adventuresinclientservice

[adventuresinclientservice]

From the longest of a (really) long sales funnel, a lesson in patience.

I recall receiving an email from PMG agency’s founder and CEO, George Popstefanov, asking about the possibility of my doing workshops for his team.  I wrote back, an exchange of emails ensued, leading to a letter of proposal.  Soon after I was on my way to Ft. Worth, Texas to conduct a day of back-to-back sessions.

Time elapsed from first contact to my boarding a plane:  a relatively fast two months, which in retrospect strikes me as fairly efficient.

The same was pretty much true when Ted Johnson, President and CEO of Hadley Exhibits, reached out; we exchanged emails, leading to my trip to Buffalo to conduct a day of workshops.   Time elapsed from initial email to visit:  about two months, again pretty darn fast.

I get a fair number of overtures like these; most are not nearly as serious as George’s and Ted’s.  The majority are from window shoppers, or people wanting to know how much I charge, or fulfilling a request from one of their superiors. 

Even with these most unlikely of asks, I dutifully respond, knowing most will find their way to the dustbin of, “I’m not really interested,” to “I really have no money for this,” to, “I really don’t have the time to orchestrate this, and my team is too busy to attend anyway.”

In October, however, I received this:

“We are seeking to facilitate a training session for our Account teams and I was intrigued to inquire if this is a service you offer around your book the Art of Client Service and the fundamentals of client service. “I am excited to hear back from you soon.”

I wrote back; again there was an exchange of emails.  Soon thereafter, I conducted a post-Covid Zoom workshop for a group of about 50 agency people, all of whom presumably were interested in getting better at client service.  From inception to session completion took roughly seven weeks, by my standards amazingly fast.

Except, as I later discovered, it was anything but.

As I was establishing new folders for this soon-to-be-workshop-client, I discovered I already had done so, from the very same client, from more than eight years prior.  The person who made the initial contact is no longer with the firm, but the founder/CEO remains.  He apparently was behind the first contact in 2016, decided to not move forward, only to return to this a month ago.

If I hadn’t been the dutiful Account weenie keeping meticulous records, I never would have recalled the events of recent but appropriately disposable history.  Neither, I suspect, did the CEO or the person he empowered to oversee the session I conducted, given both failed to make even a passing reference to it.

I had forgotten, and so, presumably, had they.

There are times when things come together very quickly.  There are times that never come together.  And there are times like this most recent one, where  years elapse, with someone given up for lost suddenly materializes, as if by miracle.

The next time someone approaches you with an inquiry and you know it’s as perishable as spoiled milk, stop and think before you say “No, I won’t.”  An overture might take weeks, or months, a year, on more than eight years to develop, but sometimes the longest of long-term prospects in the longest sales funnel decide “Now is the time.”  You will be glad you did the work you did, even when it seemed pointless.

If there’s a message to extract from this story, it’s this:  patience (sometimes) is its own reward.  This certainly is the lesson here, a perfect, true story for this time of year, where gratitude should be a prevailing sentiment.

If you have traveled this this holiday season or planning to do so, have great ones and travel safe!

[adventuresinclientservice]

For those who ever faced a seemingly insurmountable challenge: a story of defeat, recovery, and redemption.

Last week’s post had a two-word headline; this week’s headline seemingly is in open rebellion to brevity; apologies, but I wrote it this way for good reason.

About a month ago I wrote about my former Digitas colleague and current friend, Betsy Pinkus, which led to a series of reminiscences from our early days at the agency.  In one exchange I recounted when client AT&T asked (insisted?) I be removed from its account.  It was a dreadful moment, given I not only was replaced by a competent and more experienced new staffer, Andi Mayer, but also was exiled from my office and cast into a cubicle, plus had to relinquish Betsy as my very capable assistant.

Betsy remembered this, but differently:  “I thought you were promoted when they replaced you!”

So whose memory is more accurate, Betsy’s or mine? 

Both of us, it turns out.  I’m telling the story in the hopes some of you will derive benefit from it, especially if you ever faced a situation similar to mine, where coming back from a seeming death sentence appeared to be well-nigh impossible.

A humiliating defeat:

To take all of you back a bit, I relocated from Washington, DC to Boston to join what was then a largely unknown shop called Eastern Exclusives that later  became Digitas.  I was to work on an account code-named “Keystone,” not knowing until I joined that Keystone was AT&T.  It was my first agency job.

The client lead, J.D. Chappel, was not an easy person; my own inexperience compounded what was the unmitigated disdain he and his colleagues displayed in every meeting and call in which I participated.

I never actually confirmed this as fact, but after six months or so, either Chappel insisted on a change, Michael Bronner realized he needed to make one, or maybe a combination of both occurred; I would be removed from the account.

I had failed, with failure usually leading to termination; for reasons to this day I cannot explain, Michael decided instead to replace me, not fire me.  

Even so, of all of life’s professional humiliations, this was among the worst.   Every day I would walk into the agency, see Andi in what used to be my office, working with Betsy and the staff that once reported to me.

It was daily reminder of how poorly I had performed; anyone in the right mind would quit.

I chose to stay.

A slow, by no means assured recovery:

Out of this wreckage, Michael did his best to salvage something for me:  he assigned me a handful of small accounts – Digital Equipment Corporation, Bolt Beranek and Newman, Philips Test and Measurement – plus told me I would help with new business.

I didn’t sulk and didn’t let people see the magnitude of what was an embarrassing setback; I put my head down and got to work, this time even harder than before.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months; slowly, incrementally, almost imperceptibly, I learned how to do my job properly, interacting more effectively with clients, screwing up then correcting my many mistakes, figuring out how to write a decent presentation, an effective letter of proposal, or anything else we needed to support clients.

At last, redemption:

At some point in my first year or possibly early in my second (it was a long time ago), the person who oversaw the American Express account, Stacey Silverbush, announced she was leaving.  Michael needed a replacement.

I was the replacement.  A door had opened.

Not aware of my past failure with AT&T, American Express was much more accessible and welcoming, while I proved to be more capable, with a growing  confidence that I could, in fact, not only meet client and colleague expectations, but exceed them.  

