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ADversityTribulations of an adman. Victor Sonder

Don’t let it be forgot that once there was a spot for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot.Dedicated to my true partners.© 2022 ADversity MEMOIR, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.No part of this work may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital or by photocopying.Exceptions might be made for inclusion in a review, news report or publicity release but only with theexpress written permission of the publisher.For information, contact: vsonder@comcast.netlogon: www.AD-versity.comfor more about this memoir ebook design and execution by Penny Ashman pennyashmandesign.comA VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU TO DR. SETH FRECHIE FOR HIS EDITORIAL SUPERVISION AND COUNSEL. AND GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF JIM McGORMAN’S ENCOURAGEMENT AND GUIDANCE.Cover photo by Shelly RosemanL to R: Gary Levitt, Irv Sagorsky, Victor SonderADversityTribulations of an adman. Victor Sonder My Creative Partner Jerry Selber My Life Partner Bonnie Sonder

Always give ‘em your best.Early in the life of Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky Advertising, we signed up a new account in the “hair restoration” business. Okay, they sold wigs and toupees. It wasn’t the most prestigious account but they advertised, and they spent money.My rst assignment was to come up with a concept for an outdoor billboard. While racking my brain for ideas, I started doodling a cartoon I had seen of a smiling face with hair on top of his head that turned into a bald, bearded, frown-ing face when turned upside down. After about 20 minutes of lousy ideas, it struck me that the doodle would make a great billboard. “Turn that frown upside down. TRANS WORLD HAIR CO.”But wait! What if the billboard were mechanized so the frowning face stayed up for 10-15 seconds and then rotated to reveal the smiling face for about 15 seconds?Yeah, that would be amazing! Of course when I ran the idea by my partners, they thought it would be crazy expensive, if it could be done at all. Long story short, I got a build estimate from the outdoor company and the client bought it. We even used a cleaned up version of my cartoon doodle for the artwork.The moral: Always give ‘em your best idea and demonstrate why they can’t afford to settle for less. Even if they’re not Apple, Tesla or the like.

“A victory for Victor is a victory for Beeber.”When you’re a kid who stutters and pisses in your bed, you’re a kid who grows up with raging insecurities and chronic stomach spasms. I was convinced I would suffer an early demise from some incurable intestinal cancer and blamed my childhood afictions on my parents being rst cousins.Max Segal, my mother’s father, and Molly Sonder, my father’s mother, were brother and sister. They were also my grandfather and grandmother. Confused? Now you know how I felt. Max and Molly were immigrants who arrived from Russia in the United States on the Estonia, July 16, 1908, to begin a new life in South Philadelphia. Max and Molly Segal were brother and sister. They were also my grandparents. Huh? 1943-1962

My mom, Beatrice, was her parents’ pampered rst-born and the acknowledged family beauty. She would grow up to be one of the most popular Jewish girls in South Philadelphia, or so the story went, and had tons of dates while half-heartedly pursuing a career in nursing. Bea’s only real competition had been Jean Taxin of the renowned Old Original Bookbinders restaurant.My father, Max, was his parents’ ambitious and driven rst-born. He was the smartest kid in the room… the acknowledged “family genius.” He would grow up to be a doctor, after his preferred career path in engineering was deemed too difcult and rocky for a Jewish boy. According to lore, my father would be waiting for my mother in her living room when she came home from dates and through sheer persistence, and maybe an afnity for stalking, had outlasted Bea’s myriad suitors and nally won her heart. They had run away to Elkton, Maryland to get mar-ried and after the initial shock wore off, the in-laws not only accepted the union but celebrated it.My mother Bea was the belle of South Philadelphia, which did not go unnoticed by her rst cousin Max.After most dates, Bea would nd her brilliant cousin Max waiting for her when she walked in the door.

However, unlike my exceptional siblings, older brother Carl and younger sister Hester, I paid the price for my parents’ illicit union and carnal sins with a relentless stutter and an extremely uncooperative bladder. A couple of ill-fated, kicking-and-screaming sessions with a child psychiatrist were resounding failures.But I did learn to cope, able to elicit a small measure of affection and generate some sense of self-esteem, because I knew how to make people laugh. I was the funniest kid around, thanks to pre-pubescent comedy lessons taken from TV co-median, and my role model, Jerry Lewis.I remember one vividly inventive manifesta-tion of my comedic genius inspired by “The Nutty Professor.” Gathered around the ta-ble for our usual Sunday morning gorge on Jewish delicacies, I noticed a vile display of sliced cow tongue on a serving platter in front of me. As the others excitedly lled their plates, I quietly hung a particularly long slice from my mouth, held up a knife in one hand and a fork in the other and waited silently for the inevitable gales of hysterical laugh-ter. Turned out, my “tongue” had the desired effect, because my family never again brought home that stomach-churning delicacy.I looked normal but my brother, Carl, and my sister, Hester, were normal.Tongue...Blechhhhhhhhhh!!!

I was also good at sports, an intimidating kid pitcher with a fearsome fastball. I won Best All-Around Athlete in 1952, my rst year at Camp Greylock for Boys in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. This provided the “jock cover” needed to scuttle any suspicions and get me through years of deftly stealing clean sheets from the camp laundry…silently changing my sheets in the deep of the night… completely unbeknownst to my bunkmates sleeping just a few a few feet away. Unfortunately, the engraved silver trophy I took home that rst sum-mer marked the peak of my athletic prowess, not its ascendency.From Jr. camper to Jr. Counsellor, the 10 greatest summers of my life were spent at Camp Greylock.And I played Nicely Nicely Johnson to my brother, Carl’s, Sky Masterson in “Guys and Dolls”. We were both actors and athletes.Carl as Sky MastersonMe (upper right) and my fellow counsellors.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a mention of Elizabeth Simmons in remembering this chapter of my life. Elizabeth was our sleep-in, family maid from the time I was 7 until about 13 years of age. She was a refugee from poverty-stricken Atlanta and, though married to Shadrach Simmons, I think Elizabeth was really in love with Henry Aaron, the home run king of the Atlanta Braves. She talked about him constantly and obsessively. And yes, her husband Shadrach had two brothers named Meshach and Abednego. And yes, they were triplets.My brother Carl and I spent more time with Elizabeth than with our own mother. And we loved Elizabeth, but we also loved to torture Elizabeth. I’m not proud of the following episode. It was dumb and insensitive. And I can only cite our callow ages and ignorance of Black history as an excuse. But it was funny at the time and still is. At least to me. This beautiful portrait hid the fact that I was in tears, refusing to sit for photos 10 minutes before the session.

My parents went out pretty much every Saturday night. After my brother and I nished wolng down our square, thick-crusted, delivery pizza from The Raven, we were bored and looking for a little diversion. I’d love to blame this on Carl, but I’m sure it was my idea. “How about if I fake hang myself ? Then you run down and tell Elizabeth. There’s something wrong with Vickie! You better come quick! It doesn’t look good!” I told you it was ugly. I had tied a thick bath towel around my neck and thrown the long end of it over the open door to the den. I stood with both feet rmly planted on the carpet in front of the door, tilted my head to one side, crossed my open eyes and let my mouth fall agape. It was my best dead face. Elizabeth came charging up the steps with my brother right behind her, imme-diately burst into tears and started screaming, “Vickie dead! Vickie dead! Miss Sonder gonna kill me! Vickie dead!” Of course, we quickly put an end to our cruel charade and Carl and I both hugged her as we apologized profusely. Once Elizabeth calmed down, we caught our breath and stared at each other for a beat … before all breaking into gales of hysterical laughter as Elizabeth chased after us down the stairs.The next Elizabeth tale is more serious, but no less memorable. And maybe a little bit funny. My father walked in the house after office hours and immediately detected a strange, acrid odor. He called my mother down from upstairs and asked her what was going on. My mom said she was just noticing the odor herself and it seemed to be emanating from down in the basement where Elizabeth had a bedroom. Descending the basement steps into wisps of blue/white smoke, they opened the door to Elizabeth’s bedroom and were stopped dead in their tracks. There, lying on the bed, peeking out from under a hood and wrapped in a blanket, was a wild-eyed stranger staring back at them.Suddenly, Elizabeth entered the back door of her bedroom from the laundry room carrying a bucket billowing plumes of blue/white smoke. “Miss Sonder! I didn’t mean nothing! I can explain!” My father, a very quick study, immediately responded with, “Elizabeth! Are you doing Voodoo?!?!” “Oh, don’t say that word, Dr. Sonder! Please don’t say that word!”

Turns out, Elizabeth’s sister Alice had been living in our house hidden from sight for two weeks. “Nightmare Alice” was my father’s insensitive nickname for her. Alice was having some mental health issues and her sister Elizabeth was attempting to help. “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to help. I was trying to burn the craze out her head, Dr. Sonder!” Thankfully, my father did know what to do and arranged for Alice to get the treatment she needed, which eventually led to her recovery. Or at least to Alice moving out of the basement.By the time I was 14 my fastball had fallen victim to a dead arm, and I was relegated to second base. Miraculously and finally, the relentless bed-wetting had subsided and was just a painful memory. Miraculously, no one was the wiser. All I had to deal with now was my humiliating stutter, which reared its ugly head whenever I was required to speak spontaneously in class or in pub-lic. But I found a way around this ongoing horror. I became a walking thesau-rus, undetectably substituting synonyms for the w-w-w-words and phrases I w-w-was s-s- stumbling over. This is also known as circumlocution. For example, instead of saying, “Sorry, I can’t meet you this afternoon. I have an ap-p-p-pointment at 2 in town.”… I would say, “… I have a conference in town scheduled at 2.” I became an accomplished actor, throwing in Brando-style pauses and coughs, odd sentence constructions and other ad-libs which successfully hid my embarrassing torment from the rest of the world in all but the most pressurized of circumstances. Confident in my verbal agility to mask my embarrassing communication skills, I decided to ride my “Class Clown” popularity to a run for President of Beeber Junior High School. My opponent was Joyce Willis, one of the smartest, most popular, prettiest girls in the class. I had no idea what the President of the school did and neither did anyone else.I figured out early on this was simply a popularity contest and there were two tasks to handle: first was to write and deliver a strong speech to the 9th grade class; second was to design the billboard each candidate was given to post a message in the school’s main corridor. Though struggling with some serious anxiety, I was able to write my speech well in advance and virtually memorize

it while endlessly rehearsing my delivery. These were skills I had polished while suc-cessfully performing lead roles in plays and musicals at camp. A bit of braggadocio here:I had a pretty good singing voice when I was a kid. In fact, Adath Israel Rabbi Martin Berkowitz thought so much of my Haftarah performance he summoned me to his office afterwards. I thought it was to warn me to stay away from his daughter, Zimmy, who had a crush on me. But no, Rabbi encour-aged me to consider a career as a Cantor. I think Bruce Weitz developed his belligerent Belker character from losing the Dramatic Award to me so many times.I won Greylock’s dramatic award four years running, each time beating out Bruce Weitz, who played the mad-dog cop, Belker, on Hill Street Blues.Because there would be no spontaneous questions or ad-lib responses during my campaign speech, I was condent my devilish stutter could be kept at bay.I started by trying to think of the sentence that I would end with, the all-im-portant close. What do I want these kids to remember? I had a favorite quote that I would use to set things up, “Never is there work without reward nor reward without work.” I thought those words sounded appropriately “Presidential.” But they weren’t right for the nal thought. Wait! I got it! Victor... victory …yes! “A victory for Victor is a victory for Beeber.” And I had my billboard too. When I dramatically raised my voice to deliver that closing verbal exclamation point of my speech with the appropriate gravitas, I could feel its impact on my classmates. The next jobwas to get that billboard up. Teve Lundy was one of my best friends. We met each other as 11-year-olds sneaking King Sano cigarettes in Morris Parkwhile listening to Bubbah Lassoff regale us with the story of his mother catching him pulling his pudding: “Shake your meckee, Bubbee!” It was my rst ad. And my rst successful ad.

Teve had a flair for art and graphics. When I asked him if he could come up with a design for my “Victory” billboard, the answer was a quick and condent, “No problem.” Teve threw himself into producing his labor- intensive idea of cutting 36 individual letters out of cardboard, covering them in tinfoil and mounting the wrapped letters on a tinfoil background. It took Teve weeks, to say nothing of the cost of the Reynold’s Wrap, but that silver-on-silver masterpiece made my opponent Joyce’s billboard appear dull in comparison. The electorate was dazzled as well, delivering a stunning landslide. Ok, that might be some ad hyperbole. But win I did. Even more signicantly, I had written my rst ad. But most of all, I remember Friday nights.Of all my childhood memories, some of the most vivid and enduring revolve around my grandparents on my mother’s side, Rose and Max Segal. As far as my father’s parents, Molly Sonder had died before I was born and we called my father’s father, Uncle Yohnnas … but that’s a whole other story which I’m unable to tell because I never found out why.I’ll forever remember my grandfather Max’s whisker face rubs and his cheek pinches that were tantamount to child abuse. And I have to say, my grandmom Rose’s baking and cooking were better than your Grandmom’s. I’ve been eating for a very long time and, take my educat-ed palette’s word for it, your beloved ancestor’s skills pale in comparison. I’ll start with Rose’schocolate cake, which didn’t taste like any chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted. It came in two varieties: chocolate icing with broken walnuts; and, on special occasions, white marshmallow icing with fresh coconut. My mouth is watering My maternal grandparents, Max and RoseWe called my father’s father“Uncle Yohnnas” not “Grandpop.” And I never knew why.

and so are my eyes because Rose took the recipe with her. Along with the recipes for kamish brait and small, two-bite coffee cakes. Her cooking was just as memorable. Warm, chopped liver blintzes, mashed pota-toes with diced hard-boiled egg and just a bissel schmaltz. And chicken roasted very fresh after being brought home that afternoon from Segal Butter & Eggs on Dock Street.Which reminds me of the time my father Max saved my grandfather Max’s life. Grandpop had been running a high fever for almost a week and was rushed to the hospital where he was going down-hill fast. After being administered every test in the medical book, doctors were bafed and very worried. Their patient was criti-cal, and they were running out of time and answers. My father decided to do a little detective work and went down to my grandfa-ther’s store to look around. He saw lots of butter and eggs. He saw lots of live chickens. And then he saw live rabbits and a thought hit him like a thunderclap. Rabbits … rabbit fever!Tularemia is an obscure and rare infectious disease caused by bacteria. It is most often contracted through contact with infected rabbits. It’s a good thing my father Max decided to channel his inner Sherlock Holmes. His hunch-diagnosis was spot on, and my Grandfather Max was saved.Friday night dinners at 729 Snyder Avenue in South Philadelphia were much more than great food. The cast of characters usually included my mom Bea and my Dad Max, my brother Carl who was 13-months older than me, and my little sister, Hester. Add my beloved aunt and uncle, Selma Frechie (my mom’s sis-ter) and Gordon Frechie and their kids Roxane, Seth and Peter. I was never sure what Gordon did for a living, but I think I remember him inventing Zippy Liq-uid Starch and my father investing some money which went down the proverbi-al laundry drain. This caused a falling out for a time, but Uncle Gordon was so lovable the hard feelings softened quickly.My Grandmother’s dowager sister, Lizzie Brown, was a frequent guest and never failed to bring us kids a box of Wilbur Buds from Snellenberger’s. And I always failed to tell her I detested dark chocolate.

From left to right: Max Sonder, Selma Frechie, Peter Frechie, Seth Frechie, Gordon Frechie, Hester Sonder, Carl Sonder, Rose Segal (seated), Victor Sonder, Roxane Frechie, Marvin Segal, Bea Sonder, Lizzie BrownWhen my mother’s brother, Marv Segal (Uncle Marvy), would come in from out of town it was truly a special occasion. Especially for me. Marv was my boyhood idol and lifelong role model. He had improbably made his way from immigrant parents and a row house in South Philadelphia to prestigious Haver-ford College, elite Yale Law School, and on to a job in the ofce of the Attorney General of the United States.The dinner conversations were fascinating and often bounced back and forth between my father and Uncle Gordon debating the merits of a BMW 2800 CS versus a Porsche 356 C. Uncle Marv would passionately advocate for his liberal points of view, loudly defending them against the skepticism of my very conservative grandparents. Lulls were lled with my father’s jokes told in a Myron Cohen-caliber Yiddish accent, my Bryn Mawr-college-educated Aunt Selma’s latest book review, and my mother’s raves for My Fair Lady, Alan Jay Lerner’s new musical she had just seen on Broadway (btw, we were all proud that Mr. Lerner was an alumnus of Camp Greylock).

For many years when we were kids,“uncle Shlomah” would stop by after dinner and sit silently smiling on the big velvet sofa in the living room. We were never told how or if he was related or how my grandparents knew him. We did nd out he was a boxer, a heavyweight who fought under the name King Solomon. His slurred speech, his height and weight, his battered features and the size of his sts left no doubt about his previous profession. Shlomah seemed to be all alone in the world and it was easy to tell these Friday night visits were as precious to him as they were for the kids. We would arm wrestle him and invariably win after a titanic struggle. His booming laughter lled the room and everyone could feel his love for all of us. Especially his love for Rose.Then, after my grandfather died, uncle Shlomah failed to show up one Friday night. We never saw him again. I don’t know why we never asked about him or why the adults never mentioned him. I just know we were sad, and we tucked our warm thoughts of King Solomon away in our memories. It was much later when I found out uncle Shlomah had put a move on Rose and was duly banished forever.My beloved grandfather Max died a terrible death from Pancreatic cancer. I have snatches of memory recalling my mother caring for him and, with tears streaming down her face, telling my father how he kept asking her, “What’s wrong Bea, I have no strength and I keep losing weight?” This was coming from a very strong man who stood 6’2” tall and weighed 200 pounds. He weighed less than 115 pounds at the end.Aside from King Solomon, boxing was also a part of our Friday night activities in another way. My grandmother’s brother, Ruby Voluck and his family lived right next door at 727 Snyder Avenue. They were vivid characters. I recall uncle Ruby and his wife aunt Rose bickering constantly only to be eclipsed by the epic battles between their two sons, my cousins Ronnie and Phillip. Ronnie would die way too young from a childhood bout with Rheumatic fever and a serious heart ailment. My brother Carl and I rivaled the Voluck boys for the title of “Most Contentious Brothers.” This chaos was offset by Harry Voluck, my very old Zaida (maybe 75?). I can’t ever recall him uttering a single word. Uncle Shlomah fought as a Heavyweight under the name King Solomon. Uncle Shlomah took too many punches.

My uncle Ruby has obviously contributed to my DNA pool because he too suf-fered from a stutter, much more severe than mine. He was also a huge ght fan and pretty much all the Segal/ Sonder/ Frechie men and boys would le in from next door to watch the Gillette Friday Night Fights on the Voluck’s 12” TV. No one was more vocal than Ruby and he employed the same ritual every time it looked like a knock-out was imminent. He would clear the kids seated on the oor directly in front of the screen and get down on his hands and knees and vigorously wipe the carpet while shouting, “The end is near! W-w-w-watch out! T-t-t-imber!!!”When my brother and I were little kids, we lived above my father’s medical of-ce at 1015 Porter Street and would sleep over at my grandparent’s house on Friday nights. We spent most Saturday afternoons watching the kids’ matinee at the Grand movie on 7th Street. Often we would grab an ice cream cone at Izzie’s Snack Shop after the movie. One fateful Friday night the meaning of the word “killed” was driven home to me more clearly than the death of Bambi’s mother at a movie matinee earlier that year. We were gathered around the dining room table enjoying one of Rose’s memorable meals. Suddenly! The overwhelming, concussive sound of a huge explosion! The windows rattled andthe house literally shook! We later found out it was a gas explosion up on 7th Street. And it was Izzie’s store. And it was Izzie. And Izzie’s wife. All blown to smithereens. Surveying the huge piles of debris and the hole in the ground the next day, I can remember the cold finality ofit all sinking in and thinking how lucky I was to have all those wonderful people at 729 Snyder Avenue in my life.My great grandfather, Harry Voluck, was a very quiet man. Don’t remember him saying a word.Walt Disney shocked me with the death of Bambi’s mother. But the gas explosion at Izzy’s store brought it home.

“My gum, you dumb motherfucker!”In the meantime, I grad-uated from Beeber Junior High and moved on to Overbrook High School which came withplenty of trepidations, and not only because ev-erything was strange and new. Unlike lily-white Beeber, at least 50% of Overbrook’s students were Black. My head was filled with rumors of beat-downs, intimidation, and gangs. In fact, my higher education began during the first week of school when I was assigned to man a 3’ X 7’ gymnasium closet known as “The Valuables Room.” It had a solid steel panel set in the middle of the wooden door with a single slot cut at the bottom, barely large enough to accommodate a human hand. No way to see whose hand that was. My job was to check the kids’ property before gym class, issue them a numbered disc on an elastic wristband and, after class, return their stuff when presented with the band. My rst customer on that day slid a small, folded piece of tinfoil into the slot and growled, “Check this, talcum!” Thinking it was some kind of illicit drug, I haltingly asked, “What is this?” The shouted response made things very clear, “My gum, you dumb motherfucker!” Don’t let the smile fool you. I was scared sh----ss about Overbrook High School.The day went downhill from there when Melvin Toren got the crap kicked out of him. A classmate of mine all through school, Melvin was a big guy, standing about 6’3” and weighing well over 200 pounds. The gentle White giant was accused of stealing something out of the locker next to his by a Black kid no more than 5’6” tall and 140 pounds. It wasn’t a fair fight.

Melvin TorenMe Melvin Toren was always the biggest kid in the class. I always t in nicely.The one positive from that day came when I learned how to handle the endless hallway shakedowns for pocket change. “Hey man, let me hold 10 cent,” a tall Black guy glowered at me. Fortuitously, an even taller Black guy walking behind me saw what was going on and put a quick end to things when he told my solicitor, “You really don’t want to do that.” And just like that, the shakedown was over. My savior was Walt Hazzard, the star basketball player, who laughingly gave me a great piece of advice, “The next time that happens, all you have to do is say, ‘Hey man, I’m working this side of the halls.’Walt was a key member of one of the G.O.A.T high school basketball teams which also featured the successor to Wilt Chamberlain, Wayne Hightower. The rest of the starting ve included Walt, Ralph Heyward, Richie Richman and Wali Jones (for my money the greatest of them all). Almost every member of that team went on to outstanding college and renowned professional careers.

The Overbrook High basketball team and the 1967 World Championship Philadelphia 76ers.Richie Richman, another Greylock alum, starred at Villanova in 3 sports: QB on the football team; guard on the basketball team (along with Wali Jones); and rst baseman on the baseball team. Richie was the greatest all-around athlete I’ve ever known. Wali Jones won an NBA Championship in 1967 as the silky-smooth point guard on the Philadelphia 76ers, one of the all-time NBA teams. Wali also had a beautiful, silky-smooth singing voice which could be heard harmonizing in Overbrook’s smoke-lled men’s room along with Len Bori-soff, another varsity b-baller who is better known as Len Barry of the Dovells.Richie Richman, Guilon Bluford, Wali Jones and Len Borisoff were great athletes,astronauts and enter-tainers, among many distinguished Overbrook students. No wonder championships, space travel andhit records became our school legacy.As it turned out, that rst day couldn’t have been more misleading. My Over-brook High School experience included more than great basketball and couldn’t have been any happier or more memorable. And I credit the school with helping me exorcise the stereotypes, prejudice and, yes, the hidden racism inevitably re-sulting from my somewhat insular and segregated Jewish upbringing.

I can still hear my uncle Ruby, my grandmother’s brother, telling me to “W-w-watch out for the schvatzahs” on my way to the Saturday kids’ matinee around the corner at the Grand movie theater.He was our QB.At 5’6” tall in the right shoes, Irv Sagorsky was a muscular 150 lbs. And he was handsome. The quarterback on our Overbrook High School football team and the catcher on our baseball team, Irv was the over-achieving only child of Rose Sa-gorsky, his short, vocal, strong-willed mother, and Mort Sagorsky, a sullen, distant, white-haired diamond merchant on Philadelphia’s Jewelers’ Row.Irv was accustomed to a life of privilege and early on I wondered if his family might have descended from Russian aristocracy. Rose Sagorsky’s posturing did nothing to dispel that notion. Though they lived in a modest rowhouse on 50th Street in the Wynneeld section of Philadelphia, the Sagorsky family was obviously prosperous. Son Irving owned a beautiful Pinto horse named Apache, gifted on his 10th birthday, which was boarded at the nearby Fairmount Stables. He rode “Western” on a hand-tooled leather saddle like TV cowboy, Rowdy Yates on Rawhide. And that made it even cooler. Nothing was too good for Clint Eastwood or Irving Sagorsky.Even as a young kid, Irv wore expensive clothing, and his Bar Mitzvah suit was custom-made at the prestigious Morville Men’s Store. Irv’s brand-new bronze Corvette – a teenage birthday gift -- and his breathtakingly beautiful girl friend, Linda Tompkin (a future Miss Philadelphia), made him the envy of every classmate.Irv’s bronze Corvette and Linda Tompkin, his breathtaking girlfriend, were the envy of everyone. Me included.Both the car and the girl were the stuff of vivid teen-age fantasies, including mine.

I met Irv in junior high school, and we became best friends immediately. He possessed the fear-less condence I lacked and the will to achieve I admired. He was tough and had incredible guts. Surprisingly, he had sophisticated tastes which far exceeded his age or experience. And even though my father Max was a successful doctor and we lived in the prestigious neigh-borhood of Green Hill Farms, my Dad’s South Philly roots and Depression-era mentality meant Irv’s entitlements had no references in my upbringing. The house I grew up in made me proud.Irv and I played on the varsity baseball team together in high school. He was the starting catcher and I was the good hit/no eld, second-string second baseman. I had learned to hit a fast ball standing up against my brother Carl ring tennis balls at me from 30 feet away in our backyard. But I loved hitting too much to spend much time on elding. I was the third wheel on most of Irv’s dates as beautiful Linda, perched on the Corvette’s center console, squeezed tight between the two of us. It was heaven. Every possible minute away from Linda was spent together at my house or Irv’s. The two of us were joined at the hip during high school so when Irv asked me if I wanted to go on a cross-country road trip to California after graduation, I was all in. When I suggested Rennie Treegoob and Jerry Zupnik, two close friends of mine from Camp Greylock, join us in Rennie’s Corvette, Irv was all in. Four guys in two Corvettes. On our own and not a care in the world. Across the country to California. The stage was set for an unforgettable adventure. Rennie’s Corvette helped us live out our Route 66 adventure fantasy.

It just so happened, “Route 66,” starring two young studs driving a Corvette along the famous roadway, was a hot, current TV series in 1962. Naturally, that would be our cross-country route and, to make our trip even more epic and theat-rical, we would assume stage names and concoct new backstories. Irv was Chris Shockley, Rennie was Reno Savage, Jerry was Johnny Snowake, and I was Marlon Sondo. Our memories began on a desolate strip of two-lane blacktop through the rugged Texas hill country. Cruising top-down at close to 100 mph, the road was empty, the weather was glorious and the snarling roar of those Corvette engines was the perfect soundtrack. When suddenly … BAM! Was that a gunshot!? A backre!? Though certainly startled, we hadn’t felt a thing and the car was running pefectly. After checking out each other for any signs of life-threatening trauma, we decid-ed to just keep on driving.Maybe 45 minutes later, with the gas gauge pinned to E, we pulled into a dilap-idated lling station, junked hulks of rusted cars and pickup trucks littering the landscape. The only thing missing were the tumbling tumbleweeds. As we approached the decrepit 1940’s gasoline pump, a character straight out of central casting – a towering, stereotypical country hick with very few teeth and a crumpled, sweat-stained cowboy hat pulled tight down to his eyes – ambled up to the front of the car. He stared intently down at the grill. For a good 30 seconds.As a gummy smile played across his grizzled face, he bent down for something and let out a raucous rebel yell. “Oooooooweeeeee!”

Rising back up wide-eyed and holding a bloody carcass aloft by its scrawny neck, the attendant delightedly exclaimed, “Prairie Chicken! Make good eatin’ ‘nother couple weeks! My name’s Critter.” We arrived in Las Vegas ready for all the sin we could nd. And walked away with a small fortune.Moving on down the road, we arrived in Las Vegas where the legal age to gam-ble was 21. Though none of us were old enough, Irv Sagorsky insisted we try our luck that rst night at The Sands. Though he had never seen the inside of a casino, let alone played craps, Irv decided to take our pooled bank roll and try his luck. I’ll never understand how a complete Vegas rookie ever did it, but two hours later we had to beg Irv to step away from the table with our $7,000 in winnings. $7K! That’s the equivalent of over $52,000 in today’s dollars! Hearts pounding, we cashed in our chips, split up the money and “The Legend of Chris Shockley” became part of our folklore.The next night we were ready for more, but as soon as we entered the casino two security guards promptly escorted us out the door and told us never to come back. We had no idea how they found out we were all just 20 years old. And we weren’t about to ask. At least they weren’t going to arrest us and, impossibly, they never mentioned our winnings. Soon we were again out in the middle of nowhere, top down, sun blazing, blast-ing along a lonely desert highway at 125 mph. I remember our exact speed be-cause I was driving,

Irv was asleep in the passenger seat beside me, and I had just glanced at the speedometer when I noticed a speck on the horizon. It didn’t take long before the speck turned into an old, beat-up station wagon driving toward us in the opposite direction. Inexplicably, with no cross street in sight and no more than 50 yards separating us, the station wagon suddenly made a sharp left turn directly in front of us and veered off the asphalt into the empty desert. Instinctively, I yanked the steering wheel hard right and went careening into the opposite lane, shtailing down the highway helplessly out of control. Suddenly, Irv was wide awake, eerily unemotional as he uttered the words, “Dead. We’re dead.”How we avoided a fatal collision or ipping over numerous times at that speed is beyond me. It’s either a testament to our Corvette’s advanced suspension or the power of miracles. I’ll go with the latter. Had I hit the brakes at 125 mph, Shock-ley and Sondo certainly would have died young. Once our car slowed down and was under control, I made a U-turn and drove back toward the station wagon, now parked in the middle of the desert. We couldn’t believe our eyes. Two elderly women wearing prairie bonnets and dressed in full-length “pioneer garb,” were sitting down on the desert oor face-to-face and expressionless. Members of a cult? Escapees from an asylum? Each had a toy shovel in their hand and was lling a child’s beach bucket with sand. Irv and I bounded out of our car and ran toward the women screaming. “What the hell are you doing! Are you out of your fucking minds! You almost killed us!”Nothing. No reaction whatsoever. The women never looked up and never stopped shoveling. Flabbergasted, there was nothing to do but stand there for a couple of beats shaking our heads and then walk silently back to our car, thankful the la-dies’ attempted suicide would have to wait for another day. This next incident provided my rst disturbing glimpse into Irv Sagorsky’s com-plicated and occasionally dark personality. We were in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Surprisingly, all four of us had managed to score jobs as movie extras on “Spen-cer's Mountain” starring Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara, a lm shooting on location in the magnicent Grand Teton National Park. We had met two very cute girls during the rst couple days of lming and, on the third day, we offered to drive them to the set about 40 miles outside of Jackson. Our friends Rennie and Jerry (or “Reno” and “Johnny”) were leading the way with one girl in their car while Irv, myself, and our pretty passenger followed.

About 20 minutes into our ride, the three of us had somehow gotten into a discussion about how few ethnic groups or people of color were seen around this part of Wyoming. I guess the names “Chris Shockley” and “Marlon Sondo” had thrown Miss Pug Nose off because after conceding how few minorities were around these parts, she proceeded to blurt out, “I don’t mind most kinds of people, but if there’s one thing, I don’t like … I can’t stand Jews!”Now we were two Jews literally in the middle of nowhere with no signs of civilization for miles in any direction. But as Rennie and Jerry sped off ahead of us, and almost before the word “Jews” had escaped her lips, Irv slam-med on the brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt. “Out. Out!” he said with quiet fury. I implored Irv to just drop her off at the movie set and then she could nd her own way home. “We can’t just leave her out here in the middle of nowhere!” But Irv was unmoved. In a strangely unemotional tone of voice, he stared directly into the girl’s uttering eyes and chillingly said, “Get her the fuck out of here. Now.” And that’s what happened. We saw stars our rst day on set. And almost saw many more the fourth morning. The Grand Teton landscape was beautiful and intimidating. Too dangerous no matter how anti-semitic you were.

Early the next morning back in our motel room, I was having a bowl of cold cereal when I heard a thunderous banging on the door. Irv was in the shower, Rennie and Jerry were still asleep. As the insistent banging continued, I warily walked up to the front door and slowly opened it. I was staring straight into the chest of a very large cowboy, every bit of 6’5” tall and 240 pounds. In South Philly he would have been called a “balagula.” Though he spoke quietly, he was seething with anger. “You the Jew boys with the Corvettes?” Inexplicably, I shot back with my best hillbilly/cowboy imitation: “You the Jew boys with the Corvettes?” John Wayne was not amused. “You drive a girl out to the mountains yesterday?” He was no longer speaking quietly. “You leave that girl stranded there in them mountains? Cause I’m gonna put y’all in the hospital!” Before I had a chance to react someone shoved me out of the way from behind. Soaking wet with just a towel around his waist, Irv was brandishing a six-foot long iron hanger pole he had ripped out of the clothes closet, “Yeah, we’re the Jew boys with the Corvettes … and who the fuck are you gonna put in what hospital!?!?” Joe Pesci couldn’t have said it better. I must say, I’ve never seen a bigger guy leave any place in a bigger hurry. Irv had saved our collec-tive asses. And the legend grew. Yet I couldn’t help but think, “Where does he get the balls?” The legend, barely standing upright, was right next to Peter Lawford and me. She died less than a month later.The last chapter of our cross-country adventure was written in Lake Tahoe. We all agreed a little time at the craps table would provide the perfect bookend to our trip of a lifetime. Tahoe was a lot less vigilant than Vegas when it came to age require-ments. And nobody seemed the wiser when we made our way into the casino and

sauntered condently toward the craps tables. Suddenly, we were stopped in our tracks. There, right in front of us, a very high, very drunk Marilyn Monroe was barely standing at one of the tables. Peter Lawford, a minor Rat Packer and Hollywood actor who also happened to be President Kennedy’s brother-in-law, was handing Marilyn hundred-dollar bills from a fat wad of cash one after the other. She would immediately oat the bills on to the table unaware and unconcerned with where they landed. Less than 1 month later, Marilyn Monroe was dead.As for our fortunes at the craps table, let’s just say Las Vegas was an appari-tion. Not only did we lose our combined stake, but Irv also insisted on continuing the downward spiral even after our two partners had wisely called it a night. And he just kept chasing until every dollar we had to our names belonged to the house. We were literally penniless. When I called my father and told him what had happened and asked if he could wire me some money for the trip home, the line went dead. Max had hung up on me.Thank God for credit cards. After charging our hotel bill, Irv and I took off for Philadelphia, alternated driving and sleeping all the way back, non-stop with no meals, day and night for 40 straight hours, stopping only for gas and to sign for tolls.It had been an unforgettable trip. And this had been the appropriate ending.I was ready for my next adventure. My Dad took this photo the day I arrived home. I didn’t look any the worse for wear after driving forty straight hours home from Lake Tahoe.

“You’re doomed to mediocrity!”“Your father is a doctor.” My mom never let us forget it, so of course, all of us kids would become doctors too. But my brilliant father was a man of many talents. He could x anything and take a car apart and put it back together. He could affect an uncanny Yiddish accent and deliver a joke with a stand up comic’s timing. And for many years, he wrote and directed original comedic plays performed by his physician friends and their wives in the basement of our house at greatly anticipated annual parties. He could love ne cigars for most of his adult life and then quit smoking them suddenly, in one day. He took us on deep-sea shing expeditions with his pals and taught us the thrill of reeling in stripers, ounder, weaksh and bluesh far offshore from Atlantic City.There were also some darker moments. Like the time our Dalmatian puppy “ran away” from home. Or did he? Years later I found out my father had performed a “Fairmount Park job” at my mother’s request. I’ll assume no explanation is needed for the term. They weren’t animal people.And then there was the one-time I saw – or felt -- my father lose his temper, deliv-ering a devastating shot to the back of my head with the heel of his hand that liter-ally rattled my brain. Sure, I probably deserved it. But still. Despite that, Max still gets an overall rating of 9 out of 10. I never knew where the point on top of my head came from until I found this photo of my Dad.He was a family doctor in the heart of South Philadelphia at 1015 Porter Street. We lived in an apartment above the ofce until the practice grew large and success-ful enough for our family to move to the Green Hill Farms section of Philadelphia when I was 7 years old. And that reminds me of a memorable mission Carl and I undertook at about that age to belly-crawl in and out of my father’s bedroom during his naptime. Just to see if we could do it. On the way in, I came too close to my father’s shoes and socks neatly resting on the oor near the bed and let out an audi-ble gagging sound. Stinky for sure. 1963-1965

To which my still-slumbering father loudly exclaimed “BASEBALL GAME!” We could barely stie our hysterical laughter as we slithered out of the bedroom. Of course, we never forgot it.As a teenager, I used to help my Dad in the of-ce, pricking patient’s ngers for blood tests and “Watching the car” while he made endless house calls. I didn’t mind because my father always had great cars and my early years are lled with memo-ries of them, starting with a tail-nned, black Ca-dillac convertible with a khaki top and red leather interior. Unforgettably, the gas tank was accessed by pressing a button on the hinged rear tail light. My eccentric doctor/father once had 14 cars in one year, at the end trading in a 220SE Mercedes cabriolet he had ordered 9 months earlier for a burgundy Porsche 356 C Coupe with two grills on the trunk lid. Max had dumped the Mercedes because the “Hydrak” clutchless manual transmission he had speced was an absolute dud. Shockingly, he swapped the Porsche for a Nash Metropolitan just weeks later. Of course, as he always told my shell-shocked mother, “Bea, I’ve always been a great negotiator so I make money on every deal.” Yeah, my Dad was denitely car crazy... or maybe just plain crazy. They had strange ways of hiding the gastank in the 1950s.But Max was also a man of few words. During the epic year of the 14-car run, our resident car nut brought home a robin’s-egg-blue Renault Caravelle sports car for my mother, though “sports car” might be a bit of a misnomer. Sure, it looked the part, but this Frenchie only had about 75 horsepower.

My brother and I decided to rev things up by tting an actual 8-ball to the top of the pencil-thin gearshift lever and adding wide, white-tape racing stripes down the hood and trunk. Just as we were nishing the transformation, my father pulled up behind us in the driveway, parked and silently circled around the entire perimeter of the Renault. He then peeked into the cockpit, hesitated for a beat, and nally xed his two sons with a baleful, Sonny Liston glare. In a barely audible voice, Max slowly enunciated the words that would have a profound effect on my design esthetic. “Don’t gild the lily.” And then he silently walked into the house. I caught my father’s “Car Fever” and owned many greatsports cars. This 2014 Porsche Cayman was a favorite.I always drove a stick shift and the flashier the leather, the better.But back to my Dad’s ofce. There was his questionable “sense of humor” with pa-tients. I remember overhearing him consulting with an older, morbidly obese wom-an when he suggested cutting back on the pasta and her response was, “Doc, I only have a forkful of pasta.” Doc’s response was, “Yeah, a pitchfork full.” Then there was Guido Ballatore, a very muscular, movie-star-handsome man about 50 years of age, who walked up to my blood-test station and presented his huge, stonemason hand to me for his nger prick. One stick … then another and progres-sively harder #3, #4, and #5 sticks. Penetrating Guido’s incredibly thick, calloused forenger was beyond me. Finally, had to call Dad to the rescue. This was the rst hint that I might not be cut out for a future in medicine. Most of South Philly’s up-and-coming Italian singers made Max J. Sonder, M.D. their doctor of choice, including Fabian Forte (Fabian), Robert Ridarelli (Bobby Rydell) and Francis Avallone (Frankie Avalon). I guess you could call my Dad “Doctor to the Stars.”From left: Fabian; Dick Clark; Bobby Rydell; Frankie Avalon

Of course, my older broth-er Carl, my younger sister Hester and I would all become doctors as well. Two out of three ain’t bad. After partnering with my father in his general practice, Carl became a highly respected psychia-trist and is semi-retired in Phoenix, AZ. Hester was an OBGYN with a very successful practice in Phil-adelphia for over 35 years, until the outrageous insurance premiums, endless paperwork and regressive sytem became too much to bear. She’s retired now and, happily for both of us, moved back from Albuquerque, NM and is living in the same Philadelphia apartment com-plex we share. And Hester’s become a part-time Uber driver and loves it! She’s rat-ed the No.1 driver in her district! Btw, I recently suggested her new Uber business cards read, “DR. DRIVER Curing your transportation ills.” Clever huh?But even having my acceptance to the University of Pennsylvania rescinded because of poor grades in my senior year of high school, wasn’t enough to convince me I wouldn’t have a “Dr.” in front of my name. However, my mother’s stinging reac-tion to my rapid academic descent should have made things eminently clear: “YOU ARE DOOMED TO MEDIOCRITY!” The words reverberated as if they were spo-ken in an echo chamber. It took two years at Temple University, unking Biology and oundering through Chemistry and other Pre-Med courses, to seal the deal. I did manage an A in Psychology without ever attending a class, but only because the exam questions were multiple choice and ridiculously easy. The only subject I really enjoyed and came close to excelling in was English. I thought I might have a little bit of writing talent and when I was called to an after-class conference with Dr. Mc-Connell, a much-admired English professor, my suspicions were conrmed. Two doctors and the one “doomed to mediocrity.”We had been asked to write a short story about any subject of our choosing. I sub-mitted a very dark, true account about my friend Irv Sagorsky’s college roommate entitled, “The Ups and Downs of Larry Miami.”

Larry was actually Arthur Tepper, a Warren Beatty look-alike who roomed with Irv at the University of Miami. Arthur ended up staging three solo armed bank robber-ies during his sophomore year, calling the FBI to turn himself in and then blowing his brains out in his car when law enforcement arrived to arrest him. The devas-tating toll of this shocking tragedy on Irv Sagorsky’s mental health would become readily apparent in a few years. Professor McConnell thought my writing showed real promise and he felt I might have the talent to pursue a career in the eld. This bit of praise, a miraculous 95 on a Psych1 nal, in a course I never showed up for, and a perfect attendance record at Mitten Hall, the student gathering place, werethe highlights of my Temple University run. Armed with a little bit of condence, I decided to leave school at the end of my sophomore year and bury my medical ambitions once and for all, before I had to bury any patients. Or maybe it was Temple that decided to leave me. Of course, my Mom was devastated, convinced that her dire prediction had been depressingly ac-curate. But to my great surprise and his everlasting credit, my Dad was encouraging and told me not everyone was cut out to be a doctor or for college. I had nothing to be ashamed of or discouraged about. His advice … “Find what you love and go after it ferociously.” So, of course, I took a job at Lord & Taylor selling men’s clothing and completely ignored my father. I had no idea how 42 L suits would t my literary ambitions, but at least it put some money in my pocket until I gured things out. Besides, I loved men’s fashions and was convinced I had inherited my mom’s unerring good taste and my uncle Marv’s impeccable sense of style. Art-directing customers’ suit and accessory choices and closing sales were quite thrilling to me. It literally made my heart beat faster. My novel could wait. I would become the department’s MVS, most valuable salesman.One afternoon, a close friend of mine, who ironically would become managing partner of one of Philadelphia’s largest and most powerful law rms, came to visit me at work. This future political kingmaker hatched the bright idea for me to help him “liberate” an expensive sweater and a pair of slacks. And I did it. Reluctantly, regretfully, and ashamedly, but I did it. Somehow the missing merch was missed and every sales associate was questioned about it. But ever the facile, multiple-time Greylock Dramatic Award winner and artful dodger, I was able to conceal my pounding heart and my convincing denial was readily accepted. But I took the en-tire episode to be a clear sign it was time to move on.

