If you’ve worked in advertising as long as I have, you likely have some fond memories of at least one of the organizations you did time with.  For me, there actually are three firms that stand out. 

The first is the agency you know as Digitas – I know it as Eastern Exclusives and later as Bronner Slosberg Associates – which gave me my (late) start in the business.  That Digitas/Eastern Exclusives/Bronner Slosberg didn’t know at the time it was an agency is of little importance.  It was a special place to work; sure, we were making it up as we went along, but there was something incredibly fearless about our approach to clients like American Express and AT&T.

The second was Foote, Cone & Belding, the first “real” agency at which I did a tour of duty.  The office I called home, in San Francisco, did work that would rival anyone’s, for clients Levi Strauss, Pacific Bell, and Clorox, among others.  Today it is merged with Draft and at best a shadow of its former self, but I was lucky enough to be there when it was a giant of an agency. 

The third was Ammirati & Puris, inventors of BMW’s “Ultimate Driving Machine” tagline, renowned for true creative prowess, and filled with people of genuine distinction.  My time at Ammirati was the best time I spent in advertising.

I’ve stayed in touch with friends from my those days – Vivian Young, Phil Palazzo, a few others – but the other day I received an email from an Ammirati alum, someone unexpected.  Her name is Elena Shifflette.

Elena worked for Ammirati’s new business chief, Alyson Henning.  She was one of a cadre of incredibly smart, unusually hardworking, and consistently steady and unflappable young people who collaborated with us on preparing for new business. 

In those days presentation software was mostly beyond the skill set of people like me; Elena and her colleagues filled the gap.  I remember working with her, side-by-side, to make changes to my new business presentations.  More than once I called it a night the day before a pitch, knowing Elena and others on her team would get no sleep as they put the finishing touches on a presentation.  It was one of several reasons why Ammirati was so formidable on pitch day.

What made Ammirati such an extraordinary agency wasn’t the senior leadership — although that by any measure that group was pretty impressive – no, it was what you might call the agency’s “bench.”  Vast and deep, it was filled with people like Tom Sebok, Liz Deutch, Matt Welch, Ellen Wasserman, Peter Fekula, Kristi Faulkner, Andy Berndt, Sandy Sabean, Mike Aaron, Peter Leinroth, and dozens upon dozens of other incredibly talented, amazingly hardworking, and incredibly interesting people.

On Friday evenings many staffers would repair to the bar at Mesa Grill, on the first floor of the building where we worked, 100 Fifth Avenue, long before we relocated uptown.  Now, it was the start of the weekend, and people could be just about anywhere in the world’s most entertaining city, but lots of folks chose to be start their weekend in an Ammirati melting pot, with people from all departments and all levels hanging out together.  Why?  Simple:  they liked one another.

What made Ammirati special, I think, is that we took advertising very seriously, but didn’t take ourselves too seriously.  We enjoyed making clients happy, we thrilled at doing great work. 

And we had fun doing it.  Sure there were office politics, runaway gossip, squabbling of all kinds – all the typical stuff you might expect at an agency or any great organization — but if you want to get a sense of what the agency was like, check out this 1996 holiday party video (is that Steve McCall playing guitar?).  There are some inside jokes included that would take too long to explain, but even if you don’t get these, you still will come away with a sense of what it was like to work there.

So how did my old colleague Elena find me?  LinkedIn, of course.

The genius of LinkedIn isn’t that it’s a job search site – I actually think it’s pretty lame in that regard – but instead is a way to reconnect with old friends.  It helps you rediscover people like Elena, and reminds you that the best part of this business is that it is a community of friends.

If you watched Sunday’s 60 Minutes interview with entrepreneur gazillionaire Peter Theil, you might have found attractive his belief that college is a waste of effort, with the money better spent on more productive endeavors.  Theil is backing his theory by paying 20 people — all in their teens and twenties, all with promising ideas — $100,000 each not to attend college, but instead to develop those ideas.