My new responsibilities as account lead prompted Michael to rescue me from my cube.  I relocated to the top floor office, not far from the founder’s.  Betsy recalls the move came with a promotion to Vice President.  She might be right; I was promoted, I just don’t know when.  Later I was elevated again, this time to Senior Vice President and one of two Associate Partners, but would remain in my new office until I left, years later, graduating to run Foote Cone & Belding’s west coast direct marketing agency. 

Faced with my departure to San Francisco, I was offered the opportunity to open and oversee the agency’s soon-to-be-formed New York office with my Creative partner at the time, Christine Bastoni.   Having committed to FCB, looking forward to working for an agency just named Advertising Age’s Agency of the Year, I turned down the offer; still, it felt like a validation of sorts. 

I had made my way all the way back from that early, now-distant disaster.

Why this matters:

If you ever have or are currently facing what appears to be an insurmountable challenge, you might take heart from this story.  Sometimes it pays to leave.  You’ll know if it’s time.

And sometimes it pays to stay. 

I knew what time it was.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Road diary.

Many years ago, my girlfriend at the time, Susan Fasano, returned home from a concert.  It was an arena show; I don’t do arena shows -- never have, never will -- so I took a pass.

��How was it,” I asked when she returned home.

“Awesome!” she replied, “they played for like three hours nonstop.  It was amazing!”

“Tell me again who you went to see?”

“Bruce Springsteen.”

I took note, then promptly forgot for more than 40 years, until the other day when I watched a documentary, Road Diary, about Bruce Springsteen and the

“the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, house-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking, love-making, testifying, death defying legendary” E  Street Band” he leads.  (Springsteen’s description of the band, not mine.)

I watched it once, liked it so much I watched it again, then again, five times in all, the most recent of which taking place a few days ago, on a Sunday afternoon.  

In this most recent viewing I paid close attention to the set piece that brings the movie to an end.  Like the adjective-laden description of the band he leads, Springsteen’s rumination runs a bit on the long side -- my handwritten filled five pages of my notebook – but here is what stays with me:

Springsteen:  “Playing music as you get older is an interesting and tricky business.  Now I plan on continuing until the wheels come off…. There’s one thing I know, after 50 years on the road, it’s too late to stop now…. It’s my job.”

Compared with the titan of music Springsteen deservedly is, I am a dismissible afterthought, but even so, if I make a couple of substitutions, what he says easily could describe a sentiment I share:

“Writing as you get older is an interesting and tricky business.  Now I plan on continuing until the wheels come off…. There’s one thing I know, after 40-plus years in advertising, it’s too late to stop now…. It’s my job.”

Why does this matter, and why does it matter now?

Last Sunday marked Adventures’ fourteenth anniversary.  When I began in 2010, I had no idea it would endure this long, or I would keep at it, week after week, with posts approaching 800 in number, on subjects ranging far and wide, but most with an eye towards you and other readers who take an interest in all aspects of serving clients and colleagues as best you can.

Springsteen is 75.  Come January, I will be 74.  We are contemporaries, both subject to the realities, and vagaries, of the time that passes ever too quickly with each passing year.

By any measure, it is well past time for Springsteen to get off the road, calling it a day on performing, while easing gracefully into retirement.  But the person they call “The Boss” will not go gentle into the good night, and he most assuredly will not quit.  Instead, he will continue to write songs, lead his band, and perform wherever crowds welcome him.  As he put it, succinctly, with uncompromising certainty:  “It’s my job.”

Point taken.

Coaching, consulting, workshop leading, writing, and thinking about client service is my job.  Like Springsteen, I won’t quit, won’t retire, and won’t stop trying to help people whenever they ask for it.  Instead, I plan on continuing for as long as my spirit’s willing, and my body allows.

Thank you for being part of this.

[adventuresinclientservice]

A compendium of forgotten heroes, part one

Apologies, this post runs longer than the host. Tumblr, will permit, so I’ve divided this into parts one and two, publishing them as separate posts.  Here is part one:

I got thinking about those people long since overlooked at my first agency, the shop most of you know as Digitas.  More than a few people remember founder Michael Bronner, but what about Shelby Hypes?  Stacy Silverbush?  Rachel Snyder?  

This is wrong; I am about to make it right, mostly for my own benefit, but also for the (few?) others of you who remain interested in the agency’s early days. 

The earliest of early days.

When I exited the elevator on that frigid February evening I was greeted by none other than the founder himself, along with the bigger-than-life (literally and figuratively), immensely talented Harry Barrett.  I soon was introduced to my first boss, the very capable Kristen Wainwright, along with Stacey Silverbush, who oversaw the American Express account, along with another senior account person, Shelby Hypes.  Not long after I met Michael’s assistant and fierce gate-protector, Mardi Perry, and of course the indispensable Betsy Pinkus. 

There were a couple of people who reported to me, one of whom was Marilyn Whipple; the other I no longer can summon from the murky waters of my brain.  It wasn’t long before Tim Maroney, Margot Marshall, Ann (the chicken lady) Hopps Morgan, and Jean Alexander were added to the roster, all of whom made substantial contributions during their tenures.

Besides the agency’s first employee, Mary Stibal, the salespeople I met  -- I don’t know their titles, but their function was to sell -- were Michael’s Boston University college buddies, among them Len Short, Brian Schuvart, and Richard Komit, and Phil Suter; a short time later, Lisa Phildius Pierce joined the group.   

George McMillan oversaw operations, with Clifton Gering reporting to him on the (fairly primitive) data side of things, with Irv Gross and Gary Benson responsible for print production.                                                                                                                                                                          

[adventuresinclientservice]

A compendium of forgotten heroes, part two.

This is part two:

At the start, the Creative department was barely that, given it was populated by a single copywriter, Rachel Snyder, supported writer/editor/proofreader Kim Carpenter.  Rich Person soon joined as a copywriter.  After a couple of false starts with Creative heads who washed out, Michael added the very talented and capable Tony Platt as Creative/Marketing Director.

