Sunday Journal: Comedy infests ad man's tour of duty

By Bob Guckenberger, Special to the Times
Published March 2, 2008

I was an advertising copywriter at Ogilvy & Mather when the Mercedes-Benz 6.3 came out in 1969. The company wanted an ad to introduce its new model in the car buff magazines - Car and Driver, Road & Track, etc.

Before the 6.3, the Mercedes sedan was not noted for its acceleration. But the Germans stuffed the big engine from their 600 Pullman limo into the light-bodied 280, and it was a screamer. My concept: a 6.3 on a drag strip, smoking its tires, with the headline "The last place you'd expect to find a Mercedes-Benz!"

We rented the Englishtown drag strip in New Jersey, picked up a 6.3 from Mercedes Corporate and headed off for the shoot, which was planned for the next day. Needless to say, we did a fair amount of impromptu drag racing with a bunch of guys behind the wheels of their big-block Chevys and Fords that afternoon and evening.

As we headed to the track the next morning, I picked up a gallon of Clorox; I heard it would really make the tires smoke. (It did.) The photographer snapped shots as the starting lights of the aptly named Christmas Tree turned green and I lit up the tires. We must have made 50 runs or more down the track to get the perfect shot. When we finished, I returned the car to Mercedes, feeling great about the ad and the photo session.

The next day, the Mercedes-Benz national sales manager called my boss, shouting. We had put 500 miles on the car, worn out the tires and covered the rear fenders with molten rubber. Worst of all, this was a special order - and a sold car at that. Seems I had failed to say we were going to drag the 6.3 on the photo shoot.

Somehow I managed to keep my job.

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Having the Mercedes account was not tough duty. I was told to go on a factory tour of their plants in Germany. They hooked me up with a service managers' tour and we walked through the manufacturing and assembly plants, the museum and other "don't miss" excursions.

The Germans wined and dined us and generally treated us like royalty. In fact, our only complaint was German toilet paper, which had the consistency of 400-grit sandpaper. If you've been there, you know what I mean.

Midway through our two-week tour, our hosts took us to an elegant dinner on the shores of the Rhine River. Course after course came from the kitchen, starting with oxtail soup, fresh eel (didn't try it), wiener schnitzel and finally Black Forest cake.

After removing our plates, the owner of the restaurant clapped his hands and waiters arrived bearing silver trays. We wondered, what could be next? And then the owner proclaimed, "Now for something you have wanted since you arrived in Germany." They proceeded to put a roll of American Scott Tissue on each of our serving plates.

- - -

One year, the National Automobile Dealers Convention was held in Houston. As the account exec I was assigned to attend along with the Mercedes personnel.

After a long day, the Mercedes regional manager invited us to his house for a cocktail party. You can't get more all-American than to live in Houston, pal around with astronauts and have a name like veteran Jack Wright. As we approached the house, one of our German guests, Hans, noticed a Harley in Jack's garage. Somehow he persuaded Jack to give him the keys and then told me to hop on. I had never been on a bike, but in the agency business, you do what the client tells you to do. I held on for dear life as we sped through the exclusive neighborhood.

When we returned, I needed a drink, so we joined the party going on inside. After an hour or so of drinking and socializing, Hans walked over to the mantle and saw a picture of Jack Wright in his uniform, chest covered with medals.

"So Jack, I see you were in the war," Hans said with his notable German accent.

"Yeah Hans, I spent four years in World War II."

"And I see you won some medals. What is that medal?" he asked, pointing.

"That's the European Theater medal."

"I was also in the European Theater and have the same medal. And that one?"

"That's the Purple Heart; it means you were wounded."

"Oh I was wounded twice; I have a better medal in Germany."

As they went down the medals worn by Jack, Hans always had an equivalent or better medal. By now, people had congregated around the mantel to watch the medal countdown. When he got to the last one, Hans said, "And what is that medal?"

Jack stammered a bit, and finally said "Well Hans, that's the Victory Medal."

Hans slammed his fist on the mantel and exclaimed, "That is one I never got!"

The room, including Hans, exploded in laughter.

It was a good account.

Bob Guckenberger, who lives in St. Petersburg, recently retired from Guckenberger 'N Partners Advertising, which is now run by his son.

[Last modified February 29, 2008, 18:05:25]