By Theil’s definition, I am a failure, given I spent way too much money and time to learn way too little that is of use in my professional life. 

Let me be a bit more specific.  I attended a less than prestigious, mid-tier university (George Washington), where I studied nothing in particular and graduated with a degree of no consequence.  I then went on to grad school (UNC) where I earned a Masters in something that almost anyone would consider the antithesis of a calling (English and American Literature).

I am not someone Peter Thiel would be likely to hold in high regard.  But by most measures, I am not a complete failure either. 

I’ve had a long and modestly successful career in advertising.  If I succeeded at all, it is due to a number of factors:  a willingness to work hard, a capacity to take risks, the counsel of good mentors.   But there is one factor that stands out above all others:  college.

I went to school not so much to learn, but rather how to think, how to be disciplined, how to solve problems.  I learned how to write, how to research, how to collaborate with others, and most of all, how to forge relationships, all of which sustained me in my as I pursued my professional ambitions.

My school was as far from elite as you could imagine; to compensate, I chose a major, American Studies, that gave me the flexibility to select courses not by subject, but instead by teacher, which allowed me to study with some extraordinary professors.  I made what to others seemed like odd choices, but to me, in retrospect, were brilliant, given they were made in the service of learning.

College costs way more than it should, and Theil has a point about the amount of debt students incur in the pursuit of a degree.  But if I were attending school today and were pressed for funds, and not smart or athletic enough to warrant a scholarship, I would go to a state university where I would be recognized as a resident, greatly reducing my investment.  If necessary, I would stay local, live at home, and commute, further reducing expense.  If I needed extra cash, I would find a paying job.

Peter Thiel may be way smarter and more successful than me, and I am the first to admit what I’m suggesting here is far from data— it is an opinion of one — but looking back on my career, and with the context that comes with age, I am glad I went to and stayed in school. 

And so, I hope, should you.

If you have been a regular visitor to Adventures, you surely know something is amiss with its design.

About a week ago, the site mysteriously reverted to what you see now, losing the design format that was custom-created prior to its launch. 

Not only did Adventures fall victim to this mysterious ailment, it also infected my other two sites, the one devoted to my book, http://artofclientservice.com, the other devoted to my coaching and consulting practice, http://solomonstrategic.com.  If you visit these, you’ll see they appear in what Tumblr refers to as “Default Redux,” which is even more unreadable than what’s on Adventures.

I’m working though the issue with Tumblr, hoping we can restore the proper design format.  

Many thanks for your patience; my apologies for the site’s current appearance. 

In a previous post I pointed out I do not know JP Morgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon; my view of him as both a public and private person is entirely shaped by what I see, what I hear, and what I read.   And from those observations I infer he is smart, decisive, and, when need be, unapologetically ruthless.

I do, however, know American Express CEO Ken Chenault; Ken was my client years ago, when he was a rising star within the company he now leads, and I served in client service at the agency you know as Digitas.

Although I have written several posts on Ken, he and I haven’t seen one another in more time than I care to admit. But the other day I made a point of attending a relatively intimate lunch event where Ken was the guest speaker.  I went in the hope I simply might be able to say hello.

I did that, and more.  I had the serendipitous good fortune to be outside the venue when Ken came in, giving me a chance to reintroduce myself.  Ken either has an extraordinary memory or he is a very skilled actor, because he didn’t miss a beat; he immediately recognized me, extended a hand, and quickly eliminated any possibility of, “who are you again?” awkwardness.

That alone would signal a good day, with me declaring “mission accomplished,” but once inside the dining room, I managed to navigate my way to Ken’s table.  Sitting close by, we had, at least for me, an absorbing trip down memory lane, reminiscing about executives we knew in common. 

When it was time for Ken to speak, he opened by acknowledging three people who had been enormously important to him in his career.  This was more than a passing, obligatory nod; it was, instead, a serious discussion of how these people contributed to his growth, why it mattered, and why he is grateful for their friendship.   The audience, already on his side, was completely won over by his generosity and charm.