The enormously effective John Fletcher, with the energetic, intuitive help of Brinton Young, largely was responsible for strategy, but when I serendipitously discovered the prodigiously talented workaholic Teresa Campbell Edlund – Cami to those who knew her – the agency was able to recruit her as an Account person, knowing her real contribution would be as a creative and resourceful strategist.

Why this matters.

There are many more people who populated the agency’s first true home on Atlantic Avenue (other than Michael’s apartment), in a cluster of buildings known as Russia Wharf; I sadly cannot retrieve their names.  But no matter; the important thing is to recognize these people, both named and unnamed; they are the true groundbreakers for an agency that emerged from it, even though, years later, it bears scant resemblance to the organization they joined.

Time has a way of diminishing what otherwise would be considered heroic.  What we accomplished in those early days with American Express, AT&T, and a few other clients was beyond pioneering, and the people who had a hand in this, are, in my mind at least, the real heroes of Digitas.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Optimism plus determination equals the courage to take a risk.

When I joined Digitas – the advertising agency that didn’t know it was an agency – the shop was about to undertake the single largest value-added direct mail promotion in advertising history for the then long-distance telecommunications giant AT&T.  

Ordered to deregulate by District of Columbia Federal Judge Harold Green, unable to compete purely on price --although competitors like MCI were free to do so -- AT&T was searching for a way to level a decidedly uneven playing field.  My colleagues approached AT&T, advising it could still succeed by adding value through a wide range of partner discounts from which its customers would benefit. 

AT&T signed up for an undertaking designed to reach roughly 20 million households with a package that included 40 offers from participating companies, to be repeated every quarter of every year. 

The urgency of the task was daunting; it meant the agency needed to staff up in a hurry, recruiting people practically from off the street. 

I was one of those off-the-street new hires in those early, insane days, having just two weeks to start my new position, something called “Program Director.”  With AT&T’s identity withheld from me, I left my Washington DC, marketing job, relocated to Boston; arriving late one evening, a week before my “official” start date, began work, foreshadowing a routine that would become all-too-familiar. 

It was my first agency job in what would span a 40-plus-year career.

In truth I had absolutely no clue on how to engage with clients or do something as simple and obvious as write an after-meeting conference report, let alone a presentation or proposal, a budget or schedule. 

Were there standard procedures for such things, precedents or go-by’s I could rely on for guidance?  Of course not.  Someone to teach me?  You make joke.  I was flying blind along, with all my other visually impaired colleagues, steering way too close to the sun, or maybe the ground, whichever best describes the chaos pervading those early days, with disaster lurking around the corner.

The stress was unrelenting, the failure rate high – in short order my first boss bailed (severe case of mono), as did one of my colleagues (pressure got the better of him), as did the shop’s sole copywriter (her endocrine system shut down) – with many realizing they simply could not cope.  I stuck it out, with fear supplanting pressure.  I wasn’t just stressed:  I was afraid.  Yes, afraid.

To screw up.  To let others down.  To fail.

The one person who betrayed not even one iota of this was our 24-year-old founder, Michael Bronner.  If he was worried, he surely did not show it.  I have no idea what was going on in his head or heart, but to us, no matter how dark or gloomy things became with the client, a partner company, a staffer, whatever, he remained steadfast, a perfect cocktail of confidence and can-do.

Michael’s near unflappable demeanor reminded me of something I recalled from a documentary, Somewhere You Feel Free, about legendary songwriter/singer/band-leader Tom Petty. Speaking of his work on his solo album Wildflowers, in the film’s opening minutes, Petty says:

“If I had really known how little I knew about what I was doing, I might have been discouraged, but I wasn’t.”

Petty was referring to his early days as a musician, but to me he just as easily could have been speaking about the early days of Digitas.  I surely did not know what I was doing.  The same is mostly true of my colleagues, even those who hid behind what was a false sense of bravado (there were a fair number of people who fit that description).  I soon realized how easily things could spiral downward to disaster.

I was old enough to know this; Michael was not.  Like Tom Petty, Michael didn’t know enough to know he could fail, with the outcome being we somehow, in some way, found a way to launch AT&T Opportunity Calling.

Even more important, this is why, among all the other reasons others could offer, today there is an agency called Digitas.

(If you're traveling this Thanksgiving, to see family, friends, or simply to escape, travel safe!)

[adventuresinclientservice]

Chance favors the prepared mind.

These words are not mine.  They could have come from my attorney friend Alan Goldstein, prepping for an upcoming case. Or from another friend, musician Shane Soldinger, as he rehearsed for a gig.  Or maybe from the actor Jake Gyllenhaal, who, while being interviewed about the 2014 movie Nightcrawler explained something similar when he said,

“…freedom is on the other side of discipline; preparation is everything.”

As logical as any of these options are, the line came from none of them.  It is from the renowned 19th-century French chemist and microbiologist Louis Pasteur, spoken part of a 1854 lecture emphasizing the importance of preparation and knowledge in making the most of unexpected opportunities. 

Speaking of making the most of opportunities, at the time I read this I was preparing for a workshop I’m about to lead.  

At the start of our conversations, my client was conflicted about which of two sessions to pursue:  1) the longstanding, proven Five Ways to Build Trust with Clients and Colleagues, which picks up where my book, The Art of Client Service, leaves off; or, 2) the more recent Why Client Service is an Art, which I first delivered last year when I spoke in Bucharest at the International Advertising Association’s Annual Conference. 

Both have their virtues; ultimately the client settled on the former.

I could have agreed; it would have required so little of my time to work with already prepared PowerPoint slides, requiring minimal modification.   Easy.  Not my best effort.  Not necessarily right. 

Re-visiting both two presentations, wondering which would have greater appeal and be more effective, I asked myself an obvious, divide-the-baby question:  “I have more than enough time to present; why can’t I combine the two presentations into one, capitalizing on what is most helpful in each?”

I did just that, working my way through both, excising what was repetitive or unnecessary, saving what mattered, with the result being far better than I thought it could be, substantially improved compared with the two versions  preceding it.  To Pasteur’s point, the extra preparation will, I hope, pay off with better material, better delivered to those who will join me as participants on the video call.

