Half His Present Repute - An American Story

Prologue: November 1960
Twenty-one-year-old William Shepherd stretched, then rubbed his tired, ice-blue eyes and brushed back a shock of dark hair. He sat alone in the War Room of Young & McCall Advertising watching the black-and-white images flicker on the television screen. To help stay awake he continued to whittle away at a piece of silver birch, a habit he picked up from his father when he was very young. The shavings fell into a crowded waste basket. He stopped, then looked, unsatisfied, for a long time at the figure of a woman he was carving.

The dimly lit room was surrounded by charts, graphs and maps that covered all four walls. The conference table was littered with more documents, which a day earlier, like the wall-hangings, would have been highly confidential and safely locked up. But not tonight.

It was a bit after 3 AM on the morning of November 9, 1960, and he was exhausted. Richard Nixon had just given what announcers considered to be a concession speech, saying if the current trend continued, John F. Kennedy would be the next President of the United States. Shepherd's strategy had worked.

Less than a hundred days into his first job, the precinct-to-precinct messaging rollout he devised for his bosses, and therefore for the Presidential campaign, had worked. True, he had heard about the possibility of vote tampering by the Democratic machine so critical in Chicago, but he had no way of knowing whether they were true or not. So he comforted himself with his own contribution. It was going to be an even longer night and probably well into the morning and beyond to be official, but he knew it was over. His guy had won.

There was no celebration at the agency. His bosses were at the ballroom, invited by the campaign. No party for him. Just a good sleep alone for the hours that remained.

Shepherd grabbed the small female figure he was whittling, put it in his jacket pocket and walked down the hall and then up the back stairs, keyed into his room and collapsed on the bed. As he closed his eyes, his mind wandered back over the past few months, then wondered what lay ahead.

Chapter Five: Compromises – End of 1960
(four months into his job)

"Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got." – Janis Joplin

William Shepherd nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited outside McCall's office. He wondered how his disclosure would be received. He barely heard what Joanne was saying to him. After what seemed to be the longest twenty minutes of his life, the door opened and Herta Henry emerged. Herta was second in charge of marketing services after McCall, so it seemed normal that they would be in a meeting. However, when Henry passed by Shepherd, she shot a laser at him. Shepherd knew something was up, especially when McCall asked him into the office in a stern voice.

"William, let me cut right to the chase. We are a family here and I pride myself on that. Families share confidences and I am about to share one with you. Let me say it a different way. I'm going to trust you. Among the wiz kids, you have the most wiz. Do you understand what I just said?"

Shepherd nodded nervously.

"Good."

"Mr. McCall, I wanted to see you about something that…"

"Let me explain something to you, Will," McCall said, cutting him short. "The normal profit margin at an agency is 15% of our commissions or fees. We are owned by and owe our existence to Excelsior, our holding company. They share in our profits and they expect us to deliver at least 20%. In some quarters when they are suffering, they want 25%. That is a lofty goal, unrealistic using orthodox means. The best way we know how to reach that goal is through unorthodox media buying."

Shepherd remained silent while McCall continued.

"You probably don't know this, but the only people working here who are not on our payroll are the media buyers…all of them…network, local, print, outdoor. They are all on Excelsior's tab. I don't love the situation, but frankly there is not much I can do about it. So I compromise. I swallow my integrity with a dose of discretion for the sake of the agency's survival. I will fight that battle on another day when I know I can win."

Before answering, Shepherd took a good look at his mentor. McCall's face was a mask of pain. Obviously, what he had just told Shepherd bothered him deeply. William chose his words carefully.

"Well, Sir, what about the Nielsen punch card situation?"

McCall stared at Shepherd for a long time. He simply shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Sit down, William."

Shepherd remained standing.

"Sometimes, William, we have to make small compromises for a greater good. We have a wonderful environment here and we do outstanding work. Do you know that Luke got an Effie for your idea about the outdoor board? The one where you said about the crossword puzzle, This is what people on the Metro are doing while you're stuck in traffic."

"No, I didn't know."

"Of course not. You were too busy working. That's another subject. You need to make some friends here, starting with Luke. If you're going to make it in Marketing you better make friends with the creative people. The copywriters and art directors are the lifeblood of the agency. It's their work the public sees."

"I know, Sir, but without our intelligence, the right people would never see their work."

McCall smiled. "You're learning, son. Do we have an understanding?"

With the knowledge that McCall had bested him, Shepherd nodded, then added, "But I don't have to like it."

McCall walked William over to the door. "Well that's the way it is, Mr. Shepherd, until the two of us start our own agency," he finished facetiously.

"Oh, one last thing. I think you've had enough of buying. Time to rotate you into media planning and strategy. I think you'll find that very interesting."

McCall patted Shepherd on his back and sent him on his way.

Feeling confused, Shepherd went directly to the creative floor and sought out Luke Forrester, who was chatting with a small group of associates at the moment.

"Hi Luke, do you have a moment?"

"Guys, meet our rising star. Watch this man. One day he might lead the flock."

The group laughed.

"No, guys, I'm not kidding," Luke added.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on the Effie," Will offered.

Luke put his arm around William's shoulders, saying, "Follow me."

Together they retreated to Luke's office. Above the desk were several rows of statues and plaques — at least two dozen.

"Which one do you think it is?" Luke Forrester asked.

"Jesus, I don't know," Shepherd responded.

"Believe me, there are times when I don't know myself," Luke answered.

"See, these things are bullshit. They don't mean a thing. Growing the client's business doesn't mean much either. Can you guess what really matters?"

"You mean to you," William responded.

Luke nodded and continued.

"What matters is the problem. What matters is what we have to figure out to solve the next problem. I actually like it when a client rejects my work and sends me back to the drawing board — or, more properly…typewriter. That means he trusts me to come up with an even better solution and I get to solve an even tougher problem. That, my friend, is what this business is all about."

Luke reached up to the highest shelf and removed one of the awards. It was a gold block of three rectangles, each one higher than the one before.

"Do you know what an Effie is given for?"

William shook his head.

"It's for advertising effectiveness. In other words, good stuff that actually sells, actually changes minds. That's why I do like this award. But the truth is it's only a short series of rectangles. Here. This is really yours anyway. Keep it to remind yourself that it doesn't really matter. What matters is, what?…"

"The next problem to solve," Shepherd answered.

"Good. Now go slay some dragons."

The two shook hands, then Shepherd left. He went first to his room to drop the Effie off and pick up his whittling tools and the small figure he was working on during election night. After buying a sandwich and soda at the cart, he strolled over to the park for lunch and then some whittling. Before he was done Dan passed by and stopped to see what he was doing.

"What's going on?" he started.

"Not much," Will answered. "Going into planning this afternoon."

"No, I mean, what do you have there?"

"Oh, this. Kensi. Except it's not. I can't seem to get it right no matter how many times I try. I gave her one and she left. I thought I would try to duplicate it, but I can't remember what to carve."

"Let me see that," Dan offered.

"God, that's amazing. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Yeah, keep a woman," Will laughed ironically.

"But this is beautiful."

"Maybe. But it's not her."

Then suddenly Will got up, walked over to a public garbage can, and dumped the small wooden figure and his whittling kit. Turning to Dan he said, "I don't know why I do this anyway. I'm done, Dan. I'm going back to work. I gotta get my head straight."

Together the two returned to the agency, Dan concerned about his friend.

Half His Present Repute by Stephen Fajen is Available at Amazon.

Posted at MediaVillage through the Thought Leadership self-publishing platform.

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