In Her Own Words
Anne was a great storyteller.
One about her childhood and then stories about four of her favorite people:
Norman Cahners, Bill Platt, Ron Segel, Al Sheehan and Lester Dundes.
Anne wrote this in 2013...
MY FIRST TRIP TO BOSTON...
I just saw something that reminded me of when I was six years old and my father took me by train into Boston to see the Ice Capades. That was when I thought I was going to be a famous ice skater. That never came to pass because, even at 16, I was still pushing the kitchen chair around on the ice.
Once in Boston, we walked around the Boston Garden for awhile so I could soak it all in. It was quite the place. Finally, my father and I went over to the ticket window. Unfortunately, when it came time to pay for the tickets, my father could not find his wallet. It was not so much that he couldn't find it -- it had been stolen by a pick pocket.
Fortunately, we still had our round trip train tickets but that's all we had. This was 1954. There were no credit cards; there were no ATM cards and it was Sunday so no banks were open. My poor father. Here he was stuck with a 6 year old who was dying to see a show she wasn't going to be able to see. Not only that, I can't imagine how embarrassed he had to be. A police officer falling victim to a pick pocket.
My father decided that he would talk to someone at the Garden to see if he could work something out, so that I could still see the show. He didn't want to do that with me standing right there so we went over to a Boston police officer who was there working the event. He made me stand close by where he could see me and then privately spoke to the officer. He told him who he was and then explained what happened.
He asked the officer if he would watch me for a few minutes while he went to plead his case at the box office. The officer told him that going to the box office would not be necessary. He pulled out his wallet and gave my father $50, which was a lot of money in 1954. He wrote his name and address on a piece of paper and told my father to just send it back to him when he had the chance.
We got to see the show and it was wonderful. Dinner followed and then we took the train back home. The next day, my father mailed the $50 back to the police officer who had been so kind to us. His name was Robert Bigelow and he and my father would exchange Christmas cards every year for the rest of their lives.
Norman Cahners
At lunchtime one day, I walked down the stairs into the lobby at 221. On my way by the lobby desk, I saw Norman Cahners just standing there with a perplexed look on his face. There was a limo outside waiting for him. On my way by, I stopped and asked him if there was anything wrong and could I be of any help. He smiled at me and it looked like he was going to tell me what his problem was but then he said, "No, Anne, but thank you." The way he hesitated before thanking me, prompted me to ask him again. Finally, he decided to just blurt it out. "I'm on my way to lunch with someone but I don't have my wallet. Do you have sixty dollars I could borrow?"
I could tell he was embarrassed so I didn't want to give him one of my patented comebacks like, "We're on Candid Camera, right?" Instead, I said that I did in fact have the $60 he needed and I pulled out my wallet. As I was taking the cash out, he nervously said, "Well, would you happen to have a hundred?" I nodded and handed him a hundred dollars.
I'll never forget the big smile on his face or his obvious relief when I gave him the money. He told me that I would have it back before the end of the day. I told him, "I'm not worried about it, Norman. I know where to find you." Later that afternoon, his secretary, Marion, showed up with the money. The very next morning, the florist showed up with flowers for me. They were from Norman. He was a class act all the way
My next, "Cahners Flashback," also involves Norman Cahners. For most of the time that I worked at 221 Columbus, I lived on Marlborough Street in Back Bay. Because the office and my apartment were so close together, I would walk to work. For the most part, walking was enjoyable unless it rained. On rainy days, I would dread getting anywhere near the Hancock Tower. As some of you may remember, it was a graveyard for umbrellas and the wind tunnel it created would literally take your breath away. Well, one morning it was raining so hard, I put my foot down and just said, " No." I was not going to get soaked again and lose yet another umbrella. So I decided not to go any further than the bus stop/taxi stand at the Public Library. I would wait for a cab to take me the four blocks to the office. I knew it meant I would be late but I just didn't care. Enough was enough.
So there I stood with roughly thirty other disgruntled people, all with the same idea. Every time a cab pulled up, there was arguing, dirty looks and lots of salty language. This really wasn't much better than walking by the Hancock Tower. After the third cab came and went, another car suddenly pulled in. Only this one was not a cab. It was a big black limousine. We all watched the driver get out. He walked around the car and opened the back passenger door. Everyone was watching him like they were in a trance. Who was this and what was he or she doing there? Everyone lowered their head a bit to have a look inside, including myself. That's when I saw him. Norman! Suddenly, I realized I was the reason he had stopped. Norman lived on Beacon Street, just a few blocks from me and he, too, was on his way to work.