The Price School was a trade school and the hands-on experience was just what I needed.I decided to investigate an advertising school I had heard about. The Charles Morris Price School of Advertising and Journalism offered a comprehensivetwo-year curriculum taught by successful professionals currently working in the industry. The school’s prestigious-sounding name appealed to me and Dean William Coran’s convincing sales pitch sold me. Putting Lord & Taylor and retail sales in myrearview mirror, I left the future of men’s fashion to the likes of Ralph Lifshitz. I soon found myself diving head-rst into courses covering every part of the advertising profession. From ad business basics, PR and marketing to media, copywriting, art direction, design and production. The hands-on assignments included creating research driven, strategically focused, multi-media advertising campaigns and I can still remember two of my concepts. The rst was for a non-carbonated soft drink that happened to be one of my favorite beverages: “BAN THE BUBBLE. Drink Birerley’s Orange Soda.” The theme was particularly timely given the civ-il unrest and demonstrations of the 1960’s. The second campaign was for Granny Smith Apples, a green apple that wasn’t selling because people didn’t think it was ripe: The campaign theme was, “Green means go.”I chose to do a campaign for my favorite soft drink andlearned that it’s easier if you believe in a product.People thought it wasn’t ripe because it was green. I learned to confront the negative head on.

Between the real-world visits to ad agencies, printing plants, newspapers, broad-cast stations and recording studios, and the marketing strategy and creative as-signments, I found myself totally engaged. And for the rst time in years, I was learning and excelling in school. Two years later I won the H.H. Kynett Award, presented to the graduating student most likely to succeed. I felt condent and ready. But before storming the world of advertising there was a Vietnam War to deal with halfway around the world.“GREETING:”One weekday afternoon, as I walked in our house from high school, I heard music blasting down in the basement. Descending the stairs, my brother Carl saw me and quickly lifted the arm up off the spinning record. “Victor, you have to hear this,” he said excitedly, “This guy is really amazing!” When he put the record player arm down again, I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The singer couldn’t even sing! He was terrible and I had no idea at all what the song was about. But as I would quickly learn, the times and my musical tastes were a-changin’, and Bob Dylan (and Carl) knew it way before I did.Everyone who came of age in the 1960’s was profoundly affected by the tumultu-ous times. One earth-shattering event after another swept us relentlessly from the heights of euphoria to the depths of despair. All of us suffered open wounds to our psyches and many medicated with self-prescribed doses of weed (for medicinal purposes only of course), if not psychedelics and heavier, more dangerous drugs. Bob Dylan was a prophet and opened our eyes to the dawning of a new age.John Kennedy was a ray of light and hopeuntil it was all brutally snuffed out.

The Beatles brilliance made the jolts ofunthinkable horror bearable.Martin Luther King’s assassination followed by Bobby Kennedy’s death marked the end of our innocence.I had seen John Kennedy campaign for President in person at the Bala Cynwyd Shopping Center. He rode by in an open convertible, his Palm Beach tan, Holly-wood-handsome good looks and dazzling smile won over every woman in the crowd, and pretty much every man too. Before he spoke a word. There is just no explaining how it felt to go from the profound hope of Kennedy winning the Presidential election over Richard Nixon to the devastating sadness of his brutalassassination just three years later. None of us could ever be put back together again.We were all held captive by the joy and enlightened by the journey we took with the Beatles. And that helped. We were swept up in the profound changes of the Civil Rights Movement and then we were brought crashing to earth again by Martin Luther King’s shocking murder. But the pain wouldn’t end. We were crushed once again by Bobby Kennedy’s unfathomable assassination.We went careening from Bob Dylan, John Lennon and Paul McCartney to Lee Harvey Oswald, James Earl Ray and Sirhan Sirhan. And all the while the discordant strains of demonstrations, visions of bloody body bags and the ever-escalating Vietnam War played on in the background. It was into this swirling caldron of torment I stepped, with my Associate Degree in Advertising. There were two immediate priorities. Get a job and avoid the newly enacted draft. I took on the former by writing a telephone pitch and binge-calling

every ad agency, TV and radio station, newspaper and corporate marketing depart-ment in Greater Philadelphia and South Jersey. I simultaneously contacted every nearby National Guard and Army Reserve unit looking for openings in their ranks. As luck would have it, after two months of futility, I hit the double-jackpot on vir-tually the same day.My interview with Leonard Bach, head of The Philadelphia Inquirer’s Promotion Department, couldn’t have gone better. When I showed him the two spec ad cam-paigns for Bireley’s and Granny Smith Apples from Charles Morris Price School, he responded immediately. Impressed by the strategic positioning and creative execution of both campaigns, Mr. Bach offered me a copywriting job on the spot. I would primarily be responsible for creating mailing pieces promoting the paper’s seasonal supplements covering travel and vacations, nances and invest-ments, sports and entertainment. I had no idea what that entailed, but could I start the following week?!?!The day after I landed the Inquirer job, the 122nd Ordnance Company in Camden, NJ notied me they had an opening, and I could come down and ll out the paper-work. But … and it was a big BUT... that day’s mail also delivered a “GREETING” you never want to get. I was in full panic mode. Not only was I going to be draftedand sent off to ght a war I completely opposed, I would probably get killed. If truth be told, my political opposition paled in comparison to the getting killed part. When I told my mother what was going on, it took her all of 5 minutes to decide on a course of action. Bea was not about to see a son of hers shipped back home in a ag-draped cofn. I was to get her the name of the National Guard unit’scommanding ofcer and his phone number. She would take care of the rest.If you ever received a “GREETING” like this, you know exactly how I felt.

My father spent WWII in North Carolina treating German POWs. Mom lost her temper with one of the prisoners and the kids came home with thick southern drawls.Bea Sonder was something. During the war, my father was an Army doctor in North Carolina treating German prisoners of war while waiting to be shipped over-seas. One morning, my Mom was walking past a chain link fence when an incar-cerated Nazi prisoner behind it yelled out something in German and leered at her. Bea was not happy. She promptly walked up close to him with a smile on her face … wait for it … and spit in his. Legend has it my mother was not happy with the “s” on the end of “Sonders,” my father’s family name. It was “inelegant.” So, after being married for a year, she simply banished that “s” to the trash heap and it’s been “Sonder” ever since. Was it ever legally changed? Couldn’t tell you. On top of being gutsy, determined, smart, and articulate, she was a striking beauty. And she knew how to use it. At the meeting the next day with the Ordinance company’s commanding ofcer, I was certain things would go my way as soon as I saw the star-struck expression on the Colonel’s face as he greeted my mother. The closed-door meeting lasted about 20 minutes. I have no idea what went on behind those closed doors. I do know as Bea and the Colonel exchanged a warm goodbye, I was told to ignore my draft notice, that it would be “taken care of” when I lled out the enlistment paperwork. My mother was beautiful and knew how to use it.

I was going to be a tank mechanic. And at least for now, I was not go-ing to be a Vietnam War casualty. This seems to be an appropriate time to recognize a contemporary of mine who reacted to the war in a completely different way. Larry Liss volunteered to serve and was a highly decorated combat helicopter pilot for 16 months and 2 tours of duty in Vietnam. I have always had tremendous respect and a bit of envy for Larry’s character, courage and choice, as well as real admiration for the fact Larry wore a Star of David on the back of his hel-met throughout his tours in Viet Nam. We all owe him a great debt.Larry Liss ew over 650 combat missions in Vietnam and won the Distinguished Flying Cross.My orders to report to nearby Ft. Dix in 3 weeks for basic training meant I had to pass on accepting the copywriting job at the Inquirer. Mr. Bach said he understood, but really needed to ll the position immediately and couldn’t hold the job open for me. But I was really encouraged by his sincere expressions of disappointment and his assessment of my potential. So, when our conversation ended with the usual “keep in touch,” I decided to take Mr. Bach at his word. Without fail, over the next 6 months of training at Ft. Dix, I had a weekly telegram delivered to the Inquirer’s Promotion Department addressed to LeonardBach. “Very saleable but still available.” “Getting t and ready to do great work for you.” “Becoming an expert at hitting the target.” The telegram was our email in the 1960’s.

In the meantime, to my astonishment, Army life really agreed with me. I loved the physical training and quickly got in the best shape of my life. Ft. Dix was an “open post” with no guards checking soldiers coming and going. This meant I could spend every weekend at home, leaving on Friday night and returning by rollcall on Monday morning. And I did so from the rst weekend of my stint in the Army. I became so comfortable so quickly, couldn’t help but give in to my outra-geous urge to attempt an insane prac-tical joke during my second week on base. We had been moved from the orientation bar-racks to our permanent housing right next door and I enlisted two of my new and crazier compadres to assist me. My inspiration was to mimic a surprise inspection we had endured the week prior and, implausibly, decided to recreate it for the incoming class of recruits. Dispensing a First Lieutenant’s silver bar of shaving cream to the crown of my cap and on each epaulet of my fatigue shirt, I burst through the freshman barracks doors anked by my two enlisted men. “ATTEN-HUT!!!” Every wide-eyed grunt immed-iately scrambled into position and snapped to attention in front of their bunks. No one’s xed eyes surrendered their blank stare as I proceeded to conduct a awless, ad-lib, 15-minute inspection before shouting out, “At ease, gentlemen!” Executing an elegant, simultaneous about-face, the three of us smartly matchedstrides as we briskly made our exit.Not unexpectedly, within 24 hours I was summoned to the Company Commander’s ofce and interrogated by the captain himself. Did I have an explanation for my behavior? What made me think I could get away with it? Did I realize the penalty for impersonating an ofcer? The bemused smile on the captain’s face belied the gravitas of his questions. I stuttered my way through answers ranging from, “I know it was stupid, but I thought my unit and the new recruits could use a laugh.” to “I’m really sorry,Fort Dix was an “open post” and that contributedto easing my anxiety.

it was a crazy thing to do but I thought it was a harmless way to blow off some steam.” Suddenly, in the middle of my pathetic responses, the captain burst out laughing and shockingly said, “Sonder, this is the greatest thing I ever saw happen around here! You know what? I could use a soldier with your imagination. How would you like to be the Captain’s Orderly?” Hard to believe but true. I was excused from KP and guard duty throughout basic training, and I threw myself into excelling at the challenges of Army life. Maybe it was because the threat of being shipped out to Vietnam was off the table, but I can honestly say I enjoyed the entire experience. I met some of the best people I would ever meet, especially Willie Gwinn who was a Hollywood casting agent’s idea of what a Master Drill Sergeant should look and sound like. 6’3” tall and lean as abayonette with sharp, chiseled features and a commanding tone of voice. He reminded me of my J.V. basketball coach at Overbrook High, John Chaney, who was an inspiration and sculptor of my character.I’ll never forget Sergeant Gwinn’s rst words as he greeted us on the bus upon arriving at Ft. Dix, “Gentlemen, every-body off the bus NOW and I better be able to hear a rat pissin’ on cotton!”Sergeant Gwinn always looked the sameat the end of full-pack, 15-mile hikes ashe did at the beginning.John Chaney was my J.V. Basketball coach at Overbrook and he was one of the most inspiring men I ever met.Both Coach Chaney and Sgt. Gwinn were Black men who changed and inspired me. Both were men I would have followed anywhere. And both were men who helped destroy any vestige of racial prejudice that might have lingered in my heart. After completing my tank mechanic training at Ft. Dix, I was ready to get my civilian career rolling and put it in high gear.

“Philadelpnia”I arrived home from the Army on a Sunday and my very rst phone call on Mon-day morning was to Leonard Bach at the Philadelphia Inquirer’s Promotion Department. My weekly telegrams had certainly left their mark. But as Mr. Bach explained and my disappointment rose, when I had turned down the copywriting job six months prior he was forced to hire a young girl to ll the position. Be-fore hanging up, I got the usual, “Keep in touch, things can change very quickly around here and I’m very impressed with you.” And things did change very quickly indeed. No more than 15 minutes after hang-ing up and dejectedly beginning to formulate my Plan B, the phone suddenly rang with Mr. Bach on the other end. He had decided to listen to his instincts. He would let the new writer go and could I start the following Monday?!?!It took about 20 minutes on Day 1 for me to get my rst assignment. Every year in the late Fall, the paper would send out a mailing piece announcing their Winter Resort and Travel Guide, one of four seasonalsections I’d be responsible for pro-moting annually. I had been given the previously produced travel mailers as reference and was asked to come up with a theme and write the copy for this year’s mailing piece to potential advertisers. Man, that wasn’t much of an orientation. My panic was palpable and that fear of failure, those feelings of monumental insecurity having to face the judge-ment of my peers, would stay with me and fuel every creative assignment I would ever tackle. And they haven’tdiminished to this day, writing this memoir included. Starting my career at the prestigious Philadelphia Inquirer was a break I would take advantage of.

As the ache in my stomach became more acute and my heart rate sped up, Iremembered what had inspired me to try my hand at advertising in the rst place. The work of Doyle Dane Bernbach, the NYC ad agency that brought the craft kicking and screaming into the 20th century and turned it into an art form. My mind was lled with visions of Volkswagen, Avis, and Levy’s Rye Bread ads. What I most admired about Doyle Dane’s revolutionary vision was the simplicity of the art direction, the lack of formality and use of humor. Doyle Dane discovered how to cut through the clutter and stand out with what felt like truth. You noticed it. You liked it. You got it. And you remembered it. My philosophy has always been, “Borrow from the best, then make it your own.”All great advertising can be traced back to the groundbreaking creativity of Doyle Dane Bernbach.The ad that started it all was a simple photograph of an artfully small, black Volkswagen Beetle daringly positioned in the upper-left portion of a sea of white space. Nobody “wasted” money on white space before this. A two-word headline, “Think small.” sat understatedly centered at the bottom of the illustration. I forever noted the two-word headline ended with a period which added just the right touch of importance and believability. So, I simply decided to do a VW ad for the cover of my Inquirer Winter vacation mailer.

The copy came quickly. An ironic, two-word headline, “Go away.” With a period. And from my rst day on the job, I never turned in a piece of copy without suggesting a visual, usually in the form of a crude sketch with accompanying explanation: “Photograph headline through a block of ice in a sea of white space.” After polishing the body copy, and including the requisite number of Doyle-Dane style sentence fragments, I fearfully knocked on Creative Director Bill White’s closed door.He loved it. Immediately. And asked me to follow him to Leonard Bach’s ofce, who also loved it. Immediately. “This is exactly why we hired you!” Bill White then took me into the art department and introduced me to Harry Wilkins, the art director I’d be working with on my maiden advertising voyage. Harry, who would become the rst art hire at our eventual agency, took a moment to review the copy and then said, “I don’t understand, how are we going shoot the headline through a block of ice?” Back then, Inquirer news photographers handled the Promotion Department’s needs, and this was two decades before any thought of Photoshop. I wondered why Harry was asking me, after all, wasn’t it his job to handle the “pictures?” But I scrambled to come up with an answer, “Well, we set the headline type as big as possible, lay the type under a block of ice and shoot it on a big piece of white paper on the oor.” After a very pregnant pause, Harry answered, “Where are we going to get a block of ice?”I didn’t have an answer for that one and said I was going to lunch, and we’d talk later. Back in my ofce, I thumbed through the Yellow Pages, looked up “Ice Vendors” and, serendipitously, found an icehouse directly around the corner from the Inquirer build-ing. l walked in, bought a large block of 40lb. ice and convinced the proprietor to let me borrow a large pair of tongs to drag the ice block the block back to the Inquirer. Turning heads as I schlepped and slid the block over the pavement, I made my way through the Inquirer lobby, up the elevator and into the 8th oor art department leaving vestiges of ice and water in my wake. Finally, I deposited the ice in front of Harry’s cubby. “Now you don’t have to worry about where to get a block of ice.”Going above and beyond expectations canice your reputation.

I’ll spare you the rest of the story, but this epic tale of my rst day on the job became part of Inquirer lore and established my reputation as a real up-and-comer at the paper. It also reinforced a lesson my Dad had taught me. You must want it badly. And you can’t let anything stand in your way. My 2 years at the Inquirer couldn’t have been a more valuable introduction to the advertising business. Leonard Bach and Bill White proved to be true mentors andI learned something new and valuable every day. Even proof-reading. Every writer was responsible for proofreading their own pieces before they went to the printer. And after a couple months on the job, I was overseeing production of a mailer promoting the Inquirer’s Spring Vacation and Travel Guide. After meticulously checking the nal proof for typos, I signed off on the printing run of 10,000 pieces. Or maybe I hadn’t been so meticulous. A couple of days later, a frowning Leonard Bach walked into my ofce holding a copy of the just-delivered mailer and said, “Victor, did you proofread this?” As my face ushed crimson I stammered, “W-w-why? Of course, I did.” I was then handed an opened copy of the brochure with the words, “Philadelpnia Inquirer Spring Vacation and Travel Guide” circled in red and asked to read those words. “Philadelphia Inquirer Spring Vacation and Travel Guide” I said. “Read them again,” said Mr. Bach. “Phila … Philadelpnia? Philadelpnia! Oh, come on, I don’t believe it!” “I want you to go down to the printer. He’s got the entire run of 10,000 mailers set aside for you and I want you to bring a black pen with you and change the ”n” into an “h.” There was not a hint of a smile on Mr. Bach’s normally pleasant countenance. He was dead serious. And so, I did. All 10,000. And 3 days later I was tortuously transformed into an excellent proof-reader.Another benet of my time at the Inquirer was meeting Gary Levitt and Richard Cooper, two similarly inclined, young ad guys who would become friends and then partners in Towne Associates, the rst iteration of our agency aspirations. But my brief run at the newspaper would soon be coming to an end. Irv had been talking about starting our own advertising agency and it was time for me to get some real-world agency experience and a taste of the challenges we would face in that world.

Though Roselois Carr went to Lower Merion High, and I went to Over-brook, she was my rst real high school crush. And I crushed on her way more than she crushed on me. In fact, throughout our “relationship,” Roselois was way more interested in some guy that went to Penn. But I was not to be disuaded. I would out-last the competition and avoid rejec-tion at all costs. We had been dating for about two years and I had been more entangled with the struggle to heighten her tepid feelings for me My Dad was not a big Roselois fan. Though you’d never know it from this touching photo.than I was enamored with her. Naturally, when I felt her moving toward a break-up, I immediately decided to go see Irv Saorsky’s diamond-merchant father and buy an engagement ring. What else would you do to avoid being rejected? I don’t think I had dated more than a handful of girls in my life, and that number might be exag-gerated. But my raging insecurities meant I was willing to trade a temporary rejec-tion for a lifetime union we both knew was doomed to failure. I would win no mat-ter the cost. Yeah, I was more than a little crazy. And through some manipulative salesmanship and sheer force of will, I was able to convince Roselois to join me in this painful misadventure. So, I married Roselois. But she didn’t marry me. Then a trip to Jamaica and an acute case of bikini sunburn if not a honeymoon. This resulted in 10 days of humil-iating, non-conjugal consummation that morphed into 3 months when my bride’s afiction metastasized into a chronic condition. To make matters worse, my in-laws had surreptitiously moved in to an apartment a oor below ours. And as a bonus, neither Sam nor Jean Carr knew how to drive a car, so their only child was respon-sible for transporting them everywhere they wished to go.One illuminating if “morningmarish” 7 AM bedroom episode seems appropriate here. After a very late Saturday-night out, I was painfully roused from a deep sleep by the urgent, repeated squeezing of my big toe sticking out at the end of the bed. Blinking my eyes open and struggling to focus, I beheld my wife and in-laws – none of whom stood more than 5’1” tall -- dressed in their Sunday best, arranged in a row behind the footboard exclaiming, “Let’s hurry up and get ready … It’s time for breakfast at Horn & Hardart!” Was it spoken in unison? No matter, my entire life ashed before my eyes.

Two weeks later, eerily and coinci-dentally, I called a friend of my parents who was a manufacturer’s representative for Thomasville Fur-niture. I wanted to thank him for the substantial discount on our recent furniture purchases for the apartment. Returning home from work after-wards, I opened our apartment door and walked into nothing but haunting silence. Nothing, zip, zilch, nada. Not a stick of Thomasville furniture. Not a bar of soap or a towel or a tube of toothpaste or a toothbrush. Literally, not even a roll of toilet paper. As my father’s prophetic words just before walking me down the aisle echoed in my memory, “Victor, you can still change your mind,” I took a deep breath and let loose a thunderous, “Hallelujah!” Though my irrational penchant for avoid-ing conict, and a lack of guts, had let things fester for far too long, the 3-month nightmare was over. After our Jewish divorce (Or was it an annulment?), I could now focus all my attention on nding love in the world of advertising. I never laid eyes on Roselois or ever spoke a single word to her again. But my destruc-tive bent for avoiding conicts and side-stepping confrontations would continue unabated, causing serious repercussions.I loved the food but the pressure on my big toe was just too intense.“Hello! Anything for dinner? Uh...hello? Hello!(echo) HelloHelloHelloHello...”Nothing, not even a roll of toilet paper.

He was still our QB.There never would have been an advertising agency without Irv Sagorsky. It was his idea and his belief that made everything possible. I had no idea Irv even had any interest in advertising until one day he casually dropped a heavy hint, “I think we should start an advertising agency.” I was shocked. I mean, who would have thought a bunch of 23-year-olds with no real work experience, no startup money and no agency background could do such a thing? Irv Sagorsky would. While the rest of us were nose to grindstone working for The Philadelphia Inquirer, Irv had somehow managed to wrangle free ofce space on the 1700 block of Walnut Street. During one of his very frequent solo bar crawls in center city, after his day job working for his uncle in the construction business, Irv found himself at the bar of Arthur’s Steak House, with a Jack Daniels on the rocks in his right hand and Mr. Gaynor Cusani seated to his left. The two soon struck up a conversation during which Irv wishfully exaggerated the timing then explained he was in the process of forming a new advertising agency. And Gaynor serendipitously explained he had just launched a new start-up advertising medium: “Shirtboard Ads” would sell space on the ubiquitous cardboard inserts found in laundered men’s shirts at dry cleaners. Four Jack Daniels later, Irv and Gaynor were fast friends and had already come to an agreement. Irv’s new agency would create the logo design, advertising and collateral materials needed to launch Gaynor’s new venture. In exchange, Irv’s new agency could use The Gaynor Cusani Company ofces after 6 PM at night free of charge. Irv called me at 1 AM that morning and I was astounded. “Really? You’re serious? When are we doing this? We are? Okay, I guess I’m in.”We should probably drink a toast to “Jack”for the fact there was an SL&S 1966-1968

The next day I hastily arranged a lunch with Gary Levitt, my fellow copywriter in the Promotion Department and Rich-ard Cooper, a new friend who was a writer/art director in another department working on creating ads for Inquirer advertisers without agencies. Richard was a graduate of Penn’s Annenberg School of Communications and was constantly bragging about his close friendship with fellow student Candice Bergen. I was impressed. Richard’s work wasn’t the only thing that caught my eye. Candice Bergen was sweet.Richard’s work also caught my eye when he showed me a classied display ad he had written and designed for a local car dealer, “Jeep. The toughest 4-letter word on earth.” Richard was a writer, an art director, and an Annenberg graduate. I took notice. I included Gary mainly because I had become personal friends with him and his wife Barbara, and I was very apprehensive about setting out on the perilous path of starting an agency with just Irv and myself. I really had no idea about Gary’s skills or possible contributions. But I was comfortable with Gary and needed an ally. To my mind, there was strength in numbers. Though I had casually mentioned forming an agency to Gary and Richard in passing a couple of weeks before, we never seriously considered the possibili-ty. But by the time lunch ended, we were all committed to 3 nights a week after work, starting at 6 PM. We met Monday night of the following week in our new ofces and toasted the launch with the cold Heinekens Irv supplied. We decided to call ourselves Towne (with an “e”) Associates because we all had other jobs and needed to remain anonymous. And we would all be working in town(e). Get it? We were off! A couple of months before, I had started searching for a copywriting job with one of the larger, better-known ad agencies in Philadelphia. I had a decent portfolio, and I knew Leonard Bach and Bill White would give me glowing recommenda-tions. But I was unable to arrange for even one interview with one agency. Finally, my father’s sister, Sylvia Elkins, convinced her next-door neighbor to meet with me.

His name was Murray Firestone and he owned a small, creative boutique. He praised my work and gave me plenty of advice, but sorry, there were no job open-ings. I was crushed. Notably in my mind, 3 years later I ran into Murray Firestone at an industry social function, and he was kind enough to say not hiring me was one of the biggest mistakes he ever made. Sweet. After calling Irv and telling him I was having no luck with my job search, he mentioned Shaw & Schreiber, his uncle’s industrial ad agency. Maybe Irv could arrange an interview for me. Though I had visions of working on prestigious auto-mobiles, professional sports teams, national food brands, and major retailers I was suddenly willing to settle for tool and die makers, brake pad manufacturers, paper bag suppliers, and garden hose spray nozzles. But it was a job in an agency. It was offered and I took it. First of course, I had to say goodbye to Leonard Bach and thank him for his be-lief in me and for giving me such an important opportunity to prove myself. He was effusive with his praise and genuinely happy for me. Then, out of the blue, he said something very disturbing, “Victor, I know you and Gary have become good friends. But remember this … as intelligent as Gary is, and he’s very intelligent, there’s nothing you can learn from him.” I was stunned into an awkward silence and had no answer. But I would never forget what he said. I brought the same work ethic and intensity with me to Shaw & Schreiber that had proven so successful at The Inquirer. Though the work previously produced by the agency was pedestrian and dated, I dug deep for unexpected and provoca-tive solutions to the marketing and advertising riddles confronting me. After all, industrial buyers were still human beings and would still respond emotionally. So, in my mind, they would be susceptible to the same imaginative approaches I had used to appeal to consumers. But after a couple of months, I realized that Irv’s Uncle Sid was not Bill Bernbach and he was not interested in reinventing the wheel. Or even the hubcaps. The camel’s backbreaker was a new campaign assignment for Reading Truck Body. They designed and built truck bodies to accommodate and facilitate specic industry tasks. Sid Schreiber had personally conducted the job orientation with me and emphasized how important this client was to the agency. They were looking for a fresh approach and wanted “something new and exciting.” But the overall campaign must still emphasize the quality and longevity of their products.

Reading’s existing tagline was something like, “The highest quality since 1955.” So, I began the job by suggesting a new theme line that said much more and was far more memo-rable: Reading Truck Body … Built from the rst to last. Not earth-shattering but it was easily a big improvement. The words seemed to deliver a bit of “jolt” and made you stop and think. More importantly, they said “quality and“longevity” in a fresh way. But before moving ahead and eshing out the campaign Sid Schreiber’s reaction to my Reading campaign hit me like a proverbial truck.with multiple ads each focusing on one single example of Reading’s meticulous attention to manufacturing detail, I wanted Sid Schreiber’s approval on the new positioning strategy. So, I started by explaining how and why I had settled on a new campaign theme and then presented it. Sid’s face broke into a big smile, and I thought I was home free. But it was an ironic smile and Sid was reacting to how presumptuous I had been thinking I could ddle with the company’s key statement. “You can’t change their line; the President came up with that.” I could feel a surge of anger shoot through my body. “But you said they were looking for something new and excit-ing. We CAN change their line, you just WON’T change their line. What’s the point of holding on to it? Nobody can remember it anyway.” Sid was no longer smiling, and I knew I was ghting a losing battle. What’s more, I realized my job at Shaw & Schreiber was simply going to be a placeholder. Freelancing at night with Towne Associates was the way forward and would determine my future. Though I found myself respected and valued at Shaw & Schreiber, in the end my efforts at changing the culture were not welcome. Besides, there was little to be learned or brought with me to Towne Associates, where things were humming along, full speed ahead.

The work we had done for Shirtboard Ads was making a mark and generating tangible results. The big get was Gillette who had signed on for a lucrative run. Gaynor Cusani Company had used this national brand breakthrough to sign up dozens of new, male- oriented advertisers. Six months into our work at the Shirtboard ofces, I received a welcome and surprising phone call from my mother’s brother, Marv Segal. Marv had started his legal career in Washington as a Justice Department lawyer along-side a young, arrogant Robert Kennedy (Marv’s adjectives, he was not a fan). My uncle had helped plan the famous 1957 raid on the Appalachian Maa meeting of 62 organized crime kingpins in New York state. The notorious names included Vito Genovese, Joe Profaci, Joe “Bananas” Bonanno and Carlo Gambino to name a few.Uncle Marv was my lifelong example of an accomplished, principled, loving man. And a knowing guide to living the good life.Ironically, Marv switched sides and later became a high-powered and nation-ally renowned criminal defense attorney with ofces in Manhattan (Segal & Hundley) and Washington (Hundley & Segal), famously defending John Mitch-ell during the infamous Watergate trials. Even more famously in my mind, Marv had to phone in his regrets for missing a family Passover seder one year. A Manhattan Maa client, Joey Gallo, was found shot to death and stuffed in a garbage can in front of Umberto’s Clam House in Little Italy. An event im-mortalized in The Irishman, directed by Martin Scorsese. Marv had carved out quite a career for himself. But back to the phone call.My uncle was calling me about a client of his, Herman Shaw, who was current-ly incarcerated for stock fraud in a Florida “country club” prison. Shaw was the owner and President of Aqualter Corp., manufacturer of a well-known nation-al brand of disposable cigarette lters.

My Uncle Marv helped orchestrate the biggest bust in Maa history.Genovese, Profaci, Bonanno, Gambino...It was an underworld Who’s Who.He was looking for an advertising agency to handle his account. Marv had told him about me and our new agency venture and it must have been quite a tale because Herman wanted to talk to me! I got instructions about how and when to call the prison the next day and pumped my uncle for some background on Aqua-lter’s President. Mr. Shaw was about 70 years old and might come off “a little bit gruff.” But he was really a sweetheart and I could trust him. He was a man of his word and would deal with us honestly. “But Marv, the man’s in jail for stock fraud!” “Victor, would your old uncle steer you wrong?”The next day I nervously followed the telephone protocol to connect with a prison inmate and soon had Herman Shaw on the other end of the line. “Mr. Shaw, this is Victor Sonder and I’m Marv Segal’s nephew. He asked me to call you about your Aqualter account.” Marv had been perfectly descriptive, “gruff” had nailed it. “Hey kid, I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right to the point.” Reexively, I almost shot back with a wisecrack … “Mr. Shaw, you’re doing nothing but time.” However, I caught myself and Herman continued. “I got a double-page ad I need to run in the December issue of Look Magazine. Send me an idea for the ad and if I like it, you’ll handle my account. Marvin will tell you how to send me stuff.” Click, end of conversation which had lasted all of 30 seconds.

Of course, we were bouncing off the walls about this opportunity. Irv and Gary took on the job of gathering as much industry and product research as we could and as many current Aqualter ads as possible. Richard and I would work on the layout and copy for the ad. After lots of grinding and many false starts, we decided on a headline that was short and sweet, “Smoke clean.” I was partial to two-word headlines, I guess. The minimal copy talked about delivering full taste and satisfaction while lowering your cigarette’s tar and nicotine. Was this true? Remember, these were the days before tobacco advertising was regulated so I sim-ply picked up that copy point from the back of the package. I also added an additional point about Aqualter reducing offensive odors in your mouth and on your hands, which was never mentioned in any of the previous materials. This would prove to make a particularly strong impact on our potential new client.Richard’s layout was truly striking. It would be a two-color ad, black and turquoise. Women were the target audience, so the right-hand page would be a dramatic, black and white, backlit close-up of a beautiful model’s prole. She was holding a lit Aqualtered cigarette near her mouth. The artfully curling smoke would bleed off the top of the ad. The model gazed at the darkened left-hand page containing the attention-getting headline, just one-paragraph of body copy and the small, artfully angled, turquoise Aqualter pack. The layout was clean, contemporary, and hard-hitting. Elegant too. But now we had to nd a way to present the ad so it would make the desired impact. Landing an account of this magnitude was an opportunitywe had to capitalize on.

Richard was a very good photog-rapher and since our budget for this project was $0 he would take the all-important shot. We set up a crude studio in the ofce and used a dark grey sheet for the back-drop. But we certainly couldn’t afford a model. Richard to the rescue again. His best friend from his undergrad years at Penn State was a tall, striking, willowy blonde with a very current, short-cropped haircut. Karen Kauffman was her name and she agreed to pose for the ad. A few years later, Karen also agreed to be my wife.Karen was not only a great Aqualter model,she would become my wife.In the end, Herman Shaw was ecstatic, the ad was a homerun. He awarded us the entire $1,000,000 creative and media account in a conversation that might have been even shorter than our rst: “Kid, I’m impressed. I like the way the ad looks, and I like what it says. Especially about the odors in your mouth. Your uncle will take care of any dough you need and any arrangements. You’re hired.” I had barely hung up the phone when the screaming, dancing, chest bumping and high-ves started. The next night I drafted a press release headlined, “Freelancers land $1,000,000 Aqualter account.” The next week the announcement appeared on the front page of Ad Age.Though the release didn’t mention any of our names, I had put my name and direct line at Shaw & Schreiber as the phone contact. When the reporter called, I explained my dilemma and asked him not to use my name or any of my partners’ names as it could prove damaging. Never believe a reporter. The morning the release appeared, Sid Schreiber was waiting for me as I got into work. “What’s this! Your name is listed as one of the freelancers. You can’t do this, it can’t happen.”

Then he blurted out, “Look, I think you’re very talented and frankly, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your future here. None of our kids are interested in the business and there’s no one here to take over. And we were thinking this would be your agency someday. But this stuff has to stop.” That’s when I real-ized I had to come clean. “Sid look, I appreciate your hiring me, I really do. But I must tell you, your nephew Irv and I have been working a couple of nights a week trying to develop something of our own. I’m sorry, but this just happened and it came out of nowhere.” Before I could say another word, Sid interrupted me, “Victor, you’re going to have to make a decision. Either you’re working here or you’re working there.” When I asked for a couple of days to think things over, Sid told me to take all the time I needed. I thanked him, started walking toward my ofce but stopped abruptly and did an about-face, “Sid, I’m sorry. But I’m leaving. I have to.”“And by the way, I’m gay.”Landing the Aqualter account and exiting Shaw & Schreiber meant Irv could leave his job at his uncle’s construction company and we would have the means and the opportunity to turn Towne Associates into a full-time business. Instead of trading work for ofce space with Gaynor Cusani, we negotiated a monthly retainer fee and sublet a couple of cubby holes from Herb Garnkle’s insurance company at 1405 Locust Street. Gary and Richard would keep their jobs at the Inquirer, come and work at night in our new ofce space and go full-time as soon as we could generate enough income. This turned out to be the right movebecause we were fortunate enough to meet Terry Greene and hire/steal her away from Garnkle Insurance. Terry became our longest-tenured, most valuable em-ployee and handled everything from secretarial work to receptionist duties to accounting and bookkeeping functions. Eventually, she became our Ofce Manag-er and was responsible for hiring our Comptroller, Anna Ludlum, her sister Terry Jaconski, our receptionist, and Patty Bonner who managed clerical and production functions in our Creative Department and did anything else that needed doing.These four women became the backbone of ofce operations and were all cut from the same cloth. Which meant all were honest, hard-working, disciplined, warm, personable, and intelligent. They would be with us through very thick and very thin times, for as long as Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky and its successors were in business. Almost 25 years. 1969-1978

In addition to the legendary New York agency, Doyle Dane Bernbach, I must give major credit to a brilliant and gutsy Philadelphia adman, Elliott Curson, for heavily inuencing my creative approach. Elliott Curson’s little ads had an enormous impact on me. They became so recognizable, ads could run without identifying the sponsor.No sponsor name necessary.

In my estimation, much overlooked and under-appreciated by the local adver-tising community, Elliott was one of the rst in Philadelphia to break free from the oppressive yolk of the hidebound, “clenched-teeth Main Line” marketing esthetic. His work jumped off the page and was unforgettable. I can still re-member the rst time I became aware of Elliott’s remarkable talent. I was pag-ing through Philadelphia Magazine when a miniscule 1 column X 4”ad jumped out at me. “The Tony George has stupid martinis.” Amid a sea of mediocrity, it stopped me cold and those six words affected me forever going forward. Elliott’s inuence had more than a little to do with my creative decisions. So, thank you Mr. Curson, I’m in your debt and couldn’t have done it without you. But no apologies. My mantra has always been, “Borrow from the best and then make it your own.” The agency’s rst real creative recognition came from an ac-count Richard Cooper had brought in. His Uncle, Bo Rosenbleeth, owned Mickey Finn, a politically-incorrectly- named beer and banjo saloon on Market Street in Philadelphia. Dealing with a puny budget, we decided to do a Our little ad made a big difference.a puny print campaign in the Inquirer. When I say “puny” I’m talking about 1 column x 3.5” deep newspaper ads with smart-ass headlines that expanded on the proclamation, “Mickey Finn is a brouhaha.” The Tony George inuence is obvious. And we didn’t just use the Entertainment section. We ran different ads with different headlines in multiple sections of the same Friday Inquirer to hype the weekend business. The place was soon a hot spot. Looking back, I think much of the campaign’ssuccess was due to the fact we thought ofthe mini-ads as if they were full-pages, only smaller. We labored over them with the same intensity and aesthetic consideration. This was virtually the rst opportunity to showcase our creativi-ty. And I can still remember how we all felt when the little ads were a big hit.

We started to add new accounts very quickly and one of the biggest and most important was a famous regional dairy, Penn Maid Foods. Ray Goldberg was CEO, a wonderful marketer and an even better person. He had overseen the development of a revolutionary new line of diet yogurt and cottage cheese avors Calorie Counters -- and despite our lack of TV commercial experience, Ray entrust-ed SL&S to handle the broadcast introduction. We developed a starkly simple :10 spot to tell the story. A striking model in a sexy bikini, would hold an opened con-tainer up to her mouth and on cue, would taste a spoonful of yogurt and purr, “Calorie Counters is skinny food.” The camera would start tight on her tanned legs and rise slowly up her lithe body until reaching her face for the payoff line of dia-logue. We knew we had found the right talent the moment unforgettable Rusti Start walked into the casting session. And after meeting 6’6” Garrett Brown, we knew we had found the right director.“Skinny” was a bad word until we used it to describe Calorie Counters’ product benet.Rusti Start gave new meaning to the word “skinny.”

Before inventing the Steadicam and winning an Academy Award for his revolution-ary camera system, Garrett had grown tired of touring as folk-singing duo, Brown & Dana, and had taken his talents to The Moving and Talking Picture Company. He was rst and foremost a brilliant director, but also a writer and performer. He and Anne Winn would make a national name for themselves as successors to Mike Nichols & Elaine May in the eld of ad-lib radio commercials. In fact, we won two coveted Clio Awards for the series of spots they produced for our liquor client Elmo Pio and his Africano aperitif.Garrett took one look at the Penn Maid “Skinny Food” :10 storyboard and ex-claimed, “I like it a lot. I’ll build a rig that will enable us to move the camera up from bottom to top in one perfectly smooth move.” I explained this was our client’s rst time on television, and we needed to be careful about keeping costs down. I didn’t reveal this was my rst television commercial ever. Garrett understood and said, “I really want this job, so I’ll do it for 9, and that’s a great price.” I was thrilled and got approval on the bid from Ray Goldberg the next day. I then asked Garrett to stop by the ofce and pick up his check for the 1/3 up-front payment. He arrived a couple of hours later and after I handed him the check for $300, he did a double- Garrett Brown also directed our spot for Penn Maid’s yogurt line.take and asked, “What’s this?” Gar-rett then threw me his bemused, low-ered-head, raised-brow look and pro-claimed, “Not 9 hundred … the price is 9 thousand!” Turned out Skinny Food wasn’t the only thing great at reducing. Garrett’s bid plummeted to $1,500 and the Calorie Counters TV introduction was a resounding and protable suc-cess. Just not for me and Garrett. Audio le- click icon above to play

What the hell was going on!? Did this guy have cameras surveilling us? We warily entered a large, dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. We awkwardly took our seats on a sumptuous, antique leather sofa fronting a huge, elaborately carved mahogany desk and chair. The only light glowed from a magnicent, stained-glass Tiffany oor lamp to the right of the desk. No doubt it was the real deal. We had entered a movie set and were waiting for the star to make his entrance. We weren’t disappointed. Before too long, in walked a tall, good-looking man with wavy black hair nattily dressed in a blue, double-breasted, chalk-stripe suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Cary Grant. No doubt it was custom made. He began speaking even before taking his seat behind the formidable desk. “I am Milton Docktor and when Milton Docktor sees something fresh and inventive, Milton Doctor responds by nurturing and supporting it. And that’s the way he feels about the advertising work you fellows have been doing. Further, Milton Docktor prides himself on mentoring those, who like himself, choose to expand the parameters of marketing innovation and fearlessly confront the future. And will show up for a meeting at 1:30 in the morning.” No, Milton Docktor never wavered from speaking of himself in the third person. And I would go on quoting Milton Docktor, but that’s already become tedious. So please, let me paraphrase what followed. Our potential client was aware we landed the Aqualter account, and he had been impressed by the ad which appeared in Look Magazine. Even more surprising, Milton Docktor had noticed the print cam-paign for Mickey Finn and admired how much attention the little ads had attracted. He wanted to take us on a tour of his pet stores and, if we could work out a nancial arrangement, Milton Docktor and Docktor Pet Centers would be our new client. For-tunately, the retail store hours were more conventional than Milton Docktor’s meeting hours. And so, it all came to pass.The hands-down strangest of our new account acquisitions was Docktor Pet Centers. The company had somehow heard about us and called. “Mr. Milton Docktor would like to meet with you, but due to his very tight schedule, he can only see you Tuesday night at 1:30 AM.” Hello! 1:30 in the morning?! Is he out of his mind?! Turns out I was pretty accurate. After our convoluted midnight odyssey into the bowels of the Jersey Pine Barrens, Irv, Gary, Richard and I nally pull up to a modest, wooden, private house. We slowly approached and knocked twice on the front door. A deeply resonant, disembodied voice responded through a small, hidden speaker. “It’s open gentlemen, please take a seat on the couch in front of the desk. I’ll be out shortly.”

