The big blog

Larry Tate was a jerk. But aside from that undeniable parallel with real-world ad execs (I kid, I kid), the fictional agency of McMann and Tate (employer of Bewitched’s long-suffering Darrin Stephens) had little to do with the industry we all know and love. Sure, there were campaigns and comps and clients, but as a template for how ad agencies actually work, the inordinately sleek operation of McMann and Tate was more than a little misleading. (Like many ad professionals of my generation, this was my first impression of the biz, and I still feel a little betrayed by the discrepancies.)

Darrin, you may remember, was pretty much a one-man show. Copywriter, art director, creative director, mechanical artist, traffic director, account representative—he did it all. His boss, Larry, existed primarily to smarm up to clients. His other boss…does anyone actually remember his other boss? I don’t. (Wikipedia tells me that Mr. McMann only appeared in two episodes, so no wonder.) In fact, I don’t remember any other employees at all. This most lightweight of skeleton crews is understandable in adult hindsight, of course, when you think about the budgets and exigencies of 1960s sitcoms. But watching it as a kid, I had no reason to think this was anything other than documentary fact, and my expectations were formed accordingly. (Granted, the whole show was centered on a nose-twitching suburbanized witch, but that didn’t mean, to my young mind, that the rest of the particulars were anything other than gospel truth.) Imagine my surprise then, years later, when I discovered that not only does it take a few more people to make an ad agency run, campaigns generally take more than a few hours to complete (and sometimes, clients will even—gasp—reject your work; Darrin may have stressed out on a regular basis, but with Samantha in his corner, creative approval was a foregone conclusion).

Now, though, I’m with Big. And things have come, if not full circle, then quite a few degrees toward their nostalgic beginnings. Because Big, as you may know, is little (at least in terms of regular staff). And though there are a few more of us than McMann Tate seemed to boast, we each wear multiple Darrin-like hats, which offers a satisfying comprehensiveness of ownership in projects. And a rewardingly direct connection to our clients. All of which makes Big, if you’ll forgive the expression, a bewitching place to ply our trade. It’s also part of the reason, I think, clients enjoy working with us so much. Because while broomsticks and cauldrons may be in short supply around here, we have a magic all our own.