It was a perfect moment. In an attempt to be polite, as I maneuvered myself through a crowd of wet, angry and shocked people, I said over and over, "Please excuse me, my ride is here." I then climbed into the backseat of the limousine as gracefully as possible. It was easy because the driver assisted me. I will never forget the looks on their faces - if looks could have killed, I would have been a goner. It was only by chance that Norman happened to see me standing there. As soon as we pulled away from the curb, he gave me a cold glass of orange juice. Too bad it wasn't a ride home instead, I might have gotten a glass of sherry.
Bill Platt
Fortunately, for me, I was lucky enough to have nine lives during my years at Cahners. I used one of them during the 1982 year-end audit. For those of you not involved in the accounting end of the business, the year-end audit was the equivalent of doing 25 to life in Attica. When you finally got sprung, with ten dollars and a new suit, it was time to paint the town red!
We all finally finished the audit at around 8:00 PM on a Friday. That was the earliest I had gotten out of the office in a month. Six of us decided to go out to celebrate. Within this group were a couple of semi high ranking officials. The names of the individuals involved are being left out to protect the guilty. We went to Satch's which was right in the alley behind 221 Columbus. We ordered a little food and a lot of alcohol. Before we knew it, it was last call. We drank up, paid the bill and left.
While standing outside Satch's, we all admitted that we were not ready to call it a night. Thanks to the Blue Laws, we couldn't go to another bar. That ship had sailed. Suddenly one of us said, "You know where there is a lot of alcohol?" We all shook our heads no. "Right here," and he pointed to 221. We were standing right behind the building. Someone else said, "That's nice, but the building is all locked up and we don't have a key." I should have kept my mouth shut but I didn't. "That's not exactly true," I blurted out. "I have a key.
" Fifteen minutes later, and only because our faculties were somewhat compromised, we found ourselves toasting each other with a beer in Bill Platt's office. We found a radio, so we could have some entertainment, and then we proceeded to drink every drop of liquor he had in his office. Then it was time to go home. We called cabs and headed out, leaving a waste basket full of empty bottles and plastic cups. The 1982 year-end audit had been put to bed in grand style.
On Monday morning at 10:00 AM, the phone in my office rang. It was Bill Platt's secretary, Debbie Regan. I was about to use up one of my nine lives. She said, "Mr. Platt would like to see you. Now." Dead woman walking - longest elevator ride I ever took. When I entered his office, he told me to take a seat. He did not look happy. The only indication that I might survive this major lapse in judgement? Platt called me, Annie. He and Vinci always called me Annie. I hung my hat on the idea that, if he was about to send me to the slaughterhouse, he would have called me Anne.
His questions went something like this: "Are you finished with the audit?" "How did it go?" "Do you know who drank all my booze?" I told him I did. I told him it was me. I couldn't say I didn't know. What if he had a hidden camera? I asked him how he knew it was me. He said he didn't know. He had a list of people he was going to question. I just happened to be first. Then he asked, "You and who else?" I said it didn't matter. It was my fault. "Fine," came the reply, "But I still want to know who was with you." I said, "I can't tell you that." He shot back, "Can't or won't?" "Won't," is all I said.
After a moment of silence, while I was dying a thousand deaths, Platt started to chuckle. "I'm not really angry - I'm just kidding around with you. I know how hard you all work and not just during the audit. Next year, tell Debbie ahead of time how you want the bar stocked.
" God, I loved that guy.
Ron Segel
Many moons ago, Cahners had a Mfg Group party upstairs in the great room over Quincy Market. Management, publishers, service departments, sales reps and a number of advertisers were invited. At one point during the party, I found myself talking with a DN sales rep, a customer and Ron Segel. The rep had been trying to sell this particular customer three 4C spreads but the guy just kept saying no. Come to find out, he had previously run space in a Chicago pub but had experienced a huge billing problem. He said he had refused to run ads ever since.
Earlier, I had heard this same customer having a conversation with the same rep, Ron Segel and someone else about his son who was a college football star. He also mentioned that he only had the one son. He went on to say that he had hoped to also have a daughter but that it just hadn't happened for him. Later, during our conversation, he pretty much made it clear that he was not ready to advertise with us again, but he was willing to think about it. It was at this point that the rep said, "Anne, can't you guarantee him that he won't have a billing problem if he runs with us?"
Huh? What? What was I supposed to say? Should I be professional? Or should I just be myself? I finally decided on my response and then I kept my fingers crossed. "I certainly can guarantee it." I told the customer that I would personally assure him that his billing would be problem free. Then I said to him, "...but if you do have a billing problem, I'll give you that daughter you said you always wanted."
I heard Ron Segel quietly gasp. I couldn't help but hear him, he was standing right next to me. All of a sudden, the customer started to laugh and then he laughed some more. I was still holding my breath. I remember thinking that it wasn't that funny. Anyway, suddenly he held out his hand to the rep and said, "You've got a deal. Three 4C spreads." The rep was shocked that the customer had changed his mind so quickly but he thanked him profusely, pumping his hand up and down. "Don't thank me, thank her," replied the customer.
