From Those Wonderful Folks Who Gave You Pearl Harbor - Jerry Della Femina [36]
Now it may seem that the account is vanishing right before your eyes, but take a look at the economics involved. The account is still attractive enough to agencies in town so that if Al ever lets the word out that he – and the Peacock Feather Breeders’ Association – are available, he’ll get fifty calls, I guarantee you. Wherever he goes, he can say, ‘I’ve three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of business.’ Figure that an average agency could make $45,000 on that billing in commissions and another $15,000 in production charges. So an agency could make $60,000 a year on a guy by the name of Al. Let’s also say that Al goes for $35,000 a year in salary, so the agency now has Al paying for himself plus maybe $20,000 or $25,000 left over. Plus, they’ve got Al around most of the time to work on three or four other accounts, which is also free of charge, plus whatever he can go out and pitch. They’ve got it knocked. He’s worth it to them. Except that they don’t realize what he costs their creative image, which is considerable. Because whatever the president of the Peacock Feather Breeders’ Association wants, Al has to deliver. Otherwise he can’t live, he can’t hold the account. So he screws up their image, and that’s what is essentially wrong with hip-pocket accounts.
How does a client get locked into a guy like Al? The client goes to the theater once too often with Al. He wins a game of golf from Al once too often. The client really starts to believe that Al is a good advertising man. Somewhere between the escargots and the baked Alaska the client starts to think Al is God. The client is not so smart in some of these cases. In other cases it’s like absentee management. Very interesting. It’s like the real top management isn’t around, so the guy who is in charge of spending the money gets into bed with another guy. And I don’t think there are kickbacks involved here, either. Just bad judgment.
There is a cheese account in town – let’s call it French Cheese – and it must bill $1,000,000 a year. French Cheese’s top management is in Paris. They know nothing. The people running French Cheese in New York don’t know much more than the French do about advertising, but they do trust an account guy named Jimmy. Jimmy, in fact, has French Cheese stuck way deep into his pocket. He’s moved the account to at least four agencies. Jimmy, of course, has to remain very, very friendly with the French Cheese guy here. They go to the theater a lot. Their wives are friends – and they better be friends because Jimmy lives or dies for this account. This account means $80,000 a year to Jimmy and Mrs. Jimmy, plus a Caddie and a couple of other things thrown in. So every year, as long as Jimmy remains friendly with the French Cheese guy in New York, he’s got his eighty grand. But he has to perform, no question about that. So long as he does, the account is locked. No agency could pitch that account without having Jimmy on their payroll.
Let me make it clear – hip-pocket business goes on way beyond Jimmy and his French Cheese. Guys get to be presidents of agencies because they have business locked in. You control a certain amount of business, and then you muscle. You’ve got more clout than the next guy. At one agency where I worked it was very simple. One guy played golf with a guy who controlled the advertising for a very big automobile account. Another guy had a lock on an enormous piece of cigarette business – but not so big as the automobile business. Very simple. The guy controlling the automobile business told the guy controlling the tobacco business that he wanted to be chairman of the board. And he was. The other guy settled for being president.
When I went to work at Ted Bates, I was told you can screw around with the entire place, but don’t touch this particular guy. He is so close to