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COPYRIGHT 2000 Haymarket Business Publications Ltd.

John Salmon's retirement marks the finale of a great career, Tony Brignull says

I bumped into Indra Sinha outside The Groucho and we went upstairs together thinking we might be early. But, no, the room was already half full. Free drinks, free food, how could I have thought my colleagues of so many years would be late. I positioned myself near the door so that I could see people coming in: Gray Jolliffe, Danny Levin, Dave Watkinson, Waldie, John O'Donnel. Over in the corner, Alan Parker was chatting to Paul Weiland. Adrian Holmes, Paul Weinberger and my old partner Neil Godfrey were in a group.

It seemed as if we'd never been apart. But then we were together for such a long time. Some of us have known each other for 35 years. There was one period of three years when nobody joined or left the creative department of Collett Dickenson Pearce.

Think of that. In some agencies, the turnover is 60 per cent. In one I worked at, Benton & Bowles, everyone left inside 12 months, and that was before the takeover. No wonder that for those who worked at CDP, there's a sense of family and, unquestionably, one of the very best sort.

There was another reason I stationed myself close to the door facing the staircase. It was to be a surprise party. John Salmon had been invited to a private dinner to discuss a small business matter. I saw him check his coat and walk towards the door. How well I knew this walk, this look.

Here is a man, it says, who is entirely at home in good restaurants. From the unfolding of the napkin to the clink of the Mersault in the ice-bucket and the lifting of the menu, these sounds are as familiar to John as the rustle of cornflakes is to others. The waiters and chefs know it, too. They sense a professional when they see one -- a diner to be respected, a man who will do justice to the creations they set before him.

In many ways, their respect is similar to ours. We trusted John's judgment totally. And we wanted to please him. How often I have seen him adjust his glasses and look quietly and thoughtfully at the work I showed him. A little chuckle meant approval. A long, drawn-out "yessss" meant further thought was needed.

If so, he would launch into a circumnavigation of the subject, often touching Canada where he learned his trade and frequently quoting his life-long friend Len Deighton before homing in unerringly on the weakness in the work, the soft spot, the slight aberration. He never spoke down to you and he never left you feeling down. I always walked out of his office wanting to do it better and having a good idea of how to do so.

I can honestly say that what reputation my work gained was largely because of John's influence. Possibly as with Parker Pens, the idea that we weren't selling a pen but we were selling the joy of writing. What an insight! Or in sometimes preventing me from doing work I thought was good at the time but in retrospect saw that I would be ashamed of. Like everyone present. I owed him a great deal, and here he was about to enter the room -- but not quite in, not yet.

He looked no older. But, then, when did he look young? He was always mature. A bit like a New Yorker cartoon of a businessman. Does he own a T-shirt? I can't imagine him in anything other than a grey suit and tie.

He always seems so wise, especially in advertising principles. I never found anyone in my career in whom the tenets of good advertising -- I mean those that juries and clients appreciate equally -- are so indelibly written. And let no-one forget what a splendid and original copywriter he is, too.

It was said that when his first Army officer recruitment ad ran ("How to beat the Army officer selection board"), surely one of the best press ads of the century, Charles Saatchi shouted at Jeremy Sinclair: "Find out who wrote this ad and offer him ten grand." That was a lot of money in those days but not, I guess, quite what John was earning.

I see him now taking one more step into the room. We start applauding him. He looks up. He sees every one of us. And such a smile comes on his face, such a joy of recognition.

For a couple of hours, the family is back together again to pay tribute to the head of the family, and to thank him for what he did for advertising in general and for each of us in person. The party should have gone on for several weeks to show him how grateful we are for his contribution to the business and to our careers. As it is, we have to thank John Stuart of White Door for getting us all together and hosting the dinner.

I left around midnight with the photographer Paul Windsor (at one time Alan Parker's partner), feeling privileged to have been part of CDP and to know John Salmon as a friend.

The Salmon File 
  
1956   Copywriter in Toronto and 
       New York, working mostly 
       for Young & Rubicam 
  
1964   Moves back to London with 
       Doyle Dane Bernbach 
  
1967   Joins Collett Dickenson 
       Pearce 
  
1969   Becomes creative director 
       of CDP 
  
1975   CDP's Hovis `bicycle' ad 
       establishes new standards 
       for TV advertising 
  
1978   B&H's `iguana' cinema ad, 
       regarded by many as the 
       best ad of all time 
  
1980   Becomes chairman and 
       later president of CDP 

COPYRIGHT 2000 Haymarket Business Publications Ltd.