The simplest questions to ask often are the hardest to answer. 

The other day, in passing, over lunch, with no particular agenda, a friend asked,  “So, how did you get into this business, anyway?”

Good question.

I often say that advertising, like publishing, is an accidental profession.  It chooses you, you do not choose it.  You sort of fall into it, almost by default.

But that’s not really an honest answer, at least not for me.  I did not fall into this business; I chose it, pursued it, and uprooted my life to become part of it. 

All because of Dan Pasley.

Dan was one of three founders of a boutique, creatively driven, Washington, DC agency called Pasley, Romorini & Canby.  At the time I was Director of Communications at a kind of in-house agency for a private company called Congressional Information Service (CIS).  We were launching a new product, and the guy who hired me, Howard Goldstein, suggested I search outside for help with a new advertising campaign to announce our product.

The Rule of Three

I didn’t know the first thing about searching for an agency, but I did know the “rule of three,” meaning I knew to speak to at least three prospects before making a decision.  I don’t recall how I came across Dan and his agency, or the other two competitors – one of which was the pioneering direct response agency Stone & Adler – but there was something I learned from the experience of meeting all three prospects. 

Most important of all, my meeting with Dan changed my life.  More on that in a moment.  But first, let me explain what happened in my so-called agency pitch.

I contacted the three shops, told them a little about CIS, outlined what we were looking for, and asked each of them to meet me to discuss both their credentials their initial thoughts on the assignment, including a sense of the time and budget required.

Prospect #1

I met with Stone & Adler first; I was extraordinarily impressed with the presentation they pulled together.  It was like discovering a new language; the Stone & Adler folks thought and wrote in a way I had never seen before.  Cost was an issue – they charged a retainer that began at $40,000 a month; rounding error to some no doubt, but beyond reason for a firm our size – but this was not what made me abandon them.

What surprised me as much as the superb quality of their writing was the sloppiness of their presentation, compounded by the agency’s indifference when I raised the issue with their people. 

I asked the exec leading the team, “Why are there so many typos in what you presented?”  His answer – “They’re minor; they really don’t matter” – was enough for me.  Stone & Adler were not for us.  I grew up caring about this stuff.  Too many mistakes, with too little interest in addressing them, struck me as arrogant and indifferent, two qualities an agency definitely should avoid if it hopes to win an account.

Prospect #2

I can’t remember the name of the second agency I met with, but I surely remember the meeting.  The founder came in spoke about the agency; no notes, no partners, no point-of-view.  When I asked what the next steps would be, he replied, big smile on his face, “You hire us!”

So much for agency number two.  The founder had done so little preparation and was so completely cavalier about the opportunity it made it easy to dismiss him as a serious prospect

Prospect #3

Then I met Dan Pasley.  Like agency number two, Dan also arrived for our meeting alone, without a presentation, but there was something immediately appealing about his demeanor  — his confidence, his sense of humor, his approachableness – that made me put my misgivings momentarily aside.

We chatted casually for about an hour.  I outlined the assignment, then asked what the next steps would be.  Dan replied, “Let me get back to you with some thoughts.”

We shook hands and said goodbye; nice guy, I thought, but figured that would be the end of it, with me without an agency and needing to start over.  Had I done something wrong?  I thought the assignment was reasonable, the timing fair.  Was it me?

Before I could answer the question, a letter appeared, delivered by messenger, from, you guessed it, Paisley, Romorini & Canby.  In great detail, Dan recapped our conversation, the assignment they would address, and how they would approach it.  He wrote well.  Amazingly, there were no typos.  The cost was a bit high, the schedule a bit long, but finally I had something to consider.

The decision was mine, but I consulted with my boss Jimmy Connolly, my friend Howard, and my colleague Rick Johnson.  Everyone agreed they were the best option; the fact is, they were the only option.

I called Dan with the news.  He was grateful and appreciative; we made an appointment to kick-off work.  But then I asked, “Your letter was extraordinarily detailed, yet you didn’t take a single note in our meeting, even though we spoke for more than an hour.  How did you do that???”

He laughed and said, “I listened very carefully, and the moment I left your office, I found a place and did a complete brain dump of everything I could remember from our conversation.”  I don’t know if this actually was true, but it sounded plausible enough.

Three lessons

Okay, there are three things to take from all of this, all perfectly obvious. 

First, give a damn about your work.  No one is perfect, but your submission should be, or at least nearly so.  Stone & Adler didn’t care, it showed, and was a disservice to the both the agency and to me.

Second, don’t phone it in.  That’s what agency number two did.  It was a waste of his time, and mine.  To this day I feel insulted that he thought he could win a piece of business based on charm, or what he thought was charm.  David Ogilvy this guy was not, and I doubt I would have given Ogilvy the assignment had he performed in a similar fashion.

Third, there is a virtue to careful, listening followed by rapid, thoughtful, and well-crafted follow-up.  That’s why Dan and his agency earned the business.

But wait, there’s more.  I still need to tell you how my meeting with Dan changed my life.

So I began working with the Pasley team, starting with a brief, looking conceptual approaches to the print campaign we were planning, and drafting copy.  The agency was in downtown Washington, DC; we were in suburban Maryland.  For reasons I couldn’t explain then, but can easily explain now, I suggested we meet at their shop.

It wasn’t as if I wanted to escape my organization’s offices — they were more than pleasant – it was that I liked going to the agency.  It felt cool, and it made me feel cool, or at least cool-er.  They worked on interesting clients, they did interesting things, they were interesting people.

As I hung out there more and more, and got to know Dan better and better, I began to realize I wanted to be like Dan.  I wanted to be an agency guy.

What changed everything

About a year later, I got a call from the agency that would become Digitas; would I meet with them about a job?  I resisted at first.  They were in Boston, a city where I knew no one.  They wanted me to work on an account with a name they could not reveal, with a job title they were unsure of.  They wanted me to work for someone who was – I know this is hard to believe – all of 24 years old.  

I tallied all of the reasons to say “no,” and that’s what I did:  I said “No.”  But the agency folks thankfully persisted, and I — luckily in retrospect — remembered I wanted to be like Dan.  I wanted to be an advertising guy.

They offered me a job.  I thought about it for a bit, then decided to leave my city, my friends, a love interest, and everything else that defined my life, behind.  And in so doing, I changed my life.

All because of that meeting I had with Dan Pasley.