Pasteur is a scientist, Allan a lawyer, Shane a songwriter/guitarist.  They have zero in common with what I do, but all of them, whether they acknowledge this or not, intuitively understand chance favors the prepared mind whenever a challenge is before them, be it an experiment, a piece of litigation, or a song performance. 

I just completed my work; now comes the hard part:  rehearsal.  And maybe, just maybe, a chance to do well tomorrow.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Why a friend of your youth remains a friend forever.

Every day my Outlook in-box is a virtual tsunami of incoming messages, many of them nothing more than disposable dreck.  I also get a fair number of text messages, and the occasional voicemail message.  But conventional, delivered-to-your 20th-century mailbox stuff?  Aside from an ever-diminishing volume of what best can be described as junk mail, almost never.  Which is why I was surprised to see the note above.

If you’ve read several previous posts – the one here, or here, or here -you already know I am a big believer in the power of a handwritten note to connect (handwritten envelopes always get opened) and communicate (handwritten notes always get read) with a recipient. 

From the envelope’s upper-left-hand return address I know this was a missive from my former assistant, Betsy Pinkus, who worked for me at Digitas when I just was starting my long (and often tortured) journey in client service.

The cover of the note inside had a typewriter on it – fitting, because among her many other responsibilities, Betsy shouldered what was an often-heavy load handling my letters of proposal, presentations, conference reports, and whatever else I needed to keep my clients and colleagues informed.  I’ve thankfully long since graduated to keying all my own material, but in those days it was me, a pen, and a notepad, with Betsy at the ready.

Betsy was writing to let me know that, after 35 years at Digitas – yes 35, years, even longer than my friend Margaret Spurrell, who clocked in at 30 years before sadly departing to the big advertising agency in the sky – she was retiring.  Betsy also wanted to thank me for being integral to her staying this long, even though I departed long before her retirement day.

The snacks she refers to:  only a friend from that era would recall the jar of M&Ms stashed in the upper-left-hand drawer of her desk, something I practically lived on when work evenings extended into late nights then early mornings, as I frantically tried to keep my energy up, rather than going down with the ship. 

My memories remain random, but I do distinctly recall playing wide receiver with her professional football-playing husband during one of the agency’s summer outings, running so much I barely could walk to my car at the event’s end.

When I joined Digitas I barely knew what an Assistant actually does; Betsy, who previously escaped an earlier boss more interested in her fetching her dry cleaning than actually contributing professionally, taught me how to work with her.  I thankfully was a willing student (I picked up my own dry cleaning).

Yet in those early days of near madness, Betsy’s biggest contribution wasn’t about the work; it was helping keep me sane when it felt the wheels were coming off.  No matter how chaotic things became, she remained a port of safe refuge in what were roiling seas.

 We last saw one another more than a decade ago, when I visited Boston to speak at Hubspot’s annual INBOUND conference.  With the help of another Digitas alum, Mary Stibal, I organized a lunch with old friends.  Betsy was among the invited.  What did we talk about?  Not so much about the work, much more about the people.

Why are friends of longstanding so important to me?

To quote the novelist Robert Penn Warren, Betsy is a “friend of your youth,” sharing history that only a few others can match.

If I’m being honest, it’s possible our paths might never cross again.  No matter; Betsy is my friend, always will be, and friends are what makes this lunatic business worth it.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Why I'm glad I'm not a lawyer, a banker, or (God forbid) an engineer.

I was a one-semester-to-go impending college graduate, sitting in the kitchen of the modest Los Angeles home of one of my college roommates, “The Tuna,” filling out a law school application, when I put my pen down. 

I called Philadelphia.

“Dad, I don’t want to go the law school; I want to go to grad school in literature.”

My Dad, instead of being obstructionist, was surprisingly supportive.  “Whatever you want to do, Bobby.”

Why the sudden change, not just of heart, but of career?

It could be I was inspired by the spirited teachings of a professor, A.E. Claeyssens (the most likely reason); or it possibly was a notion fueled and motivated by romantic visions of college life (less likely); or even driven by intellectual pursuits (highly unlikely).  I equally was repelled by the prospect of law school (a grind) and the future of an attorney (beyond boring)

Regardless, my degree in American Studies, instead of prepping me for law school, equipped me with a generalist’s background.  Less concerned with what was being taught, more concerned with who was teaching, I opted for professors who excelled in the classroom, each devoted to engaging me in ways that made me think for myself. 

I learned how to learn, to be inquisitive, to explore the possible, to find my way around a research library, to ask questions, and, above all, to communicate clearly, concisely, and with conviction. 

If you read The New York Times article, “Careerism is Ruining College, “ you see my choice is far less likely to occur these days.  The story’s author defines careerism as,

“pre-professional pressure: a prevailing culture that convinces many of us that only careers in fields such as computer programming, finance and consulting, preferably at blue-chip firms like Goldman Sachs, McKinsey or big tech companies, can secure us worthwhile futures.” 

I didn’t plan on a career in advertising, but that’s where the journey took me.  Instead of being a liability, my generalist’s training proved ideally suited to better serving my clients and collaborating more effectively with my colleagues.  I came to describe myself as, “A mile wide and an inch deep.”

Most people assume it’s pejorative; who wants to be seen as superficial?  That’s one view; the other is about being curious and interested in everything, especially in matters ranging far outside my normal sphere of interest.  Perhaps both describe me, but it’s easy to see which one I prefer.

Could I have succeeded as an attorney?  Possibly, although I imagine hating every minute of it.

As a finance person or consultant?  An epic fail if ever there was one.

As a computer programmer/engineer?  A total non-starter.

All of which prompts a question:  were I a college student today, would I have succumbed to the pressure felt by others, making a not-easily-reversable choice, or would I still have been able to follow a path where there is no path, just random chance presenting often hidden-from-view opportunities?

It sucks to get old – I know firsthand-- but it doesn’t suck to remember having  license to explore far and wide as a last-century college student of the 1960s and ‘70s.  Even more important, to this day my career, though far from perfect, isn’t one I would trade for being a lawyer, banker, or programmer/engineer.

It’s not a matter of money.  And that’s exactly the point.

[adventuresinclientservice]

How a single reader makes a huge difference to a writer.

