Wieden + Kennedy

I have actually known Dave Kennedy and Dan Wieden since the 1970’s when they worked for somebody else. We made a deal for the back cover cheap, if they paid enough for Running magazine to go four-color. Loved them ever since. Wrote a cover story for This Week, March 13, 1991.

I got a call. Dan said it was the best piece on W&K he’d ever read. “Absolutely stunning.” Imagine I’ve dropped a few places since. – JDW

Dan Wieden finally calls back. It’s 7:15 in the evening. He’s checked with Kennedy. They’ll only agree to do the story if it’s about everybody in the band, and not just the two bozos with their names on the front door.

“No problem,” I say. But Wieden still feels he has to offer an explanation. He uses a favorite analogy to explain the special style that makes Wieden & Kennedy so successful.

“I really do believe it’s a slime mold.” He’s talking about what is arguably the country’s most influential advertising agency. “It’s right where organisms can’t quite decide if they’re animals or vegetables. Throughout the process the individual cells never lose their unique individuality.”

THE COURT

Brass rails flank the entry. Plush carpeting pads the stairs. The cleaning lady wears a Slam & Jam T-shirt. Funny-looking black-and-white photos of every member of the team line the lobby walls. Gothic columns dot the interior landscape. A multi-storied atrium topped with skylights. Floor after floor of pastel yellow walls trimmed in flat white.

Sitting on the Persian rug in front of the huge fresh-water aquarium, one looks down into the basketball court – complete with sliding bleachers – where frustrations are worked off and employee meetings are held. Widmer is on tap.

(Flashback! April Fool’s Day, 1982. Wieden & Kennedy is founded. Five people, a pay phone in the hallway, a borrowed typewriter, a cardboard box for a table.)

Nobody, I mean nobody, is wearing a tie. The atmosphere is more art school than corporation, more commune than business. Nobody’s card has a title on it. More than one person is whistling. Other than that, the place seems pretty quiet. Calm even.

THE TEAM PLAYERS

John Erickson, W&K’s office manager, sits down in a heap and lets out with a loud “Whew!” He’s stressed; it’s 10 a.m. Having come from one of Portland’s stodgiest law firms – “You had to keep your voice down in the elevator” – Erickson’s face breaks into a huge smile when asked about his job.

“My first week here I had a suit on every day. They actually had side bets going, to see how long it was going to be before I was going to show up in something casual.”

He’s wearing jeans.

Buz Sawyer recently came to W&K after thirteen (13) years in humongous, bureaucratic New York agencies. He talks like the survivor of a near-death experience. “This is a much friendlier environment,” Sawyer offers. “All the doors are open here. And, we don’t spend a lot of time making a decision. We decide. We move on.”

His career is fun again.

“Coming to work every day is a pleasure,” admits Cherie Appleby, production maven. “It’s an absolute high.” She goes on to explain. “The ads come first. Every solitary thing is approved and blessed by the creative staff and every solitary thing is approved and blessed by Dan and David. If those two don’t like an ad, even if the client loves it, that ad won’t go out.”

“It’s really weird,” concedes Marcia Meyer, an expert in buying network TV time and another recent Big Apple expatriate. “Every time I come through the front doors, I feel so much energy.”

Steve (“Just a writer”) Sandoz feels fortunate to work here. It’s an exceptional place. “It should be a fun experience. There’s a lot of play involved. Laughter’s important.” And then there’s the two guys with their names on the door. “They’re willing and able to see beyond stuff that’s been done before. They have great B.S. detectors. They expect work that is arresting, startling, interesting and appropriate. They want advertising to be a great creative art.”

THE HEAD COACHES

Turning fifty (50), Dave Kennedy, chairman and senior member of the outfit, walked into the lobby to find his birthday present from the staff waiting. It was a black marble tombstone chiseled with this epitaph: “He was old. Real old.”

Dan Wieden, president and five years Kennedy’s junior, walks into his corner office. It’s one-third the size you’d imagine and looks directly into a hairdressing salon on the second floor of the building across the street. He’s wearing tan PEPE (a client) chinos, NIKE (a client) shoes, and a W&K letterman’s jacket.

The coat’s emblems say much about the Wieden & Kennedy philosophy. On the back: “Rules: Don’t Act Big. No Sharp Stuff. Follow Directions. Shut Up When Someone Else Is Talking.” On the left sleeve, an Indian warrior is framed by the declaration,”We Do What We Are.” On the right breast, “Fun Is Good.”

An ancient roll-top desk sits next to Wieden’s Apple (not a client) computer. There’s a quote by Goethe on the wall: “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”

Kennedy, dressed in his uniform of denim shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, walks into an interview with all the aplomb of a man climbing into a dentist’s chair. Described by others as “the soul of the agency,” he does the pictures.

