Adventures in Client Service

I feel bad about my hip.

Sun, 12 May 2013 21:09:00 -0400

It takes a certain amount of courage to watch yourself present on videotape. If you’re like me, you have this notion of yourself as a presenter: commanding, in control, occasionally funny.

And then you watch yourself, and see and hear all the stumbles, non-fluences, and other semi-embarrassing moments as you parade yourself in front of an all-too-kind and generous audience.

As most of you know from my previous posts, last month I visited Springdale, Arkansas to speak with the folks at the shopper marketing agency Saatchi & Saatchi X. Here’s what I said about the formal part of my presentation: “Not that I didn’t give it my best, but try as I might, as a presenter I wasn’t nearly equal to the task at hand. I failed at monologue. I was better in dialogue.”

The agency videotaped me, so they could share my pearls of wisdom with other agency offices, plus have the option of putting it on their internal website, so people who were having trouble with insomnia could watch it.

As a courtesy, and because I nagged them, they sent a copy to me.

I watched it, twice, with a sense of dread trumped by a voyeuristic desire to see how I sounded and what I looked like.

I was mildly surprised to learn that I didn’t sound half bad. Yes, in that hour of presenting there were the occasional stumbles and the all too-frequent lame jokes, but all-in-all I did a reasonable job on behalf of my sponsor. The content was worthy of consideration, my suggestions to the point, and my stories reasonably illustrative of the points I wanted to make.

But how did you look, you ask? Not so good, I reply.

I could excuse the fact that, when I crossed in front of the audience, my head intruded on the PowerPoint images being projected (on what I thought was) above my head. Note to self: remember to check next time.

Many of my friends know I have been struggling with osteo-arthritis in my left hip, which causes me to walk with what (I think is) a slight limp. But I cringed as I saw myself drag my leg back and forth and up and down the stage steps. I am surely old enough, but this made me look ready for the great advertising agency in the sky

As dreadful and embarrassing as this might seem, if you are a presenter, I would strongly urge you to have yourself videotaped for review. You will see yourself as others see you. That alone will be enlightening. You can make note of what you’re doing wrong, and take steps to correct it. You will get better at something that is utterly central to gaining trust with clients, building credibility with colleagues, and advancing your career within your organization.

As for me, I am going to summon the courage required to get that hip fixed.

A man walks into a bar...

Tue, 07 May 2013 19:46:12 -0400

If you didn’t watch last Sunday’s Mad Men episode, save this post until you do, then read it.

If you did watch, you know that Don Draper couldn’t sleep the night before Sterling Cooper’s pitch for a piece of the Chevrolet account. He got up, left his hotel room, and went to the bar for a drink. Soon thereafter, in walks Ted Chaough, one of the owners from competing agency Cutler Gleason Chaough, the shop Peggy Olsen joined at the end of last season as head copywriter. CGP also has been invited to pitch Chevrolet.

After some typical, “I-can’t-sleep-so-I’m-in-the-hotel-bar-before-a-pitch” back and forth, Don and Ted conclude they are doomed to lose to the larger, better established agencies that already have a presence in Detroit. That’s when they do the unthinkable: they decide, on the spot, to merge, to become more like the agencies they are competing against, in order to improve their chances. They have great ideas; what they lack is scale. Joining forces solves the problem.

The following day, they win the account.

If you are a fan of Mad Men, and if you happen to be a reader of Adam Grant’s just published book, Give and Take, you know that Don Draper is the ultimate “taker.” Not a “giver,” not a “matcher;” a taker. We know less about Ted Chaough, but let’s assume he’s pretty much a taker too.

Now, this is television, but something interesting happened in that bar. Two takers became givers, and something good came as a result: the givers won a major piece of business.

As much as television draws us in, especially this program, what I find far more interesting is Adam Grant’s book, which deals in the real world, not a make-believe one, and has as a central premise that people who give can succeed often more readily than people who take.

Agency people, client service folks in particular, take note. Grant says,

“The takers were black holes. They sucked the energy from around them. The givers were suns; they injected light around the organization. Givers created opportunities for their colleagues to contribute, rather than imposing their ideas and hogging credit for achievements. When they disagreed with suggestions, givers showed respect for the people who spoke up, rather than belittling them.”

How many of us have worked with the takers, the black holes? I certainly have known my share, and my memories are not happy ones. But I’ve also had the pleasure of working with the givers, the shedders of light, and my memories are what propel me forward. I just wish there were more of the latter, and fewer of the former.

Advertising need not be the whore’s business many of us have grown sadly accustomed to. If enough of us buy into Adam Grant’s point of view on giving vs. taking, there’s hope. And if Don Draper can change, so can we.

A second opinion.

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 21:39:59 -0400

In July of last year I posted a piece called “Separation of powers,” in which I attempted to define the various “voices” that represent an agency.

