After decades of inappropriate behavior in the ad business, we’ve arrived at an age of extreme political correctness.

No longer will people in the workplace be treated with disrespect due to race, age, sex, religion or political persuasion.

To understand just how far we’ve come, return with me now to those naughty days of yesteryear when the whole ad business was the Wild Wild West of sexual innuendo and flagrant flirting. The line that became popularized was, “That’s what she said.”

This simple four word phrase became the perfect punchline for almost any innocent remark. For example, you could be sitting in a meeting and a female producer might be speaking about a client’s production budget and say, “It’s not very big, but it’ll do the job!” And a copywriter would say, “That’s what she said.” Big laugh.

Or an account guy might be talking about a campaign he couldn’t sell to the client and say, “It got lost in the big black hole” and a secretary would say, “That’s what she said!” More laughs. If the truth be told, the women in the office used, abused and cherished the line as much as the men did.

My personal favorite was uttered by a very attractive blond account executive named Paula. She worked on the Hills Bros Coffee account at Cohen/Johnson and we had a big new TV shoot coming up. The client needed to be on the air with two new TV spots. We were ahead of the game and had actually written four scripts. If we shot all four of them, we could save the client some money on production. So the question was, should we shoot all four, finish two of them, and edit the other two at a later date?

Paula pondered this for a minute and said, “I don’t know. I’d hate to get it in the can and have it sit there for six months.” To which the art director replied, “That’s what she said.” It got a big laugh – the loudest from Paula herself. While I’m on Paula (that’s what she said) I’m reminded of her quick wit. One time, I was on one of my new miracle diets and had lost about 15 pounds.

I came to work wearing my skinny pants. Feeling quite proud of my new slimmer look, I said, “Hey Paula, there used to be an ass in these pants!” Without missing a beat she said, “Howie, there still is.”

The old days were wilder, sexier and free-er. But there’s no doubt that this kind of behavior was misguided and often crossed the line. Thankfully, today, the ad business is more enlightened and far more healthy.

It’s just a little more stiff. (That’s what she said.)

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Like my stories? Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com. And if you like it, spread it.

© 2010 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

I was sitting on the deck of our rented Fire Island house sipping coffee and reading the Sunday New York Times when my art director friend, Gary Geyer, pointed to a small, unassuming ad and said, “Hmm, this looks interesting.”

The ad said something about a concert that was going to be held in a few weeks in a place called Woodstock.

Gary said, “This sounds like it could be fun, wanna go?” “Nah, I’m not really into concerts” I said.

That was the end of the conversation until the following weekend when the ad appeared again. “C’mon Howie, let’s go, it could be cool.” Again, I said thanks but no thanks. But when the ad appeared the following weekend and Gary was still pestering me, I finally caved. “Alright, alright, I don’t want to go, but I’ll go.”

Little did I know that I had just agreed to attend an historic event that would literally change my life. Two weeks after the concert, I met my wife Carol and began a romance that has lasted for more than 40 years. One month after the event, I grew the beard that has never left my face since 1969.

And within a year and a half, my partner Bob Pasqualina and I broke through creatively at Wells, Rich, Greene, with our career changing, life altering commercials, “Try it, you’ll like it” and “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”, which both earned a place in the Clio Hall of Fame.

Was it coincidence? Or was it the impact of an explosion of music by immortals like Janis Joplin, Joe Cocker, Jimmy Hendrix and many of the greatest rockers of all time?

Was it the drugs? They were everywhere and they were good. They made the music sound better, the people look prettier, and the brownies taste outrageous.

Or was it the experience of sharing it all with 400,000 people huddled together under tarps and blankets in the mud and the wind and the rain? The answer is yes, yes and yes! It was all of that and something more:

It was “the pond.” On the morning of the second day at Woodstock, Gary and I were walking up a path toward the concert grounds when we passed a body of water that looked like a small lake or a large pond.

Out of the corner of our eyes, we noticed that many guys and girls were stripping down to their skivvies, bras and panties and bathing themselves in the water. And then, they were taking it off – all off! Gary said, “Maybe we should go down there.” This was a Gary suggestion that I could really embrace.