I can’t describe exactly how it feels when an Art of Client Service reader like Samantha Spaulding or Alena Jain sits down to say something kind about the book.

Elated comes to mind, as does validated, but the thing I feel most strongly is deep and abiding gratitude, meaning I’m beyond grateful when any reader takes the time to buy the book, read it, photograph it, comment on it, then post it on LinkedIn for others to see.

A couple of months ago, when Samantha published her piece – yes, I know, protocol stipulates I should refer to her by her last name, but I now think of her as a friend and using a last name strikes me as awkward -- 33 others weighed in with support. When Alena followed more recently with commentary of her own, there were 22 others who commented. 

Beyond that, these two posts generated more than 1,600 “impressions,” exposing the book to others – I wish my own posts could generate anything close to this activity -- proving the enduring and timeless power of word-of-mouth advertising.

My publisher John Wiley & Sons tells me that to date there are more than 24,000 people who’ve decided the book is a worthy investment and made a purchase.  As I pointed out in a post last month, when the book previously crossed the all-important 20,000-copy threshold, the congrats extended by my Wiley editor Richard Narramore essentially were confirmed by New Yorker author Louis Menand, who claimed,

“two-thirds of the books released by the top-ten trade publishers sell fewer than a thousand copies, and less than four per cent sell more than twenty thousand.”

Research conducted by Thought Legion Leverage founder Peter Winick along with several sponsors isn’t quite so bleak, suggesting the median number of books sold from so-called “traditional” publishers is 4,600.  Better than 1,000 surely, but even so, “a fraction of what authors were expecting.” 

Book sales notwithstanding, the number one stated goal among authors is to “share knowledge,” with 78% claiming this as a priority.   As someone who participated in Peter’s study, it should come as no surprise I am among that 78%.

As I’ve said more than once before, I didn’t write The Art of Client Service to get rich; I surely never will compete with the likes of a Michael Lewis, a Malcolm Gladwell, or even a Simon Sinek.  I didn’t write the book for fame or recognition; I am the furthest thing from a household name.  If you’re waiting to see it in lights, you will need to continue to wait… indefinitely.

Why did I write the book?

I wrote it for Samantha, for Elena, and for those few others who’ve seen fit to let me know they found the book helpful in their work.

And that, for me, is more than reason enough.

Come this Friday Roberta and I will begin serving as Vote Center “Leads” for Napa County, starting with the town to the south, American Canyon, before heading North to St. Helena to oversee that Vote Center through election day.  If previous elections are any indicator, I will have time on my hands. 

Assuming time permits, I’ll post from there, but given this election is unlike any other, there is no predicting how things will go, even in the bubble that is Napa.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Does the long-discredited "broken windows" theory of law enforcement still apply to client service?

Nearly 25 years ago I became a proselytizer for author Malcolm Gladwell, embracing many of his ideas.  Three of his titles – The Tipping Point (2000), Blink (2005), and David & Goliath (2013) – found their way onto my highly selective list of 25 books to read.  As the only writer to have more than one book included, he is the dominant contributor to the list.

One of the Gladwellian ideas I embraced was the “broken windows” theory crime reduction, first espoused by the now-deceased former Harvard University social sciences professor James Q Wilson, citing it in the workshops I conducted, plus blogging about it. 

So what is the theory?  Here is the definition The New York Times included in Wilson’s 2012 obituary:

“….when police emphasize the maintenance of order rather than the piecemeal pursuit of rapist, murderers and carjackers, concentrating on less threatening though often illegal disturbances in the fabric of urban life like street-corner drug-dealing, graffiti and subway turnstile-jumping, the rate of serious crime goes down.”

I got it and thought it right, as did Gladwell, only for the author to change his mind:

“I was wrong…. The idea that crime was an epidemic and that criminal behavior was contagious is correct. But the idea that broken windows and stop-and-frisk were the correct response to a contagion is completely false.”

All credit due Gladwell for having the courage to not defend his position, but instead to change it willingly, and to admit as much.  Gladwell’s reversal compelled me to revisit mine; knowing broken windows no longer applies to crime, is it still applicable to client service?  Is the theory a reality?   

Here’s what I wrote a dozen years ago:

“If you work as an account person, you know how much emphasis your clients place on simple, routine matters.  Stuff like producing a workable schedule, formulating a good budget, issuing conference reports that are succinct and accurate, following up in a timely way, and handling the myriad, often mind-numbing daily details of overseeing an account. “If you perform these ‘broken windows’ tasks consistently and well, your clients will come to depend on you, begin to respect you, possibly like you, and ultimately trust you.  The ‘like, respect, and trust’ you earn over time will stand you and your agency in good stead in the times of discord that inevitably will arise in your client dealings.  “I’ve have been championing the virtues of simple ideas the past couple posts, and what I’m suggesting here – consistent attention paid to routine – would seem to run counter to that.  But the fact is, generating great ideas can be frustratingly hard.  And what happens when the idea well runs dry? “It is far easier to take care of account management housekeeping – to fix broken windows, so to speak – than it is to conceive of an idea that will drive a client’s business forward.   Great ideas might win new clients, but fixing broken windows will help keep them clients.” 

Time to interrogate the witness, with the witness being me.

Prosecutor: 

“Does the ‘broken windows’ theory of account management and client service still apply today?  If it doesn’t, tell me why it no longer works.  If it does, explain why.”

Witness:

“Yes, it does still apply today.  If anything, even more so than when I first subscribed to the theory 12 years ago. “Advertising has changed dramatically since 2012, with traditional broadcast in decline, largely supplanted by the sudden and relentless ascent of social media, enabled by transformative, forever accelerating technology.  “The volume of messages also has increased, as has the speed with which to create them.  The demands placed on advertising and marketing agencies, already stretched thin by the declining ranks of veteran, experienced, get-it-right-the-first-time people, are under more pressure than ever before to produce effective communication on highly compressed time frames. “In this environment, it is critical to at least do the simple, obvious, often-overlooked things consistently well. “So the answer is yes: ‘broken windows’ still applies to client service.”

With that, the witness is excused.  You, the jury, will now decide.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Are too many meetings an obstacle to getting things done?