This is hardly original with me, but I suggested that the agency’s strategists and planners serve as ”the voice of the consumer.”

Because the creative people are responsible for the body of work that best represents and differentiates the agency, I suggest that they, in fact, serve as “the voice of the agency.”

But what of the account people? To what do they give voice? Hold that thought for a moment.

A couple of weeks back, when I was visiting Springdale, Arkansas to talk with the shopper agency Saatchi & Saatchi X, the subject of agency “voices” arose. One of the production people asked me — forgive me for paraphrasing – “You speak of creative people as being the voice of the agency, and planners as the voice of the consumer, but what about those of us in production? What is our voice?”

After a bit of ruminating, I came upon it: production people are “the voice of reason.” I was pretty proud of myself for having made this up on the spot, and said as much.

There was just one, small problem.

In that Separation of powers blog post, I claimed that account people are “the voice of reason,” not the production people.

The person who asked the question must have read that post, but was thankfully kind in letting slide my misappropriation of the term, even as I went on, and on, in my typical, longwinded style.

But the question remains: if account people truly are the voice of reason, what would I say about production people? I’ve been thinking about this ever since my return to Napa, and have arrived at what I think is an appropriate answer.

Production people are, “the voice of authority.”

Here’s why: production people are not only the keepers of vast technical expertise, they are the people who actually convert ideas into execution. They are the people you turn to when you want an answer to, “Can we do this within budget?” or, “Can we do this on schedule?”

You consult them whenever an issue of this sort arises. But beyond that, you consult with the best of them because you value their judgment, rely on their knowledge, and trust their instincts.

To quote a former resident of the White House, production people are the voice of authority because, in the end, they are the ones who decide.

They are the deciders.

It was my pleasure.

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 21:02:00 -0400

Many thanks for your note, Marilyn, I very much appreciate it.

You and your colleagues might want to stayed tuned for a second post I’ll make next week, on “the voice of reason,” something we discussed in our meeting. I have a few additional thoughts to share, accompanied by an apology.

Best,

Robert

Director of Planning

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 20:54:23 -0400

Hi Robert: Thank you so much for coming to visit us and for your nice words about SSX. You are too humble - your presentation was wonderful and stimulated the good conversation we had. We enjoyed your war stories and you made us feel welcome to your world. Brings back memories of New York City. All the best. Come again soon. Marilyn

A sense of where you are.

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 21:10:00 -0400

April 16, 10:00 pm, on a flight from Northwest Arkansas to San Francisco, via Cincinnati

I write this on the plane ride home from my visit to Springdale, where I spent the better part of a day presenting to and meeting with my colleagues from the shopper marketing agency, Saatchi & Saatchi X.

This engagement came about in the best way possible. A couple of agency folks read The Art of Client Service, liked it, and reached out by email. A conversation ensued, leading to a proposal, which resulted in a gig.

Three observations about my trip:

1. I made a formal presentation, followed by an informal conversation. The presentation was carefully planned, written, rehearsed, and delivered. The conversation was unplanned, unscripted, unrehearsed, and ad hoc. Now, this might be more a commentary on my deficiencies as a presenter more than anything else, but it is clear people got good stuff out of the conversation. The presentation? Not so much.

The point: even the best presentation – one far better than I delivered – loses out to discussion. In the presentation, I was in control. In the discussion, the audience was in control. This audience was great: thoughtful, provocative, in search of answers to questions they confront every day. Not that I didn’t give it my best, but try as I might, as a presenter I wasn’t nearly equal to the task at hand. I failed at monologue. I was better in dialogue. Those who know me will not be surprised.

2. The questions were great. Those in attendance – there easily were 70 or more people in the room, with other offices joining in by video conference — each armed with a thought, an observation, or an inquiry, which made the discussion engaging, invigorating, and, at times, almost illuminating.

There were many moments that stand out, but one was particularly noteworthy. A senior account person asked me to cite three life-changing professional experiences — I think she used the word “life-changing” – and, “one that got away.”

The first part was easy: 1) the day I figured out how to write a presentation, which I blogged about July 1 last year in a post called, “Eureka;” 2) the day a client green-lighted a new business presentation on the spot, writing a very large check to my then agency, to signal the go-ahead; and, 3) writing The Art of Client Service, which I view as a legacy, and a way to give back to the community I am a part of and grateful to.

The second part, the one that got away, was harder, but I recalled how crushed I was the day we competed for but lost the Delta Airlines account to an agency called Saatchi & Saatchi. I’m sure if I had more time I could think of a hundred other equally large disappointments and failures – I’ve had my share — but this was the one that stood out, and not simply because I was at a Saatchi agency.