We made our way down to the bank of the pond as hundreds more people began to join in, whipping off their clothes, jumping into the water, and splashing like children. I felt an involuntary smile come over my face. Gary and I mustered up all of our courage and stripped down to our tighty whities, stood in the water watching all of the naked people, and then we did it…we bared it all!

Somehow, letting it all hang out in a crowd of young, exuberant, giddy people had an emotional impact on me. In that moment, I felt different, liberated, free! Woodstock opened up my mind and lifted my heart, and I believe the experience contributed in a big way to the important changes that were about to happen in my life.

In August, 1989, on the twentieth anniversary of Woodstock, Life Magazine devoted an entire issue to this historic event.

It was filled with photographs and personal stories supplied by the people who were there—the real Woodstock-ers. My story was one of them, complete with a full page photograph, supplied by Gary, of me standing in the pond in my underwear. (Yep, that’s me in all my glory.)

To publicize this important issue, Life Magazine arranged for me and three other “credible witnesses” to appear on Good Morning America. The three of us were sitting in the green room waiting to go on when I looked up at the monitor and saw a promo for our upcoming segment.

There, up on the TV screen was that same photograph of me in my skivvies, full frame. But since this was network TV, they felt obligated to cover up my private area with one of those blurry circles. To be safe, they used a really big, over-sized circle.

I never felt like such a manly man.
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Like my stories? Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com. And if you like it, spread it. © 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

PETCO ProtestorsIn our fifth year as agency of record for Petco, they hired their third new marketing director.  As is usually the case with the new guy in power, he was determined to put his stamp on the advertising.  So, even though our campaign was helping Petco set retail sales records, we began searching for the next incarnation of our “Petco, where the pets go” campaign.

My partner, Mark Johnson, hit on an idea to get more competitive and go directly up against supermarkets.  While PetSmart was our direct competitor in the category, it didn’t make sense to compete directly with them for several reasons.  First, research showed that they outperformed Petco in almost every category from service, to selection to value.  And second, PetSmart, with about $2 billion in sales, owned about 10% of the $22 billion pet retail business, while supermarkets commanded more than 80%.

Supermarkets dominated the pet business for a simple reason.  Convenience.  If pet owners were in the supermarket buying their milk, macaroni and muesli, all they had to do was walk over to aisle six and buy their pet food and pet supplies.  Why bother driving the extra mile to Petco?  No reason…unless you were a passionate pet lover who cared a lot about the health and well being of your pet.

Our research showed that a good percentage of supermarket shoppers were what we called “pet pamperers.”  People who were madly in love with their pets, thought of them as members of the family, and would do anything for them – including drive an extra mile and spend an extra few dollars to keep them happy and healthy.   If we could attract just a small percentage of these pet pamperers to Petco, it would have a dramatic impact on our sales.  Based on this thinking, we set out to create a disruptive TV campaign that would get our target to rethink their shopping habits.

To kick off the campaign in dramatic fashion, we created a launch spot called “Protestors.”  In this spot, a man and his dog arrive at a supermarket parking lot.  He pats the dog on the head and gets out of the car to do his supermarket shopping.  After he leaves, the dog jumps up on the hood of the car and barks.  Now, we see more dogs and cats jumping on the hoods and roofs of their owners’ cars.  And then we see birds and reptiles doing the same thing.  Some carry protest signs with the Petco name on them.

Now, there are hundreds of pets all over the parking lot and…I’ll stop here, because I want to describe how I presented this idea to Petco’s management.  It was  one of my biggest presentation challenges.

All of the biggies from Petco were in the room including the president.   I got up out of my chair, fully rehearsed and ready to present the storyboard in the predictable, rational way, pointing to pictures and describing the scene.  That’s when  I realized this disruptive idea needed a far more disruptive presentation to bring it to life.

