There's a life changer in every life. Sometimes called a turning point, it might be a new job, a promotion, a chance meeting, a wedding, a journey, the lottery. Mine was a speech.
When invited to address the creative session of the annual 4 A's meeting (American Association of Advertising Agencies) at the Greenbrier Hotel, one of the plushest resorts in America, my immediate reaction was twofold. I was pumped about the prestigious platform and petrified of the daunting task of mounting and delivering a knockout talk to an audience of top ad executives.
I quote from a recent book, Confessions of a Public Speaker, by Scott Berkun: "Public speaking is one of our greatest fears. More frightening than snakes, spiders or heights. The terror of exposure and humiliation in front of others - of flubbing one's lines or saying the wrong thing or being plain boring."
Before this invitation the closest I had come to speaking in public was when I presented my work in client meetings. That hardly qualified me for the gig to come. I felt like an up and coming young entertainer who was suddenly thrust onto the big stage before paying his or her dues as a lounge act. Still I was thrilled at the opportunity.
The speech was scheduled for April 27, 1968 so I had about a month to write, rewrite, rehearse, add and subtract and ultimately submit the script to top Y&R brass who insisted on vetting the speech to make sure I wasn't alienating any of our clients.They went pretty easy with the red pencil but they did censor some funny lines which they didn't get. I went along thinking, what the heck when I'm up there I can stick to the original script and there will be nothing they could do about it. It was customary for the agency to submit the script to the press ahead of time to get maximum publicity.
The title of the speech: "Losing Money the Creative Way or Watch Out for Clients in Pleated Pants"
I felt it was time to shine a light on the inanities that were making creative departments ripe for lampooning. I had lots of material to work with. The people at the 4 A's who were in charge of the conference kept asking me about the commercials I intended to show during my talk. How long was the reel? How long the talk? It seemed every other speaker in the creative slot showed slews of their best commercials which almost always guaranteed good audience response. There was stunned disbelief when they learned I was going sans film. Every time they asked, "Are you sure?" they made me more nervous.
I was scheduled to speak Saturday morning. Wednesday of that week I hitched a ride on a charter flight headed directly to White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, the home of the Greenbrier Hotel.
It was the worst of flights. It was the best of flights. We took off in the kind of weather that brought New Orleans to its knees. Hey weren't we supposed to fly OVER the George Washington Bridge? You couldn't tell my stomach we were not on the Cyclone in Coney Island. How did I ever wind up in this de Havilland Otter getting tossed around with a bunch of golfers passing as ad men and magazine and newspaper publishers and my interest in golf was occasionally watching it on TV. But there's always a bright side: if this thing goes down I won't have to make that f---ing speech. About twenty minutes into the flight there came an announcement from the flight deck.
" Ladies and gentlemen we will making an emergency stop in Trenton to remove someone who has taken sick."
It was the pilot. Soon we were treated to a rare sight, the incapacitated pilot, ashen faced, held up by two crew members and literally dragged off the airplane.
It didn't take long for a replacement pilot to come aboard. He was a tall, nice looking young man dressed in a sweater and holding a stack of rolled up maps under his arm. Looking around the plane he innocently asked the passengers, " Is this flight going to South Carolina?" There would be no respite from worry.
After revealing our destination to the pilot, the flight proceeded south without further incident. But just as were about to land in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, an idea hit me. In the story of this crazy flight I'd been handed a funny new opening to my speech, And that's how the worst of flights became the best of flights.
As soon as I checked in I made a reservation to return by train.
I had time to kill before Saturday morning so I hiked the hills surrounding the beautiful Greenbrier, all the while going over the lines and practicing my timing. During my walk I met one veteran of 4A meetings who dropped this little gem on me: "Hey kiddo if the sun is shining Saturday, they'll all be out there getting in their last day of golf. And you're going to be talking to a lovely bunch of seats.
Friday night was for the traditional black tie gala. Lots of good food and drink plus celebrity entertainment and dancing. Around midnight as Ed Bond, CEO of Y&R, and I were walking to the elevator, we encountered Phil Dougherty. Bond grabs Phil, pulls me over and introduces me to the legendary NY Times Advertising News columnist. "Al is the creative speaker tomorrow morning. I believe you have a copy of his speech." Phil Dougherty, read by everyone in advertising, had the power to affect your career by what he wrote about you. This evening Phil barely mustered the power to stand. He weaves and mumbles, incapable of responding, except, "You call that piece of crap a speech."
"Good night Phil. It was nice meeting you."
That night, the eve before the big speech, was not the most restful night I ever spent. At one point I even considered attacking the minibar in my room. No I had just been a victim of the ravages of alcohol. I had to be alert and ready the next morning. I settled for a frozen Milky Way. I know what he's going to write "Hampel winds up conference and his career."
I awoke the next morning to a pouring rain. Apparently the good Lord wanted me to speak to a full house.
As the 9:30 A.M. deadline approached I found myself sitting, totally unnerved, on stage watching some 800 moaning, groaning golfers and assorted other weekend athletes stream into the auditorium without a clue of what to expect. They had nowhere else to go.
Paraphrasing the headline on David Ogilvy's famous Rolls Royce ad, " The loudest sound you could hear was the clop, clop, clop of my heart."
After a lavish introduction by Ed Bond I approached the lectern with the apprehension of a golfer on the first tee and let it roll. I pulled out a line I saved for just such an occasion:
"Of all the introductions I've ever had, that is by far the most recent." And just like that I had my first laugh. The ice was broken.
My hunch was right. The story of the flight from hell proved to be a major laugh getter.
Then into the body of the speech skewering the absurdities of creativity in advertising, I was interrupted by laughter dozens of times. The longer I spoke the more I thought, "I'm actually enjoying this."
There was no shortage of targets to goof on: awards, meetings, plans boards, difficult clients, back-up campaigns, commercial testing, creative teams, location shoots, production costs, piggy-back commercials, and client attire.
At one point I discussed the advantages of nudity. I asked the audience to imagine that they are all attending a wedding in the nude. I asked them to visualize the entire congregation in the nude. At the proper time the minister questions the young bride to be,"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?" She slowly studies the room and randomly points into the crowd. "No I think I take that one over there."
The house came down.
When the speech was over I walked , make that floated, to the back of the auditorium to a standing ovation, lots of handshakes, dozens of business cards and two job offers. I had never experienced anything like that high.
In Monday morning's New York Times, Phil Dougherty wrote: "Al Hampel, copy chief of Y&R. closed the 4A's Conference with a funny romp through the inanities of the ad business. He had the audience laughing and nodding in agreement with his barbs.
Al Hampel has a future as a stand-up comedian."
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