Wieden does the words. And most of the frontman chores and almost all of the talking. Both seem to prefer it that way. It seems to be working.

Dan starts answering the usual questions. The agency is located here because this is home. “I’m a hometown boy whose father (Duke) was in the business… That’s the biggest stroke for me, being this successful in Portland.

Kennedy remembers he left something back in his office.

The agency has grown from squat to $150 million in billings in just eight (8) years. These are the folks made JUST DO IT and BO KNOWS part of the vernacular. They’ve been sued by the Beatles, moved into Mr. Robinson’s neighborhood, walked on the wild side with Lou Reed for Honda scooters. (Other clients include TV Guide, Miller Brewing, Oregon Tourism and SWATCH.)

THE TEAM’S STATS

You can’t remember all the times you’ve headed to the kitchen and found yourself grabbed by a riveting sixty-second commercial which not only tried to sell you sneakers but was a damn sight better than the show you were watching.

Wieden hasn’t the slightest clue how many awards W&K has won for creative excellence. “Hundreds. Thousands,” Christine Barrett, creative manager, suggests. “Maybe more. Tons. They probably stopped counting.”

Results? NIKE, their first and still largest client – accounting for nearly sixty-five (65) percent of the agency’s business – saw its U.S. sales double from 1987 to 1989. Company insiders share the credit with their advertising agency.

THE ART OF SEEING

Kennedy comes back just in time to have his worst fears realized.

“What kind of bird would you be if you had to be one?” he’s asked. He looks like he hopes I’m joking. Ask Wieden the same question. Both men pick birds of prey, but not an eagle because that would be, ego-wise, a bit much. And who needs the responsibility of being the national symbol?

“Red-tail hawk.” Kennedy likes the idea of being able to fly so fast and see so far. To live life unedited. He leaves to get us some more coffee.

The unconventional question appeals to Wieden. “Driving down the highway, I’ll spot a dark clump high in the trees. As the car gets close, I can finally see what it is. It’s a hawk. I look into his eyes. I KNOW this bird saw me coming a long time before I saw him.”

Sometimes the man seems like he’s outside himself, seeing things long before others see them. “To be awake in this world while you’re here is, to me, the biggest reason we’re alive.” Wieden is staring out the window. “It’s our job to create units of communication that wake other people up.”

Kennedy is still not back. He’s either brewing a fresh pot, or deciding what kind of reptile he’d be, just in case someone asks. Mention this to Wieden, he just smiled. “It’s like Marlon Brando in Superman. The role isn’t very big, but he steals the movie.”

The two men have been partners since they teamed up at another agency to do corporate ads for Georgia-Pacific. “It was instant chemistry,” as Kennedy put it.

They joined the William Cain agency to work together on the NIKE account. “Bill (Cain) always said an agency should be like a box of warm puppies,” Wieden once told a reporter. “We wanted to be like Dobermans.” They left with the NIKE running shoe account and Wieden & Kennedy was born.

The pressure? “It’s unbelievable,” Dan laughs. “I can’t tell you.” He groans. “It’s like staring at the sun. You can’t pay much attention to it, or it’ll mess you up.”

“We tend to be flamboyant. We knew we were going to have to be different to succeed on a national scale,” Wieden explains. “We’re risk takers. Working without a net is fine when you’re one flight up, but… his voice trails off.

“Believe me, we made our share of mistakes,” Dan notes. “But, luckily – with the help of our clients – we’ve caught most of them before they got out the door. As John Wooden (legendary basketball coach) said, ‘The team that makes the most mistakes is the team that wins.’ This is a risk encouraging culture.” A mistake will be rewarded, as long as it’s a new one.

THE PURSUIT OF IDEAS

“If people have a ‘wild hair’ and want to pursue an idea that’s stupid or inane,” Wieden chuckles, “even embarrassing, they can do it here.”

Kennedy is back, already looking for another reason to leave the room. Wieden is looking at his watch. I am looking at both of them, two giants in their chosen field. Icons of the advertising industry. You know they are something special.

“We’re basically nice guys who are kinda’ talented,” Wieden modestly suggests, “who found themselves in a situation where they didn’t screw up.”

Wieden & Kennedy is more than two bozos with their name on the door. It’s the dynamic here that’s important. All of these incredibly creative people gathered together in one place. In Portland, Oregon, of all places. Having fun producing fresh, provocative work that does sell a bzillion sneakers, producing quirky, novel ways for us to see our world and speak our language.

“This has nothing to do with us,” Wieden points at Kennedy, then to himself. He gestures out into the hallway toward Nikki and Riswold and Hoff and Luhr and the media planners and Millie, Phyllis and Deanna. You know who he means. “It’s these people, the PLACE that’s important….”

Forget the ads. Listen for the message.

Remember that falling on your face is still forward progress.

Obey the Golden Rule.

Ready, fire, aim.

Dress comfortably.