3. I’ve said this before, in a number of different ways, but it is incredibly helpful to escape New York. I confess I now call Napa, not Manhattan, my home, but until last November I was, for the preceding 19 years, a New Yorker, with a New Yorker’s perspective of the advertising world. But then you go to someplace not New York, and you discover just how motivated, driven, and hungry for knowledge people are.

Good agencies everywhere, like the one I was visiting, believe they are on a mission from god, which in this case means how to serve clients well and do great work. Geography is rendered meaningless.

I’ve always assumed there were agencies populated by smart people in places other than New York. But these other places usually are Chicago, San Francisco, Minneapolis, all known hotbeds of creativity.

I return home with the knowledge that there are smart, nice, driven people in Springdale. Who knew?

Now you do.

How to be good.

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 13:37:16 -0400

In a blog post a couple of years ago, I suggested an anthem for account management, replicating the, “First, do no harm” physician’s oath. Borrowing a line, but not its intent, from director Spike Lee, I proposed, “Do the right thing.”

It seemed to me the line captures what constitutes great account people: when faced with an opportunity, an issue, or a crisis, they inevitably do the right thing.

I assumed great account people would do the right thing because it simply is the right thing to do. But then I read the cover story in the March 31 issue of The New York Times Sunday Magazine, called “The Saintly Way to Succeed” that adds the weight of fact to the lightness of my assumption.

The article is a profile of University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business professor Adam Grant, who, according to reporter Susan Dominus, is “the youngest tenured and highest-rated professor at Wharton.” Grant wrote a book called, Give and Take, which has as its central premise that “the greatest untapped source of motivation is a sense of service to others; focusing on the contribution of our work to other peoples’ lives has the potential to make us more productive than thinking about helping ourselves.”

The assertion is not confined to anecdote; it is backed by data. Grant conducted a bunch of research studies that proved his point; you can read about them in the article.

What I found most gratifying is that doing the right thing confirms what I assumed to be true, but never could prove to be true: helping people helps yourself, whether it be a client, or a colleague, or even a competitor. It is, in essence, a plea for enlightened self-interest, with little emphasis on the self, and lots of emphasis on those who benefit.

Based on nearly 30 years of observation, I know the best client service people are infused with a generosity of spirit that prompts them to respond positively to any overture, deal calmly with any problem, or help willingly with any task.

The point? Great account people know how to do the right thing; they know how to be good.

The one thing that matters.

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 18:51:59 -0400

I’ve often said the best posts come not from me, but from you.

The other day I received an email from Matt Singer, a young account guy working in my former hometown, Philadelphia. Matt had some kind things to say about The Art of Client Service; I responded, as I always do, with gratitude – I am always delighted to hear that people find the book helpful – and in our exchange of emails, Matt asked me this:

“Out of curiosity, if you had to choose only 1 piece of advice in there for a 24 year old account guy to really pay attention, what do you think it would be?”

I have been exchanging emails with all sorts of people, from all kind of places, working in all types of agencies, and not once did anyone ever ask me this question.

It’s really good question, mostly because it is so easy to ask, yet so hard to answer.

After thinking about this a bit, I wrote back. Here is what I said:

“One is really hard, but if I think back on all my years as a line account guy, and reflect on the thousands of conversations I’ve had with clients, colleagues, and competitors, I would say the one thing that matters is…

Knowing how to ask the right question.

The right question proves how smart you are, how well you listened, and how clearly you communicate. Above all else, asking the right question leads to formulating a smart answer, and in that answer is the kernel of an idea that addresses a challenge or solves a problem, which will make you a hero in a client or colleague’s eyes, and helps build trust, which is at the foundation of every enduring client/agency relationship.”

It’s April 1, and many of you are probably thinking, “This is an April’s fool’s joke, right? It cannot possibly be this simple!”

I assure you this is no joke. The Art of Client Service includes 58 suggestions, recommendations, and reminders because it is nearly impossible for me to reduce this to one thing. But if I were compelled to name that one thing, I would follow the principle of Occam’s Razor – the best ideas are simple – and say that asking the right question is the one thing that truly matters.

You can think I’m wrong, or smoking, or full of it. If that describes you, email me with what you think matters, I’ll publish it in a follow-up post with your POV.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 16:55:00 -0400

Okay, it’s an old joke, and I won’t insult you with an answer, at least not until the end of this post, but I will tell you a story about Jerry Seinfeld. Not my story, exactly, but rather, one I read in the Sunday New York Times Magazine.

I was on vacation in Mexico, catching up on all the old Times magazines I never read, mostly because I am forever catching up on the old New Yorkers I never read, when I came across the December 23 cover story by Jonah Weiner called, “Jerry Seinfeld Intends to Die Standing Up.”