Without thinking, I leaped up onto my  chair, hovering over the surprised group of Petco fatcats (no pun intended.)  Then I barked like a dog.  Woof!  Then, I somehow made the sound of two dogs barking.  “Woofwoof woofwoof. ” Then I voiced the sound of four dogs and two cats, “Meow, meow, woof…” and I added a bird, “Caw Caw.”  I was using my voice to bring to life the sound of a crowd of protesting animals.  Then, I built the sounds into a  loud  chant, and began  to morph the animal sounds into a human word:  “Woof woofco meowco meowco caw woofmeowco petco petco Petco…Petco” louder and louder until it became a thundering chant “PETCO, PETCO, PETCO!”

Then I stopped, the room went silent, and I delivered our new competitive theme line:  “Supermarkets are for people.  Petco is for pets.  Petco, where the pets go.”

The room erupted in applause and I stood there soaking it all in…perhaps a bit too long?  I totally forgot that I was still standing on my chair looking down on them all.  Finally, the president of Petco said, “I’ve got a 3 o’ clock, can we move on, now?”

I jumped off the chair and scampered out of the room like a good little doggie.

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.  © 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

After all of my years in the ad business, you’d think I’d be a little jaded.  But actually,  I’m a hopeless believer.

One day, when I was in a  TV coma after watching non-stop football for six hours, I snapped to attention when a commercial came on for the best thing I had ever seen in the world – a Snuggie!  I found myself wondering, “How did I ever get by all these years without one of these?”  There, before my eyes, was a royal blue Snuggie providing comfort and warmth to a smiling woman on a cold, wintry day.  I can hear all of you detractors out there saying, “Can’t any old blanket do the same thing?”

Silly you.  A Snuggie is a miracle product that not only covers your body like a blanket, but it also has sleeves so your arms won’t be exposed.  After all, what’s the good of warming your body if your arms are cold, right?  And not only that, you could even order this product with pockets.

“Who needs pockets?”  you ask?  You do, because pockets can hold everything you need while you’re watching TV — like your remote; or your used tissues if you’re watching a tear jerker; or even a small paperback mystery, if you’re the intellectual type.  You see, the Snuggie people had thought of everything.

But before I would allow myself to reach for the phone and order my very own Snuggie, I had to know the price to be sure I wouldn’t get ripped off.  They didn’t disappoint!  The Snuggie was just $19.99, plus shipping.  “But wait, there’s more” they said.  “If you order your Snuggie right now, we’ll  send you two Snuggies for the price of one!”

Well, I got right on the phone to a wonderful lady who was so helpful, she asked if I would like to order two Snuggies.  I remembered in the TV ad they said I could get two for just $19.99, so of course, I said I wanted two.  Little did I know I had just ordered four of them.

Then she asked me if I would like to add the convenient pockets and I thought, “What idiot would order a Snuggie without  pockets?”   What I didn’t realize is that I was ordering two pockets for each of the four Snuggies for a total of eight.  And when she asked if I wanted them to rush me my order to me, I said “Of course!”  After all, I didn’t want to spend one more day without my beautiful warm royal blue Snuggie.  After taking my credit card information, she thanked me for my order, went down my list of add-ons, and confirmed my total price… $99.99!!!   And then she hung up.

I had just been Snuggied.  But, no matter, I was excited.  When my four Snuggies arrived, I was thrilled to curl up in front of the TV, all warm and toasty.  Never mind that I live in LA and the temperature was 72 degrees.  I loved my Snuggie, and I decided I could put the extra ones to good use as Holiday gifts for my dearest friends.

When my friend Steve and his wife Lyn were visiting, I said, “Hey, since you’re our special friends, I want you to have this.”  But when I unveiled the bright blue Snuggie, they said, “Oh, how nice…thanks so much but…uh, gee…why don’t you just keep it here so we can use it when we visit.”  Frankly, I was disappointed in their obvious lack of taste.

I decided I would give a Snuggie to people who could really appreciate it — my daughter Johanna and her husband Charlie.  They embraced it with great enthusiasm.  But the last time I visited their home, I saw the Snuggie in their garage hanging over an old rake.  (Maybe they wanted to keep the rake warm?)