When my friend of longstanding Lisa Lefebvre proposed I start a blog, my biggest concern was if I would be able to sustain it.  Just about anyone can summon a rant or two when needed, but week after week?  Is that even possible?

Nearly fourteen years in, I’ve pretty well settled the matter. 

Some of what I write is halfway worthy and useful.  Some of it is utterly dismissible, little more than harmless nattering.  Some of it is disposable crap. 

I keep at it, drawing inspiration from what I read – The New York Times, The New Yorker, other publications – and what hear – music mostly – and what I see:  television series, the occasional movie.

Only a few times before do I recall drawing on a cartoon for inspiration (one an almost famous one).  The other day I saw what you see above.

Countless clients have registered a common lament:  “I’m in back-to-back meetings all day; I never have enough time to do my own work!”  Their advertising agency counterparts feel much the same.

At Ammirati Puris Lintas had our share of meetings, but were judicious about it, following what seemed to be an unwritten rule you have only the meetings you need; okay, if you must know, here’s the ones we held: 

Once a month the agency’s senior management met to do a review, including a detailed look at financials, each session designed to uncover trouble before alarm bells sounded.  I attended and participated in those discussions; it was time well spent.  We scheduled these early in the day – at least by agency standards -- so as not to intrude on our “real” jobs:  connecting with clients, collaborating with colleagues, solving problems, seizing opportunities, striving to do the best possible work.

Once a month I would do an all-staff meeting for my Digital and Direct groups, designed not only to recognize notable performance plus uncover any issues, but also to serve as an exercise in team bonding and culture cultivating.  Attendance was optional, but nearly everyone showed up.  I’d like to think it was the content that drew people; not so.  It was the coffee and bagel spread that drew them (I admit I was not above bribing people when appropriate).

Once a week my two groups each held a status meeting, something we viewed as essential, meaning absences were not taken lightly; knowing clients were critical, we urged them to sit in by conference call.  The sessions allowed us maintain pace, honor our project commitments, plus uncover any assignments that were veering off course.  Just about every agency I know conducts something similar.  If your agency doesn’t, it should.

We would gather to review a presentation, a strategy recommendation, research findings, or creative work before sharing the output with our clients.

We also would gather a working group whenever we were pitching new business, mostly to assign responsibilities and assess progress as we worked our way through what usually was an unreasonably compressed schedule.

That pretty much was it, and in truth, was more than sufficient.  Otherwise we would gather only when something seriously amiss and required the collective brain muscle of group problem-solving.

When I tell people that Chapter 14 of The Art of Client Service is “How to Run a Meeting,” I’m usually greeting with derisive, snarky snickers – “Who the hell needs this; it’s a waste of space and time!!” -- but I make this point:

“Meetings are a staple of business – including the advertising and marketing business , in which collaboration is key – but they are notoriously screwed up.”

They surely are that.

I can’t speak to other business categories, but advertising and marketing in all its forms is a combination of the intensely solitary with the highly collaborative.  Achieving a semblance of balance is key; restraint -- meaning   meetings as a last, not first, resort -- is a virtue.

The next time you are about to get a group of people in a room, I suggest you ask yourself a simple question:  Will this meeting help address a client problem, take advantage of an agency opportunity, or ideally do both? 

If the answer is “No,” ask yourself a second question:  do we really need a meeting, or could we address this in some other, less intrusive, disruptive way?

If the answer is “Yes,” you now know what you need to do.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Client service is easy, right?

Client service was all-but-lost in the distant parking lot of my mind when I read a New York Times review of the new movie, “The Outrun.”  The film is a recovery narrative; the drug being abused is alcohol.  You want remote from the work I do?  This was beyond remotely remote.

It remained that way until I awoke to this simple, succinct, and revealing quote from the film,

“It never gets easy; it just gets less hard.” 

The person saying the line is a sober alcoholic, recounting this bit of sensible reality to the movie’s protagonist.  At its core  the movie confronts this question:  If you’re an alcoholic, can sobriety be compatible with a happy life?

I get that, but turning to less fraught, less emotionally loaded matters – something that has absolutely nothing to do with the movie -- what if the subject isn’t alcohol addiction, but instead is about client service, something just about everyone has concluded is easy?

Which reminds me of something said in The Art of Client Service’s admittedly promotionally hyperbolic but largely accurate dust-jacket claim, that,

“Serving clients should be simple, except it isn’t. Solving problems should be easy, but almost never is.  Very few people do these things well, and many do them poorly, which explains why so many accounts go into review, so many client people express profound unhappiness with their agencies, and so many agency people remain bewildered by a business that grows more complex as they become increasingly less able to deal with markets splintering, media expanding, budgets tightening, and schedules compressing.”

Let’s say you’re a person devoted to client service.  You do 999 things right, no one notices; that’s you just doing your job.  You do one thing wrong, everybody notices.  That’s you screwing up.

It matters not if fault lies elsewhere; the  honorable person in you doesn’t assign blame to others; instead, you own it yourself, understanding this is a hard business, with scant recognition and little credit.

So how do you make a hard business “less hard?”

Start by doing the simple, obvious, expected things consistently:  you show up on time; you know when to speak (when necessary); you know when to listen (always).  You follow up, meaning when a client calls, email, or texts, you respond promptly.  You have an in-person or video-based client meeting; a clear, to-the-point conference report follows, capturing next steps and who is responsible for seeing they get done.

Soon you graduate to something more challenging:  a schedule that reflects reality; a budget that’s projectably accurate and honest.

You advance further, mastering the nuanced requirements of writing a compelling letter of proposal, a concise Creative Brief, a convicted point-of-view piece, or a persuasive presentation.

Finally, you achieve a modicum of mastery, best captured and explained  in the presentation I gave at last year’s International Advertising Association’s annual conference, “Why Client Service is an Art,” which tells of my colleague Jane Gardner’s unanticipated, unscripted, in-the-moment brilliance when both client and agency sorely needed it most.

You learn to command these capabilities and skills by staying at it, by being consistent and committed.  As time passes, the “it’s never easy” part evolves to the, “it becomes less hard” part.

Who benefits from the improvement?