Now, in the world of stand-up comedy, Seinfeld is about as veteran as they come, having performed show after show, year after year. If one person should be relaxed about delivering his routine — he’s scheduled to do 89 shows this year — it should be Jerry Seinfeld. Even if he has an off night, or worse, stinks up the joint, who cares? As Weiner points out, Seinfeld is “rich beyond imagination,” not to speak of being famous.

Still, there is one person who does care, and that person is Jerry Seinfeld, which explains why when he was about to appear for the first time on Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show” he rehearsed his five-minute routine 200 times beforehand.

Imagine that. One of the worlds’ most famous, most popular, most successful comedians rehearsing 200 times before going on stage. Now you know one of the reasons why he became famous, popular, and successful.

Most of us would be lucky if we rehearsed two times. Many advertising people I know are even worse: they wing it, taking absolutely no time to rehearse, no matter how important the presentation. It’s no wonder so many fall short of the mark.

It doesn’t matter how long you have been in this business, how much success you’ve achieved, or how much rank and seniority you’ve acquired. If you want to know how to get to Carnegie Hall, you need to be more like Jerry Seinfeld, and less like your peers in advertising who just don’t get it.

So, how do you get to Carnegie Hall?

It simple. You practice.

What David Geffen and I have in common.

Sun, 17 Mar 2013 17:22:00 -0400

Okay, David Geffen has his own jet. I don’t. He’s worth billions. I’m not. He’s celebrated. I’m anonymous. We are as different as different can be.

Except for one thing. Near the end of PBS’s American Masters Documentary, “Inventing David Geffen,” there is a moment where Geffen says,

“I never dreamed I would be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and here’s why: I have no talent.

“I have no talent, except for being able to enjoy it and recognize it in others.”

You should watch the show; beautifully produced, populated by a long list of stars – Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, Neil Young, many others – it is well worth the investment of time.

Geffen is a deeply conflicted, complicated person, with traits – ego, insecurity, anger – that would make him the last person you’d want in client service. But in terms of this one quality – a passion for great work – he is exactly the person you’d want.

There are about a million reasons why I am different from David Geffen, but if you, like me, celebrate great writers, art directors, producers, and other creative people in our business, support and nurture their work, and build the relationships necessary to sustain it in the marketplace, then you too are like David Geffen.

To the many definitions of what it means to be a great account person, I’ve come across one more.

Ideas are hard to come by; solutions are in short supply.

Sat, 09 Mar 2013 17:44:03 -0500

In September 2011 – my god have I been blogging this long?!! – I wrote a post called, “The art of listening,” in which I sang the praises of a TED (Technology, Education, Design) talk by Julian Treasure, – called, “The Art of Listening.”

Treasure’s point is elegantly simple: listening creates understanding.

I bring this up now because the other day I received an email from a client. She had recently received a job offer; would I have 15 minutes to talk this through?

We spoke; what was intended to be a 15-minute conversation grew into an hour, not because I had a whole lot to say, but because I had a whole lot to listen.

Our discussion wasn’t simply about my being an attentive listener; it reminded me of Tom Monahan’s book, The Do It Yourself Lobotomy. I included it in The Art of Client Service’s short, annotated list of great books for client service people to read, in part because there is a chapter called, “Ask a Better Question.”

That’s what I did with my client: she spoke; I responded with a question. She spoke some more; I would ask yet another question.

In the process of this back-and-forth exchange, my client was able to think through the issues, sort out the options, and arrive at a decision about whether or not to accept the job (she did). The conversation wasn’t about me proving how smart I was; it was my client proving how smart she was.

Ideas are hard to come by; solutions are in short supply. If, however, you take the necessary time, if you listen well, and if ask the right questions, both will be more readily available to you. Your clients will feel heard, your colleagues will feel respected, and you will feel like the incredibly competent account person you are.

The myth of multi-tasking.

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 10:56:35 -0500

Derek Hickey emailed me. He’s a student at the University of Missouri, engaged in the National Student Advertising competition, who finds himself needing to coordinate multiple teams simultaneously. His point about the challenge of managing multiple teams leads me think about people who are considered great multi-taskers.

We generally consider multi-taskers to be people of great competence, able to straddle numerous assignments with ease. But does anyone really multi-task? Sure, there are lots of people who watch TV while surfing the web, but that’s more play than work, with little at stake other than fractured eyeballs.

A true, working multi-tasker would need, for example, to simultaneously conduct a meeting, write a proposal or presentation, and respond to a phone inquiry, being highly effective at each. Does anyone really do this, and do it well?

I do not. If I try to do this, you would think me distracted and disorganized, a victim of ADD or some other deficit-producing ailment.

People known to be great multi-taskers are the opposite of that: they are, instead, highly disciplined, single-minded concentrators. What makes them appear to be multi-taskers is something remarkably old-fashioned: speed. They do things more quickly than their peers. They are clear-minded about the task at hand. They start assignments early and don’t get distracted. They are efficient. They get things done.