That did it!   I was not going to waste any more Snuggies on tasteless ingrates like family and friends.  I packed up two Snuggies and took them to our condo in Aspen, Colorado.  I knew that at some point, Carol and I would put them to good use.

And one snowy night, Carol and I did just that.  But you’ll have to wait for that story.

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.  © 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

This business has taken me to  many wonderful places, all of them made more special with Carol by my side.  (That’s her standing by the door at a Diet Rite Cola shoot in Paris in 1972.) She was the girlfriend I took to an Alka Seltzer shoot that launched the line,  “Try it, you’ll like it.” A good luck charm, perhaps?

She was with me in an Italian restaurant in London when I leaned back in my chair and said, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.”  Carol said, “There’s your next Alka Seltzer commercial.”

When she’s not making me look good, Carol is a psychologist with a PHD, a focus group researcher, a mom to 3 wonderful grown kids and, just recently, a proud grandma to beautiful Zoe.

Would I be the man I am today if she were not in my life?  Impossible.  And it all began so unexpectedly.

There was a newly married couple at Wells, Rich, Greene named Julie and Gary who decided to make me their matchmaking project.  I think they felt I was just too eligible to be single.  And since they had found wedded bliss, they thought that I, too, should experience the joys  of matrimony.  (Never mind that they got divorced two years later.)

Of course, I had no interest in helping them fulfill their project.  I was perfectly happy pursuing the mindless, hedonistic, semi-decadent life of an advertising bachelor in the Big Apple.  I was 27 years old, cute and free.  Wells, Rich, Greene was paying me far too much money and I was putting it to terrible good use.

When most of my friends were renting apartments for $250 a month, I was the first one to break the $400 a month barrier.  I found myself a gorgeous one bedroom apartment in a classic 1930′s building on 56th Street and 1st Avenue.  My bachelor pad was on the 17th floor with two balconies, a fireplace and a floor to ceiling bookcase built into the wall that actually swung open to reveal a hidden bar.  Since the building had been erected during prohibition, the bookcase was a great place to hide illegal bottles of liquor. And, since there was still prohibition against marijuana, it was a fabulous place to hide my weed.

If I needed to get anywhere fast, no problem.  I kept a red, 1964 TR4 convertible in the building’s garage, right beside my 650cc BSA motorcycle.  I was having fun, and the last thing I was looking to do was get tied down in a “meaningful” relationship.  To me, partying was meaningful, drinking was meaningful, getting stoned and having sex was meaningful.  Then this couple came along and ruined it all.  They introduced me to Carol Trifari.

It wasn’t an actual date.  We hadn’t met or talked to each other on the phone.  It was sort of a semi-fix-up.  They had told her about me and they had told me about her.  What they said to me was, and I quote:  “She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she comes from a famous costume jewelry family, she’s got a winner kid – and she’s a little fucked up.”  Now I was intrigued.  This didn’t sound like most of the girls I had been dating to that point.  Carol Trifari was “complex.”

In a devious semi-fix-up plot, the couple invited Carol and me to a screening of an MGM movie at a little theater in Manhattan, but neglected to tell us that the other one would be there.  So, there was no primping, no posing and no pressure.  When I arrived at the theater, there were about fifty people schmoozing outside as we waited to get in to see the movie.  That’s when I saw a pretty brunette in a red jacket and black mini-skirt.  Hmmm.  As she stood there talking to a big dumb guy, I sauntered over to join the conversation and that’s when we found out we had been “semi’d.”

Carol told me that she was working in the research department at BBDO, but really wanted to be a copywriter.  She told me she had put together a portfolio of spec ads and had an appointment the next day with a guy named Nat Russo at Gilbert Advertising.  “Nat?”  I said.  “I know him very well, I used to work at Gilbert and he was my copy chief.”  Acting like a big shot, I said, “Be sure to mention my name.”  Then she said she had another interview the following week with a guy named Leon Meadow at Doyle Dane Bernbach.  “Leon?” I said.  “I know him very well.  DDB was my first job in advertising and he’s the guy who hired me.  Be sure to mention my name.”  I was pretty confident I was making a big impression on Ms. Trifari.

