It Looked Like a Chicken
How a Paint Chip on a Bathroom Stall Door Led to a Controversial New Advertising Medium
(Part 2)
By Rondavid Gold
Of course, there were details to be taken care of like getting exactly the right adhesives and laminations for the ads…and building a sales force and maintenance crew, etc. Those were done and it was time to visit ad agencies with my presentation.
The cartoon figure in the agency version of my presentation was a little media executive who was initially intrigued by the prospects of a mysterious new medium which promised to deliver an upscale captive audience who could be gender and career targeted with absolute precision. When it was revealed to the cute little media executive that the new medium was ads on stall doors of office building restrooms, he became enraged, leaped onto his desk and ordered me out of his office. The announcer begged his forbearance and gradually convinced the cartoon media executive of the advantages to his clients of being “pioneer” advertisers with Project R.
Likewise actual media executives were initially intrigued, became enraged and although not actually leaping onto their desks, ordered me out of their offices. Often accompanied by stinging epithets. The announcer and I were unable to change their minds. “No client of mine will ever…what makes you think that this agency would ever…etc.”
In the midst of these rejections and ejections, Project R, Inc. had now, through the efforts of local reps and the prestige of Harry Helmsley, signed landlords in Cleveland, Dallas, Chicago, Boston and San Francisco. We were national.
In 1970, Jerry Della Femina was an adman’s adman and one of Madison Avenue’s biggest creative stars. His groundbreaking, out-of-the-box concepts were responsible for some of history’s all-time most successful marketing campaigns. I was able to get an appointment with him personally.
After watching my cartoon media executive and listening to my recorded announcer, he very suddenly charged at me from around his desk, grabbed my presentation case and yelled, “Give me that!” He then called his assistant and told her to book the next flight to Winston-Salem, home of big tobacco. “This is incredible,” he said excitedly. “I’m taking it down there tonight. I’ll be back with it tomorrow night. They’re going to love it! I call you.”
Needless to say, I left his office in a stunned joyous delirium. I always knew that getting tobacco advertisers was nearly as much a key to Project R success as Harry Helmsley. I reported the earthshaking news to the team and waited eagerly for the call that would change our lives forever.
Two days later it did.
“They say that they’re a food product and can’t advertise on stall doors,” said Jerry Della Femina.
And that was that. There would be no Project R tobacco ads. No flood of millions.
Although this was a major blow to our instant-success dreams, the buzz and the company nevertheless continued to grow.
In addition to our introductory ads which opened with “Welcome to the Project R Reading Room…please don’t get up….”
There were front-page articles in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, Advertising Age and in business columns all over the country. There were national broadcast interviews and photos taken of me standing on a stall toilet seat for Life Magazine.
In addition to our introductory ads, which opened with “Welcome to the Project R Reading Room…please don’t get up,” there was a long-copy ad from a lingerie company that gave the history of bras beginning with: “In Roman times, every woman had to own a zona.” (Look it up.)
The media had a ball feigning outrage: “NO ESCAPE FROM THE AD MEN. One of the last places left in life where a person can get a little peace and quiet is being invaded by Madison Avenue though Project R,” etc., etc.
Our readers, however, loved us. We received glowing letters gushingly raving at how much people enjoyed the Project R idea and the ads. More than a hundred employees from one company actually sent us an entire roll of bathroom tissue filled with scrawled rave reviews.
We added buildings in Detroit and Anchorage.
So, how come you never heard of me? How come I didn’t become very rich and famous? Three words: the economy dumped. A very severe recession (we had them then, too) hit in the early 1970s and Harry Helmsley, in a consummate tycoon but kindly manner, told me that his buildings were no longer filled to overflowing and that his board of directors told him that Project R was too much of an image risk in seeking new tenants and…you get the idea.
My investors urged me to continue. But without the Helmsley Empire behind us, and with the economy only getting worse, I decided to skip the hospice step, pull the plug and return to a “normal” advertising career.
It was a great ride from chicken chip to Stall King and back to earth. One that I can safely say no one else has taken. Sometimes I think about it as I look at today’s totally invasive ad environment, and I smile and feel old.