Then, in an easy conversation that was witty and informative, he spoke about his company.  The thing that struck me was a simple insight:  American Express is not in the payments business, it is in the service business, driven by forging trust – a word Ken invoked at least a dozen times, if not more —with its members and merchants. 

If you are in the payments business, you care about transactions; if you are in the service business, you care about relationships.  Sound familiar?  I thought so.

Ken fielded question after question from the audience, taking time to address each one with patience and care.  When it came time to say goodbye, Ken made a point of shaking hands with what seemed like everyone in the room.  All of us felt acknowledged and included, me among them.

With Jamie Dimon, you get a sense you are dealing with two people, the savvy on camera persona, and a far less gracious private individual.

With Ken Chenault, the public person is no different from the private one.  I suspect you deal with the same Ken, regardless of whether you are a fellow CEO, a head of state, or just a regular, everyday account person. 

Now I freely admit a bias here, but in thinking in client service terms, if Jamie Dimon worked on my business, I would respect his intellect, but would hope to never have lunch with him. 

If Ken Chenault worked on my business, I would surely respect his intellect, and would surely hope to have lunch with him.

So I watched this past Sunday’s David Gregory Meet the Press interview with Jamie Dimon.  On screen, he is one impressive person:  articulate, in command of the facts, forthright, and although he claims otherwise, very politically astute.

After I watched the show, I picked up the Sunday New York Times.  On page one of the business section, there was a story by Gretchen Morgenson on Jamie Dimon and JP Morgan Chase’s $2 billion meltdown. 

Morgenson was reporting on a private dinner party (for JPM’s high net worth clients), where Dimon aggressively attacked both the former Federal Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker, and the current president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas, Richard Fishman.  According to Morgenson, Dimon referred to the two men as “infantile” and “nonfactual,” and then continued by taking Fishman to task.  Fighting words, by any measure.

If Morgenson is right, perhaps I have it wrong about Dimon’s political instincts.

Now, I don’t have a clue on what Dimon is really like, and I’m sure there are those who would claim there is little or no disconnect between JD’s public and private personas.  But as someone devoted to client service, I do know what it means to have constancy of character. 

What it means is you never, ever put yourself in a situation where others would question who you are, what you believe, and what you stand for.  Instead, you present to the world a single face.

Consistency of character, something that transcends personality, is a hallmark of the business we are in. You are who you are, regardless of the venue, public or private, and who is present, large group or small.  If you’re good at this, you don’t give in to sudden rage you can’t easily repair, wayward opinions you live to regret, or any other form of what might be considered erratic behavior.  And the test of this — by a client, a colleague, or even a competitor — isn’t when things are going well; it is when they are not. 

Jamie Dimon clearly is cut out for the work he does; his track record of ascendancy speaks for itself.  And he surely will weather this latest tsunami; among other things, he is a survivor.

But as good and successful as he is as a banker, I’d have second thoughts about hiring him as a client service person.  Being a banker these days is tough enough, but client service, at least how I define it, is far tougher.

We advertising people used to be at the lowest rung of any professional work hierarchy, at best a bit ahead of attorneys and used car salesmen in terms of respect and admiration.  But after the financial meltdown of 2008, most people wound up hating bankers even more than advertising people.

There was one banker, though, who seemingly escaped judgment:  Jamie Dimon, CEO of the largest U.S. bank, JP Morgan Chase.  Where others faltered, Jamie Dimon excelled, especially at managing risk; he was able to navigate his bank through a crisis that crippled competitors.  He was the god of banking.

How quickly things can change.

I thought it might have been a slow news day when I read Friday’s New York Times cover story that JP Morgan Chase had lost $2 Billion – yes that’s right, billion, not million – on trades that went bad. Then I saw it was the lead in The Wall Street Journal.  That evening Brian Williams opened with the story on NBC’s national news broadcast.  Tomorrow Jamie Dimon will be interviewed by David Gregory on Meet the Press.