But as the group began to file into the theater, she drifted away from me.  And when I sat down, I noticed she was sitting next to the big dumb guy.  I turned my attention to the screen as the movie started and quickly realized it was some kind of experimental “art piece”, shot entirely on a seamless white background, with young overacting non-actors.  It was the most boring movie I ever saw (and it was never released).  As I fought to stay awake, I subtly glanced back at Carol who was sitting three rows behind me.  She was staring straight ahead looking mortified.  The big dumb guy was out like a light, snoring his head off, and drooling all over her lovely shoulder.

When the movie was mercifully over, we were all invited back to Julie and Gary’s apartment where we were treated to cocktails and canapes. That’s when I innocently asked Carol for her telephone number and, dammit, she gave it to me.  What I didn’t know at the time was that this was the beginning of the end of my perfect bachelorhood.

Over the course of the next few months, we got to know each other very well, and I got to know her daughter Cristina, a vivacious little 6-year old girl.  We became a threesome, and as the Fall arrived in New York with a bracing chill, I loved driving the three of us up to the country with the top down in my TR4.  Carol would rest her head on my shoulder and Cristina, huddled in the back seat, would squeal with glee as my car scattered the leaves of crimson and gold.

But the seminal moment in our relationship arrived with Winter.  Carol, who had skied all over the world in exotic places like Chile and Davos, Switzerland kept telling me, “We have to go skiing together.  You’ll love it, I know you will.”  I had never skied before and I really didn’t like the cold, so I would always change the subject.  But she kept pressing me.  “Please, can we go skiing…you won’t be sorry.”  Finally, I relented.  We reserved a room at a ski lodge in Sugarbush, Vermont, packed our bags, and began the long trek to ski country.  In the middle of a raging snowstorm with temperatures dropping to 26 below zero (no exaggeration), I cautiously drove my car, creeping along the winding roads, desperately trying not to skid off the embankments.

Finally, we arrived at our destination in the middle of the night.  I schlepped our bags up to the room feeling grubby, grumpy, and dog tired.  Determined not to ruin our getaway by being a whiny Jewish guy, I jumped into the shower to wash away the day.  When I came back into the room, Carol was already in bed, looking warm and toasty under the covers.  And then came the special moment I will never forget.  As I climbed into bed and sidled up next to her under the covers, Carol put her arms around me and said, “Don’t you just love skiing?”

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.  © 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

Like most kids, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.  All I knew was that I liked to play with words.  I wrote all kinds of silly stuff, from sappy poems, to rhymy-dimy song lyrics, to corny puns.

But if there was one seminal moment when I realized the power that words can have, it came in my senior year at NYU.

I was taking  “that damn speech class.”

I was a shy kid and dreaded having to get up and speak in front of a classroom full of people.  And I just couldn’t see how giving speeches would help me get ahead in life.

This attitude was not lost on my professor.  As the end of the school year approached, he took me aside and told me that I wasn’t cutting it.  “Howie, if you don’t get your act together, you’re in danger of flunking this course.”  Gulp!

The “final exam” as I call it, was not a formal test, it was our final speech to the class — our last chance to show that we could write something meaningful and express it in a powerful way.

I needed a big idea.  But what?  I remembered the words of my professor:  “Write what you know, speak what you feel.”

Finally, I decided to  write a speech about a man who meant a lot to me and most of the free world.  I would write about John F. Kennedy, who had tragically been assassinated just one year before.

I spent quite a bit of time doing research on his inspirational messages during the “thousand days” of his presidency.  I wrote, rewrote, and rewrote again a speech that, ironically, would last only about 5 minutes.

My theme centered around a line of JFK’s that he had used to inspire change:  “Let us begin.”

I instinctively decided to repeat this line several times throughout my speech, almost like a mantra.  My ultimate message was that, now that JFK was gone, it was up to all of us to take up the mantle and work together to make the world a better place.

On the big day, I stood up and faced the class.  The room went silent, and my mouth went dry.  I looked out at all the faces staring up at me and I felt a palpable sense of fear.

