They wanted something fresh. And they decided to take a chance on me to deliver it. So I framed the ad inside a suitcase, pushed in some palm trees, and sold the Tropicana as “The Island of Las Vegas.” Somehow, they loved it.
I would go on to draft a couple of ads and logos for the firm before heading off to Whittier College in California to study psychology. They had a great program there, with alumni like Harrison Ellenshaw (renowned visual effects supervisor for Star Wars) and Melanie Brunson (executive director of the American Council for the Blind), alongside their most famous non-psychology alumnus, President Richard Nixon. I quickly became immersed in the school and the field, attending world-class conferences on cognitive thinking and teaching a rat to push a Skinner box bar for a drop of water.
Outside of class, however, I found myself continually drawn to advertising. I was commissioned by the local YMCA to develop a logo for their "porpoise" swim club and was eventually assigned to paint murals in the residence halls as part of the work-study program that helped pay for my education.
These outside experiences and one elective art class convinced me to reconsider everything. As much as psychology interested me (and still does), I had a passion for the arts. The revelation surprised me, given that I had given up on my dream to become an artist, and I inquired with the admission counselor who had recruited me.
"It's interesting you're asking about this, Rich, because we're starting a new advertising program at the school with four years of study and one year interning at a number of global agencies," he said.
Sign me up, I said.
"It's only open to freshmen."
In other words, goodbye?
"Exactly."
So, I did what many freshman students do who fall out with their first choice. I transferred to the University of Nevada, Reno with the intent to major in art and minor in psychology as a precursor to the advertising field. Except, the school saw it differently. They encouraged me to apply to their journalism program, which offered a track with an emphasis on advertising.
I was skeptical, but admissions won me over. The Donald W. Reynolds School of Journalism was ranked among the top ten at the time, and my assigned student advisor was Warren Lerude, who came to the school after a wildly successful career at The Associated Press and USA TODAY, among others. He won the Pulitzer Prize in Journalism for Editorial Writing in 1977.
Who was I to argue? I didn't know the first thing about advertising, and the school suggested they transform me, a would-be commercial artist, into a copywriter. And, along the way, teach me to write like articles like a journalist as well — a skill set I sometimes resisted through several rigorous writing classes where every error (AP Style or otherwise) earned a two-point deduction off whatever base grade you were assigned. It wasn't uncommon to see an "A" or "B" downgraded to a "C" or "D" by two-point deductions. As students, we hated it, but the policy had a purpose.
Clients aren't so forgiving. They don't care if you stayed up until 4 a.m. in the morning breaking down a concert and re-installing a basketball floor at the Lawlor Events Center. Carelessness can cost thousands if you are lucky, and cost you a job if you are not. You can't wiggle your nose at a print job and wish it away.
Heck, you can't wiggle your nose and wish away something right. Outcomes matter, which is what makes advertising a high-risk, high-reward profession. You have to take chances. You have to accept the consequences.
Sure, there are plenty of great technicians in advertising. They can make things look slick, but that doesn't mean the work will stick. Advertising is all about persuasion, which is much more of an art than a science, even if it sometimes feels akin to teaching a consumer to press a button for water.
This isn't a new idea, but a proven one that William Bernbach, one of the founders of Doyle Dane Bernbach (DDB), frequently spoke about. The psychology behind it is powerful enough that I included it in my On Advertising deck, one of my favorites made for my classes at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.
Of course, now, forty years later, I understand that Bernbach was only partly right. Advertising is an art, a science, and maybe a little magic. The chances we take aren't random shots in the dark on a weak idea that tries to impress people, but rather they are thought exercises designed to come up with a memorable story that reinforces the brand relationship between the company and the customer.
And, incidentally, that was what I did forty years ago by pushing “The Island of Las Vegas” in a tiny classified ad. It was a promise that people could pack their bags and escape the everydayness of their lives and live what was arguably a fantasy made real, unlike anywhere else in the world at the time.