Your clients, your colleagues, you of course, and, needless to say, your career.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Chasing the unlikely... or not chasing it.

The always-reIiable Rick English was the only person who took the time to respond to the question I asked at the end of a post of a couple of weeks ago: “How would you approach a prospective client that doesn’t want to hear from you?”

Here is what English said:

“I was just curious—have any of your other followers written back asking, “why bother.”  It was busy enough just responding to clients actually seeking help, and going after the low-hanging fruit, without chasing the unlikely.  Add to that, the best ideas or solutions typically come after in-depth discussions with the client.  Without having met first with a client, how could you know the best path to success?”

I wrote back: 

“Many thanks for getting back to me Rick; as is so often the case, you are the only reader I’ve hear from other than Darren Johnson himself.  “There are two ways to read what I wrote:  “As a step-by-step guide on how to go about this; or, “As a step-by-step guide on how not to.  “Implicit in my instructions is the idea that this truly is daunting, with very, very long odds at succeeding, no matter how brilliant Darren’s idea.   I even make a point of saying, “you might take a pass, knowing the best new business decisions are the ones where you say, ‘Not gonna.’”  “Of course your reaction, ‘Why bother?’ is spot on, but in the spirit of ‘How to,’ I figured exposing Darren’s and my exchange would provide a ‘learning moment’ for readers, especially the more junior ones who might be likely to pursue a similar folly.”

Although worded differently, page 22 of The Art of Client Service essentially confirms my response to English’s note:

“The best decision an agency can make is to not pursue a potential account, especially one that distracts you from a true opportunity you have a reasonable chance of winning.”

Even in the most ideal circumstances --  with the moon in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars -- the time and effort invested in pursuing what, for lack of a better term, I would call “opportunity,” almost certainly would not yield a satisfactory reply. 

The reason the response is “an” answer and not “the” answer is there yet might remain another, more compelling and persuasive way to go about this, one that entails a lesser expenditure of time and effort, with a greater likelihood of success. 

In truth there is no one, perfect “the” answer.  Pursuing any opportunity entails risk, especially one that is unsolicited and likely unwelcome.

That said, if you are someone who has a new, different, and possibly better approach, I would welcome hearing from you.

In the meantime…

Many thanks again to Darren Johnson for raising the issue, and to Rick English for giving this serious thought.  I suppose I could have responded to Darren’s question with the world’s shortest, two-word blog post, quoting Rick:  “Why bother?”

Committed client service people take even a seemingly unserious question seriously, even if the answer, in the end, is more obvious than not.

[adventuresinclientservice]

What's better: convincing a publisher to issue your book, or going your own way?

I just exchanged messages with copywriter-turned-novelist friend-of- longstanding Kim about getting her novel published.  Her manuscript is 190,000 words long – mercifully shorter than War And Peace’s 587,000 words, but daunting nonetheless – making it problematic to find a commercial publisher willing to assume the expense of issuing her book, along with the attendant risk.

Kim knows just how difficult this will be, as do I, recently confirmed by Louis Menand in his New Yorker story “Remainders,” where he writes about just how challenging it is for publishers to offer books people actually want to buy, pointing out,

“two-thirds of the books released by the top-ten trade publishers sell fewer than a thousand copies, and less than four per cent sell more than twenty thousand.”

A couple of years back I wrote that The Art of Client Service passed the 20,000 copies-sold sales mark.  As of last month, make that 24,000-plus copies and counting, putting me in elite company, better than the 96% of authors, most of whom are nowhere close to achieving that number. 

How many published books are there?  Menand actually supplies the number:

“Today, something like three million books are published every year, including self-published e-books that are available only on digital platforms.”

Among this veritable publishing tsunami, Amazon serves as the dominant player, constituting, “more than half of all book purchases in the United States and offering, “something like thirty million different print titles.”

What this tells us is the vast majority of books are perishable; they have a sales-blip moment and then all but disappear.  In comparison, even after eight-plus years, Art endures and copies still sell; why is that?

Menand has a theory:  “Most books are used, not read.” 

That might be it.  With its short, fast-reading chapters and “How To” guidance, The Art of Client Service is designed to be a reference resource, something to turn to when advice on crafting a proposal, presentation, or Creative Brief is needed.   

In working first with Dearborn Press, then Kaplan, and now John Wiley & Sons, I’ve learned what is the hard truth about commercial publishers:  unless your name is Michael Lewis, Malcolm Gladwell, or Jennifer Egan, your publisher, no matter how committed to your book, will perform more like printers and distributors than publishers, expecting you, as author, to shoulder the heavy load of promoting and selling what you’ve written. 

Fiction is but a fraction of the total books published in the U.S. – estimates range from just 30% to 40% -- making Kim’s mission to find an agent then a publisher rife with potential failure.   Would it make sense, then, to simply self-publish, sidestepping the disappointment of one-too-many a rejection letter?

When Roberta and I self-published Brain Surgery for Suits almost 25 years ago, the task was complicated.  Find a book designer.  Find a printer.  Find a book distributor.  Register an ISBN number with the Library of Congress.  The list of tasks seemingly is endless.

These days, self-publishing is vastly easier, with several companies offering to do much of the work for you, Amazon, Xlibris, and iUniverse among dozens of other worthy candidates.  If the cost of printing is a barrier, then do an e-book and avoid that expense.

I’ve written a couple of times before about the challenge facing writers striving to find their way into print – first here, then here -- so I am a realist when it comes to what Kim and other writers confront.  This perhaps explains why so many people say they, “ want to write and publish a book,” when so few actually do.

Kim did an extraordinary job, just finishing what is a mammoth undertaking, but in truth -- assuming it finds its way onto print as a self-published effort or with a commercial publisher – an even bigger challenge awaits:  promoting it.

We’ll save that discussion for a later day.

[adventuresinclientservice]

How would you approach a prospective client that doesn't want to hear from you?

I love questions.  They indicate readers (and others) still value my point of view.  There’s only one problem: I don’t receive nearly enough of them.

Which might explain why I took pains to jump on a question Darren Johnson posed to me. 

Johnson’s day job is publisher of New York’s Campus News.  He also serves as a visiting Assistant Professor of Journalism at the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts. 