Finally,  I opened my mouth and words came out.  I spoke of a man, a shining beacon, a symbol of youth and energy and hope.  “From the hallowed halls of Washington to the cheering throngs in Berlin, Dublin, and Paris, the City of Lights…your message inspired a nation and lit up the world…let us begin…let us begin…”

As I spoke, I realized that I was not prepared for the emotion that was welling up inside of me.

“And though you are gone…taken from us too soon…your message lives on in the hopes and dreams of young people everywhere…”

My voice began to quiver, but I managed to hold it together until I reached my poignant last line:  “John F. Kennedy, we have begun!”

That’s when I let out an audible sob.  I was mortified.  But when I looked up, I saw that everyone in the class had tears in their eyes, two girls in the front row were crying uncontrollably, and my professor was reaching for a box of Kleenex.

And then the room erupted in applause.

In that moment, I understood the amazing power of words to stir emotions and drive home an idea.

The following week, the professor gave me an “A” for the course.

That one emotional speech turned the tide and made up for all of the mediocrity and drivel I had spewed all semester.

I credit “that damn speech class” with inspiring me to become a writer.  All in all, I’d say it hasn’t turned out too badly.

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.  © 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

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Stan Dragoti was the guy who directed the hit movies “Love at first bite” and “Mr. Mom.”  But before he was a Hollywood success, he was a big star at Wells, Rich, Greene.

As a wise friend once said to me, “Howie, the more you know, the more you know you don’t know.”

This could not be more true when it comes to pitching new business and trying to guess how well you did in the meeting.

I’ve been in pitches where our team fired on all eights.  We had the goods and presented it like stars.  The strategy was dead-on, the creative was inspired, the presentation was seamless.

And when we finished, on time and on point, the applause was deafening.  “They loved us…they really loved us.”  Or so we thought, until we found out we came in third in a three agency race.

It’s hard, if not impossible, to know what they really think or feel at the end of a pitch.  But here are some clues.

If they react positively, laugh in all the right places and even applaud, don’t be fooled.  What they really might be thinking is, “We’ll never see these bozos again, so we might as well give them a good sendoff.”

On the other hand, if they ask tough questions, put you on the spot, and even rough you up a bit, it might mean they’re really engaged and want to know more about what it would be like to work with you.  Recently, The Phelps Group had to defend a good account that we had represented for almost seven years.  Of course, you never want to hear that your client might be leaving you, anymore than you’d like to hear that your wife has been cheating on you with the pool guy.

But still, we believed in this client and their products, and we believed in how right we were for them, so we threw our hat in the ring.  This wasn’t going to be easy.  They told us we were up against four other agencies and we had just three weeks to come up with a new consumer strategy and a whole new branding campaign.

To compound the misery, we were smack in the middle of the Christmas Holidays.  So, instead of being able to relax and enjoy some quality time with our families, we had to come into the office, stay late and eat cold pizza.  But we sucked it up and gave it our all.  On presentation day, we went in with great work and a positive attitude.  The account belonged to us and we were going to keep it, dammit!

And then the client walked into the room – stone cold, all business, with long faces, interrupting us and asking very tough questions, and challenging every one of our assumptions.

When we finally rapped it up and dragged our butts to the car, there was silence for half the ride back to the agency.  Then someone on our team said, “That may have been the worst reaction to a presentation I’ve ever seen.  Guys, we’re toast.  How are we going to tell everyone back at the agency?”

Everyone agreed with his assessment, there was no way we were going to prevail in this contest.  We considered telling the folks back at the agency a white lie to protect them.  Put a happy face on it.  But we knew that the truth would come out soon, so we did the right thing.

We told everyone to prepare for the worst.  We had lost the account.  In the week leading up to their decision, we did a post mortem.  Why did we do so badly?  What could we have done differently?  There was lots of second guessing, which usually gets you nowhere.  Finally, we decided to put this account in our rear view mirror and focus positively on our future.

