JOHN RICHARD STERN – 1929-2010

GOODBYE MENTOR, RIP!

I remember it like it was yesterday. I had some time to kill so I ate a breakfast before my very first interview for a ‘Graphic Designer’ position, for what I thought would be a small intimate advertising agency. Here I was in the middle of the big city. All I had worked and dreamed for was about to happen: my first interview. The countless days of sacrifice, the hitch hiking to the campus from the Westbury Railroad station, often not getting a ride, and freezing cold, snow and ice, all part of the experience. The hunger from no money to afford lunch or breakfast, because I needed it for carfare and school or art supplies. The hard hours in the factory where I had a part-time job, and in the Hills Supermarket after school and on weekends, to pay my tuition were all behind me.

Now it was time to step forward and face a new challenge, to realize my dream. The name on the employment agency reference card said: Mr. Jack Stern, Lawrence G. Chait & Co., 641 Lexington Avenue. The name seemed kind of severe to me, ‘Stern”, would that be my bosses name?

Coming out of the back woods of Bellport, even with an art and advertising degree form the New York Institute of Technology, I suddenly faced the sophistication of the New York City advertising world, the glamour and excitement of the 32nd floor agency. The large photos on the wall, the awards that were displayed, made me want to pick up my art portfolio and run like hell to the cocoon of Bellport, and stay there forever. I had heard all the stories about how hard it is to get a job in this field, how exact and precise you had to be, and one mistake and you were gone!

The waiting room was expensively carpeted and the furniture ultra-modern for the day back in February 1970, and I announced myself at the front desk and asked for Mr. Jack Stern. I took a seat and waited for the art director to come out and interview me.

Through the glass doors comes this gentleman, soft-spoken and wearing a turtle neck under his shirt, sleeves rolled up. He already impressed me as the art director, and my knees started to shake, before I could shake his hand.

Well, Jack turned out to be my mentor; he was kind, patient and understanding. He encouraged me, gave me confidence and taught me my skills as an artist. He was a talented man who didn’t tell you he was, he just was. All the ladies in the office loved him, and most of the men. He was a great source of amusement and often I was on the back end of it. We laughed and we worked, and that office, was my home, my professional birthplace.

There are few loyalties one needs to have, and Jack is one of them for me. He shaped me professionally and personally and taught me how to deal with people on a professional basis. There will never be another Jack Stern.

Jack often worried that he would die young, since his grandfather and father did. He lived to be almost 82 years old. He had two children, one became a forest ranger in New Jersey, and one became a pharmacist out west. He sparkled with pride, every time I asked about them, and included every detail he could muster. He had a wonderful wife named Helen, who was a sweetheart to even strangers like myself, and he adored her. She passed on a few years ago, leaving Jack to live out his final years in Satellite Beach, Florida.

Jack may be onto another agency now, but I will never forget him. Because of Jack I am who and what I am. I owe him so much, because without him I would not have had the wonderful and fulfilling career I did have. I might not have met the people in my life I have, and never have seen a modicum of success.

So this past Christmas, I when I didn’t get a Christmas card, designed by Jack that always said: “Peace”, my worst fears began to come together, and I was afraid to call and inquire. Then I got a small white envelope from Jack’s son. It was addressed like it came out of Jack’s phone book. I knew what it would say, just like a draft notice I once got, without opening it. I didn’t want to open it, I was afraid to, and I knew.

The note was simple:



Happy Birthday to my Brother-in-law, Dennis, who just past 29 once again!