meeting.

I learned many valuable lessons during my eight years at N. W. Ayer, but one that I will never forget is not to throw a victory party until after you’ve been told the account is yours.

In the days that followed, there was more reason to be optimistic. Someone heard that Y&R had bombed during its pitch. Someone at AT&T called one of our account people and said that we had blown them away, that we were golden.

The creative director of the agency said as much to me that morning, the day of the phone call, when he passed me in the hall. “It’s a done deal,” he said, on his way out to a long lunch. “We’re golden.”

That kind of talk, in sports, school, business, and relationships, always made me superstitious, but I had to figure: Who would throw a party, say we’re golden, and then invite dozens of people into the office of the CEO of the agency unless we were,