This is, by any measure, a monumental screw-up, with Jamie Dimon coming in for some well-deserved criticism from all quarters.  But if you work in client service, you inevitably will think like me, and turn this massively rotten lemon of a problem into lemonade, extracting from it these three life lessons:

The first is to recognize how mercurial and fleeting success can be.  Jamie Dimon – does anyone ever refer to him by just his last name – went from hero to villain in what appeared to be an instant.  The problem, of course, took far longer than an instant to incubate, but the message that you can erode or even destroy your reputation with one big misstep is a sobering reminder that fame is perishable.

The second point is to quickly admit the error and take full and unmistakable ownership of it.  With Dimon – there, I just used his last name, a first – there was no effort to evade the truth.  Instead, he said, “There were egregious mistakes.  They were self-inflicted and this is not how we want to run a business.  The bank’s strategy was, “flawed, complex, poorly reviewed, poorly executed, and poorly monitored.”

Dimon didn’t stop there; he continued with, “Just because we’re stupid doesn’t mean everybody else was,” taking blame for what happened, rather than deflecting it to market shifts or trading reverses.  “We will admit it, we will fix it, and we will move on,” he vowed.

The third point comes as a bit of conjecture, stemming from a, “first time, it’s shame on you; second time, it’s shame on me” point.  Time will demonstrate if this theory proves correct, but I am fairly certain that a loss like this will not happen again… ever.  Dimon will fix this.  He will assess the problem, assign blame, then execute the perpetrators through job termination.

Sure, you could say Dimon has no blood in his veins, but by acknowledging blame in an uncompromising way, then moving quickly to address it, the bank will get through this, and that’s the message you might want to take from this the next time you confront a problem with a client or colleague.

To this there is only one other thing I can add:  thank god for bankers.

This happened years ago at the agency you know as Digitas—I recall it as Bronner Slosberg Associates — but I still quite vividly remember walking into my creative director colleague Christine Bastoni’s office and finding that one of the agency’s account people, Lisa Phildius, was working with her on some numbers.  I thought they were pulling together a fee estimate, or perhaps were going over a budget reconciliation; I was wrong.

Lisa was helping Christine fill out her time sheets.  Yes, that’s right, her time sheets.

Now, this was not a Shona Seifert, screw-the-client-go-to-jail moment; there was absolutely no intent to deceive.  This was, instead, a need to reconstruct, a challenge made even more daunting in that Christine didn’t need to fill in a week’s worth of time; instead, she was in search of a month’s time, if not more.  Lisa, good account person that she was, was there to encourage, help, and record.

If this already weren’t a hill too large to climb, it was made even steeper by the fact that Christine worked on at least three accounts, for which she oversaw scores of projects, each with its own project fee estimate.  She literally needed to figure out, hour-by-hour, day-by-day, week-by-week, how much time she devoted to each.

Sound impossible?  Yes.

Seem ridiculous?  Check.

Happen often?  You bet.

I wish this were a once-in-a-lifetime story, but, sadly, it is not.  Agencies the world over grapple with a challenge:  how to accurately record and reflect time dedicated to client work. 

The reason I raise this now is the other day I was on a gig at an agency when I was approached by a young, talented account person for advice:  “Robert, I have a question — how do you handle time sheets?”

My answer is surprisingly simple; I record my time sheet every day.  That’s it.  Nothing fancy, nothing exotic; just plain old-fashioned record-and-add at work.

In the evening, before I leave for the day – it could be 7:00 pm, in the past it could be 7:00 am — I record my time, but not on a time sheet.  Instead, I list hours, in quarter-hour increments, in my Microsoft Outlook Calendar.  I not only include the time spent, but I also write a short description of what I did during that time:  write a creative brief, participate in a client call, attend a meeting on work we’re doing, that kind of stuff. 

