In the previous installment, I reminisced about scoring a job at a suburban Milwaukee ad agency, necessitating a move from Madison (where I’d gone to college; not a complicated packing chore when you’re single and just a few years post-graduation). The folks at the Wisconsin Division of Tourism gave me a nice farewell party.
I remember very little about the “onboarding” process at William Eisner & Associates. Fortunately, I’d brought myself up to speed on the ins and outs of the then-standard Mac SE (a remarkably small all-in-one rectangle) and, as explored previously, made friends with the “old-school” former creative director and co-founder of the agency, Ed Musial. It was via Ed—patient, tolerant Ed—that I learned how to use a t-square, shoot stat sheets, and do actual paste-ups.
I also learned how important time sheets were, because if you were sitting at your desk and not billing a client, you were simply wasting space and time. Furthermore, if you were doing client work and not noting it incrementally, you were costing the agency money.
My work space was a shared, windowless room (the specific remains of which I believe are present in the building crumbs seen in the photo above). I guess we had what is referred to today as an “open office environment.”
One of the interesting contrasts between the end of the eighties and our current era is the scarcity of photographic documentation of daily life. I have no pictures of my relocation process (a fairly significant life event), and very few (under a dozen) of “office life” at Eisner and Associates. This was, remember, before people carried a camera attached to their phone everywhere they went. The only pictorial evidence I retain of my first cubicle at the agency is contained within this photo of art director Brad Schultz and I pretending to sadly dispose of a faulty Mac keyboard.
I eventually moved out of my initial little alcove to the “newer” side of the building where I inhabited a much more comfortable shared room (still equipped with dividers). No images of that space exist, alas.
Many Hats
My interest in Mac computers and associated software quickly made me, to some extent, the de facto tech guy on site — the “geek squad.” Printer doesn’t work? Go get John. Screen froze? Call Michlig. Need to learn Quark Xpress? Hey - Michlig has a Secondary Education Degree.
I was the person who lobbied for equipment updates, set up new Mac stations, hit the restart key combination when the screen froze up, etc. I actually enjoyed being the agency’s tech nerd while also putting together ads for clients like Summerfest and Allied Pools, but change was around the corner.
For one thing, the agency hired a copywriter who did nothing but… write copy. That brought the number of persons on site who were specifically copywriters to two (there was a resident copywriter there when I arrived).
Though I enjoyed the occasional writing I was called upon to do, I did not necessarily envy the new “Copywriter with a capital C.” True, he had a small office of his own with a door he could close, uncluttered except for a small Mac and some file folders. Also, he could hide away and lean back in his chair “thinking,” and it was billable time. However, not being able to “shape the visual” that delivered the words would have bored me.
Not long afterward, as the agency grew, a creative director was hired. We’d previously been a pretty lateral group, but now there was a person with a large office across from our cubicle-room to whom we reported, rather than directly to the man with his name on the building.
This had to happen, frankly, in order for the agency to function effectively as it grew. John, the new Creative Director, had a very conventional agency background and was a bit taken aback—nay, horrified— by the admittedly loosey-goosey system we had in place. We generally reported directly to Bill Eisner and/or the account executive handling the client in question. No layers of sub-management to wade through.
Roll With It
I remember sitting in John’s office for a “get to know you” meeting during which he was a bit baffled by my description of a typical workday. He sat across the desk with his mouth open in disbelief as I listed various daily tasks that seemed “all over the place” to him—this kind of crossover was a mess, he clearly believed. Writers don’t design. Designers don’t write. And designers and writers don’t keep software up to date and teach Mac-geek tips and techniques to others in the Art Department.
“We’re going to have to change your focus and narrow your responsibilities,” John said. “This is a bit… insane.”
To me, it was a bit depressing. The agency was, alas, growing and—quite necessarily—becoming more standardized in its approach and hierarchy.
I should have known my days there were numbered …
Coming in Part 5: Pearl Jam for sure this time …