These people are not linear thinkers; they move freely among assignments, handling a call, writing a proposal, responding to someone standing in their doorway with a question or concern. The difference is they give each task their full and undivided attention, in the moment that it’s needed. Competence gets mistaken for multi-tasking.

Everything is more chaotic today; challenges are larger, more complex, harder to solve. The people who are good at solving them are focused, fast, and fundamentally rooted in their craft, able to simplify things, to look at things from a different perspective, to frame the issue with exactly the right question.

Sure, you could call these people multi-taskers. But that would be a myth.

A legion of extraordinary teachers.

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 16:18:22 -0500

I never was trained, at least not in the formal sense of the word. Yes, I was lucky enough to attend a session here and there over the years. I was able to spend time at a few conferences and workshops that were helpful. And I benefited from the friendship and mentorship of people vastly smarter and more talented than me.

But mostly, I was left to fend for myself with unforgiving clients, judgmental colleagues, and win-at-all-costs competitors. I learned largely by screwing up, which explains why I often refer to my book, The Art of Client Service, as a book of failure.

Even if you work at one of those rare shops that still believes in the value of training, practices it, and promotes it, how do you find time in a client-focused, high-pressure position to attend? Generally you don’t; your day is already long enough, your clients continually demanding, your colleagues in need of your collaboration and support.

I am not alone in thinking there is a little training and even less time to devote to it; there are others who share a similar point-of-view. This explains, in part, why I’ve joined a group of advertising and marketing pros to form an organization called Thought Legion, operating under the guidance of founders Tim Williams, Emily Hicks, and Desmond Williams.

All of us have well-established careers in the industry, many of us are published authors, and each of us has something to share with work-crushed people who can’t find the time or money to attend a workshop that takes hours or days, but can find 60 minutes to participate in and gain from a webinar on a topic that helps them get better at what they do.

There are eleven of us, and a compete list on the Thought Legion website, but I suspect you already know some of us. Tom Monahan, author of The Do-it-Yourself Lobotomy and founder of the ideation consulting company Before & After, is one. Brent Hodgins, head of the new business development consulting practice The Mirren Group, is another. Jody Thompson, Culture Rx founder and author of Why Work Sucks and How to Fix it, is a third.

The topics are amazing. Tom talks about, “How to Sell Big ideas to Clients who Need Them the Most.” Brent covers “RFIs and RFPs that Punch Through and Convert.” Jody discusses, “How Agencies Can Create a Results-Only Work Environment.”

My first session is called, “Client Disasters, Agency Meltdowns, and How to Address Them.”

Like my colleagues, I am determined to create a practical, highly interactive session that attendees should find incredibly helpful as they navigate an increasingly complex world of client relationships.

If you find a minute, check out the website. If you can find an hour, sign up and attend one of the webinars and get smarter about the business. And if you want to get better at dealing with clients, think about joining my June 11 session.

I promise I will do my best to equip you to face thorny, hard-to-solve, real-world issues all of you confront in serving clients.

Two big agencies, one big screw-up.

Wed, 13 Feb 2013 16:15:00 -0500

It’s quite simple, really. You decide to merge. You make two lists of accounts, one for each shop, confirm there are no conflicts, inform your key people, swear them to confidentiality, then have them call individual clients before going public with the news.

Easy, right? It’s obvious, a given a no-brainer. A third grader could figure this out.

So how do you explain that Digitas and LBi: 1) missed the conflict between General Motors (Digitas) and Volvo (LBi); 2) failed to contact anyone at Volvo with the news, leaving Volvo’s CMO, Richard Monturo, to read about the merger in the press?

The fact is, you don’t. This, by any measure, is a monumental, nearly unforgivable screw-up.

There was a story in Monday’s Advertising Age that credits the mistake to a “breakdown in communications.” My friend Elizabeth Zea is quoted, and what she says makes sense.

After I read the news, I thought two things: 1) they must have known about and easily could anticipate the fallout in advance; and 2) how could they be so stupid?

On March 9 of last year I wrote a post called, “Yet another simple idea,” in which I outlined a “broken windows” approach to account management, suggesting agencies take care of the simple, easy things – an accurate budget, a workable schedule, a timely and concise conference report – if they ever hope to forge meaningful, trust-based relationships with their clients.

I didn’t think to add, “call your client before news breaks,” mostly because that seems so ridiculously obvious it did not warrant noting. Clearly I was mistaken.

The next time your agency has news of any sort – someone got hired, someone got fired, a reorganization, an account loss – that can have even the slightest impact on a client, you should do the obvious: call them before the news goes public. If it is an important disclosure – how about a merger, for example – don’t call them. Get on a plane and visit them. Speak to them in person.

That’s what account management is all about. Sure, you can refer to this as Advertising Age did, as a “breakdown in communication.”