We connected through LinkedIn about a year ago, when Johnson let me know his students read and found value in The Art of Client Service.  We talked about doing a Zoom session with Johnson’s class – I was more than happy to do so -- but scheduling realities intervened, making it a no-go.  Maybe next semester, Darren?

The other day Johnson asked:

“Say you have an idea for an ad campaign for some big corporation you have no relationship with. They probably have an agency of record. How would you approach it?”

I wrote back; my response runs long – apologies – but I wanted to make up with thoroughness whatever was lacking in thoughtfulness:

“It would be helpful if I knew a bit more background, Darren -- say the company category, what their current advertising looks like, what the competitors' work is doing, how the firm is performing -- but absent this and other incredibly useful information, here's what I'd do:

“I'd research contacts at the company, looking to identify one or more suspected decision-makers. “Assuming I'm successful and ID who I suspect is the ‘right’ person, I'd then see if there is some form of ‘connective tissue’ I can leverage: friends/colleagues in common (LinkedIn and Facebook might yield clues), perhaps a school tie (we both went to Harvard), maybe a shared interest (both of us play competitive squash). 

“I'd also see if there's any other background I can use:  a speech maybe, or a recorded interview I can watch.

“I'd then research the company, looking for any weakness in performance I diplomatically can exploit.

“Armed with both types of info, I'd write the world's best overture letter; my call-to-action:  a meeting.

“Assuming I'm able to get a meeting, I'd share enough about the idea to pique interest; my endgame:  a presentation.

“Assuming I’m able to get one, the objective of the presentation:  an assignment and a budget.

“Stepping back from this, I'd recognize this is, at best, a longshot, but if I believe in the idea and think enough of the company to pursue this, I'd invest the time necessary to shorten the odds that an idea might lead to an assignment, and ultimately, an ongoing relationship. “This help?”

Having now had time to think about this, I want to add a bit more commentary to what’s already here, making this even longer than it already is (more apologies!):

First, among longshots, this is the longest of the long.  Just about every client I know is regularly accosted by overtures from people and organizations seeking business.  It explains why some agencies go to extraordinary lengths just to get in the door. It also explains why most clients typically take extraordinary steps to block or otherwise ignore such overtures.

Do they want to hear from you?  They don’t; they don’t  know who you are; if they read your letter at all they likely wonder why you’re bothering them.

Do you pursue this, given the amount of time required, knowing the odds are stacked against you, or do you give up?

I suggest you ask yourself three questions first:

Do you believe in your idea, really believe in it?

Do you think the client you’re about to approach has a problem that needs solving, or an unmet opportunity worth exploiting, one that your idea addresses?

Have you identified the true decision-maker within the client organization, so your message  -- if it does indeed manage to get through -- reaches someone empowered to act?

If the answer to all three of these is “Yes,” and if you’re willing to invest the time, my instinct says, “Proceed.”  If not, you might take a pass, knowing the best new business decisions are the ones where you say, “Not gonna.”

That’s how I would respond, but what about all of you?  If any of you can find time to respond, I’ll share your thoughts in a subsequent post, so all of us can benefit.  Perhaps we can get to a better answer, demonstrating the virtues of collaborating.

[adventuresinclientservice]

When does being competitive turn sinister?

Roberta and I just finished watching a "60 Minutes" special commemorating 9/11, which first aired shortly before its first anniversary.

We were there that day 23 years ago, residents of NYC, living about 10 blocks north of what became ground zero; from the roof of The Textile Building, where we owned a condominium, we watched building six of the World Trade Center complex collapse.

If you've never watched the show, or even if you have, I urge you to view it again, a small gesture of remembrance for the 2,753 people who lost their lives that day.

Here's the link to the show: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bj6s4WULw64 .

In my early days at Digitas, I was one of two Account people assigned to a couple of accounts, working with a colleague named John.  Neither of us had much experience as presenters, yet at some point we were facing an important client presentation.  John was rightly nervous; I was too, with the only difference between us being my superficial sense of false bravado:

“No need to worry, John, if at any point you get in trouble, turn to me; I will jump in and rescue you.”

Was I being magnanimous?  Supportive?  A good colleague?

Hell no.  I was being a shit, a gaslighter.  Instead of building John’s confidence, my intent, whether or not I fully recognized it at the time, was to undermine it. 

The truth is, we were colleagues in name only; in reality, we were competitors, doing battle in the agency arena. 

At some point later, John was gone, a casualty of an unforgiving environment where only the resilient endure and survive.

I hadn’t thought of this in years, until I read a New York Times story, “The Office Assassin:  What should I do about a friend who deliberately undermined one of her colleagues and then bragged to me about it?”  In a reply to someone asking about an overly competitive and aggressive colleague, the author responds:

“Wow. Your friend sounds like a real piece of work, by which I mean, she sounds pretty awful: manipulative, prone to gaslighting … even abusive."

Which caused me to ask:  am I, or was I, that person?

In the early days, as I adjusted to my first real agency job, I struggled mightily, but I was a relentless worker, focused, disciplined, and determined; in a  mistake-prone, I’ll-get-it-right-next-time way, I slowly, sometimes painfully, gained surer footing. 

As I became more proficient and capable, I found myself at odds with several of my colleagues – many of them college buddies of Digitas founder Michael Bronner -- all of whom weren’t nearly as motivated, and wasn’t shy in letting my opinions be known, often voicing my concerns in a way that let Bronner know where I stood.  When each of the underperformers left, either voluntarily or not, I was not unhappy. 

A question remains, though:  did I have a hand in their demise, or for that matter, the demise of others who I considered competitors?

In truth, I likely did.   

Other questions:  were my actions manipulative or toxic?  Did I gaslight all of them, just as I had with John?  If I had this to do over, would I have behaved differently?

In truth, the answer is “No.”  I am fairly certain my assessments were for the most part accurate, and stand by them, all these years later.

While I am the first to admit I wasn’t always the best or easiest colleague with whom to work, at least I was an honest, reliable, you-can-count-on-me one. 

Looking back on this now, this is one of the things that likely saved me for a career in client service.