Unpublished Memoir: Ben Laitin's Real-Life 'Mad Men' Memories

The late Ben Laitin was a high-flying Madison Avenue executive in the 1960s. He lived the life that inspired AMC's "Mad Men" and worked alongside Draper Daniels, a legendary copy writer and executive whom many believe inspired the Don Draper character.

Following are excerpts from Latin's memoir, "AD MAN – Big Shots Write Memoirs, Little Shots Just Reminisce," written shortly before his death.

Here, Laitin writes about the creation of the Marlboro Man campaign.

The soft, seductive, vaguely familiar voice oozed through the telephone. "This is Myra Daniels, Ben. I'm calling to wish you a happy New Year and to catch up with what's happening in your life."

It was an odd and suspect statement from someone who had ignored several letters I had written her during the last two years. I mumbled reciprocal insincere greetings and waited to hear the real reason for her call.

"Have you seen that new book about Burnett, privately published by the agency to mark its 60th anniversary? It's called 'LEO BURNETT, STAR REACHER.' "

"First I've heard of it, but I guess I could get one for the asking. Is there any special reason I should bother? Is it anything to do with the chip-on-the-shoulder tone I detect in your voice, Myra?"

Yes, I'm really upset; I feel Dan is very unfairly treated in the book, and I was hoping to get your reaction. After all, you knew him better than anyone else." I promised to get the book and let her know how I felt about her complaint. Although I didn't think I rated mention in the agency history, I couldn't resist the temptation to ask if my name appeared.

"Only in a couple of footnotes," she said.

I couldn't see the shrug of her shoulders, but I could sense them.

When I reached the section in the Burnett book which dwelt on the origin of the Marlboro campaign, I found the reason for Myra's anger. In a euphemism whose delicacy could not mask its true meaning, Mr. Burnett had called Daniels a liar.

The background of this accusation was a meeting held to plan the advertising of a newly acquired client, Marlboro Cigarettes. What happened that day made advertising history, and gave birth to as many versions as there were people involved. Ten years passed before Burnett himself put an end to all the speculation about who was really responsible for creating one of the most famous ad campaigns of the century.

The final word was Burnett's and it came in a memo he issued objecting to Daniels billing himself as the "father" of the Marlboro Man. What he said was , and I quote: "His claims to distinction stretch the truth considerably. The Marlboro Man was created at my farm one Saturday morning and it was my idea which took us to the cowboy and the original format of this advertising ..."

I couldn't fault Myra for being upset, but I couldn't offer her much comfort. When I finally called her back, I said, "Look, Myra, I never heard Dan actually claim the ultimate credit, but he sure gave that impression. In the final analysis, how can one dispute Burnett's explanation -- he was too big a man, too secure in his status, too principled to go on record with anything but the truth. No way I can go to bat for Dan in this case. Sorry, Myra."

Myra is a digression despite her marriage to Daniels. I'll return to her later when she fits into the forty-year business relationship between Dan and me. That began on the first day we met, which was my first day on the copy staff of the Young & Rubicam Advertising agency in 1947.
I was excited and exhilarated, jittery, too. I felt like a rookie from a bush-league ball team, entering the sacred precincts of Yankee Stadium.

There was one big difference; I hadn't been called up from the minors to strengthen the team; I had taken advantage of the wartime manpower shortage to escape the familiar and comfortable neighborhood sandlot for the turbulent and risky playpen of the majors. But once I realized I was actually a certified member of the famous Y & R creative staff, my normal self-esteem reasserted itself.

In this excerpt, Laitin talks about Draper Daniels, believed to be the primary role model for Don Draper, played by Jon Hamm on "Mad Men."

What I didn't learn until months later when I was no longer the new boy on the block and my supervisor let me see the report he had filed on our interview (I'm of two minds about quoting it, but what the hell): "He's a cocky little bastard, but he can write." (I recently sent the retired author of this critique a few of my current freelance articles and his acknowledgment had overtones of that fifty-year-old endorsement: "You've still got the stuff, kid. I'd still hire you today at the same salary.")

But back to that first day at Y&R: At noon a man who looked more like a linebacker than a copywriter barged into my office. "I'm Draper Daniels," he announced. "I pound the typewriter three offices down the corridor. Welcome, and if you're still here three months from now, I'll buy you lunch. Today let's go Dutch, okay?"

At the time it seemed like a gracious gesture to make a newcomer feel at home. It was that, of course, but it also turned out to be a fateful landmark for both of us -- more for me than for him. Lunchtime was spent fielding Daniels' interrogation about my background, what agencies I had worked for, how long I had been in the business, and what college I had attended.

Finally, he reciprocated with a few facts about himself. This was his first agency job; his writing credentials were some articles he had authored as editor of the Syracuse University student newspaper; and he'd spent the last two years selling Vicks VapoRub and other nostrums all over the South. Also, just as I had, he felt he'd landed in Heaven!

It doesn't discredit Dan's first-day friendly gesture to reveal that when I got to know him better in five or six months, I realized he'd been assessing me as a competitor who might be an obstacle on the path to his career goal -- his name on some agency's front door.

This conclusion qualified me for a friendship that lasted forty years. During that period, there were at least three or four times when we recommended each other for jobs neither of us wanted. I still get a chuckle when I recall one of those incidents.

The Cowles people were looking for a promotion manager for one of their publications, and I reluctantly agreed to an interview. At the meeting I made it clear that I had no interest in leaving the agency field, but they kept painting a glowing picture of the prospect until I begged off by insisting that I wasn't really the right man for the job, but I could recommend someone who was -- a chap named Draper Daniels.

The name triggered a chorus of almost immediate hysterical laughter. "What's so funny?" I asked. "I was just trying to do you a favor."

The guffaws subsided, but the broad smiles persisted. "You'll have to forgive us for what must seem to be strange behavior," one man explained, but Daniels is the man who recommended you to us. Sure you won't change your mind?"

I bowed out, yet our twin attempts to end a situation gracefully were pretty funny in retrospect.