Place your credit card in the upright position

Surprisingly, thank God, there are still a few things you don’t know about me. One of them is I used to be deathly afraid of flying. So much so in fact, that years ago I couldn’t bring myself to get on a plane to New York to actually meet Bruce Springsteen and party with him at an SNL after party.

Long story. I’m not proud.

However I’m pleased to tell you—and if you're flying with me you'll be pleased to hear—that’s no longer the case, and hasn’t been for the last twenty-eight years. The way I conquered my fear of flying was simple: I wound up doing a whole lot of it.

When I lived in Santa Monica, I got a freelance gig at Foote Cone Belding in San Francisco. Since these were the before days when you actually had to be in the office, that meant I had to commute up there on Monday mornings and back down on Friday nights. I figured even though I’d be sweating like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News, I could probably white knuckle my way through a forty-eight minute flight twice a week.

Well imagine my surprise when my first week on the job I flew up to San Francisco, then separate round trips to Dallas and Atlanta for focus groups, then back to San Francisco to pick up my clothes at the hotel, back to Los Angeles for a friends birthday party then back up to the bay area.

It was immersion therapy—nine flights in one week.

In the nine months I commuted back and forth, sometimes two or three times a week, I got extremely comfortable with flying. I learned what the noises were. I chatted with pilots. I educated myself about different planes (Boeing 757, sports car of the Boeing fleet). And since I did most of my commuting to the bay and back on United, when the pilot made it available I also listened to channel nine, which was the communications between the plane and various flight controllers along the route.

My thinking was if they’re not worried, I’m not worried.

All this to say the other thing I figured out while I was logging all that airtime is where I like to sit on the plane so I’m the most comfortable and the least stressed.

Here’s a hint: it’s not in the back.

I’d buy books of upgrade coupons and, depending what sections the aircraft was divided into, fly in either first or business every time. One time I flew the eleven minute flight from San Francisco to Monterey and upgraded to first. My motto was, and still is, no trip to short for first.

I know how that sounds. But even though there's no upside in it, I have to face facts—I’m not a small person. And a wider seat—on the chair, not on me—makes flying much easier. Dare I say, enjoyable.

In yet another example of bad parenting, I've tried to pass this philosophy on to my kids, although it hasn’t stuck. Fortunately their current incomes dictates where they sit on the plane. So does mine, but then I figure that’s what credit cards are for.

If you happen to be flying somewhere with me and don't want to pony up for the front of the plane, I understand completely. Just know it'll be like that episode of Seinfeld, where Jerry is flying with Elaine but there’s only one open seat in first and he takes it.

Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to talk after we land.

The missing chapter

There's the old saying about always leaving the audience wanting more. Apparently Fred Goldberg took it to heart, because that's exactly how I felt when I finished his excellent book, The Insanity of Advertising.

For the outsiders who think advertising's nothing but fun and glamour day in and day out - and oddly enough there are still a few - Fred pulls back the curtain and reveals the true story of just how insane this business is more often than not.

He also names names, which definitely helped make it a fun read. And of course, being the straight shooter I've known him to be, he lets everyone know exactly what he thinks of them. He's retired from the business now, so I suppose it's easier to do. Although I recall in my brief experience with him, Fred never had a problem letting anyone know what he thought, even at the height of his career.

I have to admit I was a little disappointed one story he neglected to include was the pitch for Disneyland his legendary creative shop Goldberg Moser O'Neill was involved in. While I'm sure Fred knows part of the reason his agency wound up being invited to pitch the Happiest Place On Earth, he doesn't know all of it.

Here it is.

I was freelancing and looking for work. One of the places I'd managed to work my way into for nine months was Foote Cone & Belding in San Francisco. I lived in Santa Monica at the time, so I'd fly up there Monday mornings and fly back on Friday nights. I racked up a ton of frequent flyer miles. I got upgraded all the time. I was on a first name basis with the counter people at United. Every once in a while the pilot at the end of the week who flew me home would be the one who flew me up at the beginning of the week, and he'd recognize me. The agency paid for my hotel during the week. It all felt very jet-setty.

That was the good news. The bad news is I was working on Taco Bell.

The way I'd landed the job - which was not really a great way for a creative to get in the door, but what the hell, I was there - was through the client at Taco Bell, a great guy named Blaise Mercadante. Blaise used to be VP of research at Tracy-Locke, where we worked together. I always said if I'd known he was going to wind up being the client I would've been a lot nicer to him.

Anyway, this was a couple years before the Disneyland pitch, and ever since the FCB gig ended I'd been looking for a way to get back up to San Francisco. I checked the want ads in the back of Adweek (remember those?), networked like crazy and sent out promotional pieces (remember those?) that apparently only I thought were clever.

But my love of San Francisco, my memory of the cold, bracing breeze coming off the bay and hitting me as I left the FCB office at night, was strong and seductive enough to make me do something I never did before and haven't done since.

I made a cold call. And I made it to Mike Moser at Goldberg Moser O'Neill.

For some reason, I thought about ten minutes into the lunch hour he'd still be at his desk and it'd be a good time to ambush him. I was right. He picked up the phone and I introduced myself, fully expecting the bum's rush. Instead, Mike talked to me for a good half hour, asking about my experience in general and at FCB in particular, what ads GMO had done that I liked, what was going on at the agency and what their needs might be in the future. He told me to definitely stay in touch.

When I got off the phone with Mike Moser, two things were crystal clear. First, as badly as I'd wanted to work for GMO when I made the call, I wanted to work there a hundred times more after. And second, from that point on no one could ever say a bad word to me about GMO (not that anyone was trying to).

Fast forward a bit. My friend Paula Freeman became VP of Marketing for Disneyland Resort. Both she and her boss, Michele Reese, decided to have agencies pitch the Disneyland business, and Paula asked me to lead the charge as creative consultant on the pitch.

I don't think I have to tell you - even though I'm about to - how fast GMO became the first agency on my list. They had a record of outstanding, impactful creative work on Apple, Dell, California Cooler, Kia and several other accounts. And I had never forgotten Mike Moser's kindness in taking my call.

GMO pitched the business against three other agencies and won hands down. The work was smart and evoked emotion taking the brand to a new level. Oddly, on the heels of the pitch, GMO was asked to pitch again against Leo Burnett from Chicago -- Disney World's agency of record. Burnett wasn't in the original group of agencies invited, and hadn't been invited by any of us. An edict came down from Disney and Michael Eisner, who was close, personal friends with the EVP of marketing in Orlando, that they be allowed to pitch the business. Sometimes, the Magic Kingdom isn't so magical, especially when they turn from the happiest place on earth to the most political and corporate place on earth.

Of course Fred, shooting straight as ever, wasted no time in letting us know how completely unhappy he was, and what utter bullshit it was GMO had to re-pitch a second time. And he was right. But, despite having the feeling the fix was in - a feeling we shared - the lure of a highly visible, blue chip account like Disneyland is worth the extra step, both for what it is and what it could become.

Goldberg Moser O'Neill presented their exceptional creative work. They were Paula's, Michele's and my first choice to get the business. In the end though, it went to Leo Burnett in Chicago

Insanity indeed.

On a personal note to Fred, as Paul Harvey would say, "Now you know the rest of the story." I enjoyed your book immensely, and hope you're hard at work on a sequel. I know you have many more stories to tell.

And frankly, it'd be insane if you kept them to yourself.