One night back at the ofce about six months later, we had called a meeting to talk about when the time might be right for Gary Levitt and Richard Cooper to leave their jobs at the Inquirer and work at the agency full-time. Richard Cooper arrived rst and was sitting in an empty ofce by himself. He appeared to be agitated and upset, on the verge of tears. I walked in and shut the door behind me, “Richard, what’s wrong?” Silence. “Come on, tell me what’s bothering you.” He began haltingly at rst, “Victor, I can’t work at the agency … in fact, I can’t work any-where at all.” I was taken aback. “Richard, you’re not making any sense. Talk to me!” And it all came pouring out. We had already started building a formidable creative reputation.“I’m moving to California to take Primal Scream Therapy. And by the way......…I’m gay!” I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Richard! You don’t think I know you’re gay? And what …I don’t want to work with you because of it? What are you, out of your mind! You’ve become one of my closest friends. I love you, and Irv and Gary feel the same way. We don’t care if you’re gay, in fact, it gives us an edge in aesthetic sensibilities.” Now Richard started laughing. “How did you know I was gay?” I looked back at Richard with a bemused expression, but he insisted I answer. “It’s because you have such a pronounced lisp and the way you “swish” when you walk.” After a moment of stunned silence, we both erupted in hysterical gales of laughter.

But I soon learned Richard really was leaving for California. The pain and anguish he was living with were overwhelming him and he had read about Primal Scream Therapy in Los Angeles and was committed to enrolling in the program full-time. As it turned out, I’m pretty sure John Lennon was one of his fellow screamers. Richard would never 100% conrm it because of the anonymity required by the program. But I remember listening to a shockingly powerful John Lennon record inspired by his Primal Scream experiences – John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band -- and feeling some of the intensity of what Richard was going through.Richard ended up successfully completing his therapy and chose to live in L.A. and loved it. He became a successful writer with Disney Studios and then changed careers later in life to become a therapist himself. He worked with quite a few Hol-lywood celebrities, but still would never conrm names for me. But that didn’t stop us from maintaining one of the great friendships of both our lives. Primal Scream Therapy attracted vocal advocates like John Lennon and Yoko Ono. And Richard screamed his way to mental health. Richard’s life was suddenly lost, the result of a heart attack in 2016. And just like that, the funniest, most unique, one of the dearest friends I will ever know had vanished from my life.No one could make me laugh like Richard.But the tears wouldn’t stop when his heart did.

“What the hell are you talking about?”The time had come to relinquish all caution and step out onto the proverbial limb. Gary Levitt would leave his job at the Inquirer and join Irv and me full-time. And we would nd our own ofce space and change our name to Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky. Since Richard’s departure now made me the de facto art director, in addition to my copywriting responsibilities I took on the task of designing our logo. I like to think “Sonder” came rst because “Sagorsky” was too long, and “Levitt” was aurally wrong in the lead position. And “Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky” just sounded right. Then again, maybe it was because I felt creativity would be our strength, and felt I was our lead creative talent.Whatever the case, my Uncle Marv even had a hand in the design. He was living in Manhattan and his men’s store of choice was an exclusive one known as “R. Meledandri.” It was owned by the very elegant Roland Meledandri who had inspired the rise of “suitings” with wide lapels and carried tie salesman Ralph Lauren’s innovative wide ties to compliment the new fashion. Meledandri’s logo was striking. Very thin seraph letters cut out of metal and photographed in black and white.I wanted our logo to look like we’d been in business for 25 years.

“Borrow from the best and make it your own.” To offset our callow youth, I intended our “brand” to appear as if we had been around for 25 years. So, I chose a heavier classic typeface and played around with arranging the three names for days, until the design felt just right. I then had the letters cut out of 3/8” thick silver metal and photographed on a white background with a subtle drop shadow. The loose metal letters were then glued to a piece of thick black Plexi-glas which would serve as the exterior sign for our new Walnut Street ofces. From the beginning, we did everything possible to stand out from the competition. And it all began with our logo design, letterhead, and business cards. In many cases, these elements made the all-important rst impression. And so, we spared no expense. The photographed letters were printed in black & white and the fac-es of the letters were overprinted in a subtly reective silver ink. I chose a heavy, gloss-coated stock – Kromekote -- for the letterhead, custom envelopes, and the folded business cards. This was totally impractical and a secretarial nightmare (White Out was useless), to say nothing of being prohibitively expensive. But the effect was undeniable. It was impossible to avoid opening our letters. Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky pulled off the illusion of being a successful, established ad agency with great taste and creativity. And we hadn’t even opened our doors yet. All we had to do was turn appearances into reality. 50 years later, our logo still looks good.

My rst rule of advertising is, “Get their attention.” And (tongue rmly in cheek) we always followed the rules. We were determined to grab prospects by their wide lapels and shake them into noticing us. SL&S had just opened its doors and was barely a blip on the Philadelphia advertising radar. But unlike the shoe-maker’s children who went barefoot, we were determined to advertise ourselves into being known and recognized. The feature lm “Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid,” starring Paul New-man and Robert Redford, had just been released to rave reviews and incessant buzz. Still acknowledged as one of the greatest Westerns ever made; it became a huge hit. And the oft-repeated sig-nature line from the movie -- “Who are those guys?” -- was a reference to the crack U.S. posse and the Bolivian army chasing the two American outlaws throughout the movie. It was on every-body’s lips. Though it was virtually unheard of for agencies to advertise themselves, why is still a mystery to me,we leased a prominent billboard for one month on the Schuylkill Expressway. It featured Shelly Roseman’s (another Elliott Curson inuence) dramatic, sepia pho-tograph of the three of us and the headline, “Who are those guys?” and a discreet Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky logo. No contact information. Mysterious. Memorable. Successful. Within days we were literally the talk of the town and the industry.Paul Newman and Robert Redford starred in this epic Western. And the signature line of dialogue was on everyone’s lips.We proved it pays to advertise.

You might ask how we were able to afford all of this. None of us had put up a nickel and the business hadn’t borrowed any money. Irv was the nancial manager and turned out to be very good at it. Until he wasn’t. But that’s another chapter. We weren’t getting rich by any means, but new accounts were coming in quickly and generating enough income to now pay three modest salaries, cover expenses, and yield a decent prot. And Irv was not afraid to invest in polishing the agency’s image and increasing awareness. Part of that investment included new ofces. Irv believed if you wanted to be prosperous you needed to look prosperous. And he had tracked down new ofces in a 3-story townhouse at 1712 Walnut Street, one of Center City Philadelphia’s most prestigious blocks. Irv had negotiated a substantial renovation budget as part of the lease, which was great, but he had a preposterous design plan for the entranceway that Gary and I didn’t think was so great. Surprise! It turned out to be interior-design gold. When you walked through the front door of our new building you immediately entered a small, open ves-tibule leading down a narrow hallway to a stairway which ascended to the rst oor of our new ofces. The ceiling in the vestibule was about 15 feet high and the distance down the hallway to the foot of the stairs from the front door was about 30 feet. Irv had improbably thought of installing vestibule doors, had somehow found two antique, elaborately carved, matching wooden liquor bars (Originally sitting hor-izontally on the oor of a restaurant) and impossibly visualized them as doors! He had gured out if you turned the bars on end and stood them up, side by side, they could be used as doors in the entrance way opening to the hallway and staircase and providing a spectacular prelude to the new Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky. What’s more, both bars were 15 feet in length and would t al-most perfectly, with very minor carpentry revisions. Turned out the idea was totally brilliant.I think Irv was a genius.A tormented genius.

Neither Gary nor I could envision what the hell Irv was talking about. But when he asked me what my rst rule of advertising was, and he answered before I could, “Get their attention,” we both reluctantly gave in. The result was spec-tacular! Ten feet after entering through the building’s front door, you came upon these two massive, carved, 15’ high, walnut and mahogany “doors” and passed through them to walk 20 more feet down the hall and up the stairs to our ofces. Literally, it was like entering a European castle. It certainly got your attention and impressed the hell out of you. It was also a revealing peek into the convolut-ed, strange and creative mind of one Irving Sagorsky. Since there were no internal stairs connecting the rst and second oors of our new ofces, Irv also came up with the idea of installing a taxicab yellow metal spiral staircase. Irv’s cousin worked for a metal fabrication business that did a great job at great savings. Irv’s rst oor ofce was the most impressive with its white plaster walls accented by a display of spectacular open, carved wood molding. But my ofce on the second oor turned into my creative cocoon after I agreed to have the walls “ocked” in dark brown velvet. Ed Lipkin, a young entrepreneur, had dropped by unannounced and offered to cover the cost of labor and materials if I would agree to showcase his revo-lutionary new product. The “velvet” could be sprayed on any surface in any color, like paint, and the results were dramatic. Ed Lipkin would go on to become a hugely successful real estate developer and I have always fondly remembered him as the man who “ocked up” my walls. If you want to do great work get yourself a great ofce.

From Philadelphia’s foremost interior designer to one of America’s premier philatelists, we put our stamp on thier advertising.Our new ofces turned out to be a true reection of the agency’s brash energy and creative personality, setting the stage for the tremendous growth we were about to experience. We landed a slew of new accounts including our down-the-block neighbor, Dorothy Lerner Interiors and Earl P.L. Apfelbaum, internationally re-nowned philatelists. But one our most exciting new accounts was Electric Factory Concerts along with the iconic Electric Factory venue. Both changed music and the music business forever in Philadelphia, the country, and the world.We would see Herb Spivak, one of the three Spivak brothers along with Larry Magid who ran the show, almost on a weekly basis. Herb handled the money,among many other Factory responsibilities, and would show up at our ofces with a brown paper bag stuffed with tens of thousands of dollars in cash to cover the inevitable bounced checks. It became so predictable, Irv Sagorsky wouldn’t even try to cash the checks which arrived in the mail. He would just wait a couple of days, call Herb, and make plans to collect another brown paper bag full of green. But payment of their bills like clockwork, though delayed, wasn’t the only reason Electric Factory was a great account.I’ll be forever grateful to Larry Magid and the Spivaks for choosing us to help them launch a music revolution.

Larry Magid called me one day and told me there was an act coming to the Factory that was not to be believed or missed. “Victor, this is the greatest rock singer you will ever see.” Larry arranged for front row seats on opening night for Big Brother and The Holding Company. Which meant we sat no more than 10 feet away from the stage that was only raised a couple of feet off the oor. Of course, as with all of Larry Magid’s talent evaluations, he was right on. To this day, I have never seen a better rock ‘n’ roll lead singer than the inimitable Janis Joplin. We were eyewitnesses and right in the middle of the Rock ‘n’ Roll revolution.But the breakthrough creative campaign for the agency was created for a very small account brought to us by Shelly Kaplan, a key Electric Factory executive. His close friend, Ron Levitt, owned a used car lot at 11500 Roosevelt Boulevard in the Greater Northeast. Shelly wanted the word “creampuffs” – an industry term for a clean, low mileage, quality used car – featured prominently in the creative campaign. And I readily agreed. It didn’t take long to come up with the simple, straightforward statement, “Ron Levitt sells creampuffs.” Again, the Elliott Curson inuence is apparent. But after learning how comparatively small the budget was, the real problem was how to make any impact at all with our advertising. It was clear we needed more than the catchy “creampuffs” theme line. We needed a breakthrough media strategy.We took a gutsy page out of our own playbook and decided to spend the entire annual budget over the course of 6 months … and to spend it all on 4 rotating outdoor billboards covering all the major Philadelphia roadways. And Ron Levitt was gutsy enough to agree. No, it wasn’t a billboard for a bakery. It was a breakout smash hit.

But what would the billboards look like? Drawing on my mentors’ inuences, I de-cided on a stark black billboard with “Ron Levitt sells creampuffs.” set on one line reversing out in white with a small address line underneath it. No reference to used cars. No artwork. Just type. After the initial “What’s a little bakery doing running ads on billboards?” reaction, we eventually eshed out the campaign with long-copy classied display ads explaining our suggested product innovations like a 100-point Inspection Program and a 7-Day Return Policy. And mirror hangtags in every car.However, the most important market-ing concept we suggested might have been “Ron Levitt’s LemonAid.” This consisted of an on-road van and me-chanic roaming area highways offering free roadside assistance to stranded motorists. The graphics on the truck mirrored our simple black and white billboards but with the addition of a large “yellow cross” in place of the familiar red one.The little added touch of free fresh-brewed lemonade given away to distressed drivers created great buzz and added to the PR impact, generating tons of great press. Before long, Ron Levitt and his creampuffs were top of mind.The LemonAid and driver assistance was free.And the PR value was priceless.Maybe the icing on the creampuff cake, so to speak, was a radio jingle Bill Soden produced for us. He was all excited about a local duo from Temple he had just started working with. “These guys are going to be stars! I’m telling you!” After hearing some sample tracks, we were big-time believers, too. The duo was Hall & Oates, and their “jingle” was unforgettable. Hall and Oates sweet jingle propelled an irresistable :10 creampuff TV spot.

The lyric they added after “Ron Levitt sells creampuffs” … “Get yourself a sweet machine” … put things over the top. We were compelled to produce a :10 TV spot with an animated creampuff starting up and roaring off into the distance as H & O sang their memorable tune. Soon, Ron Levitt could have run for Mayor. And won.Ron Levitt’s ego was always undernourished as a used car dealer. And his deci-sion to open a Ford dealership instead of heeding our frantic strategic marketing advice to roll out the “Creampuff” concept in major cities nationwide proved to be a major miscalculation. He would have been years ahead of any competitors in cornering the lucrative used car market. AutoNation, CarMax, Carvana anyone? A big miss. After “creampuffs,” the new accounts kept coming one after the other. The Lat-in Casino and the Fury, our city’s rst professional soccer team owned by Frank Barcelona, the Rolling Stones manager. We added Royston Distributors, importers of Jaguar, Austin Healey and MG motorcars. We dubbed them “The Sports Car Nuts” symbolized graphically by a chunky metal nut sporting a Union Jack. This was followed by America’s oldest distillery, Michter’s Pot Still Whiskey. Our introductory ad headline boasted, “We were making sour mash a good 100 years before Jack Daniels was wet behind the ears.” Elmo Pio and his selections of wines and liquors were next. We always had great seats at The Latin.We were adding accounts and working furiously.

And there were new assignments from existing accounts. When Penn Maid asked us to redesign their entire line of packaging, Irv suggested an idea as ridiculous as his entrance doors. “Let’s make the sour cream cup black!” Yeah, right Irv, black is a real appetizing color. Then we tried it and it was unique and looked great. Ray Goldberg adapted the look for every product in the line. Sagorsky knows. Irv’s former neighbors on 50th Street in Wynneeld, Irv Kosloff and his son Ted, hired us for their Roosevelt Paper Company account and were so happy with our work, subsequently awarded us the Philadelphia 76ers account after purchasing the team. A series of high prole/high impact campaigns followed. “The Sixers got hoopla.” “Buy the seat you’ll never sit in. Stand up for the Sixers.” After the team lost unexpectedly to the Portland Trailblazers in the 1977 NBA nals, there was the most controversial of all the Sixer campaigns, “We owe you one.” I never understood what the controversy was all about. That’s the way the team felt. That’s the way the fans felt. Btw, we didn’t say when the debt would be paid.(smiley face). FYI, the Sixers won the title less than 6 years later. And RonaldReagan appologized for not calling the team on the night they won the champion-ship, by saying “I owe you one.”When Jerry and I are asked “Who came up with “We Owe You One” we both raise our hands.How many ad campaigns are still remembered almost 50 years later.

The 76ers campaign is still remembered, and it’s been almost 50 years. And Jerry Selber and I are still arguing about which one of us came up with the idea. When asked, I always inquire whether the questioner likes the campaign or not. If they don’t, it was Jerry’s idea. Jerry Selber, a copywriter from J.M. Korn Advertising, was our most important new addition after the move to Walnut Street. He would prove to be my creative equal and invaluable Co-Creative Director, my sounding board, critic, and moral compass. Like me, Jerry had a erce work ethic and was 100% reliable. He was my true business partner. And it didn’t hurt that Jerry possessed a great smile, an easy temperament, modest ego, and a loving nature. Incredulously, he also strug-gled with a prominent stutter so I knew we had grown up in the same cauldron of humiliation and overcome it. We had stuttering and suffering in common. We became close, lifelong friends. I was devastated when his newborn son, Jonah, was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. But the way Judy Selber and Jerry dealt with this tough life-changer is a lesson everyone could learn from. Later, when he and Judy split, Jerry sheltered for a time in the apartment in our house. We are b-b-b-brothers and will always be. In keeping with the SL&S penchant for seeking attention, we decided to throw a holiday party celebrating the rst year in our new Walnut Street ofces. We hired “The Pigs” rock band and set them up at the bottom of the entrance stairs, just be-yond Irv’s mythic doors, so guests were paying attention even before climbing the steps to enter our new ofces. We invited clients, competitors, suppliers and, most strategically, reporters and columnists. In the language of the day, the party was a real “happening” and generated extensive press coverage in the Inquirer and the local trade publications. These parties would becomenear legendary annual events and helped build the agency’s reputation as a new voice and groundbreaking disrupter in the marketing arena.

Our Harlow party invitation struck one of the rst blows for LGBTQ rights and caused a sensation. Invitations were always large and frameable, and mailed rolled in a tube. Photo by Weaver Lilley.You’re invited to Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky’s annual Christmas Party, Friday, December 22, 4 PM to 8 PM at Harlow’s, 32 S. Bank Street, PhiladelphiaWWe hit the lottery!e hit the lottery!Exclamation point appropriate! My mother, Bea, rarely if ever called me at the agency early on a weekday morning. So, when I picked up the phone and heard her voice, a wave of apprehension swept over me. I asked if everything was okay. “Everything’s great,” Bea replied in her usual, unerringly-upbeat voice. “In fact, I just got off the phone with Shirley Kravitz and I have some news for you!” Shirley Kravitz was my Mom’s longtime neighbor who lived behind us growing up, and she had recently accepted a job as personal secretary to Milton Shapp, the new-ly-elected Governor of Pennsylvania. The commonwealth was in the early stages of launching a statewide lottery and Shirley wanted to know, “Would your son Victor be interested in pitching the advertising account?” Uh, yes, he would! Our advertising agency -- Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky – had been founded in 1968 and this was just a little over three years later. Though we had forged an outsized creative reputation for ourselves in a short amount of time, we were as far as you could get from being taken seriously by the business estab-lishment. And though we were doing well, Herman Shaw had passed away, Aqua-lter had turned out to be less than advertised, and we were barely billing $500K.

Our minor successes were not going to open the door to landing a prestigious account like the Pennsylvania Lottery. The biggest agencies in the state, from N.W. Ayer in Philadelphia to Ketchum, McCloud and Grove in Pittsburgh would be vying for this coveted, $3+ million piece of business. To say an agency of our size and inexperience had a snowball’s chance in hell was being overly optimistic. However, odds were the furthest thing from my mind when I got on the phone with Mrs. Kravitz and she told me that Lottery Director, Henry Kaplan – also a friend of my mother’s from her golf club -- was obsessed with nailing down a Pennsylvania Lottery logo design. No promises, but if I could come up with something he loved, she just might be able to get Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky added to the pitch list.I literally thought of the concept for the logo before I hung up the phone. It would be a keystone shape stamped out of a thick wad of dollar bills with George Washington peeking out over the “Pennsylvania Lottery” bank money wrapper. Just two colors, black and money green. I ran into our agency art department and let head art director Harry Wilkins know what was going on. Within an hour, Harry had worked his magic and we had Henry Kaplan’s logo! I grabbed the design and burst into Irv’s ofce. After explaining my conversa-tion with my mother and Shirley Kravitz, I showed Irv the logo. With a big smile on his face but without a word about the design, Irv said, “You know my friend Malcom George owns a mobile billboard company. What if we painted the logo design on one of his billboards and towed it around Harrisburg for a couple of days?” “Yes!” I yelled. “That’s an incredible idea! Let’s do it!” Less than a min-ute later, Irv was on the phone with Malcom arranging things and 3 days later our new logo design, under the headline, “You gotta play to win.” (No exclamation point) was being towed through the streets of Pennsylvania’s capitol city. And Malcom hadn’t even charged us for the job. He said he would do it for nothing and we could make up for things if we landed the business. Thank you, Malcom. I appreciate your generosity to this day. What I don’t appreciate is how the succeed-ing agency obliterated the design concept in the name of “easier reproduction.”Our design was on the money for the Lottery Director. We had passed the test.

Of course, Henry Kaplan loved the logo and Shirley Kravitz kept her “No Promises” and arranged for us to be included on the list of contending agencies. But we were late to the party and had less than 2 weeks to get our presentation together. We were on it over many successive 12-to-14-hour days. Mrs. Kravitz had told us that Henry Kaplan liked our “You gotta play to win.” billboard copy, but he didn’t like “the slang.” And our campaign theme line became, “You’ve got to play to win.” A little stiff and less impactful but a painless nod to Henry Kaplan and the grammar police. Looking back decades later, I should have shortened it to “Got to play to win.” Which reminds me of another of my mantras: “It’s never as good as it can be.” With that in mind, we presented a choice of two theme lines, “You’ve got to play to win.” and “It’s a chance you’ve got to take.” I think the idea of presenting two theme lines registered with the Lottery committee, helped get them involved and seriously considering us. We produced the opening full-page newspaper ad headlined, “Half a buck can get you a million.” complete with a pho-tograph of two armed guards standing in front of an open bank vault displaying wads of cash. We submitted the follow-up print campaign and produced air-ready radio spots. And taking a que from our success with billboards, we included a ton of outdoor concepts. Serendipitously, a rare and un-usual presentation protocol very much worked in our favor. To avoid any hint of impropriety or favoritism, these would be “blind” presentations. There would be no agency personnel present and no agency identication on any of the materials. Whew! State Lotteries were brand new so you could get the message just from the headline or readeverything you ever wanted to know.

No one would know we were barely shaving and of legal drinking age. The account would be awarded strictly on the basis of the spec creative materials presented. And I’m sure you’ve already guessed how this chapter ends. YES! Miracles do happen! We efn’ won! Many exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now all Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky had to do was secure a $5 million line of credit. None of us had any idea what that was. Then hire a ton of people, design the ticket, gure out the process and the mechanism for determining the winning numbers, submit a media plan, and strategize/handle the state-wide launch of the game. But most daunting of all, somehow, we had to nd a way of dealing with the Lottery Executive Director, Henry Kaplan, and his volcanic temper. All three of us were twenty six years old.We did a series of outdoor billboards using the lottery logo as part of luxurious lifestyles...the grill of a classic car... the bow of an ocean liner. We eventually ended up designing the lottery ticket itself.The word hit me like a gunshot.Sterna Jay, my partner Irv Sagorsky’s rst cousin and our receptionist at 1712 Walnut Street, normally funneled all new business calls to Irv. But he was out at a meeting, and I picked up the phone. It was Vic Snyder, owner and President of Vic Snyder Plumbing. Mr. Snyder said he was a great admirer of Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky’s creative work and was very anxious to launch a TV campaign. Very anxious may have been a bit of an understatement. He was calling on a Mon-day and had to be on the air no later than the following Tuesday! He had just red his current ad agency and the TV media time was already bought and paid for. I explained how making that deadline was almost impossible, but I would come out today for an orientation meeting and we could discuss the possibilities.

We met, I got oriented and after he agreed to pay for production and creative costs up front, I said we could make it happen. The week that followed was intense be-yond anything I had ever experienced.The creative concept was to conduct unrehearsed interviews in the homes of actual Vic Snyder customers. We would formulate a list of questions, unheard on air, and edit the customers’ candid, on-camera responses into a series of :60 commercials. The husband, wife or both would be interviewed and we would produce one spot per couple and then do a few highlight spots with the best combined responses from multiple customers. All spots would open with a title and voice-over that said, “Real customers get real about Vic Snyder Plumbing.”The logistics of making this production happen were daunting. First, 6 couples had to be selected. Then we had to shoot at multiple locations all over the Greater Philadelphia area, transcribe the customer responses to facilitate editing and nally edit the material, complete all the post-production and get dubs to the TV stations. Don’t ask how we did it, but we did. There were a series of 14-to-18-hour days, which had become routine for us lately, an RV roaming neighborhoods far and wide, and a relentless and talented crew from E.J. Stewart, a local production company. We shot on Thursday and Friday, 3 locations per day, and then spent Saturday and Sunday working at Stewart’s until the wee hours both days. In fact, Gary Levitt and I slept over on Saturday and Sunday – maybe we got 3 hours sleep a night – so we could meet with Vic Snyder Monday morning to review and approve the campaign before trafcking the spots to the stations for Tuesday’s air date.To say we were frazzled for the meeting would be an understatement. But we were also very excited. We had gotten very lucky. The Vic Snyder ofce manager respon-sible for choosing the featured customers had either gotten very lucky or done an amazing job. Most everyone took direction beautifully and was relaxed, personable, and articulate on camera. All of us thought the spots were believable and powerful. We couldn’t imagine producing more compelling testimonials. And Vic Snyder Plumbing came off looking like a company of great skill and integrity.When the lights dimmed and Vic Snyder sat down to watch his commercials, we were brimming with condence. And we were watching Mr. Snyder. The signs of his enormous satisfaction were obvious. Smiles. Head nods. Even laughter.

Until the last of the six man/wife spots ickered on the screen. A handsome black man and his attractive wife, a very well-spoken couple in their 50’s, were lauding the virtues of Vic Snyder Plumbing and excitedly endorsing the work done. So, when Vic Snyder rose to his feet about 30 seconds in and yelled, “Turn that fuckin’ thing off!” everyone was stunned. “I don’t want no niggers in my commercials!” Then, we were outraged.And with no conscious thought process or the slightest hesitation whatsoever, I shot to my feet and shouted, “And I don’t want to work for no racist!” Gary Levitt turned to me wide-eyed and said, “Victor, calm down, please. Let’s talk about this for a second.” And I turned to him and blurted out, “You can talk about it if you want to, I’m out of here.” And I walked out of the room and slammed the door. Snyder ended up running the spots, except for the one featuring the Black couple of course, to lots of accolades and with great results. But the next day, we formally resigned the account in writing. And yes, I was proud of myself. You might say we had ushed the turd. While writing this chapter, my curiosity got the best of me and I Googled “Vic Snyder, Plumber” to discover what had become of him. The rst thing that popped up was his obituary. He died in 2007. “Victor Marcus Snyder, 60, of Lansdale, a former Philadelphia plumber-turned-criminal defense lawyer, died suddenly Friday at home. Mr. Snyder may have suffered a heart ailment. Mr. Snyder be-came a household name in the region as a result of TV commercials in the 1970s. He later went to law school, passed the bar exam and became a lawyer.”Snyder had come up the hard way graduating from Girard College in 1958 and starting his plumbing contracting business, Vic Snyder, Inc., in 1963. He earned a bachelor’s degree in history from Temple University in 1976 and attended TempleLaw School full time, graduating in 1980. He was briey involved in the case of torture-killer Gary Heidnik. All of this while running his plumbing business. Vic Snyder was a series of raging contradictions. There was my disturbing experi-ence with him, but I grudgingly admired his tough-guy persona. He was self-made, ambitious, and obviously bright. But he had been peppered with numerous lawsuits accusing his company of deceptive business practices and outright fraud. And then I came across a shocking article that further altered my perception of him.

The headline read “MOUNTAIN CLIMB IS ALMOST FATAL FOR VIC SNYDER.”He was an experienced mountaineer having climbed the Matterhorn in 1975 and reached 23,000 feet up Mt. Everest in 1972. But climbing Mount McKinley he ran out of steam only 6,000 feet from the summit and almost perished. After a dramatic mountain rescue, he was rushed to a Seattle hospital and own to intensive care in Philadelphia, suffering from pneumonia and frostbitten feet and ngers. His lungs were lled with uid and life-threatening blood clots. He barely survived. Plumber and lawyer. Racist and mountain climber. Entrepreneur and fraudster. Who was Vic Snyder? I guess you could say he was the best and the worst of all of us.The Aquafilter girl was the one.I had been dating Karen Kauffman ever since we rst met at the Aqualter photo session. She had turned out to be much more than a pretty face. Karen was about 5’8” tall and that felt right. She had great style and energy and being with her was exciting. Karen was an artist with a genuine talent for drawing and a real are for design, which proved simpatico. But I think what really attracted me was Karen’s rebellious nature. She was her own person, determined to do things her own way. Unconcerned with the approval of others and undeterred by the norms of the day, Karen stood out and I liked the attention she attracted.Before his sudden death in 2007, Vic Snyder was a plumber, an entrepreneuer, a fraudster, a criminal defense attorney, a moun-tain climber and a racist. How’s that for a resume?

We fell in love and after dating for about two years, were married in my parent’s backyard in Green Hill Farms in the middle of a torren-tial rainstorm. Of course, Karen’s parents, Paula and Len Kauffman, whom I would grow to love and ad-mire, were there. And that was for-tunate because Karen’s father Len, a former Navy man, would save the day. He gallantly manned his sta-tion when a violent thunderstorm engulfed the festivities. Leonard steadfastly pushed a broom han-dle up on the stressed and sagging awning canvas sending the massive volumes of entrapped rainwater crashing onto the lawn and avoiding a disastrous awning collapse.Even the torrential rainstorm couldn’t put a damper on things once we appeared in matching custom suits. We were stylin’!But the erce downpours couldn’t put a damper on the festivities when Karen and I changed into matching, custom-made white suits by Irv Sagorsky’s chosen sartor, Max the Tailor: 4 ¼” wide peaked lapels; sculped ap patch pockets; two-button closure; 4 working buttonholes with real horn buttons at the cuff; ventless jacket. It seemed to energize the crowd. And we all ate, laughed, dined and danced our way deep into the wet night. We left on our honeymoon the next day. My Uncle Marv had generously made his spectacular, house in the Pines on Fire Island available to us for 10 days. Fire Island is a 3-hour drive from Philadelphia over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge to Long Island, NY. You arrive in the Pines via a short ferry ride from Sayville. Cars are parked at the dock as no autos are permitted on the island and there are no roads. Instead, the stunning landscape is navigated on foot pulling the same red wagon you had as a kid over a 6’ wide, elevated wooden boardwalk. This major thoroughfare dissects the center of the very narrow, heavily wooded forest separat-ing the beach from the bay. The Pines is perfection.

Difcult to believe Marv’s magnicent house in the Pines was designed by ground-breaking architect Horace Gifford back in the 1960s. Narrow boardwalks replaced roads and red wagons replaced cars.Exiting the ferry, Karen and I clomped down the gangplank and walked off the boat headed for The Boatel, the only restaurant and dance club venue in the Pines, the only structure in the “downtown” aside from a small supermarket. We searched through the 25 or so parked, unsecured, red wagons until we found the one tagged “SEGAL” nicely printed in thick, black marker on a white sticker. We loaded our two bags and began the 5-minute walk to Marv’s hidden, bayside, Horace Gifford contemporary that was featured in Architectural Digest. Then suddenly Karen wobbled. And Karen started to go to her knees. “Victor! I ‘m not feeling well, maybe we should stop for a minute.”I hate to admit it, but I immediately thought, “Oh shit, not again!” All the anguish of my ghastly Jamaican “horrormoon” came rushing back as I barely managed to keep Karen upright and cradled her with both arms. I shouldn’t have worried. Everything turned out to be great. Absolutely everything.We looked forward to Sunday afternoon on The Boatel deck when the most beau-tiful and elite models in the world, men and women, let their long, lean, tan, toned bodies reverberate to the beat of the best heart-pounding dance music I had never heard. Liquor, grass, amyl nitrate, and more. “There’s Marisa Berenson and her sister Berry who’s married to Tony Perkins! Tragically, Berry would lose her life on one of the 9/11 airplanes. Look! Giorgio di Sant’Angelo! Halston! Kenneth!” There was Stephen Burrows of the “O Boutique,” a trending black designer who

who was constantly surrounded by a gaggle of gorgeous women dressed in Burrow’s hottest newest look. Legs, arms, abs, necks and backs were sometimes left exposed and glistening with sweat. The most beautiful people in the world, both men and women, turned the Boatel deck into a sea of kinetic movement.Stephen Burrow’s designs were the rage in the Pines.Halston was a bronzedPines weekend regular.Marisa and Berry Berenson were two of the most beautiful people. Berry, tragically lost her life on a 9/11 plane. Karen and I were vibrating. This was a new world and we loved being in it together. The beach was everything you could imagine. Wide, white, and never crowded. For me, it was the Sunday morning volleyball games that were unforgettable. Marv and I were the only straight guys on the court. And these men played the game with unexpected skill and competitive intensity. The only thing more remarkable than the athleticism on display were the bitchy, fall-down funny, ad-libbed lines of dialogue that put “Boys In The Band” banter to shame. There were many times a point simply fell apart when half of us dropped to our knees on the sand, convulsed in laughter. Marv and I included, as we were the subject of more than one prickly “straight” barb.

And we waited. And we waited. We waited for a good half hour until I spoke up. “Come on! This is ridiculous. I don’t feel a …… KAHBLOOIE! Suddenly I did feel something, and it felt great! I immediately got to my feet and announced, “I have to look in the mirror, I’ll be right back.” 10 seconds later I was smiling intoKaren and I would end up renting our own house in the Pines for 5 glorious sum-mers in a row. Our last year there we invited close friends, Don and Sally Benjamin to come up for a few days. It was late September, the best of times on Fire Island because we practically had the island to ourselves. Don and I had offhandedly talk-ed about trying Mescaline, but it had never gotten past idle chatter and we hadn’t broached the subject in many months. But on a misty, late Thursday afternoon Don asked us to gather around the cocktail table in the living room for “a discussion.”As Don began talking, he placed a small white pill on the glass tabletop. It was barely bigger than a baby aspirin. “Victor and I talked about doing Mescaline a couple of months ago and I got some from a very trustworthy friend of mine who promises me this is very mild and very safe.” A malevolently grinning Don then stopped talking, proceeded to pull a razor blade out of his pocket and, with surgical precision, cut the tiny pill into 4 even tinier pieces. “Does anybody want to join me?” Without hesitation, Don popped one of miniscule pieces into his mouth and swallowed! Sally, Karen and I lost it, bursting into peels of uncontrollable laughter. And then Karen did it. And then I did it. And then Sally did it. And we leaned back on the sofa and waited.the bathroom mirror and telepathically commanding the face smiling back at me to assume grotesque funhouse contortions, able to start and stop the phenomenon at will. After amusing myself for 5 minutes, I was back in the living room excitedly telling everyone about my astonishing new powers. It was obvious all of us were passengers on the Mescaline starship and I think it was Karen who suggested we get into our bathing suits, get out of the house, and go down to the beach. But rst, we had to lock Sophy, our eccentric English Bull-dog, in the bedroom for safekeeping. Within just minutes we were wading in the eerily calm, tepid ocean water as a miraculous cloud cover settled on the water and wrapped us in a sorcerous waist-high mist. The phosphorescent shrimp blinked on and off like tiny white Christmas lights strung across the sea. This was no halluci-nation. This was magical. And then a series of raspy, gutteral barks suddenly broke the silence, unmistakably the urgent pleas of a bulldog. Impossible! But no, thiswas real and there was Houdini Bulldog bounding around in the surf.

I picked up the struggling, 40-pound Sophy and carried her vociferously protesting onto the beach as we headed back to the house for 6 more intoxicating hours. It was one of the most positive, unimaginable experiences of our lives. Ever the accommodating tour guide, Psychedelic Don had even packed a little pill for easing us all back smoothly into reality. None of us ever did Mescaline again. And none of us ever had any regrets. But regretful-ly, the twists of life and the pressures of busi-ness brought an end to our sun-drenched idles on Fire Island. From what I understand, life in the Pines changed drastically after we left. It was the time of the Aids epidemic. No, Sophy didn’t take any banned substances. Why bother, she was naturally high.Visits to the “The Meat Rack” diminished precipitously. The beautiful people danced more infrequently and with a little less abandon. The joie de vivre contained noticeably less joie as the scent of death permeated the air and the AIDS epidemic decimated the gay population. And the world.The rst place Karen and I lived together was a great place. Located above the MAB paint store on the corner of 19th and Sansom, we were just a few short blocks from the SL&S ofces at 1712 Walnut. Our apartment was a two-story, one-bedroom unit. The spacious great room on the rst oor boasted a 25-foot vaulted ceiling and contained a soaring, oor-to-ceiling brick replace, a powder room, and a good-size open kitchen to the rear. The intimate 12’ X 12’ bedroom was up a ight of stairs and, to our delight, featured a skylight almost as large as the room itself. Life was good. Karen was teaching at Morris Elementary and then Shaw Junior High in West Philadelphia and I was working hard at SL&S.Around this time, my cousin Seth Frechie was traveling in Scotland and was struck by a painting in the National Gallery. He sent me a photo of it cap-tioned, “Who dat?” And darn if I didn’t start believing in reincarnation.

We just so happened to live directly across the hall from Ed and Midge Rendell and I would exchange morning nods with Ed as we left for work most days. At the risk of sounding like Karen and I were druggies – because we were far from it – we did oc-casionally smoke grass. And this Sunday afternoon it was indeed the case when I heard a fearsome pounding on our apartment door. After quickly extinguishing our leafy confection, throwing open both living room windows and frantically ailing our arms to clear the air, I warily approached the front door. Peering through the peephole was neigh-bor and Asst. District Attorney Ed Rendell. Arms folded deantly across his chest, glowering back.The tough-guy pose was inspired by what I saw through thepeep hole in our door.Photo by Weaver LilleyI cracked open the front door. “You’re smoking pot, aren’t you?!” I nodded my head sheepishly. “You know I’m a D.A., right? You know I could bust you, right?” I stuttered back, “R-r-right.” Before I could get another word out, a warm smile played across Ed’s face as he continued … “and I will bust you if you don’t agree to handle my campaign for District Attorney.” When he extended his hand, I waited an uncomfortably long time, until the smile began to fade from his face, before vigorously shaking his hand and responding, “Sir, you’ve got your-self an advertising agency.”The campaign theme was a reaction to the allegations of corruption against his op-ponent, F. Emmitt Fitzpatrick. Voting for Ed Rendell was “A matter of integrity.” I came up with the pose for his Weaver Lilley ad photo by recalling the image I saw

through that peephole of our apartment door. The campaign budget was tight (what else is new?) so the only way we could afford TV was to schedule :10 spots. Production was bare-bones minimal. A stark white background appeared with “F. Emmett Fitzpatrick” in black letters across the middle of the screen. Suddenly, successive handfuls of wet black mud hurled on top of and obliterating the name. No music, just the disturbing sound of the mud hitting. Dissolve to “Ed Rendell for D.A.” reversing out of the black background. Under it, a quiet gritty voice-over intoned, “Emmitt Fitzpatrick has disgraced the name of the District Attorney’s ofce. Ed Rendell for District Attorney …” Super title and Ed’s photo as V.O. states, “It’s a matter of integrity.”It was short, sweet, and powerful. Negative too, one of the rst negative ads seen in a local Philadelphia political campaign. And it obviously worked. Ed won the election, went on to become Mayor of Philadelphia, Governor of Pennsylvania, then Chairman of the Democratic National Committee and a powerful inuencer on cable news channels. It also solidied Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky’s reputation as a potent, go-to political advertising agency. Shapp for Governor. Shapp for President. “Only Charles Bowser” for Mayor. Jim Fitzgerald for Congress. Casey for Governor. The Democratic National Committee Telethon, “Answer Ameri-ca.” Our political run lasted until the advent of political advertising specialists. P.S. Here’s a secret I kept from everybody: I was told Ed Rendell and I looked so much alike so many times, I decided to see if it were true. So, I put on a suit and tie, picked up some campaign handouts and did a morning meet-and- greet in the subway. And yes, it was true!

We learned that the country was not ready for a Jewish President. Nor was Philadelphia ready for Charles Bowser, the rst black candidate for Mayor. But many politicians were ready for Sonder, Levitt & Sagorskyto run their political ad campaigns.Karen and I then moved from Sansom Street to a wonderful, glass-walled, 2-bedroom apartment on the 24th oor of Society Hill Towers. Talk about living in the future … to say nothing of the struggle to resist voyeurism’s temptation. Nary a shade was drawn as hundreds of apartments played like TV screens on the other two buildings, revealing the most intimate details of tenant’s lives. Hail to architect I.M. Pei. To celebrate our new lease on the good life, Karen bought me the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. A huge custom portrait of our beloved bulldog Sophy painted by a Pennsylvania Academy student who would go on to fame and acclaim for his remarkable animal paintings. Tom Palmore’s work is in the Philadelphia Museum of Art and other major museums throughout the world.I made up a word for my obsession with choosing and arranging interior de-sign elements. But landing Rittenhouse Carpet was a very timely aid to solving our decorating dilemmas. This Tom Palmore portrait of our bulldog, Sophy was the best birthday gift of my life.Karen, I’m still thankful to this day. Weaver Lilley snapped the real Sophy checking it.

And we were totally involved in a major “kootzing” of our new space (my word for the art of arranging and obsessing over all interior design elements). Rittenhouse Carpet, Philadelphia’s most prestigious carpet retailer stood right next to our ofces on Walnut Street. And we were thrilled when Mike Babbits, the visionary owner and brilliant marketer, chose us to handle his work. But rst, Karen and I put him to work fashioning a custom, room-size rug to our design. The large center of the rug would be navy blue, edged with 1.5”-wide individual strips of carpet in the 7 rain-bow colors butted together. The four corners were rounded. This became the stage for two facing, Italian leather Stendig sofas, each resembling double bucket seats from a Ferrari 3Z Spider. Other furnishings were used sparingly. Clutter is the ene-my of kootzing. Plants thrived in the abundant light from the oor-to-ceiling windows. But P.S., I’ve since soured on indoor plants. Too busy.We were expecting our new baby daughter, which was the reason for moving to the Towers in the rst place. Karen wanted to welcome Lulu with a fantastical, hand-painted mural on two adjacent nursery walls. I shouldn’t have been amazed, but I was, because the mural was amazing. And I’m not the only one who thought so. The Sunday Inquirer featured the entire apartment in full-color coverage. As did a major coffee table book/design annual. All of the Kootzing we did certainly paid off. The Sunday In-quirer somehow got word about our apartment and covered the story in color. Then a prestigious design annual spent two days documenting the Kootz.This reminds me of the tale of Lulu’s conception. Well, the place of her conception. Karen and I were on a road trip to Maine with Don and Sally Benjamin. We were in our orange and cream VW camper following them in their black Porsche 911.