Or you can refer to this in terms of what it really is: a breakdown in common sense.

Account people are magic.

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 15:08:42 -0500

Last April, in a post called, “’It seems so simple, why is it so hard?!?,’” my friend Kristi Faulkner said that being an account person, “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.”

Kristi is a writer, and her metaphors are apt, but the other day I was reading a New Yorker story by David Owen called, “The Psychology of Space,” which profiles the Norwegian architecture firm Snøhetta. In the piece, Owen describes architects as “magicians,” and goes on to say, “Now, we know magic doesn’t really exist, but magicians have methods they use to make it seem real, and even though we know it’s a trick, we can’t believe it’s fake. They ask us to step outside our ordinary world and view it from a different perspective.”

Many of you might take exception, but I can’t help but think that the best account work is a bit like magic. Think of the time your agency was in a jam – you missed a date, you misspent the client’s money, the work sucked – and yet you somehow, magically, survived.

I’m going to bet that, in most cases, an account person had a hand in the solution. It might be as simple as taking ownership for a problem, or taking the heat on behalf of colleagues. Or it might be as complex as finding a solution that actually addresses the problem, or possibly looking at the problem, as David Owen put it, “from a different perspective.”

No matter how you look at it, some people might simply attribute this to good client relationship management.

But you just as easily could call this magic.

Getting it.

Fri, 01 Feb 2013 16:16:00 -0500

It was Saturday after a particularly long, tough week — I was looking forward to a well-earned day off – when my Ammirati & Puris colleagues Liz Deutch and Alison Fontaine Engel emailed me a copy of a presentation they were scheduled to give to MasterCard the following week.

I took one look and had an OMG moment; the deck was nowhere near finished. It was wholly lacking in what I now refer to as the three Cs of presentation writing: coherence, clarity, and concision. Other than that, it was great.

I was faced with a dilemma: 1) surrender my day off and rewrite the presentation myself; or 2), find Liz and Alison and get them to rewrite it. In a moment of complete selfishness, I chose option two. In retrospect, I am glad I was too lazy to summon the rewrite gods for a do-over I did myself.

I couldn’t find Liz, but was able to track down Alison. Alison, it turned out, was suffering from what sounded like a really bad cold. As we spoke by phone, I hesitated; could I really ask someone that sick to rewrite a presentation on such short notice?

It turns out I could, and Alison, who easily could have bailed, blaming her hoarse throat, hacking cough, and high fever, instead said, “I can do it.” So I explained how a presentation needs to tell a story; needs a powerful opening to hook the audience; needs to have a beginning, middle, and end; needs to wind up with a conclusion that borders on thrilling. Lots of needs, none of which were present in the draft I was holding in my hands.

Alison listened like the really good account person she is — or I should say was, given she now is retired, a true loss to the advertising business — probably took notes, and interjected with a raspy question or two. Our discussion lasted maybe thirty minutes. At the end, she simply said, “I got it.”

But did she? Did she really get it?

Alison emailed a revamped presentation the following day. As much as I’d like to attribute what I can only describe as a minor miracle to my astute input, I know this was all Alison’s doing. She revisited the presentation with fresh eye and a new perspective, rewrote it, and utterly altered and transformed it from something dismissible into something memorable.

Alison, did, in fact, get it. And as I think back on this, there are two take-aways worth sharing.

The first is if you’re the person giving guidance. All I can say here is, resist the temptation to go it alone and do it yourself. It is harder to share than it is to do, but sharing is what makes good account people better. It is your duty, your obligation, your mission to teach others what you know. Everyone profits: you, your colleague, and, most important of all, your client.

The second is if you’re Alison. No one is nicer, but in Alison you can detect the steely resolve of someone determined, I mean determined, to get it right, no matter how many Saturday sick days it takes. Alison didn’t just rewrite the deck, she rethought it, and in so doing made it her own.

If you look back in Adventures, you’ll find a July 1, 2012 post in which I describe a moment the sun, moon, and stars were in alignment, where I unlocked the secret of solid presentation writing. It was a eureka moment.

When I recall that Saturday years ago, I realize now this was Alison’s eureka moment.

The next adventure.

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 16:25:49 -0500

I didn’t start out as an advertising guy; I wanted to be a college professor. When that didn’t work out — a doctorate and a disastrous first marriage proved far too daunting – I became an editor… for a magazine called Morgan Show, devoted to, yes, that’s right, show horses. To this day I’ve never even been on a horse, foreshadowing my future as an account person, but I didn’t know that then.

From Morgan Show it was on to The National Association of Cemeteries, where I wondered if I ever would escape jokes about my job. After a couple of years in the cemetery trade — when people asked about my job I said I worked in real estate — I landed at a database information publisher called Congressional Information Service. Another job I needed to explain to a raft of merciless friends.

