After graduating from photography school in Santa Barbara , California , I returned to my hometown of Portland , Oregon . There I was fortunate to secure a job as a photographer for a large commercial studio. But, being the low man on the totem pole (the seventh photographer of seven) meant that all the night and weekend assignments were given to me. I did press photography at conventions, trade shows and dinner ceremonies throughout the state. I also shot department store window displays and nightclub bands. If you needed a picture in the wee hours, anytime, anyplace, I’d be there.

       One of our many clients was the Oregon Ad Club. Every other Wednesday, I would photograph their luncheons in a ballroom filled with Oregon ’s top advertising executives. It was here that I learned of the Oregon Junior Ad Club (OJAC). This offshoot organization was for members thirty years old or younger. The club’s mission was to secure worthy nonprofit clients and produce complete advertising campaigns for them at no cost. This was good for our clients and good PR for the Oregon advertising community.

        It was the late 1960’s, when the advertising industry was much like it is represented on the hit television series Mad Men, full of hard-charging, hard-working, hard-drinking creative professional that scared the hell out of me! But, OJAC didn’t have a member who was a photographer, and I was soon invited to join. After securing the blessing of my employer, I agreed.

          The first meeting I attended was held in a plush conference room at one of the major ad agencies. Sitting around the large mahogany table were about twenty young fireballs, both men and women. I recognized a few of the faces but, being fresh out of school and only a few months on the job, I was intimidated by the group, so I kept reminding myself to keep my mouth shut. These folks were pro copywriters, artists, account executives, printers and media specialists. What the hell was I doing here?

          Soon, the conversation turned to writing copy for a print ad they were doing for the client. Writing creative copy in a group is never a good idea, and this committee copywriting attempt went on and on. Before long, the group got hung up on a few words and started to argue about proper usage. Obviously, we needed a few synonyms.
          Then, out of nowhere, the president of the club turned to me and asked, “What do think, Ratty?”
          Floored that he had called on me, since I hadn’t said a word all evening, I mustered my courage. Looking across the table I asked with confidence, “Did anyone bring a clitoris?”
          Mouths dropped open and the room went silent. 
          The president snapped his glare back to me and asked, “What did you say, Brian?”
          And, like a fool… I repeated my question, word for word.
          The room roared with laughter. “I think you mean a thesaurus,” the president responded, with tears running down his cheeks.
          Then it dawned on me what I had said. How embarrassing! I wanted to crawl out the door and hide. But no… they were having too much fun with me.

        A few years later, I became the president of OJAC, and represented the advertising community and the people of Oregon at the Paris peace talks during the Vietnam War. This one event would change my career forever. But that’s another story for another time. During all my years with both the Junior and Senior Ad Clubs, this story of my ‘wrong’ word would be retold hundreds of times. Oh, for that right word.

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