Karen and Don had been bickering constantly and currently were not speaking. We were packing up after a night of endless painful bites spent camping out, all suffering from what we called, “The Maine Mosquito Blues.” We were all in a foul mood. Don was having trouble tting everything back into his cramped sports car and reluctantly asked Karen if he could stow his shing rod in our spa-cious camper. Karen refused, citing the fact we had already loaded our gear in and didn’t want to disturb things. “What!” Don was enraged (rightfully so). “You’re saying no?!?!” And the image of Don repeatedly banging his shing rod over his knee, trying to snap it in half, is still vivid. It was a berglass rod. And it’s still hysterical.The agency was booming, and in fact, we would never again enjoy that level of prosperity without contending with real adversity. Irv, Gary and I had a partners’ meeting and decided things were going so well, we could each afford to look for a home of our own. Irv and his new wife Jackie Powers, an elegant Katherine Hep-burn sound-alike who was 10 years Irv’s senior, found a beautiful old Colonial in Radnor on the Main Line. Gary and Barbara Levitt decided on a large, walled estate (yes, that’s what it was) complete with tennis court and swimming pool off the Wissahickon Drive in Chestnut Hill. I remember thinking, “Glad I don’t have to pay the upkeep on this baby.” But of course, in a way, I did.Karen and I had been looking for months and nally settled – that’s the appropri-ate word -- on a bland, two-story house with no distinguishing characteristics in a feckless neighborhood behind the Bala Cynwyd Shopping Center. It was $75,000, at the top of our budget. We were in the car on our way to make settlement when Karen asked me to pull over. I thought something was wrong. But no, Karen had a question. “Remember that carriage house we looked at on Baird Road?” I was startled. “You don’t mean the one that was $300,000?!” That’s exactly the house Karen was referring to and she wanted to take one last look at it before the settle-ment. So, we turned the car around for Merion Station and drove up a long wind-ing street bordered in towering old shade until we reached 354 Baird. The Sale sign was still up. We parked discreetly across the street and watched a t, shirtless man about 50 vigorously raking leaves at the bottom of the long driveway. Karen got out of the car rst and I followed her across the street. “Good morning, sir. My husband and I are on the way to settle on our new house … but we had to come by here rst because this was the house we loved more than any when we were look-ing.” The gentleman stopped raking, paused and looked directly at both of us, “If that’s the case, why don’t you make an offer?” We were abbergasted. But I man-aged to reply, “We can’t possibly afford this house. It’s way over our budget.” He said he wanted to be very frank with us. He and his wife were going through a contentious divorce and selling the property was a top priority. Why not put our closing on hold and have our real estate agent make an offer? He was sure we could come to an agreement both of us could live with.

He said he wanted to be very frank with us. He and his wife were going through a contentious divorce and selling the property was a top priority. Why not put our closing on hold and have our real estate agent make an offer? He was sure we could come to an agreement both of us could live with. And that’s what happened. We cancelled the closing and began the old back and forth. Down and down the price came. Until it was still not within our reach, but we decided to stretch. We eventually agreed on $112,500 and you would have too for an historic 3,600 sq. ft, stone carriage house built in 1890 and surrounded by two park-like acres. I had no idea how we were going to afford the mortgage payments. Or the upkeep. But miraculously, this magnicent property was our forever home. And all was right with the world. Thank you, Karen!Our buying this remarkable property was so impossible, so unexpected and fortuitous,I have no hesitation calling it miraculous. I lived there 44 years and I am thankful for every day. To say nothing of Karen wanting one last look.I mentioned “the twists of life.” Turned out “forever” would to be just 3 years. Karen and I had been together 7 years and simply grew apart. Call it an itch, a be-nevolent parting. There were no irreconcilable differences, no scenes, or affairs. No cataclysmic events. Call it a lessening of love. In keeping with my issue of avoiding conicts, I drifted along for months without saying a word, acknowledging and discussing nothing. Finally, Karen suggested I go to California for a week and visit Richard Cooper and his cousin Nancy Leichter. We could sort things out and talk when I returned home. We both knew it was over.

Seeing Richard was a joy and banished some of the depression I was dealing with. He seemed to be thriving and strong. Primal Scream Therapy looked good on him. His cousin Nancy, who was also a longtime friend, had established herself in the radio business and would rise to manage many top stations in L.A., including the premier hip-hop station. On my last day in town, we decided to take a room on the 17th oor of the Century Plaza Hotel for a farewell party. The wine owed and I was feeling no pain when I stepped out onto the balcony and made an announce-ment: “See those intersecting grooves in that concrete walkway way down there? I’m going to take my wine glass, throw it off the balcony and hit the cross. Like in Ben Hur,’ Where the beams cross!’ If I do it, I’m going to do the right thing when I get home.” Richard and Nancy squeezed in tight behind me and peered over the railing. And of course, miraculously, my glass perfectly hit its mark! When I returned home, Karen had obvious-ly come to a decision. Her date was seated on the couch in our living room next to her. I told you Karen was unconcerned with ap-proval and did things her own way. If a di-vorce can be called “wonderful” ours was. We went to the same attorney. We readily agreed on my remaining in the house and the nancial terms moving forward. I can still see Karen and Lulu disappearing down the driveway for the last time. It was rain-ing. The better to hide my tears. The divorce was painful enough without separating from my precious Lulu.The epilogue to this chapter of my life ends years later with Karen marrying our former babysitter, my mother’s sister’s oldest son, my rst couin, Seth Frechie. People sometimes ask me if I was upset about this. And I quickly answer, “I’m thrilled about it to this day.” I have known Seth his entire life. A PhD who chaired the English Department at Cabrini University until his recent retirement, I knew he came from a great family and had no doubt about his character. I loved both Seth and Karen. After their marriage they moved to Narberth, just blocks away from me on Baird Road. Lulu couldn’t have had a better live-in mother and father. I always say she has two fa-thers. We’re family and will always be close. As they say, all’s well that ends well. Unusual couplings run in my family. My ex-wife, Karen married myrst cousin, Seth and we’re all living happily ever after.

Just after my return from L.A., I was fortunate enough to acquire 5 years’ worth of lm editing experience in one week working on a spot we had written for Emerald City. This multi-million-dollar, disco/dance club was the successor to the renowned Latin Casino night club. Jeff Berry of Schulman Berry lm production company directed and turned the footage over to Burke Moody of 7th Art Editorial. I’ll say it at out. I’ve worked with many brilliant editors over the years, but never anyone with Burke’s rare combination of sheer intelligence, technical skills, imagination, elevated taste, and insistence on perfection. I know, Burke sounds like a saint. And his calm, kind, warm demeanor brings him close. I really believe Burke invented a dazzling new cutting style perfectly suited to the emotions we wanted to stir and the :60 story we needed to tell. He started out by researching the perfect au courant dance track. That proved to be key because it determined the pace and number of shots. But it was the order, the pieces of foot-age selected, the ebb and ow of the action and the story. Burke considered every frame of everything Jeff Berry shot fair game. He evaluated roll ends, countdowns, camera bumps, focus “failures,” stuff I considered mistakes. It took my breath away. But what made Burke Moody my rst inductee into the Editors Hall of Fame happened on the last night of the grueling edit. We were watching the spot through when Burke suddenly slammed on the brakes, jumped up and shouted out, “Right there! We need a sax solo right there!” And he grabbed a saxophone he just hap-pened to have hiding out in his closet and hustled into the men’s room to play and record the sweetest little sax solo you could imagine. Burke, nobody did it better. Working with Burke Moody on Emerald Citywas equivalent to completing a Masters in Editing.

No tickee. No moneyDealing with the Lottery account proved to be far more daunting than we everanticipated. There was a new staff to hire. A $5 million dollar line of credit to se-cure. A statewide launch to plan. Billing procedures to establish and account con-tacts to handle. Etc. Etc. Etc. The number and complexity of the responsibilities, tasks, and details to be dealt with were beyond overwhelming.On top of this came the never-ending slew of creative challenges thrown at us. There were print ads, radio spots, outdoor posters and billboards, and voluminous point-of-purchase materials to create and print. At least we didn’t have to concern ourselves with producing television ads because they were not permitted by law. And this was before the lottery assigned many tasks to sub-contracted specialists, so we were charged with designing the lottery ticket itself and even guring out the procedure for determining winners and the drawing mechanism itself. My stomach is still in knots just thinking about it.We were responsible for designing everything from billboards to the procedure for selecting winners.Irv Sagorsky, Jerry Selber, and I were putting in many 10, 12, even 14-hour days. Irv and I would spend most every Tuesday and Thursday in the Lottery’s Harris-burg ofces, a 4-hour, round-trip drive from Philadelphia. But the scariest task of all was tiptoeing around the volcanic temper of Executive Director, Henry Kaplan. Before his appointment by Governor Milton Shapp, Henry had been the owner and CEO of a large and prosperous dental laboratory. Though extremely bright and generally warm and affable, Henry’s temper was fearsome, and one never knew what would ignite it. We didn’t nickname him “Vesuvius” for nothing.

But there was no bigger fan of SL&S creativity than Henry Kaplan. He “got” our work and was quick to appreciate a good idea when he saw one. Ad approvals came easily and the trade and public reaction to our lottery campaign was overwhelming-ly positive. That is, until our new billboard went up. The headline was one of my more clever concoctions and I can remember patting myself on the back when it popped into my head. The graphic was simply a horizontal strip of pale green lot-tery tickets on a white background. A black headline, on one line, appeared above the photo: “No tickee. No money.” It didn’t take long before my inadvertent Asian insensitivity caused a furor. This incident may very well have been the genesis of the concept and the term, “politically incorrect.”I think we invented the term “politically incorrect.”Of course, Henry Kaplan had approved it beforehand. But that was of no conse-quence when Irv and I stood in front of his desk for a command appearance. Hen-ry’s face was the color of a ripe tomato. He was breathing as if just completing a 26-mile marathon. And Irv and I both swore we saw wisps of steam ominously ris-ing from the top his head. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DO-ING! I’VE GOT EVERY GODDAMN ORGANIZATION IN THE STATE UP MY ASS! THE PAPERS ARE CALLING ME A BIGOT AND IF YOU TWO DON’T GET THIS FIXED FAST IT’S GONNA BE YOUR ASSES THAT GET KICKED! I’m using boldface, all caps, and red ink attempting to simulate the level of the decibels, the extreme anger in Henry Kaplan’s voice. We considered calling 911 to stave off a stroke or major cardiac event. I have never heard the likes of it before or since. It was terrifying. We were on our way back to Philadelphia trying to gure out how to get things “FIXED FAST” when a light bulb turned on with my nightmare proofreading experience at the Inquirer. And that provided the perfect solution. We printed a patch with the letter “t” on it and covered the last “e” in “tickee” on hundreds of billboards statewide. And I didn’t have to post the patch myself. There are no bad experiences, just more opportunities to learn something. Thank you, Mr. Bach.

Remember the mistakes you made. They can save your butt down the line.This whole incident reminds me of the rst lottery billboard we ever posted. A stylized rendering of a luxurious ocean liner sporting the lottery logo as its bow and the headline, “Somebody’s ship is coming in.” It was sold to us by our go-to outdoor salesman back in the day, Les Kaplan from Lan-dau Outdoor. Les later launched his own company, Philadelphia Outdoor, and ironically would go on to become an investor in our ad agency. But that didn’t turn out so well. Good thing for the fortune Les made sell-ing Philadelphia Outdoor after building the company into a very lucrative operation. De-spite his misguided investment, Les and I became good friends, and he gave me a copy of that rst contract as a remembrance. And to think, it all began with just $350 per month.

The results of our rst year working together with the Pennsylvania Lottery ex-ceeded everyone’s most optimistic expectations. Projected sales were $30 million. Actual sales were $57.7 million, almost double. No, Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky couldn’t take all the credit, but we certainly earned our fair share of it. The Penn-sylvania game had taken over the title of No. 1 lottery in the nation from the New Jersey Lottery. And I believe we retained that position throughout the length of our rst 4-year contract. “The kids” had managed to comfortably assimilate this huge chunk of business, tamed the beast known as Henry Kaplan and were winning major recognition for our creative work. It was a perfect storm that carried over into year 2 and beyond. Though the intensity of the workload was relentless, the internal systems Irv had put in place on the business end, and the procedures and staff Jerry and I had as-sembled on the creative end enabled us to function like a well-oiled machine. The account was billing close to $4 million going into year two of our contract. And you might ask, where was Gary Levitt in all of this? That was the $4 million question. Symptomatic of my awed pathology, I had avoided ever sitting down together with Gary to dene our roles in the agency. And make no mistake, it was my job to do so, not Irv’s. Because of my history with him at the Inquirer, it had been my choice and my decision to bring Gary into the partnership in the rst place. Of course, no one had to dene Irv’s role or my role. But that’s just a fact. It’s not an excuse. Everyone’s job should have been clearly understood at the very beginning. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Gary was one of the brightest people I had ever met. That’s what rst struck me about him. He played chess and was good at it. I didn’t and wasn’t. Gary was more verbal, more articulate, faster on his feet and a better negotiator than I would ever be. If someone had told me he was Captain of the Oxford Union, a world-re-nowned English debating society, I would have said, “Of course.” And I was a closet stutterer. Throughout the years we worked together, I had never seen him fail to parry an objection with the right answer, almost before the objection was fully stated. His prowess in presentations was breathtaking. He was the ultimate persuader, charming, disarmingly soft-spoken, and the antithesis of slick. Gary was the man with the golden tongue. And I was a talented writer who had difculty speaking. I asked Gary to be my partner because I believed he would be the third crucial side of a dynamic triangle. But Leonard Bach, my mentor at the Inquirer, had much greater insight than I did. And his haunting words came rushing back to me, “… there’s nothing you can learn from him.”

Gary was everything I wasn’t. But sadly, he was nothing that I was. It’s painful for me to speak badly of Gary; he passed away suddenly in his sleep from an undiag-nosed heart condition in 2015. However, I’m writing this memoir to speak my truth with regrets and apologies to Barbara Levitt and her son B.J., both of whom I’ve always loved. And my truth is that for the rst 10 years we were in business, Gary was content to ride the stone pillar at the entrance to Rittenhouse Square, holding court and admiring the beautiful women. Paychecks and raises were owing unin-terrupted. No one held him accountable to take an initiative, get involved and con-tribute. And he never felt the urge. In fact, Jerry Selber was much more involved and responsible, contributing considerably more than my “partner.” Irv, Jerry, and I were paddling so frantically to keep the war canoe charging ahead, along with everyone else in the company, we didn’t really have time to deal with Gary’s trans-gressions. And not caring was Gary’s M.O. His favorite song was the Beatles, “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life Goes On.” Gary’s thought process was, “Everybody’s thriving, I’m enjoying myself, so what’s the difference?” Of course, when asked to organize and write a new client pitch or agency presentation, he would comply. But barely. And never any sooner than 2 days before the meeting. Gary’s stock presentation document consisted of 6 typewritten pages with 4 words or less on each page. He would “talk” his presentations. No time for rehearsals. No need for reviews. And he was so fucking good, his batting average was off the charts. It was completely easy for him, and he was such a natural. You just couldn’t fault him. Except for the tedious and technical parts of the presentation he totally neglected. The research. The statistics. The demographics which fell to others to deliver, always at the last minute, frequently requiring all-nighters. Two friends of ours, Richard and Alice Sealey, opened the Walk on Walnut Street on rollerskates. The tremendous turnout led to the momentous Super Sunday events

Occasionally, the switch would be ipped, the lights would turn on and Gary would fully engage himself in one his own concepts. And invariably pull it off brilliantly. The “Walk On Walnut Street” was such a project. Gary and Barbara had returned from a trip to Copenhagen where they were taken with the city’s walking streets and car-free plazas. Gary wanted to recreate that atmosphere, at least for one night, in front of our ofces. Permits were secured and arrangements were made to close Walnut Street to cars from Broad Street to 20th on a Wednesday night from 6 to 9. To get the word out, Gary’s SL&S team published a weekly newsletter and made visits to retailers encouraging them to mount “something fun and interesting” in front of their stores. Gary produced a “Take A Walk On Walnut Street” poster her-alding the event and made sure it was displayed in shop windows. Gary even enticed our Electric Factory client to convince a few bands to perform free of charge. But the main attraction was an opportunity for the public to promenade on Walnut Street free of trafc.In an old radio interview, Gary had said, “We weren’t unsophisticated. We certainly wanted to stack the odds in our favor, so we scheduled it for a time when people were leaving their ofces. The street was packed the whole evening, the whole way, and people were just having a good time.” When 9 PM rolled around the streets were still choked with tens of thousands of people and Gary tracked down Frank Rizzo, the Police Commissioner at the time, to convince him to let the celebration go on for another hour. “I remember Rizzo very clearly looking at me with a dis-dain that only he could muster, Gary said, and then ordering the cops to ‘Clear the street!’ “There were three more successful “Walks on Walnut,” which led to the Women’s Committee of the Philadelphia Museum of Art hiring us. They asked the agency to mount a similar, but much bigger event to spotlight all the world-class museums dotting the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. We called the event “Super Sunday” and the rst one drew over 100,000 in the pouring rain. It multiplied in size and stature into a phenomenon, and the celebration occurred every year from 1971 through 1986. The Walks on Walnut Street led to spectacular Super Sunday events on the Parkway,which Sonder, Levitt and Sagorsky also promoted.

Gary could create magic. But at what cost, especially to me personally? Acquiring the state’s most lucrative piece of business had intensied my simmering feelings of resentment. How could he not stand beside us to help carry the withering work-load. Why did he show no desire to participate? When would he assume some of the arduous account responsibilities? Where was the pride in his work? But Gary was certainly present and accounted for when the paychecks were handed out. So why didn’t I confront him? Yes, my neurotic distaste for confrontation was a factor. But more to the point, I knew Gary’s golden tongue and facile mind would summarily shred, ridicule, and dismiss any charges I brought. Frankly, I was a wuss and chickened out. I abdicated. And I would pay a huge price down the line. At one point we decided the business community wasn’t taking us seriously enough.“They’re too creative...they don’t put enough emphasis on marketing.” To mitigate this damaging perception we decided to make a serious investment in hiring George Abraham, a renowned marketing man out of Doyle, Dane Bernbach in NYC. To her-ald this audacious move, we ran a double-page spread announcing his hire in Phila-delphia Magazine. George certainly looked and dressed the part, with his handsome WASP presence and custom pinstriped suits. But Gary proved to be a formidable ad-versary from the start, employing devious intimidation tactics and ignoring George’s directives to get a handle on the agency’s nances and include marketing plans and procedures in our new business presentations.

The Shapp administration was so impressed with the job we were doing for the PA lottery, they hired SL&S to handle the Governor’s reelection campaign. Of course, we were attered and excited, but the additional workload was crushing. Television would be the main artillery in our media campaign and we were charged with get-ting on air two weeks after we landed the account. Easy for them to say.Governor Shapp had won his rst term by more than 500,000 votes and was riding a high tide of popularity coming off the sweeping reforms he had instituted. His at, no deductions income tax had solved an acute nancial crisis. He oversaw new consumer rights legislation, enacted no-fault insurance and cleaned up the welfare system and PA Turnpike Authority. He established a sweeping Sunshine law and performed admirably in the wake of Hurricane Agnes. And then the PA Lottery was contributing millions to benet the lives of senior citizens. I feel like I just wrote a release for Shapp’s campaign. Jerry and I met with Dick Doran, the Governor’s campaign manager, to strategize the TV creative. The direction was obvious. Let people know all he had accom-plished over the past 4 years. Back at the ofce, we came up with a plan that would accommodate the absurd deadline – the on-air date was in just 10 days – and allow us to tell the story. Given the campaign had no archival footage on le (their inex-cusable oversight), we decided to let the Governor tell his own story. Shapp was a plain and simple man, disarmingly unaffected by the heights he had reached. In the Jewish culture we call it “haimish,” without airs or pretense or inated opinions of oneself. We needed to capture that on lm. At this point we called on our Renaissance man, Garrett Brown. “You’ve got to pay to win.”In retrospect, I think Gary was trying to neuter George before George became aware of Gary’s missing work ethic and lack of involvement in the agency’s day-to-day business. Though George was very impressive and personable, his exasperating and frequent 2- hour expense account lunches at The Union League (membership on us)weren’t helpful. Between Gary’s tactical sabotage campaign and George’s proclivity for 120 minute lunches on our dime, Mr Abraham was soon toast.

By the time we were able to schedule the Governor’s shoot at his home in Merion Station, right around the corner from Baird Road where I lived, there were scant days left to go before the TV campaign was scheduled to air. The shoot went perfectly with Shapp seated on his patio washed in warm, afternoon sunlight. Gar-rett handled the camera and the interviewing, immediately puttingthe Governor at ease, deftly stimulating his mind, challenging him, even injecting-humor, and eliciting laughter. It was a masterful performance by both Garrett and the Governor. Now for the edit and post. Our TV campaign captured Shapp’s warm and down-to-earth style.Our one-man-band director/cameraman/interviewer was the editor too. We set up a Steenbeck in my Walnut Street ofce and worked for three endless days and nights, sleeping on the oor in between. We cut six spots with just the right mix of accom-plishments, character insights, humor, and warmth. The plain-spoken, unpretentious man running for Governor was smart, accomplished, and likeable. We had arrived at a :60 formula for all the spots: In the rst :45 we cut isolated grabs of the Gover-nor’s responses covering his reforms and innovations back-to-back; next we cut to a graphic for :10 … SHAPP for GOVERNOR … and a tagline “Again. Because he earned it.” A voiceover summarized the featured reforms and then added the sell … “New consumer rights legislation, welfare and insurance reform. Shapp for Gov-ernor. Again. Because he earned it.” The :05 button that ended the spot was just a random, feel-good bit of dialogue that had occurred spontaneously during the inter-view and would leave the viewer smiling. These spots were strong. To understate the case, we were excited to show Dick Doran the results of our mar-athon edit sessions. It was Sunday night, and he was scheduled to show up at 10 PM. And we were tired. We were gamey. We were fried. While we waited for Dick to show, and with little to do, Garrett had an epiphany. He began pulling all the lip licks (an unintentional and unattractive Shapp habit) out of the footage. “Watch this.” He strung together :05 of lightening lip-lick cuts and replaced the :05 ending of the last spot on our show reel...”Because he earned it.” LIPSMACKLIPSMACKLIPSMACKLIPSMACKLIPSMACK.

10 PM rolls around and I’m gushing: “Dick, I don’t want to oversell these commer-cials, but I will. They’re exactly what you wanted and what’s needed. The shoot couldn’t have gone better, and I think we got the maximum out of the material. We put together 6 spots and you’re about to be a very happy man.” We all squeezed closer in the darkened room to stand behind Garrett who was seated with his back to us at the edit table. He rolled the reel. Dick’s face was expressionless at the start but he smiled quietly after the rst spot … began nodding his head and chuckling after the third spot … then began loudly applauding when Garrett stopped the show after the fth spot. Garrett is very tall and when he stood up and turned to Dick, he had his attention. “Dick, I saved the best for last. We think this 6th spot really captures the Governor’s essence, all of his warmth, intelligence, and charm. Take a look.” Garrett leans in and the last spot ashes on the screen. Dick is effusive, “I love it! It’s great, I really love it!” Until the :05 button with the lip licks ends the spot. Gar-rett, wearing a smarmy grin, eyes blinking furiously turns to face Dick and asks, “Well?” Dick’s eyes are uttering in sync with Garrett’s. The room is dead silent for a good 15 seconds. Dick is stunned, his head slowly indicating “no” side to side. Finally, with a tinge of fear in his barely audible voice he intones, “You … you … you’re not going to run that ……. are you?” Ten more seconds of silence and the room erupts in gales of hysterical laughter. Dick Doran is a happy man.Garrett Brown’s invention of the Steadicam not only won him an Academy Award, it revolutionized lm and television production.This seems like an appropriate time to talk a bit about Garrett Brown and what his professional association and personal friendship have meant to me. I feel so fortu-nate to have connected with Garrett early on in my career. The world knows him as the brilliant Oscar-winning inventor of the Steadicam ®, a camera suspension system worn on the body that revolutionized motion picture and television produc-tion. The camera system was rst used by cinematographer Haskell Wexler for the astounding, minutes-long, continuous opening shot of “Bound for Glory” and was quickly adopted by many A-list Hollywood directors: John Avildsen on “Rocky:” Stanley Kubrick on “The Shining;” John Schlesinger on “Marathon Man;” George Lucas on “Return of The Jedi;” Martin Scorsese on “Raging Bull;” Steven Spiel-berg on “Indiana Jones, Temple of Doom.”

But I rst met the tall, pale, and handsome Garrett Brown as the director of our rst TV spot for Penn Maid Foods. He was as good as he was tall. And I soon realized Garrett was just as gifted a writer and performer. He taught me so much about all the skills I would need to succeed, and I’ll be forever indebted for the condence he instilled in me regarding my own abilities.Somehow, Garrett imagined I could act a little bit and cast me in one of his in-surance company commercials as an armor-clad knight perched in a castle turret fending off arrows, representing insurance calamities, being shot at me. The arrows were real and real sharp. Weeks later, it dawned on me I was probably the only dimwit up for this hazardous duty at the paltry day rate offered. But the following year, Garrett made amends by casting me as The Great Chango in a piece he wrote, lmed and directed for the ground-breaking children’s TV show, “Sesame Street.” I pulled off a quick-change act in and out of multiple costumes depicting some of the occupations kids might pursue in the future.I became Garrett Brown’s go-to casting choice for roles no one else would even consider.All this professional partnering inevitably led to a very close friendship. And that friendship has evolved into a lifelong love affair. I count Garrett and his wife Ellen, among a handful of people I consider essential soul mates. If you’ve had the priv-ilege of knowing them you understand why. It was the 70s and Garrett and Ellen agreed to join me and my future wife, Bonnie Miller on a luxury vacation to Habi-tation Leclerc, in the heart of Port-au-Prince, Ouest, Haiti. This was the former 15-acre, estate of Pauline Bonaparte Leclerc, Napoleon’s fun-loving sister. The stone wall surrounding the luxurious resort was the only thing separating guests from the abject poverty and squalor just outside the walls. And it was an adventure from the beginning.

Power had recently passed from tyrannical Francois (“Papa Doc”) Duvalier to his son, Jean-Claude or “Baby Doc,” Papa’s 19-year-old offspring. But as in years past, sullen, machine-gun-armed guards greeted visitors upon arrival at the airport and it was unsettling. But once inside the walls and secure in one of the 44 individual villas with a staff of 3 in attendance, we were able to relax with meals and drinks. Though sleeping that rst night was virtually impossible with the interminable crowing of at least a dozen roosters. I don’t think this luxury resort in Haiti had ever encountered a 6’6” drag queen.But as we ate breakfast the next morning, we realized that Sports Illustrated was shooting a story with a half-dozen swimsuit models and Bobby Short, the enter-tainer, was involved. The days passed quickly, we were able to tune out the roost-ers and thoroughly enjoy mixing with the SI models and crew people and spending time with Bobby Short. After getting well-oiled before ordering dinner on our last night, out of the blue, Garrett suggested he and I give the assembled guests some-thing to remember, “Let’s go back to the villa, get dressed in drag and put on a little show for the folks.” Who was I to say no? I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder in my life while following towering Garrett Brown as we paraded around the poolside dining tables in our outrageous outts and makeup, chatting up the delighted guests before sitting down to dinner. Now you can understand why I made Garrett a keeper. But let’s get back down to busi-ness again. There was an election to be won home in Pennsylvania.On the Thursday night before the Tuesday gubernatorial election, I got a frantic 6 PM call from Dick Doran with a new, completely unnerving request. “Victor, are you sitting down?” Now I had dealt with some “impossible” deadlines, some ago-nizing crunch times, but I had never before had a mountain to climb like this one.

“The campaign just bought a half-hour of TV time to run an election night special at 7:30 this Monday.” My heart started pounding out of my chest, “Dick, tell me this is a test … you want to see if you can make me scream.” Before I could get the sound out, Dick continued, “This is no test, except to see if you, Jerry, and Irv can get it done. I’ve already got every TV station in the state sending you archival news footage, including some great coverage of Agnes (the devastating hurricane and ood that had killed 48 Pennsylvanians and necessitated the boat rescue of the Governor and his wife, Muriel, from the gubernatorial mansion). Batten down the hatches and all hands-on deck! We’re going on a stormy voyage for the next 4 days!The ooding and destruction from Hurricane Agnes in 1972 was catastrophic. Governor Shapp and his wife, Miriam, had to be evacuated by boat from the Governor’s mansion.My rst call was to Hal Lipman, the contact at our go-to video production studio, E.J. Stewart in Primos, PA. I explained the objective, set the deadlines, and booked the studio for that Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. I’d be back to Hal the next day with a production concept and, hopefully, a script. I hung up the phone and Jerry and I got to work. It would be a primetime talk show with good-looking, person-able, media-savvy Ernie Kline, the gray-haired Lieutenant Governor, doing his best Phil Donahue hosting imitation. Dick Doran gave us a list of prominent adminis-tration guests he promised to deliver and Jerry spent the rest of Thursday night into mid-afternoon Friday researching and writing the script that would glorify Milton Shapp and his administration’s accomplishments. Miraculously, it was in Hal Lipman’s hands before nightfall to compile the shoot and post schedule. We were ready to roll 7 AM Saturday morning. Major kudos to Hal but particularly to the incomparable Jerry Selber. So far so good.

One of our people screened and logged the news footage pulled from all over the state and we determined where to work it into Jerry’s script as we taped the live guest appearances and Ernie Klein’s conversations and segues. Man, this thing was starting to look like professionals were producing it. And Dick Doran quit hanging over everybody’s shoulder as he saw the show rounding into great shape. Irv was a tremendous help executive producing, organizing the guest appearances, and over-seeing production details all 3 days. But his most crucial and totally brilliant contri-bution was yet to come.Monday was set aside for all the post-production nishing touches. Editing, titling, graphics, sweetening, mixing, color correction, etc. ad nauseum. There just didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day. And that was the case. Disastrously, we were minutes away from missing our deadline. We were staring real adversity in the face and it looked as if adversity would win. By law, KYW TV in Center City Philadel-phia -- a trafc-choked, 60-minute drive from E.J Stewart in Primos on a good day – could not air the program at 7:30 PM until its entire 30-minutes of content was screened and approved. So, if you wanted to tempt fate beyond all reason, the abso-lute latest the show could arrive at the station was 6:45 PM … 5 minutes to set up the tape machine and roll the show for screening took you to 6:50 … the half-hour screening took you to 7:20 … 5 minutes for the decision to approve … 7:25 … 3 minutes to load the tape machine for air took you to 7:28, 2 minutes to airtime. If everything went awlessly.Meanwhile, back at the studio, it was “Beat The Clock” intense. Many of the post processes just couldn’t be rushed. It was already 6:00 PM – already past our wheels-up departure time – and WE WERE NOT FINISHED! No question about it. To put it succinctly, we were F#%@KED! And Irv Sagorsky appeared out of nowhere and quietly announced, ”I’ve arranged for a helicopter. It will be here in 15 minutes. We’re cleared for landing on the roof of the KYW studio on Walnut Street.” Use-ful, Irv! Very, very useful. You’re still our QB! As word spread, a thunderous chant reverberated throughout the studio. “IRV! IRV! IRV! IRV! IRV! GENIUS! GENIUS! GENIUS! GENIUS!”Irv Sagorsky’s brilliant idea of hiring a helicop-ter was the only way we met the impossible deadline.

We landed on the KYW rooftop safe and sound. The show was approved with plen-ty of time to spare. 5 minutes. The reviews were great. Shapp won the election, but you’ve heard the expression, “No good deed goes unpunished?” This was far from the end of the story. The extraordinary circumstances of the last 4 days had caused us to ignore the cardinal rule of political advertising: GET PAID UP FRONT! The bill for our little escapade was a cool $200,000 (including the helicopter) and Irv submitted it the next day marked, “DUE UPON RECEIPT.” A week passed by … two weeks … a month … and Irv’s calls to the Election Com-mittee are going unreturned. Finally, Dick Doran calls back and says we should have our check by the end of the month. Meanwhile, we’re billing hundreds of thousands of PA Lottery dollars and, politically, we can’t make too big of a stink about the overdue production bill, which we had paid in full to E.J. Stewart the day after we wrapped production. Finally, nearly 5 months had passed and still no check. I mean, $200,000 is a lot of Benjamins and we need the money. I think it was on a Thursday morning, I was having my Dewey’s cinnamon bun and coffee and paging through the Inquirer before starting my work. My bun bite fell out of my mouth! “Sonder Levitt & Sa-gorsky accused of $200,000 political bribe.” Someone wasn’t playing fair. I immediately clamored down the yellow spiral staircase to Irv’s ofce. We were both beside ourselves after I showed him the article. But Irv had another great idea, “I’m going to call Arthur Makadon.” He and Irv were very close after college and had gone on an ill-fated European vacation together. The origin of their falling out was shrouded in mystery. I would discover why shortly down the road. And truth be told, Art Makadon and I had also been friends. He was the instigator of my Lord & Taylor shoplifting transgression, but had since gone straight and become Chairman of Bal-lard Spahr, the state’s most politically powerful law rm and a Democratic mover and shaker.When Irv reached Art, the conversation was all business and made no mention of the problems between them. As the Democratic king maker in the state, there was little Arthur Makadon couldn’t make happen. For sure, he would investigate and see what could be done. The next morning, a check for $200,000 was hand-deliv-ered to Irv’s ofce. And a full retraction appeared on the front page of the next Art Makadon was handsome, brilliant and powerful. And he saved our ass.

day’s Philadelphia Inquirer. To top things off, there was no charge. Art, you were not only a Kingmaker …you were a Prince.In the meantime, a profound change occurred in the rules governing lottery mar-keting. For the rst time, advertising on television was permitted by law. Our me-dia department scheduled the critical rst ight. All that was left was to write and produce killer TV ads that would shake up the market and build on Pennsylvania’s dominance as the No. 1 lottery in the nation. This was a huge opportunity to amplifyour creative reputation and nail down the renewal of our second 4-year PA Lottery contract. I decided to take on this critical challenge solo, all by my lonesome. I was never a fan of “brainstorming sessions” and can’t remember a single instance when a big idea was generated by a big group. Frankly, I’m a loner. I love chan-neling thoughts and ideas through the labyrinth of my own mind, silently involved in a dialogue with myself. No words. Just intense thought processing. I think this compromised my ability to develop new writing and art talent and resulted in my disappointing more than a couple of people working under me as Creative Director. I probably saw writers and art directors more as expediters of my concepts, rather than initiators of their own ideas. Not proud of this weakness, but it was another manifestation of my insecurity. I remember this night as if it were last night. It was winter and very cold. The tem-perature outside must have been 20 degrees. Karen was upstairs. We had only re-cently moved into our historic Baird Road carriage house. I was by myself in the large living room, about 30 feet long and 15 feet wide. It was a crisp 65 degrees inside, the better to keep your mind alert and churning. And make the heating oil bills manageable. This room originally housed the nearby es-tate’s carriages. The big kitchen to the right had been the barn for the horses. I lit a re in the darkened room and sat on the oor on the rainbow rug from our Society Hill Towers apartment. My legs were stretched straight out under the glass and chrome cocktail table, my back supported against the leather sofa behind me. I was not one to smoke grass to generate ideas. In fact, I had never done it before. But this night was different from all others. My motivation has always been proving that stuttering is no measure of talent or intelligence.

I lit a joint and inhaled deeply. Conceiving the lottery’s rst TV campaign was an intimidating responsibility. I thought of all my peers and competitors waiting for us to fall on our face. But that’s what always motivated me. I looked at every job, no matter how big or inconsequential, as an opportunity to prove my worth and banish the humiliation of stuttering. Look! I’m smart! I’m good! The grass instantly di-minished the anxiety I was feeling. You never know where an idea comes from, but a street hustler popped into my head, standing against a brick wall at night under a streetlight. He was ranting at a passerby and aggressively pitching the PA Lottery’s newest game, Double Dollars. This would be one continuous scene, no cuts. Starkly simple and in your face. I’ve hustled my entire life so, not surprisingly, the copy for the “hustle” came pouring out of me. A couple more tokes and I had come up with 3 more eccentric characters: a ditzy secretary whose diet depends on buying lottery tickets instead of lunch; a frustrated wife whose husband won’t get up off the couch except to buy lottery tickets; and a Black liquor store clerk, who originally sold lot-tery tickets exclusively, dreaming of winning the big bucks himself. Now the ques-tion was how to present the campaign to the intimidating Henry Kaplan.It was time to again call on my go-to director, Garrett Brown. Though working on his Steadicam invention, Garrett was still pursuing his directing career and when I showed him the four lottery scripts, right away, he suggested we go the extra mile, shoot the street hustler script and present it as a demo for the entire campaign. I was totally onboard, especially since Garrett generously offered to shoot it himself at cost. We could use the brick wall behind his house off Pine Street as the location … but who would play the street hustler? Garrett went with his go-to casting choice and, I must say, I nailed it. The big day had come for Irv and me to unveil the PA Lottery’s rst TV campaign to Executive Director Kaplan and a cadre of his staff. I explained we had developed a campaign of 4 spots and presented the 4 storyboards. Then, Irv pointed out that a visual concept, presented with drawings in place of lmed actors, could never capture the impact of the real thing. We had lmed a demo of the street hustler spot to make our point about how dynamic these deceptively simple concepts could be. Irv dimmed the lights, and I cued the demo. The group was mesmerized and Hen-ry Kaplan was beaming. “That’s you, isn’t it?” I played my humble card and said, “It is. We had to save money on the actor. But we intend to cast these spots in New York and nd the best of the best talent.” Henry’s face darkened and, for a moment, I thought we were about to see an eruption. “Oh no you’re not. We’re going to run that spot exactly as it is. It couldn’t be any better. You were really good.” And turn-ing to the assembled underlings he asked, “Am I right?” The group unanimously expressed their agreement and the campaign was sold.

The lottery’s introductory TV campaign won rave reviews from the client, Ad Age and the viewing audience.We found a great cast of actors for the other 3 spots, and we did indeed run the Street Hustler spot pretty much as it was, with the produced lottery logo animation, musical tag,and pro V.O. Garrett did a wonderful job directing the other actors, choosing the locations, and approving the wardrobe. And again, the industry bible, Ad Age took notice and saw t to feature our work on their front page. And they closed with a shout-out to me and my commercial acting debut. “To Victor B. Sonder, Sonder, Levitt & Sagorsky, Philadelphia: Your lively television campaign for the Pennsylvania Lottery makes it obvious that creating advertising can still be fun. I doubt you had any research norms nagging at you or nervous account men breathing down your neck. It looks to me like you cranked up more than enough enthusiasm (and maybe some killer weed?) and turned out a parade of gems so loaded with interest and laughs every word of your message came through.I like your secretary eating yogurt at her desk and addressing the camera while her boss (me also, FYI), waits impatiently behind her with an armful of papers: ‘Talk about diets,’ she says, ‘I have tried everything. Only one thing works, Pennsylvania Lottery tickets. Now don’t laugh. I started buying lottery tickets with the money

I used to spend on fats and carbohydrints (sic) and each week I get a chance to lose a couple of pounds and gain a million dollars.’ And the housewife indicating her slob of a hus-band plopped on the couch in his undershirt: ‘Let’s face it honey,” she says to the camera, ‘it’s nice to have a man around the house … if you can stand the smell of cigars. Take my Marvin.You can have him if you can lift him off the couch. The only time he gets up is to buy his 3 Pennsylvania Lottery tickets every week.’ And the liquor store clerk. And the street hustler, the one you believed in so much you produced it as a demo and paid for it. And you, the creative director, starred in the lead role hawking PA Lottery tickets: ‘Only one thing bothers me … it’s legal.’ No sur-prise the client approved. Brilliant concepts If you were to assess our prospects with the Pennsylvania lottery in the months just prior to our expected contract renewal for 4 more years, you would have to give us a 95 out of a hundred. Maybe even a 97. We were a lock. In addition to doubling the rst-year sales projection, lottery revenues had increased every year we were on the job making the PA Lottery No. 1 In the country for 4 consecutive years. Then there were the trade and consumer assessments of our creative work.by your agency and inspired direction by Garrett Brown of Moving & Talking Pic-ture Co., Philadelphia. You’re quite an actor, Victor. But stick to copy and eat.”Excuse the mold, but this “brilliant” review on the front page of Ad Age was too noteworthy to trash.Stellar. In addition to the rst TV campaign, we had produced a TV spot which parodied the opening of the lm Patton with Chuck Blore knocking off an uncanny impersonation of George C. Scott. We were big on riding Hollywood’s coattails. It captured everybody’s attention and was the talk of the state. SL&S won national creative competitions at the prestigious New York Film Festival and Hollywood Radio & Television Society, among many others. Annual local recognition from the Art Director’s Club and TRAC Awards was almost a given. Finally, our relationship with Henry Kaplan had evolved into a grandfather/grandson thing. He loved us. And the genuine affection owed both ways,

We were big fans of riding Hollywood’s coattails. Our lottery spoof of the lm “Patton” was a sensation.And so was our take on the Founding Fathers.So, when I received a late-night phone call at home from Shirley Kravitz, old neighbor/mentor and current personal secretary to Gov. Milton Shapp, it was unset-tling to say the least. After some strained pleasantries, Shirley got down to business. “I want to meet with you and Irv 9PM Friday night at the Howard Johnson’s on the PA Turnpike outside of Harrisburg.” Soon after that, we said goodbye.The ride to the meeting was like being in a funeral procession. I don’t think Irv and I said 10 words to one another. The air was thick with tension and the mood om-inous. Appropriately, we were in the mid-dle of a severe thunderstorm with bolts of lightning punctuating the downpour. The last words Irv said to me as we exited the car in the HoJo parking lot were, “I don’t think this is gonna go well.”Surprisingly, when we saw Shirley sitting in a booth in the near-empty restaurant, her face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile. “I just ordered coffee and a piece of their apple pie. It’s terric apple pie. Do you want anything?” We felt better. After placing our order with the waitress, Shirley started the conversation, “You guys have done a tremendous job on the lottery account. Everbody loves your work and they love working with you. I’m very proud of you.” Irv and I both jumped in, awkwardly talking over each other, “Thank you so much. We love working with ev-erybody too.” The smile slowly faded from Shirley’s face when she continued, “As you’re well aware, the lottery contract is coming up for renewal and we all expect to be working with your company for 4 more years ……… long pause …………. but it would really nail things down if you can make a political contribution to the Governor’s re-election campaign.” Irv wasn’t shy and quickly asked, “How much money are we talking about, Shirley?” Shirley was just as quick to respond, The time and place of the meeting seemed ominous.I knew we weren’t going there for HoJo’s fried clams.

“We’re talking about $250,000 and our people will be working with you about how to make the arrangements.”I decided to ll in our shocked silence after that. “Shirley, I don’t know if you’re aware of the bogus story that appeared in the Inquirer a couple of months ago … accusing us of taking a bribe? Irv interrupted me, “It was straightened out and the paper printed a retraction … but we have to think long and hard about this. I’m sure you understand.” It was all very civilized, and Shirley responded right on her cue, “Of course I understand, Irv, I certainly didn’t expect an answer tonight.” Shirley took out a piece of paper and handed it to Irv. “Take as much time as you need, but please, get back to me with your answer on my home phone.” The waitress then walked up with Shirley’s apple pie and coffee and the two ice teas Irv and I had or-dered. “Shirley, I think Victor and I better get going. The weather is pretty bad and we have a long drive ahead of us. Can I get the check?” Shirley was smiling again, when she said “No, no, I’ve got it. But be very careful driving back. It looks nasty out there.” Nothing compared to what just happened in here. We shook hands and left and that was the last time either of us laid eyes on Shirley Kravitz. Getting back in the car, the rst words out of Irv’s mouth were, “We’re not going to do it. There’s no way. I’ll call her in the morning and give her our decision.” We had one month to prepare our presentation for the new Lottery contract. And we went all out. After unveiling an exciting new creative direction, we then wrapped things up with a dazzling video review of our previous work summarizing the 4 years of nation-leading sales. It was a powerful presentation showcasing us at our best. But it wasn’t good enough. We hadn’t played the game and we would pay the price.We were out! The Democratic administration awarded one of its most lucrative accounts to a Republican agency, Lewis & Gillman, Philadelphia’s largest agency, but no threat to our talent for creative excellence. Did they take the cheese? All we knew was the future at SL&S would look a whole lot different. We were facing real adversity and things were about to get a whole lot worse. Maybe I should have changed the lottery slogan to, “You’ve got to pay to win.” No exclamation point. “He’s got it.”At rst, Irv’s quarterback mentality kicked in. We were going to get through this. We would mount a miraculous 4th quarter comeback, execute a brilliant 2-minute drill, and win the day! And our heroic QB seemed to be marching us to victory. New business did indeed pour in.