I then made my way from Washington, DC to Boston to join a company no one knew. It was called Eastern Exclusives, which one day would grow up to be Digitas. It was my first agency job. I was 33.

To an outsider, these seemingly wayward career choices made little sense, and appeared to be little more than rank opportunism, if you can call working with show horses and cemeteries that. Frankly, they didn’t make much sense to me either, except if you view them from an altogether different perspective: through the lense of adventure. As I think back on it, I realize that each decision was, for me, an opportunity to learn something new. And that, for me, was an adventure.

I’m not referring to learning about horses, death, and data, although knowing something about these things have come in handy at the odd moment. I’m referring to learning of a different sort.

At the horse magazine I learned how to write on deadline and oversee all facets of a marketing driven operation. In the death industry I got to advance conferences, promote membership, and work with creative colleagues. At the data publisher I learned how to (sort of) manage what was an in-house agency. When I joined the agency that would become Digitas, I found myself inventing what it means to serve clients well, while functioning as the de facto head of new business and the go-to person on strategy and media.

These things helped prepare me for a life in advertising, first at Foote, Cone & Belding, later at Ammirati Puris Lintas.

I left Ammirati in a quest to see if I could work on my own, and to see if I could write, publish, and promote a book I thought the advertising business needed more than the business thought it did.

While on my own I took three detours – twice to agencies, once to a start-up — each of which could be viewed as a 1) disappointment bordering on a disaster, now best forgotten; or, 2) as a learning adventure. Initially I thought of them as option one, but with the benefit of time and context, I’ve come to see them as option two.

Last week there was news of yet another adventure. PALAZZO | Investment Bankers announced I joined as Managing Director, responsible for overseeing the firm’s “Strategic Advisory” capabilities.

I’m re-uniting with my former partner and longtime friend Phil Palazzo in pursuit of a goal both of us share: to serve clients in ways that add value to their organizations by helping them address the challenges they face as they seek to grow their businesses. This I hope will prove to be the greatest adventure of all, for me, for Phil and our colleagues, and, above all, for our clients.

What’s more, they give me a chance to share what I know with people who might benefit from it. Even better.

As you make your way through a career, you will make some wise decisions and some unwise decisions. As long as you view each experience as a learning adventure, you can manage even the worst of your decisions as an opportunity to learn, with something to gain from the experience.

My path has been anything but linear, far from predictable, and filled with setbacks, but I am grateful for the route I took.

A friend with money.

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 16:32:00 -0500

The other day I received an email from my friend and former Eastern Exclusives colleague, Mary Stibal. Only a few are likely to recognize the name, “Eastern Exclusives,” but nearly all of you know the agency into which it morphed: Digitas.

Mary wrote to catch up on my relocation to Napa. In the course of our exchange, she mentioned that the founder of our agency, Michael Bronner, invited her to introduce him at an awards ceremony where he was to be honored. Mary was Michael’s first employee; they have known one another for some 30 years, and have remained friends.

It was inspired of Michael to ask Mary to speak on his behalf, and Mary was more than equal to the task, with remarks that were dryly funny – people who know her must have been laughing, even if the audience appeared a bit lost in her humor —and so completely Mary-esgue.

You can watch Mary’s introduction and Michael’s acceptance speech by clicking here, but the point of his speech is that relationships matter:

“I realize that the only thing that mattered was the people. It wasn’t the work, ever. It wasn’t the awards. It wasn’t the growth or the accolades. It certainly was not the financials. It was the people.”

As someone who has long championed the value of relationships – with clients, with colleagues, even with competitors – I would be hard pressed to argue against Michael’s point. But when Michael says, “It certainly was not the financials,” I take exception.

I worked for Michael for six years, and based on what I observed, I saw the agency’s financials as the driving force in its development. I described Michael to others not as an, “advertising guy,” but instead, as an entrepreneur, driven by ambition to make money, pure and simple.

There absolutely is no shame in this. Making money drives many of us, and we need not apologize for our desire, as long as we are honorable and above board in our dealings with others.

No, there is no shame in wanting to make money. The only shame is in not being honest about it.

A lesson in client service.

Sat, 12 Jan 2013 16:27:00 -0500

If you turn to page 163 of The Art of Client Service, you’ll find a short description of Tom Kelley’s book, The Art of Innovation. It made my short list of recommended books because, “it’s not about advertising — it is about how to create new products – and because it is about how to encourage a culture of creativity. Kelley talks at length about his firm Ideo, and all I can say is that I wish I was creative enough to work there.”

I didn’t work at Ideo, but I did try to buy it, when I partnered with my friend and colleague, Phil Palazzo, launching what we called The Design Communications Group, a venture backed by a Chicago-based investment firm called Jordan Industries.

