Blame him

You want to know whose fault it is that I'm in advertising? It's his.

A long time ago, in a lifetime far, far away, I saw a job post on the UCLA job board for a position in the mailroom at an ad agency in Century City. I'd never given much thought to advertising, but I did give a little thought to paying my bills and my rent. So I interviewed for the position, turned on the charm and humor we all know and love and got the gig.

Come to find out the agency was Wells, Rich, Greene. And the creative director who arrived from New York shortly after I got there was Howie Cohen.

By the time Howie got there, I'm not sure which of my jobs I was on at the agency. I'd started in the mailroom, where I got to make my rounds, and talk with everyone every day. A social butterfly even back then.

Then I got promoted to running the stat camera (look it up) in the studio. Except it wasn't in the studio. It was in a small, badly ventilated room next to the studio. Since the camera used a lot of fragrant chemicals to develop the film, I'd have to hold my breath a lot, then run out of the room after I'd taken a shot of whatever camera ready art I was working with.

From there, I was bumped up to traffic person - excuse me, project manager. If you look in the Guiness Book of World Records, you'll see that I was the worst traffic person that's ever held the job. True fact.

Anyway, my grand plan, since I was a theater arts major, was to become an agency producer. I figured if I did that, I'd make all these contacts. I could get an agent and start my illustrious film career.

But a funny thing happened on the way to my three-picture deal.

One day, there were no creative people at the agency. A team was down in Rio on a shoot for Brittania Jeans. Another team was out sick. Yet a third team was at a client meeting. This all happened to be on a day when a Bran Chex print ad had to be written and presented. The account guy, a short man who looked like he was wearing those plastic glasses with the fake nose - except they were both his - was running around the agency trying to scrounge up someone to write the ad.

He called Howie, who wasn't in that day, and asked who he should get to write the ad. And Howie said "Give it to Jeff."

So I wrote it. While it didn't win any awards, I'm pretty sure it's still the best written ad for a high-fiber cereal Reader's Digest has ever run.

Shortly after that, Howie promoted me to junior copywriter. Honestly, it was thrilling. I was excited to be working with the team, Howie and his partner Bob Pasqualina, who had created the legendary "I can't believe I ate the whole thing" Alka-Seltzer commercial.

As you might imagine, earning his bona fides working in New York advertising during that time, Howie has many, many stories that only someone who lived it can tell. And nobody tells a better story than Howie. If you want to read some good ones, definitely have a peek at his blog MadMensch.com.

I'm happy to say Howie is still working his magic in the world of advertising. I'm still working mine as well, although so far nothing I've done has made it to the Advertising Hall Of Fame. Yes, I said so far. Keep hope alive.

Anyway, I don't know if I ever actually thanked Howie and told him how grateful I am for launching me into a career I didn't even know I wanted. But if I haven't, I'm doing it now.

And by the way, for all the creative directors I may work for in the future, if you don't like something I write, now you know who to talk to.