Pincus Brothers Maxwell, prestigious men’s clothing manufacturer and maker of Bill Blass designer menswear, joined our client roster. We were well suited for each other.Capezio stores came onboard, a high-end national retail chain for dance ap-parel and visionary workout clothing.They were the rst to turn women’s tights into a fashion phenomenon.We added The Daily News and launched “PM,” their new late afternoon edition.We said “Thanks!” when Philly icon Frank’s Beveragespopped in. Then we signed up Pop icon Patty Smyth, and added to her string of hits by breaking “Poppin With Flavor” The Dobbs House account included four national restau-rant chains: The Spaghetti Store; The Mississippi River Company; Steak ‘n Egg Kitchen and The Ginkgo Tree.

Leon Altemose chose SL&S to handle his monumental Sheraton Valley Forge Hotel development. We named all the clubs and restaurants, handled all venue collateral, and put Philly’s “social stars” to work attracting subur-banites to the club Cahoots. Oh yes, we launched the entire complex.We landed both CBS radio stations, oldies WCAU-FM 98 and WCAU-AM 1210 We designed all collateral materials and launched The Latham Hotel,”Philadelphia’s Newest Tradition.” We handled most all of Neil Stein’s Philadelphia restaurant breakthrough concepts. “Who were you in Cahoots with last night?”

Amoroso’s Baking Company was a proud addition. I played the leading role with Amoroso’s for 40 more years, my longest-running client, and will always be grateful to both Lenny Amoroso and his son Jesse.Our work for PBM attracted Mitchell Daroff, one of the region’s rst menswear discounters, and then Jackie Gordon, The Men’s Loft., Dimensions and, eventually, Boyds Philadelphia and Today’s Man.This Jackie Gordon spot won Best National Menswear Commercial. Our innovative marketing strategy, pitting two Pontiac dealer-ships owned by the same family against one another, gener-ated great acclaim. “BIG” Burns Pontiac sold the advantages of size while Crest Pontiac promised a little more attention, a little better deal and a little better service. Burn’s “BIG” Grand Opening vs Crest’s “little” Grand Opening.

sun, but after his shrimp cocktail was served, and the waiter went back to the kitch-en, he took one look at his appetizer and got a bit peeved. At rst, he quietly called for the attention of a nearby waiter, not ours. “Waiter, Waiter.” No response. Garrett gradually raised his volume, “Waiter! Waiter!” Still no response and everyone at the table started chuckling. Now, it became an opportunity for a little standup comedy as he had an audience and Garrett rose to his full 6’6” height and let loose with a “WAITER!” that shook the rafters. A quick aside about the Frank’s Beverages ac-count. We were shooting a Frank’s Orange TV spot in the orange groves and on the Florida beaches with Garret Brown directing and shooting Stea-dicam, and Ellen Shire producing. Aside from our client Paula Frank choosing to wear a oor length, black, long sleeve dress and high heels on the beach (and it was 90 degrees), all went very well. After we wrapped, our crew went for dinner to a great seafood spot. Maybe Garrett had too much Ellen thought the shrimp was small. Tasty but small.“The menu said there would be four shrimp in my cocktail, but I only got three,” Garrett shouted to no one in particular. At this, our table and the room exploded in laughter. And Ellen grabbed Garrett’s arm, yanked him back in his seat and whispered, “Garrett, I took one of your shrimp.”All this new business was making a signicant dent in the revenue shortfall result-ing from the loss of the lottery. Our staff was lean to begin with. We had added very few people upon landing the lottery –almost everyone just worked longer and harder -- so there were no wholesale rings. But new business couldn’t make up for Irv’s old insecurities and the blow to his personal prestige and self-esteem. The signs were “subtle” at rst. Irv always liked his Jack Daniels. But his very frequent solo sojourns to multiple Center City watering holes were becoming nightly oc-currences and resulted in bans from multiple bars. Reports of st ghts, invariably with the biggest guy in the room, were alarming. Then there was my rsthand sighting of trouble. We had gotten an opportunity to pitch the National Pool Dealer’s Association at the New York Hilton. This was a multi-million-dollar account, and our preparations were extensive and costly.

Irv and I were in the room around a huge conference table with at least 10 association members. I was in the middle of presenting the creative when, out of the cor-ner of my eye, I saw Irv pull out a foot-long cigar and light it. No exaggeration, 12 inches long andit hadn’t been purchased at a Subway. Rising to his feet, he proceeded on a leisure-ly stroll around the table blowing plumes of acrid smoke into the air and smiling maniacally. Need I mention our efforts with the Pool Dealers ended with ourchances going up in smoke. On the way out, I asked Irv, “What the hell was that?”The NPDA was the world’s largest association of pool, spa and hot tub manufacturers. But Irv Sagorsky was drowning our chances. As if he never heard the question, he told me to meet him out front as he walked away toward the stairwell door. We were on the 36th oor. A half-hour later, I’m frantically pacing in front of the hotel in a panic. Irv is nowhere to be found and our train leaves from Penn Station in 20 minutes. Suddenly, there are raucous shouts, and an agitated crowd gathered in front of the jewelry store in the Hilton’s row of shops. Wait! That’s Irv! And he’s handing out pieces of jewelry to random ecstatic strangers! I later discovered it was $80,000 worth of jewelry charged to our compa-ny credit card. Irv’s reign as our starting QB would be coming to an end. Forthwith. That weekend, I called Irv’s wife Jackie and we had a lengthy conversation. Yes, she had noticed some (some?) erratic behavior, but Irv explained it was just the fall-out from losing the lottery and he would be ne. But she was more worried about his drinking and so many nights out by himself. I told Jackie I thought it was some-thing more serious, but I would keep an eye on him next week and we would follow up with each other in a couple of days. We had a policy at work that every check had to be signed by two partners. Seated at my desk in the ofce, mid-morning on a Monday, Irv’s secretary, Sterna, hand-ed me three checks, “Irv wants you to sign these.” I put the checks aside and Ster-na left, as I was busy with something else. Ten minutes later I glanced back at the checks and my heart started racing. The rst check was made out to Frank Sinatra in the amount of $60 thousand. The second check, made out to Muhammad Ali, was for $40 thousand. And the third check, in the name of Salvador Dali, read “54 thousand and forty dollars and 63 cents.” I quietly gathered the checks, stood up and clattered down the yellow metal spiral staircase to Irv’s elaborately paneled Victorian ofce.

I had no idea that Frank Sinatra, Muhammad Ali and Salvador Dali were on our vendor list.A wide-eyed Sterna nodded “yes” when I asked if Irv was there, and I slowly opened the ofce door and started to walk in. I say “started” because there was an intri-cate, wild, randomly strung labyrinth of kite string from oor-to-ceiling, back to front and wall-to-wall left to right prevent-ing me from entering the ofce threshold. An exotic, psychotic, brilliant and fascinat-ing sculpture. It was startling and beautiful. Irv was seated behind his immense antique wooden desk. The lighting was perfect with Irv illuminated only by a dimmedTiffany Dragony chandelier. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.Maybe this was just another of Irv’s brilliant ideas.He was staring blankly at a cut crystal tumbler in the middle of his cleared desk, holding a bottle of milk in one hand and a bottle of Glenddich scotch in the other. He was precisely pouring alternating scant drops of each liquid over the ice cubes in the glass. And Irv was completely unaware of my presence. “Irv,” I was careful not to startle him, “what are you doing?” He looked up slowly from his task with an eerie smile on his face and replied, “Vic, I’m inventing a new drink.” And I slowly closed the door and walked back upstairs.My brother Carl was a practicing psychiatrist in Manhattan. So, of course, he was the rst one I called. I got right to the point, “Carl, I think Irv is having a psychotic breakdown,” and explained what was going on. My brother thought I had come up with a pretty accurate diagnosis and advised I “call the men in the white coats at The Institute in West Philadelphia.” I promised to let Carl know how things turned out. They were there within 20 minutes, one man in a white lab coat and two

humongous policemen in blue. After a brief description of the situation, I pointed the doctor to Irv’s ofce door. He warily approached, slowly cracked the door open and looked in for no more than 5 seconds. Quietly easing the door shut, the doctor announced in a loud sing-song voice, “He’s got it!”Before making the extraction, I handed one of the policemen a scissors to wres-tle with the kite string and when Irv saw the size of his adversaries, he was sane enough to let go of any thoughts of resistance that might have lurked in his addled mind. The sight of 5’6” Irv Sagorsky being walked down the steps between two strapping men in blue a foot taller, through his signature oor-to-ceiling wooden doors, and hustled out onto Walnut Street and into the waiting wagon was something I will never forget. Nor would the crowd of gawkers on our Walnut Street sidewalk. Irv attended the commitment hearing the next day with more than a dozen others there for mental competency evaluations. I could see Irv was total-ly comfortable, happily in his element and already bonded with his fellow cuckoo nest odd birds. Which was ironic because we had invested in the original Off-Broadway production of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Lee Sankowich, the di-rector, was the boyfriend of beautiful Nancy “Lu-cious” Levin, Irv’s rst cousin and sister of Irv’s secretary, Sterna Jay. Btw, though it was the longest running Off Broadway play in history at the time, we never made a dime. But I did rave about the performances of William Devane as McMurphy and Danny DeVito as a scene-stealing inmate. MichaelDouglas made all the hay when he produced the lm. Lee Sankowich had been of-fered the lm rights by Kirk Douglas but couldn’t afford the $100,000 asking price. Another example of more money I never made.The bizarre circumstances of Irv”s psychotic break reminded me of an investment we made in the play “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”The day after the hearing I called Arthur Makadon to let him know what was going on. Before I could ask, Art brought up the reason for his falling out with Irv on their trip to Europe. Irv had begun randomly befriending strange and disturbed homeless people and inviting them to join him and Art for meals, and visits to attractions and museums. Irv had even brought his new friends along on dates. Makadon told Irv there was no way they could continue to travel together, and it was necessary to go their separate ways halfway through the trip. Irv’s bipolar condition and illness was obviously percolating long before the loss of the lottery account.

I mentioned to Art that this bizarre comfort and attraction Irv felt for the mentally ill was also on vivid display at the commitment hearing. Irv’s wife Jackie was at my side, and she strongly supported my testimony regard-ing Irv’s severely compromised mental state. He was a clear and present danger to himself and others. However, Irv’s parents, Rose and Mort, accused me of trying to steal the agency out from under their son. I parried their accusation by offering to leave the business, turn my shares over to Irv and asked for no compensation. Though I was optimistic about the possibilities of recovering from the loss of the lottery, at that point in time, we were essentially bankrupt. The psychiatrists diag-nosed Irv suffered from acute Manic-Depressive illness and he was committed for 2 weeks, the longest involuntary term permissible. The next time I heard from Irv was 20 years later. He was homeless and living on a beach in California. He had followed his wife Jackie out West when she decided to move their daughters Pilar and Anastasia to Hollywood for a shot at stardom. The skeptics were incredulous when “Staci Keanan” (Anastasia Sagorsky) won the part of Nicole Bradford in the “My Two Dads” sitcom along-side Paul Reiser and Greg Evigan. Almost on the day I turned 50, I received a 6-page letter from Irv. It was hand-printed on both sides of each page and packed to the margins. My hands were literally shak-ing when I opened the letter and read about the success of Irv’s daughter and his own dire circumstances. He began reminiscing about our childhood friendship and the adventures we shared. But I became so emotional after two pages I just couldn’t continue and tucked the letter behind some books in my home ofce bookcase. A week later, when I intended to nish reading the letter, it had inexplicably vanished. I tore the bookcase apart and looked frantically in every possible place. Despite numerous subsequent searches, the letter had vanished into thin air and was gone forever. And even more tragically, 10 years later so was Irv. Dead of cancer. Alone, homeless and forgotten. Never respond-ing to Irv’s letter haunts me to this day. The weekend which followed the commitment hearing was ttingly insane. Don and Sally Benjamin had invited Karen and me to view a lm – “The Seven Steps” by Alfred Hitchcock – outdoors at the home of Jerry Brodsky, Don’s brother-in-law. But before it got dark, there was a co-ed touch football game to be played. Jackie Sagorsky’s dreams for herlittle girl had all come true.

This Sunday afternoon, Sally was the QB, and I was the passrusher. She rolled to her left, she rolled to her right, but she couldn’t shake her dogged defender. Suddenly, Sally spots an open receiver, executes a huge windmill windup and hits me square in the nuts with a rock-hard pee wee football. I was suddenly sprawled on my back, writhing in excruciating pain, and had to leave the game. Later in the sultry summer evening, Karen and I were seated on the lawn enjoying the lm when both of my hands, on their own volition, started to close into two grotesque lobster-like claws. I nudged Karen and whispered that we had to leave; something was very wrong, and she would have to drive. We went directly to my father’s house who calmly prescribed I sleep over, take a warm bath and we would assess the situation in the morning. By 7 AM the next morning, I was in-continent, pretty much paralyzed from the waist down and couldn’t walk. My father immediately called a colleague of his, the Chief of Neurology at Penn, and I was rushed by ambulance to the University of Pennsylvania hospital. The following week I was subjected to every test in the book, from numerous x-rays, multiple spinal taps (their pain is greatly exaggerated), and a pneu-If you’ve never been the subject of conjecture in a medicalamphitheater, I suggest you avoid the experience.moencephalogram. I was the object of cold curiosity, discussed as if I were incapa-ble of hearing (that would have been accurate years later) during a series of physi-cian amphitheater sessions where I took center stage. No one could gure out what the hell was wrong with me. Was it Guillain-Barre? Was it a tumor? A fracture? But I really got worried when I returned unexpectedly from another interminable X-ray session to nd my father seated in my room by himself, in tears. He attempted to hide his emotions and I was content to let him think he had done so. But it shook me to the core. This was a man who rarely displayed anything but good humor and I certainly had never seen him cry. I was convinced I was going to die. But then my father put on his Sherlock Holmes Deerstalker hat and asked to look at my x-rays. He noted that a white spot doctors suspected of being a tumor in one x-ray had disappeared altogether in another x-ray shot at a different angle. It couldn’t be a tumor and my father deduced it might be a “pop” in a blood vessel, the result of a sudden increase in blood pressure caused by my touch football injury. “Elementary, my dear Watson!”

My symptoms began easing. Over the next week my hands unclenched and re-turned to normal function. The paralysis and incontinence dissipated and eventually disappeared completely. Though I was left with a residual band of numbness encir-cling my lower torso for the rest of my life, I was back to good health. And I was able to go on, damaged but determined. In my life as I would be in my work. QB tryouts.With our signal caller out of the game be-cause of head trauma, probably permanently, we were on the lookout for a replacement or other reasonable facsimile. We used an inqui-ry from a Manhattan merger specialist to take the offensive and offset some of the damaging fallout from “the Irv debacle.” We ran a full-page ad in Philadelphia Magazine headlined, “New York tried to buy us, but we wouldn’t sell.” The ad touted our love for Philadelphia and our determination to bring NYC savvy, creativity and results to regional advertisers. This lemons into lemonade effort did quite a bit to create some positive momentum for the newly renamed “SonderLevitt” agency. In addition to bringing in several new accounts, the substantial buzz created among our peersbegan to mufe the negative shockwaves set off by the bombshell of the Lottery/Sagorsky double-hit losses.It also triggered a phone call from Alan Kalish, head of Kalish & Rice Advertis-ing, an old friend and highly respected industry leader. Alan wanted to meet with Gary and myself to talk about the idea of combining our businesses. For me, a merger with Kalish & Rice seemed the perfect anecdote for the dire scal condi-tions revealed by our accountant’s forensic-level investigation. In addition to the Hilton jewelry asco, Irv had charged another $80,000 to the company’s American Express card! He and Jackie had taken a trip to Europe with millionaire developer Martin Fields and his wife. And Irv’s manic insistence on picking up outrageous tabs in the continent’s most exclusive Michelin-starred bars and restaurants was readily accepted. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Irv’s disease had compromised his money management skills for much longer than the past couple of months. We turned an inquiry from a NYC mergerspecialist into a powerful ad conrmingour agency’s viability. New York tried to buy us.But we wouldn’t sell.

about, let’s touch base in a couple of days.” In fact, I called him the next day to express my apologies and anger at Gary’s attitude. KalishRice & SonderLevitt? SonderLevitt & KalishRice? Whatever, it was out of the question. And I let Gary know how I felt about his performance. He had no answer really, just that familiar mischievous smile which was sometimes endearing and some-times revolting. This smile was the latter and it dawned on me that Gary had no intention of considering an offer from Alan, or from anyone else. He was more than bright and perceptive enough to understand that his work ethic, his performance and his character would never withstand the scrutiny of any outsider’s evaluation. This would prove prophetic after we accepted the investment I mentioned earlier, from Philadelphia Outdoor owner, Les Kaplan. Gary ran rough-shod over the ad-vice of both Les and his accountant, Earl Morgenstern, keeping them on the defen-sive. Attack before you’re attacked. And make no mistake about it, Gary was intimidating. He knew just when to turn on the temper, raise his voice, and employ the ridicule. In the end, Les and Earl simply had enough. They had no need to ght a battle that couldn’t be won. And they walked away, ending another chance for us to really turn things around.I was totally embarrassed and incensed by the way Gary treated Alan Kalish.Alan met with us in our ofces, which led me to think he was exploring this idea for the rst time, before talking with his partner, Howard Rice. Gary had a wicked gleam in his eye, and I could tell, in his mind this was no exploratory meeting, this was a one-sided chess match. Gary’s negotiating skills and intellect versus Alan’s. He parried Alan constantly, challenging and diminishing Kalish & Rice’s standing and accomplishments. No, I wasn’t embarrassed. I was mortied. When Alan made it sound as if they would be acquiring us – the only possible scenario given our balance sheet – Gary’s response made me think I was watching Moe Green in The Godfather, “You don’t buy us! We buy you!” I ended the meeting as quickly as possible with the usual, “Alan, we’ve both got a lot to think Somehow, even without a “business guy” onboard, we had managed to keep ourselves aoat by maintaining the high level of our creativity and delivering bot-tom-line results for our existing accounts. That, in turn, generated new business, including becoming the last agency of record for the iconic Horn and Hardart

restaurant chain. Their last marketing gasp became the introduction of liquor. Yes, liquor at H & H! And as politically incorrect and embarrassing as it may be, I must admit we used a Black male model and headlined the ad “Horn and Hardart takes the fth.” Thankfully, that’s been completely forgotten.I would be very neglectful and unappreciative not lauding the tenacity, loyalty, and consummate skills of Terry Greene and Anna Ludlum managing our nances during this tumultuous time. Maybe more than anyone in the agency, they were responsible for our ability to continue doing business. I had no expec-tations Gary would step up and assume Irv’s agency money management and billing duties. He had neither the interest, the skills nor the work ethic to apply him-self and handle such responsibility. And Terry and Anna stepped into this vacuum, this vortex of uncertainty and chaos and selessly took on the heavy responsibilities of wrestling with the scal onslaught of irate creditors and empty coffers. Both Our penchent for the politically incorrect may have reached its height with this H&H last gasp attempt at survival.remarkable women were there for us from the very beginning, through the best and worst of times. And I am still grateful for the good fortune of knowing you both. Your warm smiles, positive energy and unerring dedication fueled our run for decades.But after we landed the regional Wendy’s accounts, Gary did step up. He formed an alliance with our new Media Director, Ronnie Brenner, and the two of them personally took on the demanding, day-to-day account contact responsibilities. Gary had nally ipped the switch. For the rst time in years, his lights were turned on. In the end, over nearly a decade, Gary and Ronnie expanded the number of regional Wendy’s franchises to 8, including Wendy’s na-tional headquarters region in Florida. Some credit must be given to our creative product, but there is no disputing Gary and Ronnie’s efforts primarily led to the account’s spectacular revenue growth.Dave Thomas’ humility and warmth were real. And the account kept us aoat for years.We opened a southern ofce in Winter Park, Florida and rented a condominium so that Gary and Ronnie could keep a close watch on the business. The account be-came one of SonderLevitt’s most lucrative, generating at least 25% of our income.

We became so admired by the national Wendy’s management team, we received permission to use Dave Thomas, Wendy’s founder, as an on-camera talent in a Delaware Valley TV spot we wrote and produced. This was prior to Dave becoming Wendy’s network TV spokesperson. It was an honor and a pleasure for me to direct this sweet, humble man in his on-camera acting debut. And I believe SonderLevitt inspired the national agency to use Dave Thomas as the centerpiece of Wendy’s ad campaign for years after that. The interview with David Kramer to ll Irv’s business and management role was a huge, missed opportunity I’m certain would have changed the agency’s fate. And I would probably be playing golf with David and Davis Love today on an island off Georgia if things had gone differently. David would become a principal and driving If we had succeeded in hiring David Kramer I like to think I’d be retired, living and playing golf on Sea Island, Georgia.force with Schulman Berry Kramer, one of Philadel-phia’s premier lm production companies. And he went on to found Medical Broadcasting Company, a health-care/pharmaceutical marketing specialist which was merged into Digitas Health and evolved into a leading national player under David’s leadership. Then the whole shebang was eventually acquired by Publicis, the Paris-based global conglomerate. Gary was nally ex-cited and in agreement with me that David was the one to become our new CEO. But when offered the position, David turned me down at, and no amount of money would change his mind. “Victor, you know I love you and think the world of you, but I could never work with Gary Levitt.” Leonard Bach’s prophetic warning immediately popped into my mind. We later hired Joe Barone for the key job. Ironically, Joe was from the current lot-tery agency, then known as Lewis Gillman Kynett. Gary either ignored or subtly undermined almost every one of Joe’s initiatives, from 3-day management retreats to new business protocols to ring Harry Wilkins, our rst art director, though I dug in my heels on that one. Joe too had to go.Over the years, there were a succession of outside businesses occupying more of Gary’s time and attention than the agency and too many instances of unconsciona-ble Florida “business expenses,” critically eroded my trust in him. But the Wendy’s business was growing at such a fast pace and generating so much income my win-dow for raising any objections or changing Gary’s behavior had closed.

Soon Gary and Ronnie were spending most of their days in the company’s Florida condo and the alliance between them had grown into an unholy one in my mind, destroying any remnants of the “partnership” left between Gary and me. In the end, this would prove disastrous, but until that time there was the matter of the agency’s survival to attend to. TTo be loved like I needed to be.o be loved like I needed to be.And one day Bonnie Miller walked into my ofce and asked for a job as my assis-tant. It was a day that would profoundly change both of our lives. I had chosen Bon-nie as the face (and legs) of a new campaign for “Great Gams,” a line of mail-order Bonnie had the legs and the attitude for the job.business makes me uniquely qualied to handle all the details you’re too busy to han-dle. And I take shorthand and type a hundred words a minute. Whatever else I don’t know I can learn.” You couldn’t help smiling when Bonnie did.pantyhose. Bonnie would be featured on the packaging as well an in the proposed adver-tising. The photo shoot was supposedly “so provocative,” I was banned from attending in person. Only the photographer, Weaver Lilley was permitted in the studio. Who decided Weav-er was harmless? I had cast Bonnie in several of our print ads, and she unfailingly did a great job. The Great Gams photograph was no exception. The rst thing that struck me about Bonnie was her 300-watt smile. If you weren’t mesmerized by her striking, blonde beauty and super-model height, Bonnie’s smile was the unfair advantage. And so it was on this morning. I started the conversation as Bonnie walked into my ofce. “Have you seen Weaver’s shots from the Great Gams shoot? Do you like them?” Not unexpectedly, Bonnie’s smile lit up the room, “I have and I do. What did you think of them?” When I showed her a mock-up of the nished package design, Bonnie knew the answer. And her smile brightened even more (as if that were possible). “As much as I love my photo and the Great Gams package, I’m really here to talk about something I’ve been thinking about for months … I’m ready for a real job other than modeling. And from what I’ve seen, you’re in need of an assistant and I’m applying for the job. My background in the

I had never had an assistant or a secretary. The pressure and job responsibilities had at least doubled since Irv’s breakdown and I was wilting under the relentless grind. Bonnie was right. I was badly in need of help and her timing couldn’t have been better. “Give me a couple of days to think about this and I’ll get back to you. But I’d hate to ruin a beautiful friendship. Are you ready to take this job seriouslyand put in the time and effort it’s going to take?” Bonnie’s smile said it all, “I am.” I called her back and hired her that afternoon. It was the right move at the right time. Bonnie hit the ground running and took on everything from arranging recording and casting sessions to booking appointments, coordinating my schedule, handling correspondence, interacting with clients, and generally stepping up whenever something needed doing. I found myself able to concentrate on the ever-increasing creative workload of writing, supervising the art department, producing broadcast projects, making personnel decisions and handling the myriad details of running a full-service ad agency. I even delved into overseeing the agency’s nances, though, truth be told, Terry Greene and Anna Ludlum were the invaluable saviors in that department and handled the brunt of the responsibilities. Over the next year, though the res of attraction were lit and smoldering, we were both dealing with the excruciating ending of failed marriages and drew a line that neither of us crossed. I for one couldn’t accept the inevitable inter-ofce gossip and damaging fallout a relationship with Bonnie would have caused. Besides, I was just not ready to jump into another serious relationship. Instead, that rst year became an opportunity to build a comfortable and productive way of working together, learn our back stories and discover what made each of us tick. I found out Bonnie had survived and overcome tremendous challenges growing up. She had been raised by her grandparents when her mother Sue left Bonnie’s father and moved back to her parents’ house in Philadelphia when Bonnie was just 9 months of age. She would not see her father again until meeting him as a teenag-er for one disconcerting last encounter. Just four years later, Bonnie’s mother Sue married Al Alva, a man of Mexican descent, much to the horror of her parents. This would lead to a separation from her mother when Bonnie’s grandparents refused to let her move in with Sue and her new husband. And the rst whiff of racism crept into Bonnie’s awareness.At this point, after moving with her grandparents to a farm in Mullica Hill, NJ, further distancing her mother, Bonnie’s relationship with her grandparents became fraught with distress. This was a result of the way their dogs, cats and farm animals were treated, in “the country way,” without regard for their suffering or any

awareness of animal rights. Grandmom’s savage habit of breaking a chicken’s neck with the ick of her wrist in front of Bonnie haunts her to this day. Now, without a mother or a father, Bonnie bonded with the only other child in the house, her Aunt Mickey who was only 4 years older. But as the youngest child, all the “drudgery tasks” became Bonnie’s responsibility from a very early age with piles of dirty dishes and laundry awaiting her daily return from school. The duckling had yet to grow into a swan.As you might imagine, it took time for Bonnie to grow into her physical self and those pre-teen and early teen-age years found her desperately unhappy. The tallest girl in class, the future swan was awkward and gawky and the teasing was vicious and relentless. Bonnie got into more than one st ght on the way home from school. And not only with the girls. She won most of them (lucky for them, Bonnie had yet to immerse her-self in learning kickboxing). This fearless defense of herself and other perceived “underdogs” became an innate part of Bonnie’s character. Mickey, Bonnie’s young aunt, had written a let-ter to a boy named Speedo, inviting him to visit her, after seeing him on the Grady & Hurst TV show. Yes, his real name was Earl. And one day, Speedo showed up in a con-vertible without notice but with three friends from the show, one of whom was Mose Miller. Bonnie was 14 years old and had met her rst crush. By the time Bonnie was 15, she and Mose had decided to run away to Warrington, Virginia and get married. But they kept their union a secret and lived separately, hardly see-ing each other for the next six months. Then, when Bonnie was 16, the truth slipped out and Mose Miller’s parents very reluctantly agreed to Bonnie moving in. One month later Bonnie was pregnant. Bonnie’s rst boyfriend was a “TV star.”

After Bonnie’s daughter Melody was born, what semblance of a marriage there had been, inevitably began falling apart. With everyone gathered around the TV set one night, Mose’s mother asked Bonnie to make her a cup of tea. When Bonnie headed toward the bathroom rst, her very cultured father-in-law -- the wallpaper hanger whose business card said “Interior Designer” -- decided she wasn’t fetching his wife’s cup of tea fast enough and announced, “You walk like a nigger on South Street with ies hangin’ off you.” Bonnie’s shouted response, “You bastard!” took the bastard by surprise and he started blinking furiously. Mother-in-law, Wanda Pearl wasn’t immune from these enlightened sensibilities. During a discussion in front of Bonnie, Wanda and her mother decided their new daughter-in-law must have “colored blood” because she had such full lips and Bonnie’s kinfolk were from Tennessee. After two miserable years, Bonnie moved back in with her grandparents and imme-diately began supporting herself and Melody, improbably nding a job at Bache & Co. brokerage and then Reynolds & Co. The duckling had evolved into a swan. She soon reunited with her mother in Philadelphia, moving in for a time, before beginning a very successful modeling career and living independently with Melody as a single mother in her own apartment. Bonnie was barely 20 years of age. But Bonnie was 32 now and after one year work-ing together, drinks at Bogart’s in The Latham Hotel ended with a passionate kiss and the long-repressed admission that we had fallen in love with one another. It was only a matter of weeks before I asked Bonnie to come and live with me on Baird Road.Things were great right away. Until they weren’t. And the bad times coin-cided with the times Bonnie would drink alcohol when we were out in public together. Because, to my complete surprise, Bonnie had a major prob-lem with alcohol and would drink way too much way too often. Her feelings of worthlessness and all of her childhood insecurities came roaring to the surface after a couple of glasses of wine. This breathtakingly beautiful woman would melt down into ts of unbridled jealousy when she “caughtAs beautiful as Bonnie was,she seemed to be unaware of it.me coming on” to any attractive woman who happened to be seated anywhere near us. Glasses of Pinot Grigio were hurled in my direction and even at a abbergasted woman on more than one occasion.

As you might suspect, this tended to put a bit of a damper on our relationship. And when Bonnie continued drinking despite many heartfelt talks and promises to stay away from alcohol, I saw only one way out. Though I had fallen deeply in love with Bonnie and was shattered, after little more than four months of living together, we agreed to go our separate ways. Bonnie would move to California.But Bonnie’s daughter Melody, who was in her second year of college at Penn State, chose this very inopportune moment to decide to drop out of school and needed a place to live. I must have sensed my relationship with her mother wasn’t over, be-cause I agreed that Melody could live with me for a while, at least until she was able to get back on her feet. I kept in touch with Bonnie almost from the day she left, worried about her and in awe of thecourageous decision to drive alone in her little Toyota MR2 sports car all the way to the west coast to start a new life. Bonnie had guts and determination. She was a survivor. As the months went by, Melody’s presence was a joy and a con-stant reminder of how much I missed Bonnie. Finally, after writing and asking her not to fall in love with anyone else, I decided we could attempt to make our relationship work again, but only if Bonnie would make a real effort to give up alco-hol. I jumped on a plane, ew out to L.A., and surprised Bonnie. We decided that what we had together was worth making whatever sacrices and changes were necessary. Before beginning a very successful career with Intel, Melody was the receptionist atSonder Levitt and the beautiful hostess atCorned Beef Academy.Bonnie was ready and agreed to join Alcoholics Anonymous. She started the pro-gram less than a week after returning to Philadelphia and miraculously, didn’t have another drink for more than 30 years. And when Bonnie did decide to have an occasional glass of wine decades later, the demons were gone, and alcohol was no longer a problem. Of course, Bonnie deserves major accolades, but her recovery would not have been possible without the life-saving work of the people and the remarkable program known as A.A.Now Bonnie was ready to become my life partner. She taught me how much I had been missing by not making animals a part of my life. She raised my consciousness

about the importance of politics and ghting for the causes, candidates, and legis-lation you believed in. She opened my mind to the struggles of those born into less fortunate circumstances than I had enjoyed. She raised my awareness of treating all races, religions, and cultures with the same respect I give my own. Bonnie’s Brownies was a pioneering brand in upscale desserts and Bloomingdale’s jumped on board.Not the least of what attracted me to Bonnie were her brownies. Dense with rich chocolate and laced with plentiful chunks of crunchy walnuts, Bonnie even added chocolate mint and butterscotch nut “blondies” to her irresistible avor temptations on occasion. I felt they were so special we should try selling branded “Bonnie’s Brownie’s” at retail outlets. Bonnie started baking them in our own kitchen onBaird Road and traipsing all over town painstakingly assembling a small number of restaurants and stores who agreed with my review. Stephen Starr was one of the very rst believers and customers. Soon, the task of baking them herself became completely overwhelming and Bonnie was resourceful enough to connect with Country Club Diner in N.E. Philadelphia who had the skills, capacity, and quality controls to turn Bonnie’s recipes into a deli-cious, affordable, and commercially viable product. Fortunately, at the same time, we forged a connection with Lenny Herrin of Regent Paper Box Company who was so enthusiastic about our product he agreed to be-come a partner as well as Bonnie’s packaging supplier. Lenny’s advice and nancial backing enabled us to make great strides very quickly. To say nothing of the superb packaging he delivered.

I had always been a great ad-mirer of the work of George Stavrinos, a fashion illus-trator located in Manhattan. Stavrinos was the darling of the most renowned designers and retailers from around the world throughout the 1980s. Google his name and you’ll understand why. I knew the minimum fee for a Stavrinos illustration was $5,000, but I called him anyway and explained that price was well beyond the resources of our startup enterprise and attered the hell out of him while begging him to take on the task of executing a portrait of Bonnie for our packaging. I asked him to please remain unde-cided until I sent him a photo of Bonnie in a pose I visualized for reference. I was totally enamored of George Stravrvinos’ enormous talent.The only compromise … he would execute the drawing in black and white instead of color and he wouldn’t sign the drawing. I knew our young and brilliant art di-rector, Janet Espenshade, could “colorize” his illustration, so problem solved. And the quality packaging Lenny Herrin delivered proved to be as memorable as the brownies themselves.Between the spontaneous press coverage and great word-of-mouth, sales really started to take off. I can only imagine what social media exposure would have done for sales. And I’m convinced a Bonnie’s Brownies revival would be a great success today. Interested bakery partners, get in touch! I guess my pleading and attery struck a chord. Or, more likely, it was Bonnie’s beauty. Because not only did Stavrinos agree to take on the job, but he would also do it for $500! The Stravrinos drawing captured Bonnie’s essence.

But back then, in addition to retail outlets expanding well beyond Greater Philadelphia into the Midwest and as far West as Los Angeles and San Francisco, when Bloomindale’s bought in, we were convinced Bonnie’s Brownies was about to become the next big thing. After Bonnie’s personal appearance and demo in the Manhattan store proved to be a resounding success – and Tom Selleck, who just happened to be in store, wanted to take home more than Bonnie’s Brownies -- Bloomindale’s decided to slot Bonnie’s Brownie’s into all their locations. Yes, we were the next big thing! Or were we? Tom Selleck was sweet on more than Bonnie’s BrowniesAfter 6 months of orders and reorders from Bloomingdale’s, we had only received payment on their initial order. When we nally got through to their accounting de-partment, we were told they had a 90-day payment policy. This was a huge problem. Our baker, Country Club Diner, insisted on 30 days as did all other suppliers. Carry-ing Bloomingdale’s receivables for 90 days put a huge strain on our cash ow. Not to mention the strain on Bonnie and me and our part-time business. We tried to make it work for another 3 months before concluding the business just wasn’t viable. Without owning our own bakery, the margins simply weren’t great enough to sustain a business whose major client insisted on a 90-day payment policy. What’s more, I had an advertising agency to run and absolutely no interest in running a bakery. Bonnie’s Brownies … right concept, wrong business model. But sweet while it lasted.The end of Bonnie’s Brownies marked the begin-ning of HOT Productions when my buddingentrepreneur suggested the idea of starting a com-pany dedicated to producing the agency’s TV commercials and corporate lms. Instead of paying outside suppliers for these services, they would become a prot center rather than an ex-pense. And Bonnie turned herself into a great producer, making all the necessary contacts, acquiring all the requisite skills and successfully managing many complex projects, some costing hundreds of thousands of dollars each. This gave rise to my career as a director after Ellen Shire suggested I become a rst-time director. Garrett Brown was no lon-ger accepting directing projects because he had gone all-in operating his ground-breaking Steadicam on feature lms. Ellen convinced me I had enough talent and Bonnie’s concept led to a successfullong-term business and launchedmy directing career.

experience to direct the project I had called Garrett about handling. “Direct it your-self. You can do it.” Ellen, my gratitude is only exceeded by my love for you. Bonnie’s amazing green thumb created a year-round pleasure garden. Of all Bonnie’s unexpected skills, “gardener” was the most surprising. With no real previous interest, knowledge or experience, Bonnie dedicated herself to turning our 2-acre Baird Road property into a lush wonderland. And she did so pretty much all by herself, including most of the heavy lifting. The garden’s centerpiece was a large koi pond, created after a client of mine, developer Arnie Galman, called one day and asked if I wanted a large, arched, wooden Japanese bridge, worth many thousands ofdollars, for free. It was mine if I could have it removed from an ofce complex in Jenkintown he was renovating. Minutes later I was on the phone hiring a crane to move the bridge to our home. We placed the bridge behind our back patio, but it looked pretty silly spanning nothing but grass.Building the large koi pond awakened something in Bonnie and set her on a de-cades-long creative mission to design and nurture a collection of owering plants and shrubs that grew more enthralling with every passing year. Like Bonnie, and unlike most controlled and “precious” gardens, the design was wild and free, done in broad strokes and vivid colors betting the large canvas. She began by following the principals of Feng Shui, an ancient Chinese system aimed at harmonizing individu-als with their surrounding environment. There was a “marriage corner” … a “wealth area” … each section of the property had a designated purpose and color palette. All I knew was every season brought new surprises into our lives. And Bonnie’s garden made all our days a celebration of beauty and wonder.

Bonnie’s garden was a living testament to her artistry, creativity, and enormous effort.

Life with Bonnie was even more than I hoped it would be. Her demons were forever a thing of the past and we were truly happy together, supportive of and learning from each other, bringing the best of ourselves to the forefront. But why weren’t we married? Well, that was on me. The thought of becoming a three-time loser in marriage haunted me. And I avoided dealing with it for years. Until nearly 10 years had passed, and it nally dawned on me that I was being a self-involved narcis-sist. To put it bluntly, a selsh prick. Neither of us were interested in a big wedding, we had both been there and done that, twice. Once we decided to get married, or rather I did, we arranged with Judge Lynne Abraham to perform the ceremony one weekday afternoon in her courtroom. Wearrived just early enough to watch the Judge sentence a convicted murderer to life in prison. Thankfully, my term with Bonnie has been much less penile. We’ve been in-ordinately happy together since April 5, 1983, and counting the decade I spent being insensitive, it will soon be 50 years together. The word was out.We’ve got two remarkable daughters and two grandchildren. Lucien Sonder works for the National Park Service in San Francisco supervising all outreach and volun-teer programs and Melody Bowers is retired after a distinguished career with In-tel, living near Phoenixville with our son-in-law Ben. Our grandson Ben Franklin Bowers is 25 years old and working as an arborist in the area (heroically, he recently saved a co-workers life) and granddaughter Cleo Valentine Morris is excelling in her 9th grade studies and preparing to make her inevitable mark in the world. We’ve become much closer with my sister Hester and brother Carl recently and Bonnie’s brothers and their wives – Danny and Eileen Alva and Jeff and Phyllis Alva – are also a big part of our lives. Our daughters Lulu and Melody, son-in-law Ben and grandkids Cleo and Ben. The travails pale in comparison to our blessings.

Our 1983 wedding announcement pretty much summed up the way everyone was feeling. Looking back, I don’t know why I was so reluctant to get married. All indi-cations point to it working out.A year after Bonnie and I married in 1983, we had a wedding to throw for our beau-tiful daughter Melody. She had met and fallen in love with tall, dark, and handsome Doug Gillen, a sales rep at KYW-TV, very outgoing, warm, and likeable. The wed-ding, held at our home, was truly special. It began with the sparkling sunshine and the June temperature, so perfect you were unaware of it. Twelve-foot high “June poles” streaming lavender and peach ribbons (courtesy of Teve Lundy) lined our long driveway. A huge white tent was pitched in the back of the house. The only distraction was the demeanor of Doug’s parents. They were cold and distant and their dour, unsmiling faces triggered thoughts of anti-Semitism. My paranoia? Whatever, Doug’s parents or their thoughts were not enough to put a damper on the joyous affair. But after Doug and Melody moved to Gainsville, FL to run a radio sta-tion his parents had nanced, there were plenty of dampers. Which all came to a head after Doug’s distraught and tearful phone call imploring me to convince Melody not to leave. Melody soon moved back home, later met and married Ben Bowers and is now living happily ever after. And I hope Doug found his happiness too.A camp reunion. 1979-1992Richard Elkman was the owner and CEO of Group Two, a very successful Phila-delphia ad agency specializing in real estate. Many of their accounts were home builders and real estate developers.Richard had grown up in the advertising business under the tutelage of his uncle, Stanley Elkman of Elkman Advertising, a large and successful regional company and major agency for McDonald’s franchisees . Uncle Stan had taught his nephew well and Richard was brilliant and procient at makingmoney running an advertising agency. When Richard mistakenly heard Irv Sagorsky had passed away and correctly heard that Sonder-Levitt was looking for his replacement, our Bob White Day Camp connection came to mind and he called me. We were still in desperate need of a busness-oriented partner and after a couple of very good meetings, we came to an agreement. Could two old day campers become successful agency partners?

Richard would remain sole owner and CEO of Group Two but would invest $100,000 in SonderLevitt, become President, and take over the nancial responsi-bilities of running the agency. In addition, we would move from Walnut Street into the building Richard owned at 2002 Ludlow. Since we were out of space at 1712 Walnut, the timing couldn’t have been better. Richard’s business acumen and his building were just what the doctor ordered.We hired good friend and talented interior designer, Mark Randall to convert the large but dank, dark, unnished Ludlow building basement into SonderLevitt’s stylish and efcient ofce space. Mark Randall’s interior design talents were more than up to the job.Things were very promising to begin with. Our new business acquisitions forged ahead unabated. We landed the Philadelphia Phillies just in time to handle their 1980 World Series winning year and added the prestigious BOYDS Philadelphia men’s store. Gary’s Penn State buddy, Steve Korman, awarded us the Korman Corporation account, includ-ing Korman Suites, and we contributedThings are easy when your new client wins the World Series.to the company’s rise to national prominence. The TV station Channel 17 joined our client roster as well. But Seafood Shanty, a regional chain of fresh seafood restaurants, would deliver the biggest boost to our creative reputation. “One nibble and you’re hooked.” really caught the dining public’s attention.I had never been moved more by a movie scene than watching Marlon Brando and Rod Steiger play out the tragic relationship between boxer Terry Malloy and his brother Charley in On The Waterfront. It made a profound impression on me, con-rmed my opinion of Brando as the greatest screen actor of all time and initiated my quest to somehow immortalize the cab scene in the annals of advertising. It must have been the “Seafood/Waterfront” connection, but when working on TV concepts for Seafood Shanty, Brando’s scene in the back of the cab kept replaying itself.