I’d then transfer those hours to a time sheet.  If I was out of the office, I would jot down my hours in longhand, then transfer them to Outlook and my timesheet on my return.

I relied on this routine for three reasons:

1. I have a mind like a sieve; if I waited even a day, I had a hard time remembering the time I spent and how I spent it.  The longer I went without recording my time, the more useless my mind became in summoning up the recent past with any degree of accuracy.

2. If a client asked me a question about my time, I would be able to answer it accurately in some detail, and with the conviction that accompanies evidence.

3. Above all, I appreciated what my time sheet represented:  a paycheck, pure and simple.  Those hours I spent get converted to money I use to pay the rent.

Every agency I know grapples with this issue.  I worked at one agency that attempted to bribe people to fill out their timesheets by offering people a reward – a “transit check” redeemable for public transportation — for timesheet compliance.  Did it work?  Kind of, but as agency chief I still had to walk the halls, practically begging people to record and turn in their time.

At another agency I worked at I would use our regular, company-wide staff meetings to gently embarrass people into submitting their time.  At whom was I directing a cold stare?  Not junior people, not people you might suspect.  This crime tends to be far more democratic.  Department heads, people who know how important time reporting is, were among the worst offenders.

But here’s the thing:  it takes all of five minutes to record your time once a day.  With jobs harder to come by, with clients scrutinizing their agencies more closely than ever, this to me seems like a complete no brainer.

And yet, if you talk to anyone working in advertising, I will bet that recording and collecting time in order to bill clients in a timely and accurate way remains a problem without a solution.  It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?

So, what could be more boring than a post about timesheets?  Nothing.

And what is more important to an agency than the accurate and timely collection of the hours people spend working for their clients?  Nothing.

I rest my case.

Just about everyone I know has a definition of what it means to provide great client service, but if you want to see this from a different perspective, watch Charlie Rose’s interview with restaurateur Danny Meyer, owner of New York City’s Union Square Café, Grammercy Tavern, Blue Smoke, North End Grill, the restaurants in the Whitney and the Museum of Modern Art, and the Shake Shack chain.

The terminology might be different, but the spirit of serving clients well remains the same.   What I like best about the conversation is Meyer’s distinction between “service,” meaning what his people do to deliver a product – and “hospitality,” meaning how his people make clients feel.

That sounds like client service to me, expressed in the context of working in a restaurant, not in an advertising agency.  To me, both are noble callings.

The interview lasts 26 minutes and is more than worth the time to watch.

In case you missed this in my last post, my friend and Womenkind founder Kristi Faulkner is looking for an account director.  If you’re interested, follow this link to more information and an opportunity to apply.  Womenkind is unlike any other agency I know, and is very much worth a look.

Kristi’s email also made a couple of suggestions for blog posts, one of which is, “10 qualities to look for in an account person.”

I’m not sure what Kristi means when she says, “qualities,” but I do know I wrote a book that had 58 guidelines for account people and still didn’t cover all the bases, which is why this blog is helpful.  If nothing else, it helps me fill in the blanks on items I overlooked or neglected.

Still, I take Kristi’s question seriously.  If I had my druthers, I would formulate a single, unified rule that governs all of account management.  I am, sadly, not that smart. 

I did, however, streamline my often tortured thinking into three governing principles, which is a bit of an evolution from where I was at when I wrote the current edition of The Art of Client Service:

 The first is great account people should follow the “Broken Windows” theory, which means doing the expected things – formulating an accurate budget, creating a detailed and realistic schedule, writing a concise and timely conference report — with unrelenting consistency.

 The second is to adhere to belief that relationships built on trust matter, because great relationships lead to great work.  I wrote a book on the subject; you might read it if you haven’t done so already.

 The third is to master to maddening intricacies of new business, because it is in this highly compressed, big-stakes arena where great account people separate themselves from account people who are merely good.  I’ve written a ton of workshop material on the subject; if you’re interested, email me for more details at robert@solomonstrategic.com.