I remember that Phil and I flew to Palo Alto to have breakfast with Ideo’s president and CEO, Tim Brown, one of many such invigorating meetings we had as we crossed the country to meet with owners and founders of some of world’s great design firms. For us, design looked like advertising used to look like in the 1960s, populated by charismatic founders with singular vision, drive, and purpose.

But I digress.

The Art of Innovation is surely worth the investment of time, but if you prefer to see “the movie” instead, follow this link to a 60 Minutes interview with Kelley’s brother and Ideo co-founder, David, conducted by Charlie Rose, that aired last Sunday. You should watch the show if for no other reason than to hear Kelley’s comments on his friend Steve Jobs, who by all reports is a world apart from Kelley in tone and temperament.

What struck me about Kelley is how modest and self-effacing he is, proving that genius comes in many forms, not all of them obvious or expected.

Kelley’s main message: “empathy for the consumer,” meaning that you, “understand people by observing them.”

It is short walk from, “empathy for the consumer” to, “empathy for the client.” If you’re an account person, you need both to succeed.

I then realized that nowhere in the 200-plus pages of my book is there the word “empathy,” and yet it central to being good at client service.

You should watch the video. Then watch it again, as I did. I learned something important from David Kelley, something I will put it to use in my next book, and, more importantly, the next time I connect with a client.

I have no doubt you will learn something too.

A problem best averted.

Mon, 07 Jan 2013 21:24:01 -0500

I’ve been known to say client service is an ephemeral business, hard to describe, harder to defend, short on theory, long on rules that apply part-time at best, my book included, by the way.

How do you teach client service, then? The simple, glib answer is: you don’t.

You don’t teach it, you learn it, and I’ve learned the best way to do this is through trial and error. Today I have an error to share, with a possible solution to try.

Here’s the story: a friend of mine is about to make a substantial revision to his website. As he worked through the issues, he considered how best to use some new photography. He wondered: what impact might it have on the site? How extensively should he deploy the new images? Would a complete site renovation be in order?

Before proceeding, he decided to consult with an art director with whom he has worked for the past several years. They spoke. Unsolicited, the art director recommended a photographer with whom she worked in the past, praising that photographer for his skill in capturing the spirit of what my friend is trying to achieve.

My friend planned on using a different photographer – in fact, his call was not about seeking a recommendation – but nonetheless took the art director’s advice and hired her recommendation.

And that is where the story should end: photographer comes in, takes nice photos, everyone is pleased.

Instead, this is how the story does end: photographer comes in, takes lousy photos, everyone is not pleased, especially my friend.

Unhappy, my friend lets the art director know things did not go well.

The art director writes back, complaining that she was not hired to help, essentially saying this is not her problem.

My friend replies with an email of his own, expressing terrible disappointment at the outcome. He points out that he did not ask for what was an unsolicited recommendation in the first place, and would have thought — given the years they had worked together and the fees he paid her — the art director should have at least been willing to contact the photographer to see what could be done to rectify the situation.

He then tells the art director he will no longer work with her.

Oh my.

So what went wrong here, and what could have been done to achieve a different, better outcome?

For starters, the art director, like so many freelancers, works largely on her own, without the benefit of colleagues readily at-hand. If, for example, she had an account person as a partner, and if that account person was sufficiently thoughtful, he or she first would have recommended that the art director vent whatever frustration she felt in private, thus avoiding an email that could be easily be perceived as ill-considered at best,unforgivable at worst.

Second, if venting didn’t mitigate the art director’s anger, the account person could then suggest writing that email, but waiting a day before sending it, to see if a different more measured response is in order, knowing that context delivered by the passage of time is of immeasurable value in situations like these.

Third, if the art director, after waiting a day, still is determined to send the email, the account person could ask to read it beforehand, to ensure that whatever gets said is not inflammatory, reminding the art director that what is at stake here is not a short-term matter of venting frustration, – but rather is a long-term issue of account preservation.

It might be okay to send an inflammatory email, assuming you are prepared to walk away from an account, but even then there can be unintended consequences at play. Let’s say the client you are angry with has other potential clients who are friends. The next time one of these friends calls to ask for a recommendation on who can help with art direction, the art director’s name won’t even come up. Or if it does comes up, it is to say, “Don’t work with her; she’s difficult and unreasonable.”

So how did this situation finally get resolved? In the end, pragmatism ruled the day. The art director back-pedaled from her initial hand-grenade email, apologizing profusely for it. My friend realized that replacing her on a compressed schedule was simply impractical, possibly risky, and potentially expensive.

In the end, they worked it out; the art director was reinstated.

But, in hindsight, it is easy to see this is a problem best averted. The best way to ensure this doesn’t happen again, going forward, is to learn from someone else’s trial and error.

Either that, or get yourself a good account person for that next assignment.