I decided to research the exact dialogue from the world-famous scene. TERRY: … Remember that night in the Garden you came down to my dressing room and you said, “Kid, this ain’t your night. We’re going for the price on Wilson.” This ain’t your night! My night! I coulda taken Wilson apart! So, what happens? He gets the ti-tle shot outdoors in the ballpark and what do I get? A one-way ticket to Palookaville! You was my brother, Charley, you shoulda looked out for me a little bit. You shoulda taken care of me just a little bit so I wouldn’t have to take them dives for the short-end money. CHARLEY: Oh, I had some bets down for you. You saw some money. TERRY: You don’t understand! I coulda had class … I coulda been a contender … I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum which is what I am. CHARLEY: Okay! Okay! Here (handing Terry a gun) you take this, you’re gonna need it. Of course, “You don’t understand … I coulda had class … I coulda been a contender … I coulda been somebody instead of a bum which is what I am …” was the dialogue that immortalized the scene. So, when, “You don’t understand … I coulda had clams … it coulda been tender … I coulda had sea-food instead of meat and potatoes …” popped into my head, I knew I had made the key connection between the classic scene and the restaurant that would make the TV spot work. And the rest of the dialogue practically wrote itself. Though I would be remiss if I didn’t credit Fred Lavner, Copy Chief at Group Two who just happened to be walking by my ofce, with helping me ne-tune the copy. Thank you, Fredo!The concept for this rst spot evolved into the idea of an ongoing campaign of take-offs on renowned “seafaring” movies like The Caine Mutiny (Captain Queeg nervous-ly manipulating three small clam shells in his hand), Treasure Island, Mutiny On The Bounty and Moby Dick. This campaign would make waves for years to come if only we could pull off the rst one in the series.We chose SchulmanBerryKramer as the production company. Phil Schulman, who had a short but fun run as part of our agency creative department, would direct the spot and Ed Buffman would be the cameraman. Phil and I headed up to a New York casting session to nd the “Brando” and “Steiger” featured players that were key to any possibility of success. It’s a bit disconcerting to have peaked in 1980. But at least I had a peak.

A short aside here. Until my car was towed in Manhattan, I always enjoyed driving to New York City when I had business there. I was to meet Phil Schulman at the casting session and found myself stuck in trafc near my destina-tion. Looking around idly waiting for the snarl to untangle, I glanced over at the car next to me and was astounded to nd no driver behind the wheel. I guess my startled facial expres-sion caused the very short, Hassidic Jew scrunched down in the driver’s seat to sit up a little straighter and into sight. He motioned at me to roll down my window and then proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs, “VUTCHOOLOOKINETMUNKEYFACE!?!?” I was so convulsed in laughter I caused some major horn blowing when trafc immediately got underway and I didn’t. And that’s how “VUTCHOO” became my favorite response when someone looks at me as if I’m out of mind.Never monkey around in New York City trafc. “VUTCHOOLOOKINETMUNKEYFACE” The perfect comeback. After arriving at the Seafood Shanty casting session, we immediately set up the cab scene on a VCR in the waiting area so the actors could see exactly what we were asking them to parody. I also coached each actor on how I felt the part should be played before videotaping them in the session. After the last actor nished his audi-tion, Phil turned to me and said, “Victor, I’ll tell you, you’re far better than anyone we’ve seen. I think you should do it. I’m serious.” After a little bit more urging and some fake modesty, I not-so-reluctantly videotaped my performance and put it at the end of the casting tape.When we got back to Philadelphia, my client, Joe Gentile, took one look at all the actors’ performances and enthusiastically agreed I should play the Brando part. That’s when the real work began. Phil Schulman paid attention to every detail. Of course, like the Oscar-winning lm, we would shoot in black & white. We found a vintage cab and cut it in half to shoot the interior scenes and a whole cab for the nal scene. We even counted the number of slats in the venetian blind covering the back window of the original cab (7) and duplicated it. No less attention to detail was expended on turning me into Brando. My hairpiece was modeled after Marlon’s locks. A plaid jacket was custom made to match the one Marlon wore in the lm. We replicated the moving headlights washing over the

the interior scenes and found dramatic music stings mimicing the movie soundtrack. And I watched Brando’s award-winning performance endlessly, tweaking my deliv-ery until condent of paying proper homage to my hero and not embarrassing myself. We spared no expense or effort getting every little detail right.The shoot went off without a hitch and everyone, especially Joe Gentile, was elated with the result. We decided to debut the spot during a TV screening of On The Wa-terfront and, serendipitously, there was a commercial break immediately following the famous cab scene. The response was immediate and gratifying. The Daily News called me for an interview and did an article two days later. But then I got a call from Joe Gentile, who was on vacation with his wife in Mexico, ordering me to cancel the TV buy. CANCEL THE TV BUY! W-w-what! You can’t be serious!!!!!!It seems Joe’s wife had never seen nor heard of On The Waterfront or Marlon Brando. Huh?! She was totally confused by the commercial and Joe wanted it killed. Which killed me, of course. No amount of sense I tried to make made any sense to Joe’s wife or to Joe. So, my GOAT TV spot only ran once and would never run again. My “sea-faring” campaign was dead in the water too. I was devastated.But that didn’t stop me from entering the spot in every creative competition I could think of. In addition to a half dozen wins in other prestigious national contests and a Best of Show at the TRAC Awards in Philadelphia (one of three Best of Shows in a row), the commercial won a Clio in the Restaurant category. But I was most thrilled about picking up another Clio in the Best Actor category for nishing second to the performance of Mean Joe Green in the legendary Coke TV ad. Of course, I let Joe Gentile know about every one of the creative awards and he -nally got the message and relented. “I Coulda Had Clams” was back on the air after a 6-month hiatus and continued to run for more than 3 years. My only regret was not

getting an opportunity to launch our “Seafaring”campaign and produce the other spots in the series. But that’s another story, to follow shortly.Soon after all of this went down, I was visiting my friend Don Benjamin in L.A. who happened to live on Mulholland Drive, directly across the street from Marlon Brando. I couldn’t resist dropping off a cassette and a note in Mr. Brando’s mailbox. Never heard a word but at least no lawsuits followed.After I returned from California, a great new business opportunity came our way. We got the chance to participate in an agency competition for the Hires Root Beer nation-al account. Like the PA Lottery, the winner would be judged strictly based on submit-ting creative without being present. We were asked to develop a TV campaign con-cept and we built our creative around the theme, “How ‘bout a drink for old times’ sake?” We again decided to enlist Bill Soden and Hall & Oates to compose and perform an original music track and they delivered again. Their lyrics perfectly ex-panded on our theme line: “Yesterday can touch today, When memories come to mind, Bringing back the avor, Of those very special times, Hires Root Beer it still tastes great, How ‘bout a drink for old times’ sake?”Our concept took Hires’ DNA and turned it into a brand.We submitted a very rough demo TV spot consisting of stock historical footage cut to the memorable music track. In addition, we sent along an accompanying document explaining how the TV campaign would evolve and how condent we were the con-cept would have tremendous shelf life. After getting word we had made the nals and were up against only one other agency, our hopes soared, only to come crashing down when we weren’t selected. I’ve always marked Hires’ decision to pass on our concept as the beginning of their precipitous brand decline. When was the last time you heard of or thought about Hires Root Beer? It was one of our failed ideas that I’ve always regretted and I’m still convinced the concept would be just as dynamic today.

You’re probably curious about how our partnership with Richard Elkman was pro-gressing. I could say, “Same as it ever was.” Except that wasn’t quite the case. This time it was our new partner who wanted out. Richard quickly butted heads with Gary after he completely disregarded Richard’s new nancial procedure directives – the very reason Richard came onboard – and told our account services department to do the same. When Richard wanted to meet with Gary to discuss our Florida ofce expenses, Gary refused. Richard would later tell me, “As much as I admired and respected your creativity and work ethic, I quickly learned I just couldn’t work with Gary. He had no regard or respect for me or what I brought to the table. And I had no respect or time for Gary’s business, ethical and moral choices. I was always grateful for how you enabled the swift and smooth severing of our partnership after I realized it just couldn’t work.” Our relationship with Richard lasted less than 3 years. It was another lost opportunity to add the nancial/business manager we desperately needed. This seems to be the appropriate time to mention the outrageous advertising agen-cy business practice that was so awed and unfair back in the day. When an agency placed client TV, radio, print and outdoor media buys they were entitled to a 15% me-dia commission based on the amount of the buy. However, agencies were held 100% accountable for payments whether the client reimbursed the agency or not. This meant ad agencies earned $15,000 on a $100,000 client media expenditure but were liable for the entire $100,000 should the client refuse to pay the agency. How this became the go-to business practice in the advertising industry is a mystery to me, but it proved to be an impossible hurtle for our agency to overcome. Though we would spend the next decade struggling to do so.We moved to a museum.“2525 Parkway” was the address for 1/3 of the old Reliance Insurance Company build-ing on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia. That entire building is now known as the Philadelphia Museum of Art Pearlman Building. Back in the early 1980s, a part of the building had been empty for over a decade when we discovered it was for rent. Not only was the space somewhat affordable, but its potential was spectacular and the lease included a generous renova-tion allowance. We couldn’t have found more inspiring ofces.

After the sleekly designed but virtually windowless basement space in the Group Two Ludlow Street building, we fell in love at rst sight and signed the 2525 Parkway lease immediately after seeing the space. Not only did the lease include two spacious oors but also a row of exterior parking spaces. The rst oor consisted of a large open oor plan and a 30’ long enclosed conference room paneled in magnicent carved oak. It reminded me of Irv Sagorsky’s impressive Walnut Street ofce, but more than twice the size. Sunlight streamed into both spaces from multiple huge windows. But the second oor was really the star of the show. It was the former Reliance Insurance Co. auditorium with auditorium-size dimensions including a 30-foot-high ceiling and oor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Park-way lining both sides of the room. The curtained stage at one end would be our con-ference room. This was also the site of my spontaneous, belting renditions of Cher’s smash hit, “If I Could Turn Back Time,” which I only performed on occasions when the artists and writers required some entertainment. This was our new creative depart-ment and there could be no excuse for anything less than great work. Great people, great talent and a great environment is the secret to producing great work.We worked closely with Larry Goldfarb’s architectural rm on the space design along with Mark Randall for the interior design. The results were all we imagined and more. The creative department was completely open with no private ofces at all to encourage the concept of working together. Jerry Selber and I were positioned in the middle of the vast space behind two open, facing, curved glass-block walls on raised platforms. This afforded us clear views of the entire room as well as giving everyone else clear views of what we were doing. There would be no secrets in this creative department.Jerry and I each had a built-in curved desk touching the curved wall and small raised

round tables with three backless “soda fountain” stools for small meetings. Larger meetings were held around the conference table up on the stage with the option of drawing the curtain closed for privacy. All the exposed air conditioning ducts were up by the 30’ high ceiling giving the space a contemporary, industrial feel. Later, we added rows of large purple banners up high adding a welcome dash of color. That’s me at 3:30 AM in the trafc/production end of the new space. Crazy-early starts were common. I couldn’t wait to get to work.I found myself waking up in the middle of many nights at home, at 3 or 4 AM in the morning, and leaving for the ofce. I just couldn’t wait to get to work in this inspiring space. Our art directors were very happy about this because my exasperating habit of critiquing their work while hanging over their shoulders was replaced with detailed notes and sketches outlining my suggestions. For myself, working alone in the deep of the night, without interruptions, proved to be exhilarating and liberating. I was able to get 2 or 3-days’ worth of work done in 2 or 3 hours. And my new schedule ap-pealed to my preferred “loner” mode for creative concepts and writing. In the warm-weather months, the breathtaking “Maxeld Parrish” sunsets visible through the huge windows on the Art Museum side of the creative department proved to be a soul-satisfying bonus. It also inspired me to turn off the lights in the space letting the sunset glow provide the magical orange and lavender illumination. Many of us stayed at work into the evening on those days enjoying some of the occasional “refreshments” we provided which added to the celebratory atmosphere and feelings of affection we had for one another. Of course, we needed to let the industry know that moving on from our aflia-tion with Richard Elkman was simply an “evolution” and, in fact, this iteration of SonderLevitt was even more evolved and exciting than the previous one. The un-derstated “Opener” invitation invited all prospects, clients, friends, media, and press people to a lavish opening party catered by our client, Seafood Shanty. Joe Gentile, the restaurant chain’s owner, was very excited about the prospect of showcasing his restaurants culinary skills to our sophisticated guest list. And despite the fact we agreed to trade his catering for our ad services he pulled out all the stops.

Our new ofces provided a great excuse for letting the world know we were moving onward and upward.The shrimp were gargantuan. The lobster chunks, seafood pasta and crab cakes were beyond mouthwatering. Servers roamed both oors throughout the night and wore white, special-order waist coats embroidered with a discreet Seafood Shanty logo, smart royal blue trousers, and crisp white gloves. A sophisticated mix of background jazz, classical and pop music provided the appropriate soundtrack. The evening was a great success and had the desired effect of muting the gossip about another failed SL association and replaced it with news coverage and laudatory industry buzz about our spectacular Parkway ofces. But there was some unpleasant aftermath to deal with. OUR SWEET NEW OFFICES REEKED LIKE A FISHY RESTAURANT KITCHEN FOR A GOOD SIX MONTHS AFTER THE PARTY! I never forgot what I learned at the Charles Morris Price School: “Always ask for the business”.About this time, I got an interesting phone call from Elissa Dorfsman. Elissa was a close friend and up and coming star TV sales rep for the CBS station in Philadelphia. Her father was Lou Dorfsman, internationally renowned Director of Design at CBS in Manhattan. And Elissa was on a fast track to joining her illustrious father in the cor-porate hierarchy. That is, until she made the mistake of being sexually assaulted by a CBS bigwig at a corporate function, reporting it and refusing to drop the case. This eventually spelled the end of her corporate climb, led to her regretful exit from the industry and a new career as an elder law attorney.

This was the early 1980’s and Elissa was calling to invite me to a dinner welcoming Tom Batistta, her good friend, who was taking over as General Manager at KYW-TV. It turned out to be a great night because Tom was totally terric and charismatic. He and I were simpatico, the laughter contagious minutes after sitting down togeth-er. When the dinner ended and we were saying our goodbyes, the evening came to a shocking conclusion. Tom looked me directly in the eye and declared, “Guess what? I just found my movie critic!” And he wasn’t kidding.Two weeks later, after signing a $25,000 contract and committing to three lm re-views a week on the evening news, I found myself taping at 8 AM in the morning inside the Ritz theater in Society Hill. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, yes I did. “You can’t do this! You stutter. You’ll make a fool of yourself. You have an advertising agency to run. You’re a rank amateur. What! There will be no teleprompt-er? Not only do you have to see three movies a week and write three reviews a week … You gotta memorize three reviews a week. To say nothing about taping and editing the reviews. Do you have any idea what this is going to take? Are you out of your mind?!?!” I must have been because I threw myself into doing the best I could. There was nothing else to do. I just couldn’t pass up this opportunity to see where it would lead. I came up with a brand name for my review segments, “Victor-Vision,” and designed a logo based on the 1950’s VistaVision lm technology.I couldn’t believe I was offered the job let alone took it.My review rating would be in “Vs” instead of stars: 4 Vs = Great; 3 Vs = Good; 2 Vs = Okay; 1 V = Mar-ginal. The rating would be communicated by raising the ngers on one or both my hands, indicating the appropriate number of Vs. If a lm was a real dog, I found a plastic “Bulldog” gun that indicated the desig-nated number of barks – 1 through 4 -- by opening his little plastic jaw and emitting a high-pitched squeaky bark when the trigger was pulled. To top things off, when appropriate, I would assume the persona of a character in the lm – a Blues Brother complete with sunglasses and fedora for example – and deliver my review en costume. The fact that Tom Battista ap-proved of all these plans was astounding to me. Would my reviews earn Vs or dreaded barks?

The pressure was relentless from day one. The length of my workdays became debil-itating. During my waking hours, I walked around with a constant knot in my stom-ach. And the struggle to fall asleep at night waged a constant battle with my racing mind. Though the lm critic process was torture for me, the reaction to my lm re-views was somewhat encouraging. I got no “barks,” even managed a few “Vs” and Tom Battista was enthused. “This could really develop into something!” Yeah, an early grave. But the occasional recognition on the street was gratifying – “Hey, you’re that guy with the Vs!” – especially when strangers would ash a smile instead of the Philly nger. But my anxiety level ratcheted up beyond tolerable when I was asked to do a live appearance and review. I was to attend a viewing party for SHOGUN, starring Richard Chamberlain, at a Society Hill restaurant and deliver my review after watching the nal episode of the sensational TV mini-series off cam-era. These were the ideal circumstances to set me off on a humiliating stuttering jag. Out in public. No script, preparation or rehearsal. A viewing audience of thousands. Breaking out in hives was sure to be next. There was only one way I was going to get through this. I got hold of my producer and confessed my secret afiction and dire fears. She had to get me a copy of the nal episode so I could watch it before-hand and then write and memorize my review. I’m forever grateful to her for understanding my pan-ic and pulling off my request. Though I have little memory of how I got through the evening, of one thing I’m certain. A deer in the headlights would look calm compared to my on-camera demeanor that night. Thankfully, Tom Battista’s tenure as General Manager only lasted a year and a half when he re-signed to accept a better opportunity in another city. I say that because that’s how long my tenure as KYW-TV lm critic lasted. I was certain my rst live appearance would leave me dead in the water.The new GM called me down to his ofce shortly after taking the position and re-gretfully informed me they would be eliminating the role of lm critic in the evening newscast. I jumped to my feet and started applauding, explaining how I had a full-time job running an advertising agency, was overwhelmed with my lm critic respon-sibilities and had been composing a letter of resignation the night before. Which was true. I ended our meeting by saying there was nothing for him to regret and, “All in all, I would give your decision to re me four Vs” and held up 4 ngers on each hand.

Meanwhile, back at 2525 Parkway things were very upbeat. Our new business ac-quisitions continued without interruption. The nationally renowned BOYDS Men’s Store became a client and we would see them through a successful run on Market Street and into their prestigious transition to Chestnut Street. Our Korman Corpora-tion TV campaign would be a prelude to national prominence for the hotel and long-term-stay trailblazer. Abby Alten Schwartz, our art director, would elevate the awareness and image of The Gallery Mall. Her Dad was Larry Alten, one the best ad guys to ever do it, and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. The number of Wendy’s franchise areas we represented increased to 5. We continued adding new clients to our account rosterHowever, about 2 years after our move to 2525 Parkway, the rst of multiple nan-cial catastrophes knocked us for a loop. The 14-unit Seafood Shanty restaurant chain declared Chapter 11 and defaulted on nearly $400,000 in media bills. And as I men-tioned earlier, because of the infuriating and inequitable “rules” of the agency busi-ness, SonderLevitt was on the hook for payment. Now the stink from our association with the sh monger was the result of more than just their catering our opening party.The second coming of Irv.Shortly after we were sent oundering by Joe Gentile (pardon me, I couldn’t resist), I received a very timely and fortuitous phone call from my Uncle, Irv Magid. Irv had recently retired as the owner and CEO of a very successful women’s dress manufacturing company. And he was bored. How would I feel about him joining our agency to help handle the nancial fallout from our client’s bankruptcy. And no, he would not take a salary. He just wanted to help us and get back to work. He’d do it for nothing, or he wouldn’t do it at all.Irv Magid had the best of Irv Sagorsky minus the mental illness.

Well, that was an offer I couldn’t refuse. As it turned out, Irv Magid and Irv Sagorsky shared more than just the same rst name. They were the same height and physical stature. They were both tough, driven and business oriented. But my uncle possessed one thing Irv Sagorsky sorely lacked. His sanity. And it was evident the rst week he joined us after getting on the phone with every Seafood Shanty creditor and man-aging to negotiate substantial reductions in the amounts due. Taking on tough union confrontations was an integral part of Irv’s responsibilities with his dress company. And he had obviously mastered the art of negotiation. For the next 7 years, Irv Magid worked 5 days a week in our accounting department, together with Anna Ludlum and Terry Greene, never receiving any form of compensation and enabling the agency to persist for so long. Irv Magid was a very special man.Shortly after Irv joined us, the entire city was sent spiraling into mourning when Jim O’Brien, beloved Channel 6 Weatherman, was killed in a tragic sky div-ing accident. I remember how intimidated Jerry Selber and I were when the Television and Radio Advertising Club asked us to write and produce a tribute video for their annual awards show. We struggled with various concepts and rejected them all after listening to the copy we wrote and realizing how maudlin it all sound-ed. Jim was a high-energy, joyous presence in our lives and this remembrance had to reect that.Jim O’Brien 1939-1983 As with most of the work Jerry and I did together, concept attribution is almost im-possible. But I will say that the idea we ended up producing felt exactly right. We asked for clips of Jim’s on-camera appearances over the years and started by simply editing them down to a highlight reel of about 3 minutes. Watching the footage, we realized no words were necessary. Jim’s essence was captured completely in the foot-age. His joy. His warmth. His openness. His charisma and attraction. What we did need was a great piece of music. Of course! The Beatles’ “Here Comes The Sun,” written by George Harrison. And we knew they would “understand,” given the love affair everyone had with Jim O’Brien and the tragic circumstances of his death when we, ahem, simply appropriated the song. And so, with silent apologies to Apple Mu-sic, we did so. After adjusting the shot sequence and length to the lyrics and song duration, we added a sequence of simple titles at the end. “The sun will never shine as bright again. Jim O’Brien, 1939 – 1983.” Everyone seemed to approve.

Who says you can’t write and produce a song demo in two days? Garrett Brown and Ellen Shire were hired to direct and produce a new Philadelphia tourism campaign around the theme, “Philadelphia, Get To Know Us.” They had a planning meeting scheduled with all the city ofcials on Monday at Noon and I got a phone call from Ellen the previous Friday night. “Victor, Garrett must have a demo music track for the presentation this Monday. Do you think you and Edd Kalehoff could come up with something in time?” It was a tough question with an easy answer. “No! Absolutely not! Impossible! Ellen, you’ve got to be out of your mind!” Which is when Garrett got on the phone, “Vickie, I know it can be done and I know you and Eddie can do it. Get him on the phone and have him drive down to your house and sleep over tonight. You can start on the lyrics after we get off the phone and the two of you can work on the music all day Saturday. Then you drive up to Edd’s New York studio Saturday night and produce the demo on Sunday.” Well, when the man who won an Oscar for inventing the Steadicam asks you to do something impossible and tells you it can be done, you do it. I was a member of BMI and had been writing lyrics for Edd since 1974 and the PA Lottery jingle. We worked together on the ofcial 1976 Bicentennial song performed by Lee Greenwood and the theme song for the Walking Tall television series. I nished writing the “Get To Know Us” lyrics within a half hour of hanging up the phone with Garrett, and even

had a melody magically pop into my head. When Edd arrived Friday night, I rushed to meet him in the driveway with a lyric sheet in my hand and croaked out the tune for the rst verse as he got out of the car. He loved it! Edd spent about 3 hours on Saturday tuning up the melody and writing the charts for the arrangement while I tweaked the lyrics. We then booked the singer, demo musi-cians and engineer to show up for Sunday’s session in Edd’s Manhattan studio. Of course, the song was a major hit at the Monday meeting with Mayor Goode and his committee. But that’s hardly the end of the story. The actual recording session at Sigma Sound, with Joe Tarsia engineering, was a rev-elation. Patti LaBelle completely transformed the song from a mid-tempo, soft rock softie to an energized, heart-pounding joy fest. To his credit Edd adjusted his arrange-ments on the y and amplied what Patti was trying to accomplish. And his inspired “classical” instrumental arrangement provided a lush, warm, goose-bumpy intro for the TV spot which suddenly and shockingly transitioned into Ms. LaBelle’s compel-ling dance track. In the end, it was impossible to compare the vanilla composition we brought into the studio session with the memorable song that emerged. Patti LaBelle, you are a true artist and a brilliant performer and a joy to work with.The song and the TV commercial were major hits.Until things literally blew up in our faces. Garrett and Ellen’s memorable TV spot debuted in both the Greater Philadelphia mar-ket and key major cities nationally. It ran for one month to great industry and critical acclaim as well as almost universal praise from viewing audiences. “Get To Know Us” was well on its way to the kind of renown previously reserved for the iconic “I Love New York” tourism campaign. And plans were well underway to follow the ini-tial creative concept with more location lming and new arrangements and vocal

performances by Philly’s greatest music icons. Recording artists from Hall & Oates and the Hooters to Gamble & Huff’s roster of stars were already being lined up for a long-term campaign, possibly lasting for years. In fact, a follow-up spot featuring Teddy Pendergrass had already been produced and was waiting in the wings. But shockingly, everything came to a screaming halt. And the screams were real.Mayor Wilson Goode’s favorite song lyric was, “See what people who believe in the power of each other can do.” Ironically, just weeks into the hugely successful national launch of the “Get To Know Us” campaign, this same Mayor approved the horrendous bombing of the M.O.V.E. compound in West Philadelphia which killed 11 people, including 5 children. Instead of the historic, entertainment, cultural and culinary attrac-tions in Philadelphia, the country was get-ting to know how horrendously we treated our citizens. The advertising campaign was summarily pulled, never to see the light of day again. It was one of my greatest career disappointments.The hopes and expectations for our tourism campaign exploded in our faces.Golf spelled backwards is “Flog.”One of my biggest thrills playing sports as a kid was the feeling of hitting a baseball square on the sweet spot of the bat. For me, it rivaled the other profound feeling I dis-covered as a pubescent teenager. So, when my parents joined Radnor Valley Country club in the late 1950’s and I discovered the sport of golf, I was hooked immediately. Here, when executed properly, was a way to replicate the thrill of that perfect contact with a hardball on virtually every swing of a golf club. However, little did I realize how difcult to attain a properly executed golf swing would be and how consumed I would become with it. As intense as my passion for creative advertising was, my love for the game of golf came in a close second. I found I had a natural talent for the game and was able to strike the ball well almost immediately right off the bat so to speak, from about 14 years of age. I had no time or patience for golf lessons and didn’t take my rst lesson until I was 35 years old.

Instead, I played golf relentlessly and incessantly from dawn until dusk whenever possible. And even when it wasn’t possible. Early on, my father refused to pay for my Junior Membership at Radnor. He didn’t want to spoil me by turning me into “a coun-try club brat.” Of course, that didn’t stop me when I realized, somehow, the pro shop was unaware I lacked a Junior Membership. I took full advantage and slipped out on the course for about a month before someone reported me. My father’s name was soon “posted” on the grill room bulletin board for lack of payment. “The Deadbeats List.” I was shocked when Max quickly forgave his delinquent son, paid my mem-bership fee and, no doubt very aware of his own obsession with the game, understood mine and encouraged me to play as much golf as I liked.I must pay homage to Stuart Ross here, a great friend growing up with a brilliant sense of humor. He was also the initiator of our sneaking on the back nine of Mer-ion Golf Club. We had successfully trespassed on this hallowed but restricted ground twice previously. And I should mention that despite his immigrant ancestors and Jewish faith, Stuart looked as if his people came over on the Mayower. On this third afternoon, about to hit our drives, we noticed a golf cart sporting a red ag screaming down the fairway toward our tee. Slamming on the brakes and sliding to a halt, a man wearing a sport coat and tie bounded out of the cart yelling, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?!” To which Stuart unhesitatingly and vociferously responded, “Excuse me, sir! EXCUSE ME! I’m Ross Smith son of Caldwell Smith and who the hell are you and what are YOU doing here?!?!? To which our hidebound inquisitor quickly apologized and sheepishly drove back where he came from. Stuart Ross had more than golf balls on his person.Speaking of bulletin board postings, when I was a full Rad-nor Valley member in the early 1980s, my agency’s spate of bad debts was taking its toll on me, and I fell behind on my club bill payments. And like my father before me, my name appeared on the embarrassing grill room list of members with short arms. That same afternoon, a fellow member I knew on-ly casually – Channel 6 news anchor, Jim Gardner – walked up to me hesitantly in the locker room and said, “Victor, I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I couldn’t help noticing your name posted on the bulletin board. I just want you to know I’d be happy to take care of that for you and you can pay me back whenever you’re able. Really, I’d like to do that for you.” Of course, I was surprised and genuinely moved by Jim’s generosity. And though I thanked him profusely while turning him down, I never forgot his very kind and unexpected gesture. So much for the rampant rumors of the Action News anchor’s aloof demeanor and arrogance. I’ll never forget Jim Gardner’sunexpected kindness.

Radnor Valley was where I learned to love golf. Summer nights after work is when the addiction kicked in. As the years passed, my passion for golf only became more intense. My handicap hovered between 8 and 10 and I would win often enough as a member of the Radnor Valley golf team and playing Nassaus in our weekend foursomes. But my dream of becoming an excellent player and a club champion remained out of reach. And so, I decided to take the rst golf lesson of my life from the assistant pro. It lasted about one-half hour, but it was the tip I got in the rst 5 minutes that changed me from a golfer who hoped to hit the ball where I aimed and transformed me into a “player.” It was instantaneous and miraculous!After watching me hit balls for a couple of minutes, the pro said, “I want to change your address position a little bit. Keep everything else the same and just try moving your hands forward in front of your left knee.” BAM! I instantly turned into Jack Nicklaus and began making solid contact in the middle of the clubface and driving the ball exactly where I was aimed, 50 to 60 yards farther. Swing after swing after swing. With every club from driver to fairway woods, through every iron in my bag. I could not believe what I was seeing and feeling. I couldn’t wait to take what I had learned to the golf course.That afternoon I shot 74, my lowest score ever by 4 shots. I’m guessing moving my hands forward in front of my left knee squared up all the elements of my address po-sition. My hips, my knees, my shoulders, my feet. All were in perfect alignment with one another. All the tension and resistance disappeared from my swing. My con-dence standing up at the ball was through the roof. I KNEW I was going to strike the ball squarely. All of this led to the greatest golf I would ever play. For the next 3 months I never shot above 75 with most scores between 70 and 74. One afternoon I even broke 70, by two strokes! My handicap dropped to 4 and I truly became a player. I had learned the “pre” elements before you swing are vital to success. Your grip, your alignment and address position, if these are awed you’ve got no chance. If these are correct you’ve got every chance. It was no longer about hoping to hit the ball well. I knew I would do that, and it became more about strategy, club selection

and execution. I had always been known as the “chip master” and the “putt meister.” Now, in my own mind, I was a ball striker. I was a player. When I invited Maury Po-vich out to Radnor, a fellow member of the Eyewitness News team at Channel 3 and a low, single digit handicapper, our match ended all square. And much to his shock and dismay, I did manage to beat Richard Elkman’s brother Ron, a 3 handicapper back then.But though I thought I had nally found the key to becoming an upper echelon club golfer, nothing is forever. But did it have to last just 3 months!? That’s when I noticed my scores started slipping to between 75 and 80. My condence ebbed. My handicap increased. Easy x. … just move your hands forward a little more at address. And when that didn’t work … move your hands forward a little bit more. Soon my address position looked like the proverbial Philadelphia pretzel. I had no chance. And much as I worked at solving the puzzle – literally for decades -- I never found my way back to the land of single-digit handicaps. I even went so far as to invent a new golf swing to reclaim my powers.“The High Hover” was an attempt to tap into my creativity and replicate a baseball swing. The setup would start with the club “hovered” at about waist height, to simpli-fy the swing, reduce the number of move-ments and awaken the condence I used to have facing a fastball as a kid. My inven-tion did drag me back from the brink of quitting the game. But it wasn’t the answer.Despite the difculty, the frustrations and the disappointments, golf has provided some of my most memorable days, introduced me to many of my closest friends and triggered the majority of my biggest laughs. Squires had no rules and no comparisons could be made to any other golf club. But they rejected my Hogan inspired logo for a pretentious top hat. Here’s one example involving Steve Sabol. We both belonged to Squires Golf Club in the 90s and were part of a regular group of 8 guys for golf on the weekends. “The High Hover.”Maybe my creativity could cure my ailing golf.

Squires was somewhat notorious for its lack of female members, the size of the pots in its card games, the $70K+ Derby rst prizes (rumored to be $200K now!) and the rules on the golf course. There were none except, “Don’t hold anybody up (as in time delays, robberies were okay).” It was late on a steamy, sunlit Saturday after-noon with hardly a soul on the golf course. So we decided to play an eightsome, two groups of four against one another, and we came to the 18th hole all square. Steve had shed his shirt in response to the 90-degree heat and was the last to tee off.His weight-lifter’s body glistening with sweat, Steve looked like he could still win another Mr. Philadelphia title if he had chosen to enter the contest. Steve had an Ernie Els caliber golf swing, beautiful and athletic to behold and very pow-erful. 300-yard drives were not that rare. Muscles rippling as he swaggered up to the tee marker waggling in prepara-tion, he began an NFL Films, John Fascenda narration of the moment. “This is the challenge he was born to face. Over $150,000 in golf lessons. Endless hours of fevered, intense practice. All is on the line. Will he succumb to the pressure? Or will he rise and shine like some glorious comet streaking across the burnt orange Maxeld Parrish summer sky? I’llSteve Sabol was one of the funniest people I’ve ever known.be silent and let you be the witness.” With that, Steve took one last majestic practice swing, set up to his Titleist and proceeded to shank the ball no more than 2-feet off the ground, directly to the right side of tee and missed killing me by inches. Have you ever seen seven grown men fall to the ground laughing uncontrollably? It’s something you don’t soon forget. But Steve wasn’t nished and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Victor! Call the emergency helicopter! I want a shoulder harness lowered and I de-mand to be hoisted directly to the David Leadbetter Golf Academy!” The basketball legend was a rookie on the golf course.Squires also was the scene of another unforgettable experience when Steve and I accompanied Julius Erving on his very rst go at an 18-hole round. Dr. J was a new member and new to the game and obviously had a ways to go before his golf skills matched his prowess on a basketball court. Julius was a stickler for accuracy. Not on the course. On the scorecard. He refused to accept any given putt whatsoever, be it 2 feet or 2 inches. And he insisted we count absolutely every single stroke. And we did. All 143 of them. But I will give the Doctor this. He knew how to take a joke. Which Steve and I threw his way at every opportunity. We all had a great time.

Then there were the late Sunday afternoon rounds I played with Ed Sabol. Just the two of us on that sun-drenched oasis laughing our asses off. The only one funnier than Steve Sabol was his father. Ed had a wicked sense of humor and a facility with language to express it colorfully. It began with the comments about his own golf game and his own son. Hysterical. Until he moved on to character evaluations, or assassinations of the notorious Squires membership. I loved it. And Ed. Maybe not the best golfer, but I did have the best eyesight. Look Ma, no glasses. Standing L. to R. Steve Segal, Joel Freedman, Victor Sonder, Howie Lazarus, George “Legend” Sall. Seated L. to R. Bobby Lazarus, Bob “Blade” Bernstein, Jeff Shore For more than 20 years, a group of my best friends made an annual pilgrimage to Palm Springs and other great golf destinations. There were 8 of us in the group, but George Sall became legendary. His exploits and adventures could easily take up two chapters. The last swing I saw George take on one of our trips was in the Dominican Republic. We were playing Teeth of The Dog, on the 18th hole with the match on the line. George condently selected his trusty 5 wood for his second shot to the green and drew back the club with purpose striking his pivotal shot. We all fell over, si-multaneously convulsed as his clubhead snapped off the shaft ying far past the ball. But no one laughed harder than George. He was one-of-a-kind, a dear man, so easy to love and played his nal 18 way too soon. Golf took me to Scotland to play the Old Course at St. Andrews (and break 80). To England and Puerto Rico. I’ve played many of the greatest courses in the United States from No. 1 rated Pine Valley in the East to Pebble Beach and Cypress Point in the West. My golf memories are sweet. Summer weeknights at Radnor Valley after work. Meeting a bunch of friends and playing until dark, with me and my superior night vision locating everyone’s drive. Recollections of my alter ego, “The Lone Golfer,” teeing off solo at 7 AM and playing as many as 72 straight holes, noting the incredu-lous expressions of the foursomes as I asked to play through for a second or third time.

And Thursday nights at Squires after golf, sharing laughs and great food with great friends. The ride home, shifting gears in my yellow Porsche Boxster S with the top down, on those sultry, starry Summer nights was the exclamation point. And to this day, though I struggle now with my golf ineptitude, every Spring renews my hopes of rediscovering the key and recapturing my skills. I still believe it’s going to happen. Which reminds me of my father’s last words. Comatose and just hours away from taking his last breath, he opened his eyes for just an in-stant to declare the attainment of a life-long goal, “I nally know how to hit a golf ball.” And I smile.Happy me on the golf course.Photo by Steve Sabol.The curve was too sharp to stay ahead of.Back at 2525 Parkway, my Uncle Irv’s uncanny hard-nosed negotiating skills had succeeded in reducing Seafood Shanty’s media obligations by $100,000. Though the $300,000 shortfall (over $850,000 in today’s dollars) was still on our books and had to be paid within 90 days, the signicant loss of any future revenue from Seafood Shanty exacerbated the size of the hurdle we had to get over. But at least our new unpaid CFO had given us a ghting chance. We immediately launched a campaign for new busi-ness. And reeling in the national accounts of Silo Ap-pliance Stores, Pictsweet Deluxe Vegetables and Rax Roast Beef restaurants along with The Philadelphia Inquirer proved to be very strong medicine indeed. These big gets were further supplemented by exciting projects from Comcast’s Cellular One network, work for Jean Madeline and Adolf Biecker Hair Salons and for radio stations WMGK and WMMR. Our hopes for the future were more than back on track and sleep-ing through the night became possible again, when I wasn’t popping up at 4 AM for early ofce arrivals. Not the most “woke” concept but got plenty of attention. Though some for the wrong reason.Rock n’ Roll animals had rights too WMMR was all about protecting them.

Irv followed up the good-news results of his negotiations with the strong sugges-tion we supplement agency nances with loans from me and Gary in the amount of $125,000 each. Given our new business success and the optimistic revenue projec-tions, both of us readily agreed. I was close to paying off our house and its value had risen substantially. So, arranging with my bank to remortgage and access the needed money was no problem. I assumed Gary was in a similar position with his house. Until 3 days before the close. That’s when Gary informed me he couldn’t come up with the money because he had already remortgaged. $250,000 later I had a much bigger mortgage and lots of anger and lingering resentment for my “partner.” What took my mind off those smoldering emotions was the shock I felt when Irv reached in his pocket and pulled out a check made out in the amount of $50,000 to SonderLevitt Advertising. “We really need $300,000 to make us whole. This is a gift for letting me be part of everything. I love it. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.” What can I say to you, Irv Magid? Simply … “Your generosity was incomprehensible, and I am eternally grateful. I love you and will never forget you. In the meantime, the number of Wendy’s franchise accounts had grown in number to 8 regions and was providing a signicant percentage of agency revenues. Gary Lev-itt and Ronnie Brenner had recently decided to move to Florida full time and work/live in the agency’s Winter Park ofce/apartment to handle the increasing workload. I don’t know where they found the time or means to open Ahavah, an Israeli artifacts store, but Gary and Ronnie did just that. All Wendy’s creative assignments were still handled out of Philadelphia – TV, radio, point-of-purchase, and print -- but face-to-face contact with Gary (or any interaction between us whatsoever) was non-existent. As you might expect, Gary’s involvement in helping to manage the agency followed suit and had been that way for years prior.And what about Gary’s marriage to Barbara? That was a question many of us asked ourselves for a long time, but understood was none of our business. Everything was out in the open and the terms of the arrangement were strictly between the three of them. And that’s the way it was treated by all. But what happened 10 months after I had remortgaged our house and put a quarter of a million dollars into the business was all my business. With no foreshadow-ing, no warning, no notice, no regard for our history, my well-being or the agency’s, with no communica-tion whatsoever… I received word Gary was resigning from SonderLevitt and taking the Wendy’s Julius Caesar’s infamous betrayal: “Et tu, Levitte?”.

business with him. I can’t even remember how I learned of this betrayal, but I can assure you it was not through Gary Levitt. It would be 5 years before we spoke an-other word to each other, and Gary would have just 3 words to say to me. Once I was able to mufe the explosive anger I felt toward Gary, I threw myself a pity party with palliative thoughts like, “Where would you have been without me including you in the beginning as a partner!?” … “You did nothing for the rst 10 years except cash the checks and camp out in Rittenhouse Square checking out the girls!” … You rode my coattails for years!” … “So, you feel no responsibility for the quarter million I put in the business that paid your salary and Ronnie’s for the past year!?” My only comfort was the certain knowledge that, without our involve-ment, Gary’s notorious lack of a work ethic would blow the Wendy’s account soon-er rather than later. Of course, useless, self-indulgent thoughts like these did noth-ing to deal with the crisis we were facing, and I immediately called a meeting with Jerry Selber and my Uncle Irv.Before we could even sit down, Irv opened with a chilling statement, “I want you to know, there are people who could put a real serious hurt on Gary Levitt and be happy to do it for me. Just say the word.” But much as I felt Gary had earned that kind of treatment, we decided to respond in a more civilized, legal, and possibly more painful way. I asked Irv to take all necessary steps and make sure everything the agency had paid for in Winter Park, FL was either ceased immediately or re-possessed. The rent and all the generous expenses and perks, ofce and apartment furniture and supplies, the apartment décor, accessories and appliances, and Gary’s car. Seizing Gary’s car was the toughest task, but Irv was relentless and within a month and a half Gary came out one morning and didn’t nd his Mercedes diesel sedan where he left it. Happiness is an empty parking space.Though we had considered a lawsuit, that idea was quickly dismissed. Suing Gary would have been very expensive and time-consuming, and it would have precluded taking immediate action to seize our Florida assets and cease any payments, com-pensation, or support of any kind. The Wendy’s business had been responsible for generating hundreds of thousands of bottom-line prots for the agency annually. Losing those dollars was a devastating blow. To say nothing of the newly acquired and exiting Rax Roast Beef account, also part of Gary’s plunder. Between Wendy’s and Seafood Shanty, the agency was in serious trouble and in danger of closing its doors. But again, it was Irv to the rescue. He explained that until the Gary debacle, we were bouncing back and making sub-stantial prots every month resulting from the combination of new business and

income from existing accounts. And we were able to handle the Seafood Shanty me-dia payments thanks to Irv’s remarkable generosity and my loan. “All you have to do is replace Wendy’s and we’ll be ne. And I’m counting on it. You’re not going to get rid of me by giving up.” Sure Irv, sounds like a snap.Well, someone must have fortuitously snapped their ngers because the tide miracu-lously began turning in our favor. But rst, though I considered changing the agency name to SonderNoLevitt, we settled on Sonder&Partners and started scrambling. Again. We were determined to save all our jobs and extend the agency’s considerable creative legacy. The fact no one abandoned our sinking ship is a tribute to the remark-able loyalty and dedication of all our talented people in every department. In fact, as Jerry Selber was now my de facto partner, he was given a 15% stake in the agency as a long-overdue reward for shouldering so much responsibility for so many years. Our two-decade run would not end without a ght. Playboy Enterprises had sold their Atlantic City casino prop-erty to new ownership who had named it the Atlantis Casino Hotel and were conducting an agency search competition. Billings were substantial, projected to be a couple of million dollars or more per year. This could be the Wendy’s replace-ment we needed so desperately. And voila! Not only did we make the cut, shades of the Pennsylvania Lottery, we hit the jackpot and won the account. This took loads of pressure off and everyone was buoyed by the size of their media budget for the introductory TV campaign. We could do this! Especially when we added a second na-tional account to the win column. Rhino Copy Centers was a fast-growing chain of printing and reproduction stores aimed at small businesses and individuals. Their CEO was a real The rst chip to fall belonged to an Atlantic City casino. character and reminded me of the eccentric Milton Docktor. But there is something to be learned from everyone and this guy was no exception. I had brought him a print ad layout for approval and he pointed out that the headline line breaks were awkward and not at all esthetically pleasing. I conceded his point and pointed out we had tried to break the headline in different ways but the narrow width of the ad didn’t allow any other solution. He gave me a bemused look for a good 10 seconds and then said, “Change the wording of the headline. If it doesn’t look good, it’s not the right head-line.” And that became my new mantra: Rewrite rather than settle for ugly.