Client service is a hard business to master, made even more challenging by radical changes in how consumers of all types engage with brands. 

For the fearful, it can be overwhelming; for the courageous, it can be an invigorating opportunity to learn.

I can’t believe how much time has passed since I wrote a post called, “My conviction about conviction,” in which I refer to the writer Matt Beaumont’s book, E with the comment, “were we ever as evil as he makes us seem?” 

The “we” in this case was a reference to account people; Beaumont’s portrayal made it seem as if account people come equipped with sharp horns and fiery pitchforks.

But Beaumont’s novel is a trifle compared with what I saw earlier this week on AMC’s show Mad Men.  Like just about everyone in the known advertising universe, I am an avid follower of the show.  What I find appealing about it is show runner Matthew Weiner’s ability to portray his characters as deeply flawed and vulnerable, yet at the same time make them noble and at least occasionally selfless. It’s as if there’s a rule that bad people can still do good things.

There is one apparent exception to this, though:  the agency’s lead account person, Pete Campbell.   In the most recent episode we see him covet a high school girl, sleep with a prostitute, sell out a colleague, and even fail to repair the plumbing in his kitchen.  He’s small minded, devious, untrustworthy, unfaithful, and a coward.  The other characters have redeeming qualities to counter-balance their faults; Campbell has none.  He’s evil in both small and big ways.

Still, even this left me unprepared me for the round of fisticuffs between Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce’s financial guy, Lane Pryce, and Campbell.

In a partners’ meeting, they argue about an account; Lane takes offense and literally “calls out” Campbell.  After a bit of silliness — these guys are hardly the thuggish type — Pryce knocks Campbell to the floor. 

I can imagine nothing more humiliating than an account guy being punched out by a finance guy, who’s a milk toast in his own right.  But the scene portrays Lane as brave, principled, and sympathetic, if a bit bumbling and foolish.  Pete Campbell?  He’s a snake.

The episode left me with a mixture of contempt and sadness.  If Pete Campbell is meant to represent me, and all the other account people in advertising; I have to ask, am I really as dishonorable as a Pete Campbell?  And what about my colleagues?

Then I received an email from my friend, former colleague, and founder of the agency Womenkind, Kristi Faulkner, who is in the market for a couple of account people.  Kristi wrote: 

“I’m convinced that acct director is the hardest job on earth.  Judging from the resumes I’ve been getting, everyone thinks they can do it. As long as they’ve had a client — as in media sales, media planning, etc — people think they’re qualified to do the job. People don’t realize what a 360 degree challenge it is!

“…effective account management is a intellectually demanding job that requires one to be a ringmaster, a quarterback, a shrink, a cheerleader, a peace negotiator, a political strategist, a public defender and a field Marshall all in one. Not many people have the unique combination of skills it takes to do it well without cracking. The pressure is enormous, and good account people sweat every detail without letting anyone ever see them sweat.”

Coming from a copywriter, the admission that being an account director is, “the hardest job on earth” made me feel better.  The fact is, it doesn’t matter if the writer is Kristi, or a supportive Martin Puris, who I quote on page 89 of my book, or a steadfast Peter Van Bloem, a writer who has been loyal advocate, or any other creative person who recognizes how hard it is to be good at this job.

Why do I feel this way?  The answer, I think, lies in a letter of praise Ogilvy Chair Shelly Lazarus wrote me after my first book came out:  “It seems so simple… why is it so hard?!?” 

You know what?  Shelly is right.  It is hard; it is especially hard to maintain a sense of honesty, decency, and respect when things are going to shit all around you.

But I digress; back to the show.

Just about every character on Mad Men despises Pete Campbell.   If there is an exception, it probably is embodied in Don Draper, who has grown to respect Campbell, who recognizes his value, and who, at least on one occasion, actually stepped in to protect him from an angry Roger Sterling.  Draper, as all of you know, is a copywriter.

In some cases, art does imitate life.