The rep and the customer walked away to talk about the details. Ron looked at me and started shaking his head in disbelief over what had just happened. Kiddingly, I told him, "My work here is done!" That got a chuckle. Then I told him that I had to leave. I was wearing brand new shoes that had shrunk a size as soon as I paid for them. My feet were killing me and I had to get out of them. He said, "Take the damn shoes off." I did but it didn't help. I was in agony. I said that I didn't know how I was going to walk on all those cobblestones to the corner for a cab. Ron said, "I can fix that." He went and got Bob Bellemere (ex-professional baseball pitcher turned sales rep) and said to him, "Carry her to the corner and put her in a taxi. And DON'T drop her! She's in charge of the next Design News sales meeting.
"Ron was as brilliant as they come. What most people don't know is he had a great sense of humor. He came across as quiet and a little shy but he was very funny. More importantly, he was a very kind man and one of the best things to ever happen to Cahners Publishing Company!
Al Sheehan
Since I am not very good with dates, I don't have an accurate timeline for this short and embarrassing story. Once upon a time, Al Sheehan, originally from the Chicago office, became the head of the Boston Division. There is always uncertainty and concern by the employees of any company when someone new takes over. Everyone wants to make a good impression the first time they meet the new boss, and I was no exception.
On the morning of my first encounter with Al Sheehan, a good friend of mine from Cahners, who shall remain nameless, called me. When I answered the phone, this person tried to disguise his voice and said, "Anne, this is Al Sheehan." I was hanging on his every word until I realized that it wasn't really Al Sheehan. It was just one of my friend's infamous practical jokes. A little later, this same friend needed to call me to ask a real question. When he did, he started out by making believe he was Al Sheehan again. Fool me once, shame on you. Needless to say, he didn't get away with it the second time.
Later that afternoon, as I walked into my office, my phone was ringing (when wasn't it). As soon as I answered it, I heard, "Hello, Anne, this is Al Sheehan." Oh my God, not again. This was getting really old. I immediately shot back, "You are the biggest pain in my ass! Do you really want something or are you just calling to aggravate me?" Instead of the chuckling I expected to hear at the other end, I was greeted with nothing but silence. Then came, "I'm sorry. I must have caught you at a bad time. I just wanted to introduce myself." Before I could respond, what do I see? I see my friend walk by my office. If he was outside my office, who the hell was on the phone? The real Al Sheehan, that's who. How was I going to get myself out of this?
The first thing I had to do was apologize. I also did a little groveling for good measure. I told him how sorry I was - that I had made a mistake. I explained that I had thought he was someone else. Curiosity got the better of him so he asked me who. I figured I was going to have to go to work at IDG anyway so I might as well go for the laugh. So, I said, "Dupont." He roared over that for several minutes.
Following this absolute nightmare of a conversation, Al and I became pretty good friends. He used to like to tell people, "You should hear how she talks to Dupont but they still like her anyway." I was absolutely heartbroken when Al passed away. We loss him way too soon. It was a terrible blow to Cahners and to everyone who knew him. He was a wonderful man and a true gentleman. He also had a pretty good sense of humor.
Lester Dundes
LESTER AND ME...
When we bought Interior Design, I agreed to go back and forth to New York to set up a contracts department, a billing department and to get them merged into our order entry system. It took months instead of a few weeks. The delays in setting up Interior Design rested at the feet of the publisher, Lester Dundes. Lester was an absolute legend in the business and pretty much did what he wanted.
One day, I had to make an emergency trip to Interior Design and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Upon my arrival, I stormed into his office, grabbed him by the necktie and proceeded to read him the riot act. (Couldn't get away with that today). I can't repeat the things I said to him. Can't repeat what he said to me either...lol. Then I went right back to the airport.
Terry McDermott begged him to get on board with the process, which he finally did. Lester and I had been fighting right along but, after that scene in his office, we had no further contact until the day I left Cahners -- years later. That morning, my phone rang and it was Lester's secretary asking me to hold for Lester.
He got on the phone and told me that he had heard I was moving to Florida. He then proceeded to say, "Do you need anything? Are you all set with money?" I told him how much I appreciated his concern but that Dick and I were all set. He then said to me, "Write this down. This is my home phone number. Whether it's in a week, in a month, or in six months, if you need anything, no matter what it is, call me and it's yours." I was absolutely speechless. Once we were in Florida, he periodically called to check on me, to make sure I was all right.
You never really know someone - at least I never really knew Lester. He had a big bark but he had a big heart to go with it. Lester passed away on March 13, 2004 at 90 years of age. I smile when I remember how Lester would always be impeccably dressed in a nice suit and his famous running shoes. Lester had a law degree but never practiced. Instead, he did what he loved the most -- he published Interior Design for over 45 years.