It’s a good thing Tom Palmore didn’t charge ahead with his Rhinoceros painting.And then Rhino Copy began running many ads with good-looking headlines in support of their franchised copy centers all over the country. Like its wild animal namesake, the billings on the account were charging ahead. Months later when I showed ne artist Tom Palmore’s hyper realistic animal portraits to the Rhino CEO he was stunned. He imme-diately approved a 5’ X 7’ painting of a Rhi-noceros to be used for the upcoming cover of our annual report and then hung in his ofce. At a cost of $50,000. My friendship with TomPalmore was immediately heightened and he looked forward to starting on the proj-ect, though closer to the publishing date of the annual report the following year. For now, Tom had an important show to prepare for at his gallery in Santa Fe. She was a real redhead.Winning the Atlantis Casino Hotel account in Atlantic City had done much to keep our heads above water and survive the loss of the Wen-dy’s business. I was excited to get started on producing and directing the introductory TV campaign and decided to hire Toby Phillips, Garrett Brown’s close friend from Australia, as Director of Photography. The creative consist-ed of a series of highly stylized, meticulously The TV spot would be sexy, highly stylized, and innovative.composed scenes showcasing the hotel’s attractions – gambling, night club, dining, pool and patio, room romance, and boardwalk – all cut to a driving dance track. The art direction and beautiful-model casting were notable and the look and feel of the creative would be unlike any of the other competitive casinos. But the potential for the last shot of the day was what really excited me. It was a re-creation of the famous Marilyn Monroe scene with the “up-blown skirt.” But we only wanted to imply the reference to Marilyn. Instead, we went with a tall, beautiful redhead with short, cropped hair. After the electric fans were set in place, tested, and adjusted for an hour using a stand-in, our actress stepped into the shot. The soft, late afternoon sunlight was per-fect. She was wearing a gauzy, pale aqua skirt and looked sensational. Our camera was positioned off the boardwalk on the sand looking up through the railing.

“Standby … and roll fans … roll camera … and action!” No one before or since has ever taken my “action” cue so literally. Her skirt billowed up perfectly and … hold on Unlike the “blonde” Marilyn Monroe, our actress was a real redhead.trauma hit about 10 months down the line when I opened the morning paper. The Inquirer had a habit of breaking disastrous news for our agency and there it was again. “Atlantis Casino Declares Bankruptcy to Counter Playboy Takeover.” What?! Our client had been running a heavy TV schedule averaging more than $200,000 per week. And the results had been excellent. Customer count was up. Revenues and winnings were up. And we were collecting our bills right on time for the past many months. How could this possibly be? The answer to that question still confuses me. It was something about Playboy making a move to reclaim their rights to ownership of the casino and Atlantis countering by declaring bankruptcy to stave off the takeover. Whatever it was, it was a catastrophe for Sonder & Partners. Atlantis owed us almost $1 million for their latest TV buy. Just when we were getting our heads above water we get kicked in the teeth. We were down but not out. Yet.If you added up the Seafood Shanty bad debt, the shortfall from the loss of Wendy’s and this new Atlantis horror, we were $2 million behind the proverbial 8-ball. In today’s dollars that’s the equivalent of almost $4.5 million. Whether it was stupidity, arrogance, unrealistic optimism or insanity, we were still not ready to call it quits. Irv agreed to get in negotiating mode again but couldn’t promise anything as many of the TV stations he’d be talking to about Atlantis had been Seafood Shanty creditors. But we had to cut back on our overhead ASAP and the fastest way was to reduce our rent. Though moving out of the Parkway ofces we loved was a devastating pros-pect, we had no choice. Especially when we were informed of the substantial rent increase to renew at the end of our lease. … NO! NO WAY! NO UNDERWEAR! “Cut! Cut!” Toby and I immediately conferred, “Do you believe this?!” Toby’s response in his trademark Australian accent was as unforgettable as it was tasteless, “I think she might have been warming up our lunch, mate!” When I could pull myself together, we both agreed on two things: Our model was indeed a natural redhead and, after checking the video replay, we had what we needed on the rst take and would call it a wrap. But had our editor lengthened that scene by one frame, there’s no doubt today I’d have a felony pornography conviction on my record. Shooting the last scene of the Atlantis TV spot had been a real shock, but the real

Fortunately, we quickly found terric space on the top oor of the 555 Building on City Avenue in Bala Cynwyd. It had spectacular views of the city skyline; a glass conference room large enough to accommodate our existing 15’ long marble table, lots of windows and plenty of space. All for a lot less rent. The move went well and the blow of leav-ing the Parkway ofces was cushioned by the great style of our new surroundings, to say nothing of the lack of city wage tax.Irv’s negotiations had again been successful and not just in modestly reducing the dollar amount of our Atlantis obligations. Irv’s real success could be measured in the years-long repayment plan he had negotiated and the “affordable” dollar amount of the monthly increments. We initiated another one of our miracle comeback business initiatives which yielded two important major clients among many other additions: Mr. Goodbuys, a real player in the fast-emerging home improvement category; and the relaunch of Nan Duskin, prestigious high-fashion women’s retailer, under the auspices of new owner Lou Marks. Existing client Today’s Man, expanding off-price menswear retailer, was opening new stores up and down the East coast and boosting their ad budget accordingly. Working under the direction of Greg Jones, Marketing Director, proved to be a huge plus, not only developing our campaign strategy but also protecting us from the erratic mood swings of CEO, David Feld. Greg became an indispensable mentor and lifelong friend. Somehow, someway, we were manag-ing to dodge the Atlantis nuclear bomb and were still standing. Albeit unsteadily and only on one leg.We were on the top oor, but we had bottomed out.Despite our very successful NY Times 2-page spread, the erratic behavior of Today’s Man CEO, David Feld, had us scrambling to hold on.

We were excited to work with Lou Marks and relaunch Nan Duskin, Philadelphia’s iconic upscale high fashion retailer.But after almost two years at 555 City Line, the death knell sounded loud and clear. It came in the form of a double-barreled blast from two once-promising new clients. The rodent-like countenance of Steven Erlbaum, CEO of Mr. Goodbuys , should have been a forewarning of his rat-like code of ethics and Trump-inspired payment policies. After many months of 30-day turnarounds, their outstanding bills totaling $240,000 were approaching 45-days past due. My call to their accounting depart-ment to nd out why was answered with the response, “Mr. Erlbaum would like to meet with you.” When I arrived at Mr. Erlbaum’s ofce, and with barely any pre-liminaries or eye contact as he condescendingly shufed through papers, I was in-formed that I had a choice of walking out with a check for $40,000 or he would see me in court. It was that brusk and that bloodless. To this day, I regret not reach-ing across his desk and risking a felony assault conviction. But given our dire nan-cial circumstances, the humiliation of accepting his check was a sickening necessity. Add another $200,000 to the loss column.Barely 3 months later, Rhino Copy had similarly fallen behind in their payments, but for close to $900,000. In this case, I didn’t wait to speak with anyone in accounting. I jumped in my car and headed down to their Philadelphia ofces just in time for … WHAT THE HELL?!?! Rhino’s ofce entrance was blocked with yellow crime scene tape and I watched slack- jawed as FBI agents extracted Mr. Rhino in handcuffs, under indictment for fraud. He was later convicted in federal court and when the banner headlines appeared in regional papers; they were perfectly worded for the line breaks to be pleasing.

Declaring bankruptcy was an excruciating relief.Beginning way back with the loss of the lottery because of a rejected bribery at-tempt, the unrelenting series of bad debts and client bankruptcies, and the deceitful way we lost the Wendy’s account … you begin to wonder if evil forces beyond our control were in play. I can only assume 100% of the responsibility for our failure. Yes, we should have been more careful about the accounts we took on. But our initial research had come up clean. Yes, we should have kept closer tabs on our payables. But in every case the payment history of these companies raised no red ags. I’m certain nding the right CEO to honcho the agency’s business operations would have changed our fate. And yes, I’ll take the blame for that as well. And I’ll readily admit being responsible for both the agency’s creative department and business operations exceeded my aptitude and was beyond my capabilities. I’m a writer who became an art director, not a business manager. And now, unless I was ready to work for the next 20 years paying back the enormous debts on our books because of client malfeasance and some outmoded ad industry precedent, bankruptcy was the only option. We declared Chapter 11 and after quickly realizing there was no way to reorganize, we declared Chapter 7. Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky … SonderLevitt … Sonder&Partners … our days as an advertising agency were done. Except for the last day. And it was one of the darkest days of my life. After 23 years there would be nowhere to go tomorrow. Dealing with the bankruptcy legal arrange-ments, the wrenching goodbyes to our staff and shutting down the ofce had left no

time to plan for “what’s next.” And it was terrifying. Jerry Selber and I were the only ones in the ofce with very little to do except commiserate with one another. It was about the guilt of putting so many we had known for so long out of work. It was about bearing the humiliation of our failed careers. It was being 50 years old and hav-ing to start over. Just when both Jerry and I were feeling most sorry for ourselves, a very unexpected visitor walked into my ofce. It was Pete Albert, a golf buddy of mine and a good friend. But not as close a friend as those who hadn’t called or found the time to come by. I’ll never forget how much Pete’s incredibly thoughtful visit or encouraging words meant to me on that day. He spoke about the work, “the great work” we had done for so long for so many important clients. How we had built the agency from nothing, on our own. How admired we were for our talent and what a great reputation we enjoyed despite what was going on now. Pete compared what we were facing with being 4 down with the back nine yet to play. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was certain we would both end up in the winner’s circle again. Pete would talk to his contacts and see what leads he could generate for us. Coming from a renowned, single-digit handicap golfer, I couldn’t help but be encouraged by his optimism. Throughout that afternoon, I kept waiting for the phone to ring with some inquiries from other agencies about the possibilities of an acquisition. What accounts did we still have? What were the billings? What were the odds your remaining accounts would follow you to another agency? Although I was hurt by the lack of interest, I suppose it was understandable and indicative of the dilemma facing any agency con-sidering a hookup with Sonder&Partners. On the one hand, we still handled a number of enviable accounts and our creative talent was undeniable. On the other hand, it all came with an image soiled by the stain of bankruptcy. It was heavy baggage and deterred virtually all parties. All but one.KaiserFeinbergI got one last surprise at the end of our last day. It seems the serendipitous melding of Barry Feinberg’s positive experience as our Silo client, our agency’s bankruptcy, and Barry’s initiative to launch a new ad agency produced a very timely phone call from Barry. “I just formed a new agency with John Kaiser and I want you and Jerry Selber to run the creative department. It’s called KaiserFeinberg and we’ve got accounts and great ofces just over the bridge in New Jersey. What do you say you and Jerry bring your accounts over and we do this?!” An expensive footnote and stunning conrmation of the axiom, “No good deed goes unpunished.” 2 years after Sonder & Partners declared bankruptcy; the IRS held Jerry Selber responsible for a 15% share -- $5,000 – of a belatedly-assessed tax penalty. Victor Sonder paid an 85% share. This ruling was based on corporate ownership shares gifted to Selber prior to the Chapter 7 declaration.

I didn’t know John Kaiser very well, but I did know he was the former head of Lewis & Gillman, the agency “awarded” the PA Lottery account after Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky. Worst case, I might nd out if his old agecy did or didn’t do the dirty deed. But I did know Barry Feinberg and I liked what I knew. Barry was a Type A personality, and he was loud and brash and combative. But once you got past his prickly facade, Barry was lovable! He was super bright, honest, driven, loyal, and full of energy and warmth. And he had a great sense of humor. What’s more, Barry’s record of business success was impressive. He had taken Silo Appliances from a regional chain to a na-tional powerhouse with 232 stores and $1.2 billion in rev-enue. Barry was used to playing in the big leagues. And winning. It didn’t take long for us to take Barry Feinberg up on his offer.Barry Feinberg’s last job was building a $2 billion company.It also didn’t take long for me to become disillusioned with John Kaiser. John was a sweetheart of a man, very personable and well-intentioned. But like another high-powered executive I had hired, John spent entirely too much time lunching at the Union League. Unlike Barry, John was more enamored with the trappings of the “ad game” than with the nitty gritty work and business of advertising. And much to my disappointment, KaiserFeinberg focused on trade, industrial and technical accounts. So, the staff they had assembled reected that focus. They were narrowly talented and generally conservative. They got the job done but created rip-ples and not waves. Their thinking and their solutions were effective but pedestrian. I found it impossible to ignite any spark of amboyance and generate any hunger for the excitement of outrageous innovation in our creative department. I was frustrated and bored, unfullled. The only satisfaction I got was generated from the accounts we had brought in which included Today’s Man, Amoroso’s, and a handful of others. There was no joy in our workplace. What upset me most was my inability to deliver for Barry Feinberg. I so wanted to do that. Though he never said a word to me, I knew this agency was a shadow of what he had envisioned building. We were inconsequential, located in an anonymous industrial park off a trafc-choked New Jersey highway, and as my mother Bea used to say, we were “doomed to me-diocrity.” Barry dreamed of evolving into a national player competing on the high-est level for major league corporate accounts. Such ambitions required more than John Kaiser had to give and was simply far beyond the talent level of our staff. We were minor leaguers.

It took 10 months before I fully realized there was just no way to get there from here. Jerry Selber was very aware of my feelings as they were building and, not surprisingly, he felt the same way. I had also informed Barry of my escalating un-happiness and disappointment in falling short of his goals. So, when I decided to leave and open HOT Productions, no one was surprised. I planned to offer lm directing and video production services, and to handle the broad range of creative needs for the accounts I could bring with me. It would mean Jerry and I would not be working together for the rst time in 25 years. It was time for a change, and we were both ready and in need of new directions. About a year later, I got a call about Jerry Selber from Bruce Lev of LevLane Advertising inquiring about Jerry’s talents. Bruce must have believed me because Jerry ended being a top creative at LevLane for the next 15 years. Btw, I never got the answer to my $250,000 lottery question from John Kaiser.Reversing my field. 1993-2013Bonnie and I were out for dinner with close friends Steve and Lisa Sabol. I had known Steve since we were about 11 years old, and I had followed his remarkable journey leading NFL Films to the undisputed world champion of sports marketing powerhouses. I was a life-long friend and great admirer of Steve’s gifts and accom-plishments. I was a rabid Steve Sabol fan and I loved him. At one point during dinner, we got to talking about what my plans were now that I had left KaiserFeinberg. As I began explaining my intensions to open HOT Produc-tions as a full-time lm and video production company and creative service, Steve interrupted and said he had something to talk to me about and would give me a call next week. First thing Monday morning his call came in. “Victor, why don’t you open your production company as part of NFL Films. After football season we slow down, and we’ve got this incredible staff and amazing facility and I need to keep everything churning.” Stunned, I blurted out, “Steve, I can’t believe this! What are you saying?” Steve darted deftly through the hole like the great Haverford School and Colorado College running back he had once been. “You could open an in-house commercial production company.” I ran some interference for him, “You mean like a new division … NFL Commercial Productions?” He cut for the end zone, “Yes, exactly. You would have access to all our amazing cameramen, editors, graphics people, composers, and in addition to your own accounts, we would offer your ser-vices to all our NFL sponsors. I can also get you involved in Films’ work.”

TOUCHDOWN! Of course, I joined the NFL Films team, started NFL Commercial Productions, and for the next 20 years would experience it all. Impossible victo-ries and humiliating defeats. Euphoric successes and devastating setbacks. And to think, it all of it began when I met Steve Sabol back in 1954.Charley Lyons and I were best friends and 11 years old. Charley was very blonde and the best athlete in the neighborhood. He lived right next door to Bobby Cohen who was my #1 best friend, very dark and probably the worst athlete in the neighborhood. Charley and I were roller skating one day down on 72nd Street where Muhammad Ali would take up residence about a decade later. The street was free of trafc and newly paved with roller-skating-ready, virgin black asphalt.Charley knew how to skate but not how to stop.The two of us had just gotten into skating but given Charley’s athletic prowess he rolled on much faster and far ahead of me. But when it came time to put on the brakes, it seems Charley missed that lesson, and he went crashing into a big, parked Buick. Now Buicks sported the deadliest hood ornament ever designed, an open ring with a sharp “spear” piercing the middle of the ring and said spear collided with Charley and deeply pierced his chest about 1” from his heart. We later learned that 1” miss probably saved my friend’s life.This adventure competed with another of our childhood dalliances for 1st place in the Trauma Stakes. We got the bright idea to hide in the woods along City Line Avenue and hurl water balloons at passing motorists. We could hardly contain our raucous laughter when one of our liquid missiles splattered against a windshield hurtling for-ward at 40 mph. That is until one young guy slammed on his brakes, drove right up on the sidewalk, jumped out of his car, and quickly closed the slim lead we had managed as we ran away through the woods. That’s when Robert Frost’s immortal words came to life: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one ” that Charley and the guy chasing us didn’t. I broke my all-time land speed record on my heart-pounding, panic-stricken gallop back home, running up the stairs to my bedroom directly into bed with the covers over my head. An hour later, my chest still heaving, my mother walked in to inform me, “There’s a policeman downstairs for you.” I tell these two stories because I’m pretty sure they were the catalyst for Charley’s parents removing him from Lamberton Elementary and enrolling him at the Haverford

School. That’s where he became “Chuck” Lyons and befriended Steve Sabol. Ironi-cally, Steve’s family had moved out of Greenhill Farms just a year before my family moved in across the street on Sherwood Road. The Sabols had uprooted to Villanova and built an authentic Japanese home based on the traditional shoin-zukuri style of Japanese architecture, complete with shoji screens on the interior and magnicent Japanese landscaping on the exterior, all imagined by Steve’s very artistic mom, Audrey. This is where Chuck brought me one day to meet his new friend, Steve. Once I caught my breath after seeing the house, we went around to the tennis court where Steve was pounding forehands and backhands against a wall built for that purpose. After we were in-troduced, Chuck and I followed Steve around the corner to meet his Dad at the pool. And there was Dad stark naked on the diving board, a tall, tanned, handsome man with the musculature of a body builder. “Dad, say hello to Victor Sonder,” neither Steve nor his father were the least bit self-conscious. Ed smiled broadly, and as he dove into the pool, shouted, “Hello Victor Sonder!”He was known as “Big Ed” for a reason. He was a formidable presence.Steve and Ed Sabol also shared the most enviable father/son relationship I could ever imagine. Of all the advantages of Steve’s privileged upbring, the love and re-spect they had for one other was the only thing I truly coveted. Steve and I became friends that day and would remain friends for the next 60 years.Cut to one month before starting my job at NFL Films. After hearing about my new position, Pete Albert again reached out to me with support and advice. “Victor, I think I can help you negotiate your contract with NFL Films. What if I go in with you and meet with them?” I hadn’t even thought about an employment agreement moving forward. I’m so happy I accepted Pete’s offer and grateful to him for making it. He shaped every key tenant of my contract, from salary and fringe benets, to renewal conditions and retirement entitlements. Pete also added a kicker that never entered my mind or the mind of Barry Wolper, COO of NFL Films with whom I was negotiating. I would be entitled to a generous share of the net prots on every proj-ect I was responsible for bringing into the company above $750,000. This was an impossible total and scenario no one thought possible. No one except Pete.My rst day on the job at NFL Films began with me working hard at kootzing my new ofce to make it my own. As I mentioned, I’m a big believer in “Great ofce = great work.” I was up on a step ladder hanging my Marlon Brando “Waterfront”

lm still blowup. I had found an ornately carved, gilded frame that perfectly suit-ed my feelings about the man and the lm. Both were epic. A deep, loud, rumbling voice startled me. It was my rst visitor, Ed Sabol. “Victor, you and I agree on Marlon and that lm. I like what you’re doing here. I want to welcome you to NFL Films and want you to know, I expect great things from you.” That support and vote of condence somewhat mitigated the rookie jitters I was struggling to conceal. A couple of months later, I was working on a Saturday with Sheldon Brown (broth-er of Garrett Brown) and Pete Staman, one of Films’ top editorial teams. We were the only ones in the building and the phone in our edit suite wouldn’t stop ringing. I could only ignore the constant hang-ups and call-backs for so long and nally picked up the phone. What followed was a good 5-minute soliloquy which, at rst, seemed to be a recording: “I’m calling for Richard Scrushy, the President and CEO of HealthSouth Corporation,” intoned the voice in a vivid Southern accent. “Mr. Scrushy feels the folks at NFL Films are the No. 1 choice to wrangle a video we need to show in Orlando on Super Bowl Sunday.” That was 13 days away! “Now, Mr. Scrushy has put together an advisory committee of a dozen of the world’s greatest athletes from every sporting category including Michael Jorden, Bo Jackson, Roger Clemens, Martina Navratilova, all competitors of that stature who will be available to appear in a live arena show that will travel the country educating high school age athletes about how to make the most of their potential, remain injury free, minimize any athletic injuries should they occur and avoid the pitfalls of growing up. But that show is down the line. What we need right now for Orlando is a coming attraction, a trailer hyping that arena show to the national press and our advisory board athletes. If we’re happy with the Orlando video, we can talk about NFL Films producing the arena show. Would you be interested in meeting Mr. Scrushy on Monday in Birmingham about this project? Somehow, I managed to camouage my hyperventilating and expressed how ex-cited we were to be considered and, yes, we will be there on Monday to meet with Mr. Scrushy. Thus began a mad, 2-day scramble to assemble an appropriate reel of NFL’s work (I had none of my own yet), and to meet with Tammy Harris, our sales rep, about accompanying me on the trip to Birmingham, AL and HealthSouth headquarters, one of the country’s leading athletic rehab and healthcare networks. There were travel arrangements to make and research to be done on Mr. Scrushy and his company. During this process, I discovered an interesting fact about Richard Scrushy which I tucked away. He was very active in the Black church, a surprising fact for a White man in the deep South.

Then there was the part I dreaded most, planning and presenting to Richard Scrushy, probably surrounded by a dozen glum, skeptical subordinates. My humiliating stutter was ever present and always a threat to surface. The biggest job of my career.Sure enough, Tammy and I walked into a huge, intimidating conference room and there were 10 men seated stify around an oval marble conference table. And the sight of a well-dressed cowboy seated at the head of the table stopped me cold. He was deftly plucking on a beautiful acoustic guitar. His bare feet were freshly pedi-cured and stretched out up on top of the table in front him. Richard Scrushy fancied himself a pretty fair Country/Western singer and I wouldn’t doubt it. Mr. Scrushy’s soothing guitar solo accompanied his warm welcome and his explanation of the total project followed. He then asked me if I had anything to say.Maybe it was the cowboy persona, the guitar, the bare-footed warmth, but I felt completely relaxed and condent. After introducing myself I explained that, yes, I did have something to say but rst, I had some-thing to show. On cue, Tammy darkened the room and rolled the video I had prepared on the large screen behind the table. The sound system was awesome and the impact of the NFL Films work was obvious on Mr. Scrushy’s face. Richard Scrushy, HealthSouth CEO, was a piece of work.I neglected to mention none of the work was my own. But my rst words had been carefully crafted and served as a great opener. “HealthSouth and NFL Films have a lot in common. We’re both leaders and innovators in our elds and we set the stan-dards of excellence. That’s why I’m convinced we’re the lmmakers who can best express the HealthSouth vision. The Orlando deadline is intimidating and I’ve spoken to Steve Sabol about what will be needed if you choose NFL Films for this project. Steve has assured me I’ll have rst access to all of NFL Films’ top Emmy-winning staffers -- composers, writers, editors, graphics people and directors. The meeting barely lasted a half-hour and couldn’t have gone any better. We ew back from Ala-bama to NFL with the HealthSouth “Coming Attraction” job in hand, but we faced a formidable task and had just 11 days to deliver the goods.I don’t even remember writing the script, but somehow, I did and very quickly. Frankly, we were ying blind as the client’s description of their touring arena show wasn’t very detailed. We were told the Orlando presentation on Super Bowl Sunday

would be projected on two huge, side-by-side screens. This certainly complicated the edit ahead of us. My ambitious script called for original music and a small group of teen-age dancers providing energetic segues between newly shot and stock footage touting the highlights of the spectacular arena show to come. I simply let my imag-ination run wild and made up everything. I gured we would be awarded the job of writing and producing the arena show and could make all my illusionary predic-tions come true.Composers Tom Hedden and Dave Robidoux immediately got busy writing and produc-ing the the music soundtrack for our Orlando blockbuster. I hired Rennie Harris, the brilliant Philadelphia hip-hop choreographer, to create the dance routines and cast and train the teen dance troupe. I guessed correctly that Rennie’s Black esthetic would appeal to Mr. Scrushy. NFL’s rst-tier editorial team of Jim Barnett and Tom Costella were assigned the formidable task of assembling this double-screen show. All this production was happening simul-taneously and creatively everyone needed to be on the same page. Tammy and Rick Angeli, NFL Director of Sales, helped tremendously with facilitating the communica-tion, scheduling, and coordination.While I was directing on location, Jim and Tom would work on the edit almost daily, receiving the footage piecemeal as it was lmed by both freelance and NFL camera-men and gathered from stock footage houses. Tom and Dave’s original music tracks were composed, produced, and delivered in a matter of days. The sound was young, contemporary, driving, and original. Just what this show needed to propel the choreog-raphy and the pictures. Jim Barnett used that remarkable brain of his to determine the best use of the two screens: when to use two different images on both screens or double the same image, when to use both screens for one huge image, when to employ titles, and where to change the pace by leaving one or the other screen blank. It was complicated work.Most remarkably, there simply was no time for the back and forth of client oversight or approvals generally required. The only elements HealthSouth approved were the $600,000 production estimate and the 50% up-front payment. As far as content, they were completely in the dark. But everything converged awlessly until that last Saturday night in the edit suite. I had to make a 7:30 AM Sunday morning ight to Rennie Harris’ hip-hop choreography added a jolt of irresistible energy and youth to the show.

Florida to be ready for the Noon showtime in Orlando. After adding the nal scenes to the 12-minute show at about 11 PM, the only thing left to do was to sync up the timing and progression of images on the two screens but it just wasn’t happening, and it was already midnight. Jim and Tom busted on it for another hour when, nally, Jim Barnett turned to me and said, “Look Victor, just go home, there’s really nothing you can do to help here. But don’t worry, stand by at home and we’ll make it happen.”By the time I got home it was close to 2 AM. I was devastated. All the energy pour-ing out of me during the 13-day, round-the-clock grind was dissipated. I was empty. I sat down on the living room oor and imploded, sobbing quietly, but uncontrollably. I had just blown the biggest potential commercial project in NFL Films history and a huge payday for myself and I hadn’t been there 2 months. Once I got control of myself, I went upstairs and told Bonnie the terrible news. She was supposed to join me on the trip to Orlando but there wasn’t going to be any trip to Orlando. When I glanced at my watch it was 3:30. Crawling into bed I gave myself up and disappeared into a black cloud of depression before drifting away. And then the phone rang hur-tling me back to reality. It was 4 AM and Tom Costella told me they had solved the problem and to get back to the studio. By the time dubs were run and the car came to take us to the airport, I thought we had no chance of making the 7:30 AM ight. I wasn’t about to come this close and spend Super Bowl Sunday banging my head against a closed airline gate. Before leaving, we tracked down some airline bigwig and I told him I was transporting a VIP lm for Steve Sabol to air on the Super Bowl tele-cast. Could he PLEASE hold the ight for just a short while if I were late? “There’s no way I can miss this plane!” Miraculously, Bonnie and I made the ight with just minutes to spare. We took our seats in First Class and I ordered a double Jack Daniels on the rocks with a twist for breakfast. I was ying high all the way to Orlando. I wouldn’t be including this story if the ending were anything but triumphant. No exaggeration, the crowd rose to their feet and applauded long and hard at the end. And I had to agree with their rave review. I had never really watched the show start to nish and, no doubt, it was a remarkable piece of work, some of the best work I had ever been associated with. I couldn’t believe we had produced this. As far as I was concerned, the team at NFL Films had just won the Super Bowl! I ew home from Orlando with a multi-million-dollar commitment to write and produce HealthSouth’s travelling arena show. From the bottom to the top in just 2 short months since starting my new NFL Films career. Life was good and Jim Barnett and Tom Costella split the MVP Award and earned my lifelong admiration and gratitude.Orange juice for breakfast just wouldn’t have been appropri-ate that morning.

My show of shows.Nothing will get your attention like being given about $2 million and asked to create something you’ve never attempted before. Immediately after my 13-day “coming attraction” marathon I was all in on producing the HealthSouth “feature” presentation. The rst problem to solve was coming up with a format or structure for this live, traveling arena show. I decided it would mimic a 1-hour TV special aimed at high school athletes, the designated target audience. I had been told I would have 4 of the Advisory Board celebrity/athletes to work with for 10 days on location in Birmingham: Bo Jackson; Roger Clemens; Kristi Yamaguchi; and a pro wrestler whose name escapes me 23 years later.I just pray their performance in front of a camera comes close to their athletic performance.There would be 4 dramatic storylines involving each of the 4 pro athletes mentor-ing a high school athlete in their chosen sport. This scenario would enable oppor-tunities to cover teaching specic sports skills/techniques as well as highlighting advice from the mentors on handling teen-age challenges. These storylines would be interrupted by “commercials” and music videos selling lifestyle values: proper nutrition; physical and mental tness, drug and addiction avoidance, sexual matters, and the importance of academics. There was one huge problem. There would be no time to write a script! The ath-letes were scheduled to be in Alabama in less than a week and there were a million production, travel, and crew arrangements to be made. Now! The script would have to be written on location, in pieces at night between shoot days. Oh my, how the hell am I going to pull this off?! The immediate need was to nd a writer with the skill and experience to handle this arduous assignment. I reviewed 6 resumes, in-terviewed 2 people and chose one writer who appeared condent and experienced enough. There were a few hundred other matters to arrange, but two in particular. After making the arrangements for the location shoot, all NFL producers were as-signed and unavailable to work on the HealthSouth show. I needed to hire a freelance

producer to work out of NFL Films full time on my project. Same with NFL Films editors. I would have only scattered access to our people, but this job required someone in-house, pretty much full time with the skills to handle a two-screen show like the Orlando presentation. I was very fortunate to nd Bill Nicoletti for the producer’s slot and Burke Moody and his wife Annie Taylor for the editorial require-ments. Whew! Sometimes you just get lucky and things go right.Other times, not so much. I had written the script for the rst day of shooting with Bo Jackson and a standout high school running back. The rst two days in Birming-ham were spent casting for the 4 student-athlete lead roles. A football running back, a baseball pitcher, an ice skater, and a young wrestler. All of that went very well and, though amateurs, I was condent these 4 kids were up to the challenge. And the shoot on the fourth location day also went very well. I knew that Bo Jackson had aproblem with stuttering and, in private before the shoot, I made a point of trying to make him feel at ease by talking about my own struggles. I explained that he could call a time out whenever he felt uncomfortable and we would start the scene over. We had lots of lm. He was very appreciative and this huddle seemed to really put him at ease. Bo knows, and that rst day his amazing skill set included a terric performance with hardly a time out.That night, I returned to my room jubilant, condent about the inevitable success of our project. But it was time to script the second day of shooting and I sat down with our hired-gun writer to explain how I saw the storyline evolving. He left my room to get busy and two hours later I heard a timid knock on my door. Our scribe’s ashen face said it all. “I don’t think I can do this. I didn’t realize there would be so much sports knowledge required. And the short deadlines night after night, I just can’t handle it. It’s impossible for me!” There was no time to argue with him. I told him he would be responsible for getting himself back to Philadelphia and to leave me a resignation statement explaining it was his choice to leave the shoot. As soon as my room door closed behind him, I got busy writing the next day’s script.I had been involved in many arduous production projects, but this added writing burden ratcheted up the pressure, the angst, and the physical toll. For me, shoot days were a minimum of 10 to 12 hours and now 3 hours of writing time was add-ed to my day. Oh well, who needs to sleep? Each of the 4 narratives followed the athletes’ paths to a championship game or competition. Each story covered physical training, skills coaching, and mental preparation to maximize athletic performance. Bo Jackson. Roger Clemens, Kristi Yamaguchi, and our wrestler all put aside their egos and contributed mightily to each story with content suggestions and sponta-neous ad lib dialogue. I felt comfortable directing coverage of all the championship

athletic encounters – a baseball game, a gure skating competition, a wrestling meet – except for the football game. Can you blame me? So, I asked Phil Tuckett, a top NFL Director/Producer, to y in and make sure the football coverage was NFL Films caliber. And of course, it was. Much appreciated, Phil. HealthSouth had prevailed on Michael Jordan, Advisory Board member, to give us one night of his time to lm a scenario of our choice while he was visiting Memphis. I came up with the idea to shoot Michael in a panel discussion elding ques-tions from 3 high school athletes. But on the ight there, it occurred to me it would be more unusual and involving if we turned the tables, and Michael initiated the discussions by questioning the kids. I quickly jotted down a list of possible questions for Michael. He was doing his best to intimidate me.And succeeding.When I arrived at the hotel site for the shoot, Michael’s handler told me, “Mr. Jor-dan is waiting for you in the ballroom.” I must admit, my heart was pounding as I opened the ballroom door. I immediately regretted not having a camera with me because the scene was surreal. The huge room was lled with wall-to-wall round tables dressed in crisp white, oor-length tablecloths and surrounded with whitechairs. And in the far reaches, perfectly placed off-center to the right rear, sat Mi-chael Jordan wearing a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. As I wound my way awkwardly back to Mr. Jordan, he never looked up or acknowledged me in any way. “Hi, I’m Victor Sonder with NFL Films and I want you to know how much we appreciate your taking the time to do this.” Still no eye contact or response. Just disinterested glances off to the side and then eyes down to the table. I explained the concept of his questioning the kids and handed him the list of questions I had writ-ten on the plane. As he xed me with a chilling stare and extended his right arm to take the sheet of paper, Michael spoke his rst word, “Whatever.”I’ll skip the awkwardness and discomfort of the shoot itself, but Jordan’s attitude and demeanor showed no improvement. And I was barely able to use more than a minute or two of the footage. But aside from this major disappointment, the writer who couldn’t write, and my state of exhaustion, I wrapped up our 10 days in Ala-bama with high hopes. Our producer back home, Bill Nicoletti, had been feeding the daily footage to our NFL Films lab and then to Burke Moody and Annie Taylor for editing. By the time I got back, they were well on their way to getting a handle on the sequencing of the storyline for the two-screen show. They were joined in the

editorial marathon by NFL Films editors Sheldon Brown and Pete Staman who col-laborated on the main show and handled editing the upcoming music videos. Now Penny Ashman got to work on the “commercial” breaks and her graphics magic and animation added just the right sparkle, irreverence, and information drop to these spots. I had been working on some song lyrics for the music videos to be inserted – in-cluding an anti-drug song, “Don’t Start What You Can’t Stop,” and “Get To Work,” an exercise and tness track. Tom Hedden and Dave Robidoux really delivered and their overall score for the show was just as compelling as their great air for song writing. There was also additional material to shoot including footage for the music videos and I felt the need for a “navigator” in the show, someone to help guide audi-ences through our story. I decided to hire Rennie Harris, our hip-hop choreographer from the Orlando piece, as the on-camera spokesman to bring a contemporary sen-sibility to the proceedings, provide a thread of continuity for our stories, and inject quick hits of humor when the opportunity arose. Rennie turned out to be as terric an actor as he was a dancer. There were other considerations as well. We needed to cast a touring emcee to host the live performances and script the ow of the show. What would the set for this arena show look like? It would need to be readily assembled and disassembled, transportable in two tractor trailers. I thought our set design requirements were most like those of a rock show musical performance. We did some research and decided to hire the Rolling Stones set designers. My only real directive was to use abstracted graphics from football elds, baseball diamonds, basketball courts, etc. to create a grass green oor covering with white eld and court markings. These people did a sensational job.It was a long, arduous, and complicated process, but after months of scripts, produc-tion planning, shoots, creativity, and assembly, we were ready for a live rehearsal of the show. The only arena available to book was in Williamsburg, Virginia. The showrunner would rehearse the presentation for 3 days and iron out all the glitches. Then Steve Sabol and I would travel down there to evaluate the results. In fact, the show came together beautifully, and after 45 minutes Steve turned to me and said, “Victor, I’ve seen enough. It’s terric. Let’s get out of here and play some golf.” The nal step in the process was to put the show on in front of a live audience for Richard Scrushy and the HealthSouth people in Birmingham. HealthSouth took on the responsibility of assembling the audience of actual male and female high school athletes. And here’s where things went very wrong.

As I stood watching the audience le into the arena, a feeling of dread overcame me. These weren’t high school age kids at all! These were elementary and junior high school students with hardly a teenager in the bunch. They were mostly 10 to 13 years old and, as it could be no other way, the material went completely over their heads. I guess, they had expectations of a Disney movie and what they got was a show about self-improvement, discipline, athletic skills, mental toughness, injury preven-tion, and avoiding the pitfalls of drugs and alcohol. In discussions with Mr. Scrushy and others afterward, I began with the totally inappropriate makeup of the audience and how completely unfair it was judging the impact or success of the show based on that night. Their designated targets were serious athletes 16 to 18 years old not pre-pubescent children. Though thoroughly disappointed with the lack of an excited response, I was convincing enough that the company approved the show and sched-uled the rst arena events for the Spring, a couple of months away. In addition, the nal payments for the cost of producing the $1.8 million show were received from HealthSouth. Other client frauds paled in comparison to Mr. Scrushy’s charges. And that was a very good thing indeed. Because only months into the run of arena shows here we go again. An-other one of my clients was under Federal indictment. Richard Scrushy and Health-South were accused of cook-ing the books in a $2.7 Bil-lion case of corporate fraud. Initial charges included 85 counts of conspiracy, money laundering, securities fraud, and mail fraud. It took years for the case to come to trial, but the HealthSouth arena roadshow was immediatelyscuttled. And, in an astound- ing 2005 result, Mr. Scrushy was found NOT guilty on all counts! But not so fast, 4 months after his miraculous acquittal, Scrushy was indicted and convicted of political corruption and bribery charges. He served 55 months in a Federal prison and the nightmare didn’t end when his connement did. In a 2009 civil case, Mr. Scrushy was found responsible for the fraud at HealthSouth and ordered to payrestitution to the tune of $2.9 Billion. Yes, that’s with a “B!”

Meanwhile, back at NFL Films the scal year was ending, and I was called into Barry Wolper’s ofce, ostensibly to learn the size of my HealthSouth earned com-mission. My contract stated I was entitled to 75% of net prots on all revenues I generated above $750,000. But no good deed goes unpunished. After landing the account, meeting impossible deadlines, writing, directing, honchoing the creative team and exhausting myself in a heroic multi-month effort (at least in my own estimation), Barry had these calculating words for me. “Victor, the HealthSouth project totaled $2.4 million. It was $600,000 for the rst phase and $1.8 million for the arena show. Our contractual obligation to you on the HealthSouth work totals $893,000, but if we pay you that amount of money, you would be making more than Commissioner Paul Tagliabue this year. We can’t have that happen.” This coming from a man working for the NFL where contracts are sacrosanct. “That be-ing the case, you’ve got two choices: We’ll pay you the whole commission, but you will have to resign from your job, or we’ll pay you $50,000 a year for 5 years and you can continue working at NFL.”Had I been smarter or more adept at negotiations, I would have called, “Bullshit!” immediately. I’m sure Mr. Wolper was just trying to cover his own backside for approving my contract, which he determined was humiliating and made him look like anything but the uber money man he professed to be. My rst thought was about jeopardizing my friendship with Steve Sabol if I threatened a lawsuit. And I believe Barry used my valued relationship with Steve to prevent that happen-ing. Had I sued, the heinous threat of losing my job for taking the earned commission would certainly have re-sulted in substantial additional penalties, well above the What my response to Barry Wolper should have been.commission and legal fees. In retrospect, I’m sure Steve knew nothing about my contract or Barry’s decision. Steve had no interest, or concern, or involvement with company nances and left everything to Barry. My biggest mistake was not bringing Pete Albert, who had originally negotiated my contract, to the meeting with Barry. I’m certain the outcome would have been far different. As it was, I loved working at NFL Films. I loved Steve, I loved my associates, and the work I was doing. I was 50 years old and not at all anxious to start again, again. Foolishly or not, I left $700,000 on NFL’s table and settled for a lot less. Forward march.After getting past the intensity of the HealthSouth project and coming to terms with the fallout from Barry Wolper’s cavalier disregard of my contract, I was ready to

move on. Though I personally had been disrespected, I never considered disrespect-ing my commitment to Steve Sabol. I would do my job and my best to turn NFL Commercial Productions into a success. Working directly with Steve Sabol on his TV show was a great experience. NFL FilmsThough not my primary focus early on, Steve Sabol asked me to get involved with the football operation in a small way by contributing to his weekly TV show, “NFL Films Presents.” It was a great way to start my 20-year run with the company. I was responsible for directing and editing a short studio segment with Steve on camera. In addition, I travelled with Steve directing some of his location interviews for the show. We worked with many prominent players and coaches including Emmitt Smith, Jerome Bettis and Don Shula, but I got the feeling Steve wanted me to bring some new wrinkles to the proceedings. I felt compelled to bring up the subject and explain why I was reluctant to do that. When he was ready, I would love to take a crack at reimagining the format and style of the overall show, but I didn’t think it would work to do that within these segments. After all, they were inserts into a very successful, long established TV show. And style wise, what we were shooting had to slip comfortably into the existing “NFL Films Presents” format. Steve agreed and, in any case, my involvement with football was winding down as I soon got busier and busier with commercial projects.

