LIKE STINK ON A MONKEY

My new job was not all wonderful. There were people involved after all, and I would have to deal with them. Some people were unctuous, some were sweet, some just did their job and one in particular, although a nice guy and talented, stunk, like as they say: “Stink on a monkey.”

For a name, let’s call him Fred. Fred was an older gentleman, who was extremely bright, so smart that he would take the New York Times crossword puzzle and do it across only. He didn’t need to do down, he was done with the across clues. Being well read and cynical he formed opinions that at the time I couldn’t understand, in that they seemed so anti-everything. Today I look at those opinions and realize I share some of them too.

Fred was a talker, liked to come into my office, pull up a chair and shoot the breeze, complain about the news and anything else he could find. Sitting with a scotch in his hand, if he had time on his hands, it didn’t matter that I didn’t have time on my hands. Being polite, I’d try to be patient and listen. When he had a job in his hand, he had a bad habit of sitting next to my desk, leaning over into me and discussing the details and concept he envisioned. This meant getting the full whiff of his stink, usually before lunch.  It was so bad it would usually overwhelm me, causing me to almost gag, and it was all body odors! His only saving grace was his pipe, which I prayed he would blow out smoke to negate the effects of his stink! He usually wore this brown suit, day in and day out, causing me to think maybe it was his suit that really stunk so bad.

A little different back in 1971

One day I was informed by the big boss: that I had to join some of the account executives and writers for a dinner at a place called the Gas Light Room in midtown Manhattan. The occasion was the acquisition of a new account possibility.  This meant I would probably not get out of there until 11 or 12 midnight! This meeting would commence at 6:30 and go on for several hours: with drinks, dinner then more drinks. Who should chance to sit next to me, but stinky Fred! This stink would stay in my nose for hours after I left that ‘meeting’, and to this day I can imagine it.

The other problem with Fred was he was a funny guy, making fun of everything including himself. One day I’m drifting by his office and I hear some classical music, and It just sounded so beautiful I looked in. There stood Fred, his whole stinky self, with a pencil in his hand, leading an imaginary orchestra, literally urging parts of the orchestra, I think it was the percussion section onward. It was a hysterical sight to see, he was indeed an amusing man.

Tomorrow: I get political.