That’s when the call came in.  Their marketing director was on the phone with a bright cheery voice saying, “Are you guys ready to pop some champagne?”  We had won!  There was lots of celebrating in the agency.  Instead of drowning our sorrows in wine and beer, we celebrated our victory with wine and beer.  But the next day, after the buzz had worn off, there were lots of scratching of heads.  How could we have been so wrong?

The answer is simple, my friend.  The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.

© 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

WTF!  Why is everyone using initials instead of words?  Is it supposed to save time?

The other day I was sitting in an MTF meeting discussing our RFB.

I had just come from a high level HR discussion about the need to hire an SAD, a TL, an IA and a UX.

OMG, my head was spinning.

For comic relief, I decided to take a FB break and have an LOL with my BFFs.

Then, I was off to a new business meeting to discuss the RFP for our pitch to SH just before I wrote an ad for LQ.

I don’t know about you, but it takes me twice as long to figure out what those initials stand for than it would take to use the words themselves.

And call me crazy, but I miss the sweet music of those silly, time wasting things called syllables.

As a form of protest, I’ve created my own acronym:

C.R.A.P.O.L.A.

Creative Revolution Against People Originating Ludicrous Acronyms

Want to join the fight?  No need to sign your name.

Just leave your initials.

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Like my stories?  Please comment here or send questions to howie@madmensch.com.  And if you like it, spread it.

© 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved

I remember the day in 1974 when I met Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson.

I had brought my wife Carol to a recording studio in midtown Manhattan for a marathon music session orchestrated by my friend Steve Karmen, aka “The King of Jingles.”

Our agency, Cohen, Pasqualina, Timberman, had won a piece of Chrysler business and we were about to launch our big new radio campaign with a rousing piece of music.

In typical fashion, Steve did it up big. He brought in a full orchestra and was layering horns and strings in preparation for the arrival of a cadre of New York’s top jingle singers.

As I sat there watching Steve do his magic, a beautiful couple came bursting into the studio calling out “Hi!” to Steve and throwing their arms around him. It was Nick Ashford with his startling bright eyes and long shiny black hair, and his wife Valerie Simpson looking very pretty, very round and very pregnant!

What a coincidence.  Carol was sitting there looking every bit as pretty and round and pregnant.

This created an instant connection between the four of us. Nick and I made a few self-conscious jokes about doing diaper duty. And Carol and Valerie went off in a corner to compare notes and experiences and morning sicknesses and due dates.

As it turned out, they were both 7 months pregnant and Valerie’s daughter Nicki and our daughter Johanna were due just one week apart.

It was a day of glorious music, new friends and anticipation of the new little people who were about to enter the world and enrich our lives.

We didn’t really know much about Nick and Valerie that day. But when we learned they were the songwriting team behind “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough“, “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing,” and some of the greatest songs of our time, we were a little in awe. Not just because they were talented and famous, but because they were so nice.

Upon the birth of our daughters, Carol and Valerie traded congratulatory cards, and every now and then we would bump into them at industry parties. But my fondest memory of Nick and Valerie happened a couple of years later on a snowy Christmas eve.

We were invited to Steve Karmen’s house in Bedford, New York for a big holiday gala. The food and wine were flowing, the laughter was raucous, and there was a lot of love in the room.  Then Steve invited us all to gather around the piano to sing Christmas songs.

Suddenly, I found myself standing alongside Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson with our arms wrapped around each other, swaying back and forth, and singing our hearts out to all the great holiday standards.

And when Steve began to play my favorite holiday song “Silent Night”, I got really inspired.

I puffed out my chest and sang loud and proud, reaching an emotional crescendo on the lyric, “Christ, the savior is born!”

Maybe I was drunk and maybe I’m crazy, but I swear I saw Nick and Valerie look at each other as if to say, “Hey, this guy can sing!”

I was living proof that nobody can sing about Jesus Christ like a Jewish kid from the Bronx.

Nick Ashford died last week.  My heart goes out to Valerie, his family and friends.

He wasn’t just a great songwriter and performer, he was a wonderful person — “Solid, solid as a rock.”

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© 2011 Howard Cohen, All Rights Reserved