However, over the years, I was called on to handle several notable football-relat-ed assignments. After Dick Vermeil won his Super Bowl with the St. Louis Rams, WHYY asked for a prole piece. My program entitled “Two Roads to Glory” in-cluded references to Coach Vermeil’s previous Eagles tenure and how it related to his championship run. I was asked to write and direct a lm for Motorola to be pre-sented at the Super Bowl, heralding the NFL-sanctioned Motorola headsets worn exclusively by all coaches and assistants. And I thoroughly enjoyed researching, writing, and directing a Super Bowl piece proling future Hall of Famer Michael Strahan after his retirement from football. Still, the real focus of my work was in the commercial arena.The DoCO.umentary We discovered a very lucrative market for long-form lms telling the stories of major corporations and institutions. I felt it was important to “brand” the NFL Films approach. We coined a proprietary term for our style of storytelling, “The DoCO.umentary.” We would dig out the essence of their unique culture and meth-ods and communicate it in an emotional way. There would be no script, no actors, no narrator, and there would be no comparison. The resulting lm would explore their past, their people, and their singular prole in memorable ways that resonat-ed with audiences. Among many others, the signature work we completed for The United States Military, HarleyDavidson Motorcycles, Penske Truck Leasing & Logistics, Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation, The Pro Football Hall of Fame, Friendly’s Restaurants, and The Staubach Company testied to our approach. Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation “Victor, Christopher Reeve wants us to do a lm for their fund-raising event in New York City!” Cheryl Bohn was as excited as I was intimidated. Every VIP and ce-lebrity “critic” in Manhattan would be there and pleasing Christopher Reeve wasn’t going to be a walk in Central Park. But after the rst meeting with Christopher and his beautiful wife, Dana, I was a believer and an enthusiastic ag-waver. They were serious about curing paralysis. Not only was it possible, but the cure was closer than ever and just a matter of time, effort and funding. It was our job to bring this message of hope to the fundraiser audience and to the world. Bottom line? Open hearts and wallets. Produce a lm that will convince peo-ple of the reality of a cure and change the world. We authored the inspiring theme, “We must. We can. We will.”

We followed the DoCO.umentary blueprint. No script, no actors, no narrator. Just start digging. Talk to the people living the story. To Christopher Reeve, severely compromised, determined, and immensely inspiring. To his heroic wife, Dana, and fellow passengers on their journey. To the families of the paralyzed. To the research-ers ghting on the front lines. During an interview in Manhattan, we were shooting an extraordinary young woman, no more than 20 or 21 years old. She had been injured diving into a swimming pool less than a year prior. She was describing her accident and how devastated she was after hearing her diagnosis and prognosis, and I could feel myself losing it and about to burst into tears. I had to make some ex-cuse and leave the room quickly before embarrassing myself. No one could tell a company’s story with the impact of NFL Films.We ew to locations all over the country. We brought our own NFL cameramen and picked up support crew in each location. Typically, on camera principals would respond to my off camera questions (which would be unheard in the nal edit). We shot tons of lm, worked with transcripts of the responses and cobbled together a rough sequence on the y during many pre-edits. After about a week of intense nal edit sessions we had a rough cut, and I scheduled a remote voice-over session to re-cord a short message and appeal for funds to run over closing titles. Meryl Streep (yes, that Meryl Streep) couldn’t have been more gracious. Unsurprisingly, Ms.Streep nailed the read on the rst take and I told her so. “But I don’t want you to think I’m that easy so please, do it one more time in case there are technical difculties with the rst one.” My line got a laugh which brought a smile to my face.I thought I had presided over a piece of work Christopher Reeve would love. I had managed to include every warm, emotional, sad, funny, hopeful, shocking, and in-formative piece we had captured. We arrived at the Reeve home in upstate New York brimming with condence. And after the lights went back on, Christopher turned to me and said, “This is great … a great example of too much of a good thing. It’s way too long. It’s got way too much of everything. Cut it down to no more than 12 or 13 minutes.” Of course, he was right. I had made the cardinal mistake of falling in love with my own work. Less was more and it all ended well when our lm was so well received, save for this tragic epilogue. Christopher Reeve passed away in 2004 and shockingly, Dana Reeve was diagnosed with lung cancer and died less than 2 years later. She was just 44 and never a smoker. Their children have kept their parents’dream alive and the Foundation has made great strides in the ght to cure paralysis.

Penske Truck Leasing & Logistics There are some people you meet and connect with immediately. Jim Feenstra, Penske Sr. VP Marketing, Sherry Sanger next in command and Don Metcalf, who was with me every step of the way on every exhausting location shoot, were such people. Jim was a great admirer of Steve Sabol and NFL Films and he extended that same belief and condence to me from the rst day we started working together. Of course, this inspired me to expend every possible effort to justify his instincts about me. Our rstproject together involved producing a centerpiece lm for Penske’s Annual World-wide Conference in Arizona. During the shoot, I was struck by the unselsh cooperation and genuine enthusiasm of every Penske associate at every company level. It was a rare and enviable corporate culture that could generate this kind of pervasive character. And I’m certain this is what’s primarily responsible for the company’s astonishing worldwide growth and success, and our lm captured it.The reaction to this rst project was such that NFL Films became the go-to team on their showcase Penske event lm for years to come. And it’s no surprise that Jim Feenstra, being the embod-iment of Penske character and values, became a great friend of mine, even today years later.We also produced memorable Penske TV commercials.SGW Advertising Niles Wolfson was a partner and Creative Director of North Jersey ad agency SGW. His partner in crime was Chez Pari. When Cheryl Bohn and I drove up to visit the agency and talk about working with them on their TV commercial productions, Niles’ amboyant appearance took us by surprise. Dark complected, short of stature and pleasantly chubby, Niles was prone to amboyant, short sleeve, sport shirts open at the neck revealing his ample chest hair. But the major impression was a talkative man with a warm manner and a penchant for “lots of gold” on his ngers, wrists, dangling around his neck and highlighting his amboyant eyewear. Physi-cally, Chez was the polar opposite, tall with a medium build, a fair complexion, and a quiet wardrobe with a demeanor to match.

SGW Advertising’s belief in me was a game changer.Niles did all the talking and explained they were looking to connect creatively with a director and production company on an ongoing and pretty much exclusive basis. They handled the New Jersey Tourism account and wanted to feature Gov. Chris-tie Todd Whitman in the spots. In addition, Saint Peter’s University Hospital was a large TV account and SGW also handled several broadcast oriented consumer prod-ucts. Niles and Chez were obviously impressed with the NFL Films aura and with my reel because they quickly indicated feeling comfortable and wanting to work with us. Better yet, they were ready to get started. Given my extensive agency creative background, I always felt comfortable offering suggestions to improve the copywriting and concepts I was working with but I had to be very careful because this rankled some agency creatives, especially if they were young with little experience. But Niles and Chez readily responded to my visual and copywriting ideas and, in addition, were happy to have me supervise the edit sessions. We formed a very special, years-long creative relationship. It was both very enjoyable and very productive. Except for the Lifestyles condom com-mercial. To summarize, their idea involved a gorilla, a spooky laboratory, a scantily clad model with enormous boobs and an incomprehensible script. And we really butted heads, but to no avail. I think this was Niles’ belated and resentful reaction to my escalating presence in their creative process. I nally caved and told them I would do my best to “shoot their vision.” After going all the way to L.A. for the best gorilla suit and accepting their casting choice for the “girl with the bazooms,” I delivered what Niles and Chez had asked for. It was an unmitigated disaster. A total embarrassment. To this day, I deny any involvement. Aside from this asco, SGW and NFL Commercial Productions had a great long run together. And I’m still grateful for the work we did and saddened by the sudden loss of Niles Wolfson. RIP

Lancaster County Tourism You don’t maintain a long productive relationship with clients unless they believe in your talent, are receptive to your concepts and nurturing of your creativity Through a succession of agencies and changing regimes at the Tourism Commission we found ideal partnerships. Maybe it’s the water out in Lancaster County, but more likely it’s the prevailing culture of honesty, openness, trust, and the warmth of its people.We worked with agency lead creative, Glen Bentley on a spot commemorat-ing the 25th anniversary of “Witness,” a lm shot on location in Lancaster County. While working with Glen on the project, I couldn’t help but notice his wonderful speaking voice. It struck me he would be a great choice for the voice over and, after running a test recording by the client, we all agreed. Glen went on to narrate the follow-up campaign as well.Glen Bentley and the Tourism Commission were always open and supportive of our ideas.A couple of years later, we found ourselves winning a competition for the broadcast portion of the campaign and working directly with the Lancaster Tourism Commis-sion. Gas prices were sky high and the economy was in a terrible slump. Vacationers were looking for destinations close to home and our client loved the strategic posi-tioning of the proposed campaign theme, “Nothing as close comes close.” Btw, it seems perfectly suited for market conditions today. Tom Hedden set the words to music and shooting “visitor” endorsements, while visually reinforcing the area’s mul-tiple attractions proved to be the perfect creative strategy. Our long-term association with Lancaster County was a very fullling and memorable highlight of my tenure with NFL Films.The Shoot From Hell I had directed a couple of well-received commercials for Hershey Park in the past, working directly for the amusement park. But when I heard that Brownstein Advertis-ing had become the agency of record, I just assumed I was out of the picture. Surpris-ingly and happily, my long-time friend Berny Brownstein called about my directing two TV spots for their new account. Marc Brownstein, Berny’s son, had joined the agency recently and I’d be working with both on this 2-day shoot. Jerry Van Dyke would be the spokesperson and centerpiece of the spots. The talent fee was $225,000.

As personable and supportive as Berny and Marc Brownstein were, Jerry Van Dyke was like their evil Uncle.On the rst day, the rst scene was a very complicated setup. A background roller coaster and sixty extras had to be choreo-graphed to enter the scene just when Mr. Van Dyke jogged in from the opposite direction to deliver his opening line. I called “action!” and, not unexpectedly, the coaster was late, none of the timing was in sync, and Jerry’s line read was terrible. Just as I cut the scene, Jerry yelled out, “Okay, you got it?!” And he started to head off toward his dressing area.I was abbergasted. “Jerry, wait! We need to do another take. There are lots of elements that need to coordinate in this scene.” To say nothing of an option to cover any technical problem. The comedian was not amused. “Hey, if you can’t get your act together we’re going to have a problem. That’s when I knew we were in for trouble, big problems and a nightmarish 48 hours. And things would get worse. Much worse.Hershey Park had just hired a new Marketing Director and this man had never been involved in any form of TV production, let alone a location shoot where our trucks were not permitted to drive on Hershey Park property. Trucks had to drive behind the property fence to each new location and all lighting and equipment hand-carried hun-dreds of yards to each of the 24 locations on the schedule. By the way, the temperature was a scorching 95 degrees. It didn’t help matters that Jerry Van Dyke’s comic reper-toire consisted of one facial expression, a wide-eyed goofy smile, and one dialogue delivery, real loud and real annoying. Jerry and the Marketing Director were con-stantly complaining about how long it was taking us to move from location to loca-tion and set up the next shot. Jerry kept telling me about shooting “Coach,” his studio show. “All the lights are already up on a grid above the set, and it doesn’t take 10 min-utes to light and get ready to shoot the next scene.” Duh. When I called for a break to send our craft service people out to bring bottles of ice water to the crew in the sweltering heat, our new Marketing Director blew his top and bellowed, “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SLOWING EVERYTHING DOWN!” I absolutely lost it, “IF THEY WERE ANIMALS OUT THERE IN THIS HEAT, YOU’D HAVE NO PROBLEM WATERING THEM!” Van Dyke’s attitude got worse with every new scene and so did his performance. And it really pissed me off. I guess $225,000 wasn’t enough to induce him to act like a professional. Every once in a while I would “slip” and address him as his famous, beloved, and vastly more talented brother … “Dick, will you -- oh I’m sorry, Jerry --

Jerry! -- don’t know why I keep doing that.” I decided to pull him aside and have a very frank talk. “Jerry, I know you don’t like me or think much of me as a director, but I’m doing my best to get us through this ordeal and end up with a piece of work that doesn’t embarrass us and we can both be proud of. Is there anything I can do to make things easier for you?” He wasn’t articulate enough to manage much of a re-sponse, but I could sense I had nally made a bit of a connection with him. And things did become more manageable on the second day of shooting. Finally, it was 10:30 PM at night and we were setting up for the last scheduled scene of the shoot. And after constant complaints about having to wait around for us … Jer-ry Van Dyke was nowhere to be found. Twenty minutes go by and we’re getting dan-gerously close to very expensive double overtime. Finally, I spotted Jerry off to the side engaged in an animated phone conversation. After walking over to gently chide him by smiling and pointing to my wristwatch, he ashed me the 1-minute nger up in the air sign – at least it wasn’t his middle nger -- and nally ended his phone call. “That was the Tonight Show. I’m going to appear on there tomorrow night.” Again, I just couldn’t help myself, “Jerry, I know we’ve had our ups and downs…but I’m won-dering if you could do me a huge favor. Could you possibly nd a way to mention my name on the Tonight Show? You could talk about the terric director you just worked with, Victor Sonder from NFL Films. It would mean so much for my career.” As we walked over to the set for the last scene, Jerry put his arm around me and replied, “Sure kid, I’ll see what I can do.” The Hershey Park epilogue: Of course, Jerry Van Dyke never mentioned me on the Tonight Show; the new Marketing Director was immediately the Ex-Marketing Di-rector and summarily red; And I guess the traumatic shoot tainted me in the eyes of Berny and Marc Brownstein because I never worked with them again. I considered the job I managed to do under the circumstances the greatest “save” of my directing career; Impossibly, the commercials turned out to be truly engaging. And you would never have known this had been the shoot from hell. NFL Sunday Ticket New product introductions, especially for the NFL, come with lots of pressure and heavy responsibilities. Margeotes Fertitta & Weiss, a very hot New York agency, won the task of introducing the league’s new subscription service. Now fans could watch their favorite team on Sunday no matter where they lived or travelled. Winning the account came with the caveat that the agency had to hire NFL Films to produce any TV commercials. Two of my top “Client Hall of Fame” inductees, Tola Murphy-Baran and Phil Summers, supervised the project for the League. And after Steve Sabol recommended me, I was excited to be chosen to direct the 6-spot campaign.

However, after the agency copywriter/art director team of hot-shot, 24-year-olds met their new director, they weren’t nearly as delighted. I could see the blood drain from their faces as soon as they were introduced to “Grandpa Sonder.” Not only were they forced to use NFL Films, but now... “I don’t believe this geezer is our director!”The agency creative concept was terric and provided great opportunities for humor, casting, wardrobe, and styling. But the young art director was a huge pain and she questioned my every decision from casting to lenses to camera positions. The kid copywriter eventually got past my age and we managed to establish a pretty good re-lationship. Then, there was a meeting in front of our clients, Tola and Phil. When I suggested we shoot an additional, alternate ending for the “Dolphins/Bills” spot, so we had a choice in the nal edit, the creative team bristled with resentment. Again, it was not hard to read their minds, “Gramps, just stay the hell out of the creative!” But my ending was signicantly better than theirs and I was not about to forgo delivering the best possible job to avoid bruising their fragile egos. On the way out of the meet-ing, Tola pulled me aside to say she loved my idea and to go ahead and shoot both endings. “You can inform the kids it was my decision,” which of course trashed any possibility of a harmonious relationship with the kids. Our NFL Sunday Ticket TV campaign won a prestigious national ADDY Award.middle of a 50-degree warming trend and sweating the entire production. Truck-loads of snow were hauled in from Syracuse, every scene was dressed with the white stuff, and then every shot was framed much tighter to eliminate the bare back-grounds. More thanks to Steve Pannepacker, my brother, the viewers never knew it. But in the end, it was worth all the conict and the agency creative team deserves lots of credit, if not a demerit for their ageism. The NFL Sunday Ticket campaign won great acclaim and a coveted National ADDY Award. Speaking of credit, I want to callout Steve Pannepacker for the re-markable art direction, particularly his15-foot-high human dolphin hoist, usedto display the Bills fans’ prize catch,hung upside down in front of NiagraFalls. This gargantuan prop assured myalternate ending was the hands-downwinner. “A dolphin’s not a sh, it’s a mammal--a mammal!” An interestingside note, this Bills/Dolphins spot was shot in the middle of winter in Buffalo.But instead of the snow we expectedand needed, we found ourselves in the

Just a quick mention of the 3 spots we did with Vincent Pastore of Sopranos’fame. The client was The Wiz appliance stores in the greater New York market. “Big Pussy” was a pleasure to work with and I made sure things would remain that way by paying him on time. Great fun and great spots. Adding insult to injury.Three years after starting at NFL Films, I received a phone call inviting me to a reunion of the people who had worked at SonderLevitt Advertising over the years. I said I would love to be there, but only if Bonnie and I hosted the party at our house. And that’s how things stood until a week before the party. We had invited Barbara Levitt but, for obvious reasons, Gary Levitt was purposely not included. We hadn’t seen or spoken to one another in at least 5 years and that was ne with me. I had erased him from my life. However, I was told Gary was anxious to be at the reunion and, though I had serious misgivings I acquiesced. Frankly, I was curious about what he could possibly have to say for himself.It was a sparkling, warm day in June and we were thrilled to see so many SL alum-nae turn out. I had lost touch with so many of these great people and reconnecting was easy and rewarding. And then the Levitts arrived, Gary wearing his familiar, enigmatic, crinkly camouage smile. When Barbara saw me and Bonnie in the crowd, she immediately rushed over to exchange hugs and a warm greeting. But Gary executed an abrupt about-face and promptly vanished. About an hour later, I decided to search out my reluctant guest and see if we could sit down together and talk. Still smiling, he nodded silently in agreement and followed me off to two empty chairs on the patio. I got right to the point. “Gary, I’m wondering why you wanted to be here today and if you had anything to say about the way things ended between us?” Without a word or any change of expression, Gary stood up, turned, and walked away. I was surprised because I had never seen Gary at a loss for words. But I wasn’t surprised to see him turn his back on me. I had seen it before. That night, I couldn’t resist dashing off an email asking why he had nothing to say to me. Gary’s response was short, but not very sweet, “You’re an eWhiner.” I guess if I hadn’t contacted him via email, it would simply have been, “You’re a whiner.”

It was a Lulu of wedding.and Lu met when they both were living in Brooklyn. Lu and Robert were very much in love and seeing my daughter happy was a great gift. First, the weather that day in May of 2006 was as spectacular as the day of my older daughterMelody’s wedding, years earlier. The expansive, 2-acre setting our carriage house provided made for an even more beautiful backdrop this day. Bonnie had spent years transforming the grounds into a garden wonderland and nearly everything was in bloom on May 27th. However, Bonnie’s fearful battle with breast cancer and current course of chemotherapy and radiation treatments compromised the intensity of our celebration. The union of Lulu Sonder and Robert Morris was a joyous day for all.Robert was very tall, not very dark, and very handsome. He had a warm smile and a quiet, gentle way about him. Robert’s family was from San Francisco, though he Aside from Bonnie’s struggle, so much was different from Melody’s wedding. The day before the ceremony, Lu & Robert’s New York friends swarmed all over the patio/bandstand hanging their own funny and profane tributes to the betrothed couple. And Meryl Press, Lu’s very close friend and a very gifted singer, would wow the crowd with her electrifying performance. The most critical difference was the charac-ter of the Morris family. As you may recall, Melody’s in-laws were “prickly,” to put it mildly. Not so Robert’s parents, Sandra and George, and Robert’s brother and beauti-ful sister, Michael and Katharine. Aside from the Morris’ generosity and unexpected help with the wedding expenses, they hosted a fun, informal, get-acquainted party downtown for our family and the out-of-town guests. It was just a prelude to the stirring emotions of the wedding ceremony and freewheeling atmosphere of an unfor-gettable day that exceeded everyone’s expectations. Of course, not all is destined to end well. And like Melody’s ill-fated rst marriage, Lu and Robert eventually grew apart and separated. But they’ve come to terms with their issues and are both devot-ed co-parents of our granddaughter Cleo, providing her with a drama-free and secure environment. What is particularly gratifying and beautiful to see is Lulu’s ex in-laws, George and Sandra Morris, still maintain a close and loving relationship with her. And I too value my ongoing friendship with Robert, Sandra, George, and the rest of the Morris family as well. Good people nd a way to discard distructive emotions, avoid reacting reexively, and let love prevail.

An irreparable loss.On March 5, 2011, Steve Sabol was to accept an award for NFL Films at a luncheon in Kansas City, Missouri when he suffered a seizure. After doctors conducted tests, Steve was diagnosed with a tumor on the left side of his brain. When I heard about this frightening diagnosis, I tracked down a renowned Neurosurgeon, Dr. Richard Winn, who was a close friend of Steve’s growing up and attended the Haverford School with him. Dick quickly got in touch with Steve and arranged to visit, anxious to help in any way he could. The prognosis was indeed serious. Thus began Steve’s courageous 2-year struggle for survival. I don’t use the word “courageous” cavalierly. While undergoing extensive radiation and chemotherapy, and enduring its debilitating effects, Steve worked at NFL Films until the last possible day. He spoke at his father Ed Sabol’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony, and he was funny and emotional and eloquent, the same commanding public speaker he had always been. Prior to the HOFceremony, we had been over for dinner. Steve spoke about being embarrassed by his physical appearance and his difculty putting thoughts together. He was hesitant about speaking at the induction. I told him how handsome I thought he looked and how I noticed no impairment whatsoever. It was the truth. Steve never gave up creating art and, through everything, worked on his annual calendar until complete. My copy arrived on our front porch 1 week after Steve died. At just age 69.Steve Sabol always exhorted NFL Films people to “nish strong.” He took his own advice.Throughout the entire length of this arduous trial, Steve’s wife Penny was an everpresent pillar of strength. Penny added so much to Steve’s football-obsessed life, expanded his world and, for the rst time, showed him how nourishing love could be. Now Steve was blessed to have her there to sustain him on this nal journey into eter-nity. If you were fortunate enough to attend Steve’s tribute at the Kimmel Center, you know how immensely talented and compassionate Penny is. She and Steve’s devoted team at NFL Films had orchestrated a dazzling remembrance. One hundred pieces from the Philadelphia Orchestra provided the live soundtrack for the wonderful lm and moving remarks from a select group of friends and prominent colleagues.

It was just as Steve would have scripted. This gathering of over 1,000 was surprisingly intimate and sent spirits soaring for so many sad admirers. Penny, it was so beautifully done. Unforgettable, just like Steve. As for my own nal thoughts about Steve, here they are. Few people in this difcult world possessed the vision, the toughness and tenacity, and the innate artistic talent to accomplish what Steve Sabol did. Even fewer possessed the humility, the humor and lack of affectation. His gentle nature belied a football player’s “snot-spewing” grit. He transformed the world of professional sports like no one before him and he changed the game forever. It was no coincidence that pro football’s rise to become America’s greatest and most popular sport coincided with Steve’s career and the rise of NFL Films. But as the powerful paid tribute to his brilliant career, I’ll always remember how he reached out to me when I was most in need. I truly loved him and will be inspired by him and remember him every day of my life. Steve, who was brought up in privilege, rejected the empty trappings of wealth and the ostentatious badges of success. He coveted accomplishment and valued creativity and innovation. And his father. Steve’s unparalleled relationship with his Dad was the only thing I ever really envied. All of us have lost a unique and wonderful man, but I consider myself chosen in many ways, so fortunate to have crossed paths with Steve and been his friend for nearly 60 years. I can’t end my thoughts about Steve without a reference to his incredible sense of humor which I loved so much. Steve was perpetually confounded by the fact that some-one as beautiful as my wife Bonnie could end up with someone as attractively compromised as I was. Occa-sionally, a reminder of how perplexing this thought was to Steve, would arrive in the mail.

The Aerlife. 2014-Present DaySteve Sabol’s presence will always be felt at NFL Films. His ofce has been kept as if he never left it, his bulletin board papered with hand-written notes to himself about upcoming jobs. His parking space is still reserved. Penny commissioned a heroic 8’ tall bronze statue of Steve as a young cameraman and it greets everyone at the en-trance to NFL Films headquarters. Steve’s spirit lives in everyone who works there, and their work has not missed a beat. In fact, thanks to the plans Steve put in place and the creative succession he determined, NFL’s work continues to evolve and ex-ceed all expectations.But once Steve’s physical presence was a memory, the startling decision was made to dispense with all non-football related production immediately. That meant NFL Com-mercial Productions and the entire staff was a memory as well. Everything was shut down and everyone was let go. At our peak, we were billing $5 million annually and that number could have been substantially greater had we been vigorously support-ed and given access to the NFL’s rich cache of sponsors and advertisers. Apparently however, our revenues didn’t even amount to a blip on NFL’s revenue radar screen. I was turning 70, but wasn’t anywhere near ready to hang it up and I doubt I ever will be. Or ready to hang at the beach (I hate days baking on the beach). Or hang out with old buddies. Or just hang anywhere watching the world go by. I live for the work, the challenge, the accomplishment. I love solving the puzzle. Time to reinvent myself. Again.Creative alliances win marketing wars.The demand for 70-year-old directors is not intense. If I wanted to nd a place for myself I had to create a hybrid business model. SONDER & would be a combination ad agency, production company and consultancy. It would take all my experience as a writer, art director, lm and video director, producer, and marketing maven, and offer what was needed for any assignment. Available services would include assembling and managing the best team of professionals from around the country to attack any marketing challenge. But I would be the sole employee. No staff to pay or manage. No ofce overhead to drain prots. SONDER & -- “Creative alliances win marketing wars.” -- would be lean and ready. So far, it’s worked well. Sonder Levitt & Sagorsky, SonderLevitt, Sonder&Partners …it was time to reimagine myself back in the agency business.

™CALL 215-471-4740 FOR FURTHER INFORMATIONArby’sisonagreatroll. When Arby’s decided to up the ante on quality and introduce a new lineof premium sandwiches, they started with a nationwide search for the best roll. Which led to Philadelphia and Amoroso’s, the roll that made Philly cheese steaks world-famous. Arby’s knows a great sandwich starts on a great roll. Arby’s new Angus Three Cheese & Bacon Sandwichon a toasted, Amoroso’s Hearth-Baked Italian Roll.NRN_Arby'sad_1.indd 1 4/12/11 12:33 PMThe rst Sonder & account was Amoroso’s whose work I’d been handling for the past 30 years. The loyalty and support of Lenny and Jesse Amoroso made my new path possible. I wrote, directedand produced TV. Handled trade and consumer print advertising. Continued to establish a presence in outdoor. I handled their website, redesigned the iconic delivery truck and rebranded their Ginsburg subsidiary. I’m proud to have been part of the team contributing to Amoroso’s astonishing growth into a company with sales in all 50 states as well as many foreign countries.BeforeRebranded

��� www.normancarpet.net60 GREENFIELD AVE. ARDMORE, PA 610.795.3135There’s no better way to refinish your hardwood floors than Norman Carpet One’s “Magnus Anderson” system.—TRULY DUSTFREE! You can eat lunch in the same room where the refinishing is being done.—NO CARCINOGENIC SAWDUST! Avoid any danger with Norman’s completely dust-free system.—NON-TOXIC STAINS! Norman’s modified, oil-base stains are virtually odorless.—DRIES IN 3 to 4 HOURS! Other stains and finishes take 24 to 48 hours to dry.—20-YEAR WARRANTY! Nobody offers a warranty against fading. Norman does and it’s for two decades. Why move out of your house and live with dust for weeks? Norman’s “Magnus Anderson” floor refinishing system is a better way.Call today for an estimate. And leave your gas mask in the bomb shelter. One of a kind.From the world’s ancient Oriental rug weaving centers. Hundreds of unique, hand-woven, heirloom-quality rugs. Now appropriately displayed in Norman Carpet One’s new Ardmore Gallery. It’s the most coveted collection in the entire Delaware Valley. And perhaps in the country.One of hundreds.800.220.RUGS – 60 GREENFIELD AVENUE, ARDMORE, PA NORMANCARPET.NET BRYN MAWR – CONSHOHOCKEN – 800.220.RUGS – NORMANCARPET.NETCARPETING - HARDWOOD - CERAMIC & STONE - ORIENTAL RUGS - RESILIENT FLOORING - AREA RUGSNaked oors aren’t sexy.I can’t take credit for Norman’s ubiquitous radio ads (or the blame). That’s strictly Norm’s doing. But it’s been a great pleasure to work with him on most every-thing else. His outdoor billboards, the truck design and car wraps, and his print ads. Norman isn’t one of my biggest accounts, but he is one of my favorite clients.He’s a genuine character and truly lovable guy.

You know what they say, “All work and no play” … well, I’ve gota play entitled “Fast Food.” Composer Edd Kalehoff and I havebeen working on our “Broadway show” for years. Here’s a verybrief pitch: Rose, a single Mom works for Fast Food corporateas Assistant to the CEO, Sam Freedman. Rosa, her teenagedaughter, works at a nearby Fast Food restaurant after school.The dangerous Latin Lords hang out in the restaurant parkinglot. Jesus, the Lord’s gang leader, is the estranged ex- hus-band of Rose and father of Rosa, unbeknownst to his daughter.You’ll need to buy a ticket to nd out that it sizzles with twistsand turns and heats up to a dramatic climax. I wrote the bookand song lyrics and now I’ll have time to streamline the scriptand work on making Fast Food a reality. Steve Sabol read thescript early on and his note to me testies he thought we wereon to something great.Here’s a taste of FAST FOODAudio File- click icon below to playI’ve included a tantalizing sample of the 23 Fast Food demo songs Eddand I have written. Please imagine how they will sound when the synthesizer isreplaced with a full live orchestra. “Deep In The Night,” Rose cautions her daughter Rosaabout letting the passions of rst love sweep her away in destructive directions. “The Only Thing That Counts,”Felix Mitler, Fast Food corporate Director of Marketing, believes in doing anything to win. “Are You The One?” Rosaand Lavar Brown, her boss and manager of Fast Food, sing a duet about their feelings for one another. “Just Do It.”Lavar gives Fast Food employees an orientation lesson in doing things his way. “We Gonna Get Ours,” The LatinLords street gang sing about getting what’s coming to them. “Live My Dream” Rose tells daughter Rosa how muchescaping the dead-end neighborhood’s poverty and crime means to her.• 60-Day Return PolicySERVICE APPAREL, APRONS, LINENS & MORE • PHILADELPHIA / LAS VEGASThe work we did for Pinnacle Textile is something I’m proud of. In addition to designing their website, the tradecampaign we conceived was one of the strongest and most distinctive in the industry. Our work for Fiberlinkhelped attract industry-wide attention and led to their lucrative acquisition by a major competitor.

W-W-W-WOW! I B-B-B-BLEW THE P-P-P-PITCH FOR B-B-B-BERNIE ROBBINS! Steve Horn had an opportunity to compete for the Bernie Robbins account, a prestigious jewelry retailer. Steve wanted to know if I would be interested in partnering with him and presenting for the business. I was and we did. Most expensive retail jeweler’s ads look the same. They run a tasty stock photo and a paragraph of pretentious copy from the jewelry manufacturer and slug in their own logo at the bottom. Bernie Robbins’ ads followed this lazy model of mediocrity. The centerpiece of our unique and bold creative strategy was to downplay Robbins’ traditional logo and sign the ads with a big, bold, graphic “Bernie!” To juxtapose $10,000 watches, $15,000 diamond engagement rings and $25,000 necklaces with the personal warmth and provocative attitude of the “Bernie! signature. My rst rule of advertising is, “Get their attention.” With one stroke of our thick Magic Marker, we had set Bernie Robbins apart from every one of his competitors. “Bernie!” wasn’t cold and distant and hidebound. This store had great taste and style. Like you. “Ber-nie!” was a jewelry store like no other. Steve wanted me to handle presenting the creative and I was anxious to do that. Until I walked in the Union League conference room and saw a dozen associates from P.R. rm Cashman & Associates seated around the table. From out of nowhere, for the rst time in decades, my old fears came roaring to life and my stuttering demon was poised to attack. I didn’t stand a chance. As I sputtered my incoherent way through my explanation, I could see the “judg-es” glancing at each other in disbelief. Steve Horn was stunned too. The Cashman people didn’t hear a word I was struggling to say. It was time to invoke the death penalty and we were summarily dismissed along with our concept. “Just when I thought I was out, it pulled me back in!” Steve Horn probably thought I was having a stroke. I just know he never looked at me the same way again. Whoever won the competition for the account, Bernie Robbins lost. Their advertising still looks lazy and mediocre. “A supporter of policies that promote individual rights, civil liberties, democracy, and free enter-prise. Willing to respect or accept behavior or opin-ions different from one’s own; open to new ideas.” However you dene “Liberal,” that’s me. And after years of standing on the sidelines watching my wife become passionately involved, I’ve been roused to make my voice heard. That’s why I donated the design of a symbol for the Occupy Wall Street movement to ght economic inequality.I don’t hesitate to get involved politically now, and I’m proud to call myself a Liberal.I had tried for months to reach someone inuential within the Biden campaign and discuss my ideas for campaign creative strategy to no avail. So, I mounted by own Facebook campaign and ran a different “snarky” anti-Trump ad every other day, never mentioning the monster’s name. I designed a powerful poster featuring a devastating Trump caricature and posted it wherever I could the week before the election. I printed 250 crude anti-Trump bumper stickers and kept them in my car. My wife Bonnie was embarrassed by the language. But after spotting the sticker on my bumper, 250 motorists stopped both me and Bonnie to request one. Our bumper sticker supply was exhausted in one week. I don’t know how much good my campaign did, but it sure made me feel good. And by the way, Joe Biden won the election. Now, I’m ready to battle as if the future of our democracy is at stake.

I’m not a big believer in expensive restaurants, or grand service, or food that’s pretentious and obscure. The long-term successes seem to always be affordable with familiar and limited menu choices and attracting multiple guest visits weekly. What happens when you add healthful, fresh ingredients, uncompromising quality standards and an innovative concept to these criteria? You’ve got the possibility of great success.Pasta Perfect is a name I own, and a fast/casual restaurant concept I’ve developed that’s poised for major success. That will happen when the visionary restaurant operator or organization contacts me about exploring this substantial opportunity. Pasta is the most universally popular food worldwide. There are few if any fast/casual competitors in this “Italian” segment of the market. Let’s start with Pasta Perfect’s design ambience. There would be nothing Old World or red- checkered tablecloth about our restaurants. They will be cutting-edge examples of the best of contemporary Italian design. Sleek, spare, shiny, utilizing a mix of metal, man-made hard sur-faces, light woods, and fabrics. With a touch of Carrera marble accenting the hand-made pasta station you notice immediately upon entering the front door. One wall is a oor-to-ceiling screen projecting a dazzling video review of Italian culture from Julius Caesar to Sophia Loren. From chariot races in the Colliseum to the latest Ferrari at Maranello. All set to a soundtrack of Italian opera, jazz, and current pop. There are no waiters. Orders are placed at walk-up computer kiosks and guests I want to turn my decades of restaurant marketing experience into a delicious success in the fast/casual segment of the industry.enjoy their short wait times in the “Pick-Up Lounge” where they pay for their meal, charge their devices and can buy a $5 glass of Italian beer or red or white wine, available in select restaurants. Packaged Pasta Perfect noodles and sauces, and trendy Pasta Perfect swag are all on display and for sale.But the real attraction is the food. A selection of 6 hand-made pasta varieties prepared in a central commissary and supplemented by the worker at the pasta station. A choice of 4 sauces: red; white; pesto; oil and garlic. A variety of fresh, organic toppings will include shrimp, clams, ground beef, chicken and plenty of vegetarian choices. Pasta noodles are partially pre-cooked and then precisely timed and nished in about 2 minutes to be served al dente when ordered. A salad and a 7-minute, pizza-like Bruscotta product will also be on the menu. Add signature garlic pizza dough knots on the house, and a limited choice of gelato avors for desert, and that’s the essence of Pasta Perfect. If this doesn’t whet your appetite, you’re not a prospect. If you’re intrigued, let’s talk. Finally, it’s time for our iconic convenience store chain to dene its own branding. Time for a fresh new positioning statement that will resonate as strongly internally with Wawa associates and corporate management as with the consuming public. That will have decades of staying power and dene the service goals and product goals of all that Wawa strives to do. That will be remembered with a smile.A wish for my favorite convenience store.

As George Harrison, my favorite Beatle said, “All things must pass.” And so it is with this memoir. I’ve been thinking about the words I would choose to end my story for months. And for months I was coming up empty. Then one day, there they were. Printed out on a plain white sheet of paper and smiling up at me from on top of my printer. I have no idea how they got there or who could possibly have sent them my way. The words were spoken by Robert Duval in an obscure lm of his I had never heard of, “Secondhand Lions.” These are the words that felt so right: “Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good. That honor, courage, and virtue mean everything. That money and power mean little.* That good always triumphs over evil.” *The original line read, “That money and power mean nothing.” I made a “little” change. For those interested, I’ve posted additional commercials, campaigns, and longer-form lms on the ADversity website. Unfortunately, many productions mentioned in my memoir and other favorites of mine, are lost forever. Watch these additional videos when you logonwww.AD-versity.com

In a Category of Their OwnTerry Greene, Anna Ludlum, Irv MagidAgency Finances and Administration

The Client Hall of FameLeonard Bach, Philadelphia InquirerHerman Shaw, Aqualter CorporationBo Rosenbleeth, Mickey FinnDorothy & Mac Lerner, Dorothy Lerner InteriorsRay Goldberg, Penn Maid FoodsDavid Pincus, PBM Pincus Bros. - MaxwellRon Levitt, Ron Levitt sells creampuffs.Irv & Ted Kosloff, Roosevelt Paper Co./Philadelphia 76ersPat Williams, Philadelphia 76ersMike Babbits, Rittenhouse CarpetHerb Spivak & Larry Magid, Electric Factory ConcertsStanford Frank, Frank’s BeveragesHenry Kaplan, Pennsylvania LotteryDick Doran, Shapp for Governor Steve Korman, Korman Corporation Zack Stalberg, Philadelphia Daily News Ed Rendell, Rendell for D.A. Leonard & Jesse Amoroso, Amoroso’s Baking Co. Bill Giles, Philadelphia Phillies Jim Keating, WCAU-FM 98 Jerry Gushner, BOYDS Men’s Store Larry Wexler, 103.9 WMGK-FM Michael Craven, 93.3 WMMR-FM Gene McCurdy, WPHL-TV17 Greg Jones, Today’s Man Carpet One/Hill’s Department Store/Jordan’s Furniture Norman Chaikin, Norman Carpet Jim Feenstra, Penske Truck Leasing & Logistics Niles Wolfson & Chez Pari, SGW AdvertisingTola Murphy-Baran & Phil Summers, NFL Sunday Ticket Glen Bentley, Lancaster County Tourism

The Creative Partners Hall of Fame THE AGENCY CREATIVE DEPARTMENTJerry Selber, Harry Wilkins, Janet Espenshade, Pat DuciKen Panciera, Abby Alten, Doug Alderfer, Pat McGowanPatty Gallagher, David Gubernick, Sharon FalkowskiSusan Neuhardt, Richard Cooper, Partner/Precious Friend Garrett Brown & Ellen Shire, MentorsElliott Curson, Creative Hero & Trailblazer Edd Kalehoff, ComposerHal Lipman, E.J. Stewart StudiosTom Moran, Announcer/Voice-OverWalt Kahn, Audio EngineerJeffrey Berry & Phil Schulman, DirectorsJim McGorman, Director/Musician/InspirationBurke Moody & Annie Taylor, EditorsLes Kaplan, Landau OutdoorChappie Goraj, Gaffer Fred Lavner, Creative DirectorShelly Roseman, Still PhotographerWeaver Lilley, Still PhotographerEd Buffman, Director of PhotographyKyle Rudolph, Director of PhotographyPaul Van Haute, Director of PhotographyJohn Anthony, Audio EngineerWally Hayman, Audio EngineerSteve Pannepacker, Art Director/Stylist/Props/My BrotherJesse Rosenthal, Art Director/Stylist/PropsSandy McDonough, Gaffer/The LighthouseRennie Harris, Dancer/Choreographer/ActorSteve & Ed SabolFounders of NFL FilmsJim Barnett & Tom Costella, Sheldon Brown, Pete Staman, George PilhujNFL Films EditorsSteve “Andronovitch” Andrich, Hank McElwee, Howard NeefNFL Films Directors of PhotographyPenny Ashman, NFL Films Graphics Tom Heddon, Dave RobidouxNFL Films ComposersVince CaputoNFL Films Audio Mixer/Sound EngineerRick Angeli, Cheryl Bohn, Michael VentrescaNFL Films Sales Department Laurie LaFair, Marie Patriarca, Liz Leafey, Alan Brown, NFL Films Producers

Victor’s Words Of Wisdom YOUR FIRST JOB IS TO GET THEIR ATTENTION.WORK HARDER THAN THE BOSS WHO HIRES YOU.IT’S NEVER AS GOOD AS IT CAN BE.WHEN YOU THINK YOU CAN’T, DON’T BELIEVE IT.HIRE PEOPLE YOU PREDICT WILL BE BETTER THAN YOU ARE.GET IN EARLIER AND STAY LATER.FIGURE IT OUT OR FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN. EVEN MUNDANE JOBS ARE AN OPPORTUNITY TO PROVE YOURSELF. PRETEND YOU’RE CONFIDENT AND SOON YOU WILL BE.THERE ARE NO SMALL JOBS, ONLY SMALL EFFORTS.LEARN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOUR EGO AND YOUR LIMITS.ALWAYS STAY CURRENT WITH THE WORLD AND ITS EVENTS.THAT VOICE INSIDE YOUR HEAD IS ALWAYS RIGHT.CRITICISM IS YOUR CHANCE TO IMPROVE.KNOW YOUR WEAKNESSES SO YOU CAN OVERCOME THEM.BORROW FROM THE BEST THEN MAKE IT YOUR OWN.IT IS MORE IMPORTANT TO BE KIND THAN RIGHT.YOU CAN’T BORE THEM INTO BUYING.WHEN YOU THINK IT’S FINISHED THINK AGAIN.INSECURITY IS THE ENGINE OF ACHIEVEMENTCHOOSE TO BE HAPPY, CARING AND TOLERANT.BE RELENTLESS AND OBSESSIVE ABOUT DETAILS.SUBSCRIBE TO THE NEW YORK TIMES.DO YOUR WORK WITH JOY AS A COMPANION.

A Poem by Henry GibsonWith gratitude to Jim McGorman If you strike a thorn or a roseKeep a-goin’!If it hails, or if it snowsKeep a-goin’!Ain’t no use to sit and whineWhen the sh ain’t on your lineBait your hook and keep a-tryin’Keep a-goin’!When the weather kills your cropKeep a-goin’!When you tumble from the topKeep a-goin’!Suppose you’re out of every dimeBeing so ain’t any crimeTell the world you’re feelin’ primeKeep a-goin’!When it looks like all is upKeep a-goin’!Drain the sweetness from the cupKeep a-goin’!See the wild birds on the wingHear the bells that sweetly ringWhen you feel like sighing, singKEEP A-GOIN’!

EpilogueI tried to write a book about advertising I would want to read myself.The mountains I climbed were steep and treacherousthough the air up there was always sweet. However, I inevitably plunged fromthe summit crashing down into the valley below.Those failures were what made the success so coveted. And I rememberthem more vividly because overcoming the adversity was invariablya sterner test of character and talent. That’s what led me to choose the title for this book. Did the tribulations I faced in my life of privilege and prosperity equate with those the less fortunate must overcome? Don’t be silly.Even a jaded adman wouldn’t try to sell you a notion like that. I’ll do better next time, I promise.

Collage by Fred Lavner