The Lipton Cat Food Miracle

Hugh Tibbetts was the President of Thomas J. Lipton when I was assigned to develop its new product, Tabby Cat Food, in 1976. Lipton was owned by Unilever, but because Lipton’s continuing financial stream was positive (Lipton Tea was popular), Unilever didn’t question Lipton’s business practices. One of these was to enter the cat food business. Why, you might ask. I was told that Mr. Tibbetts had learned they had 20 machines stored in a Boston warehouse that essentially pulverized fish parts, and Mr. Tibbetts thought they could be used to make cat food out of fish. I think they were called Bartell machines. Mr. Tibbetts then turned to Young & Rubicam and said they had to create the market for this cat food. When we asked him why people should buy Tabby Cat Food, or why cats should eat this stuff, he had no answer. He was making use of machines he owned. Mr. Tibbetts rose to the top of Lipton through sales. He clearly wasn’t a marketing man. When I drafted our creative strategy for advertising, our standard first step for new advertising, I met with him in his office. I remember trying to read our strategy to him to obtain his approval, but he kept interrupting me with comments that had nothing whatsoever to do with advertising. For example, he interrupted me defining our goals by saying, “You know, my wife pointed out this morning, that we need to say more about ingredients on our can label.” You don’t tell the President that his concerns are irrelevant. I just listened. It was painful. The good news was what happened to me when we went to Los Angeles to shoot the first commercial. I’ve never forgotten this amazing event.

The Impossible Creative Assignment

In the mid-1970’s, creative people, especially those in major ad agencies, sometimes developed an attitude in dealing with account managers and even clients. It was the era of ad agency “creative mystique”, and the creative writers or art directors sometimes refused to negotiate to protect their creative freedom. It was a tactical defense, and I found it boring and unbusinesslike. That only created more pushback.  In this case, the prime copywriter, whom I shall refer to as “Jud”, had a very tough assignment. He had to create, out of blue sky as we called it, a reason to buy Tabby cat food. Fortunately, Jud was also good. I and his creative boss, a demanding lady I’ll just call Roz, looked for what we called “borrowed interest” to get cat owners to at least watch the commercial.

There was a popular song playing then, that you still hear sometimes at wedding receptions, something about cats. I can’t remember the name of it, but I could play it by ear on the piano. I took them down to the music department and played it on the piano for them. The music director knew me well because I sometimes went down to his department to play his Steinway Console piano after work. He had offered me a job working there and he had no trouble with my getting into the creative process. Jud and Roz wanted to use a recording of my playing to give the client some idea of where we were headed creatively.

Then they looked around for celebrities they could use to borrow more interest, and discovered that George Burns was in between movies and show engagements, and somewhat more affordable. They created a situation scene for the commercial as follows: George Burns would be in a dance studio, with other performers and a piano player, holding a cat. It was supposedly his cat. He would turn to the camera as you heard the background piano playing and tell the audience his cat can’t dance or sing, but he’s trying to teach it to. I was delighted to hear that George Burns said he’d accept a test commercial fee of only $5 thousand. The client approved it.

Meeting George Burns

We were all excited about working with George Burns. Who wouldn’t be? When we got to Los Angeles, he invited us to his home, an unexpected moment to remember. In Beverly Hills at that time, the homes were about a foot apart, and everyone had a Japanese gardener. George was a gentleman, a total class act. He took us through his beautiful home, with pictures of his beloved Gracie Allen in every room. His advisors had suggested he remove the sad memories of her passing by putting the pictures in storage. He refused. “She was the comedian,” he explained, “I was only a straight man.” I think he meant it.

Then he showed us his Oscar on a table. I asked if I could hold it. I had never seen one up close. He smiled and said, “Sure.” What surprised me was how heavy it was. It must have weighed 10 lbs. And when I looked for the dedication labeling, I could only find a code number on the base. Perhaps that’s for security, I thought. Only the Academy knows the name and other details that go with each Oscar. Fascinating. Before we left, George showed his collection of tailored sports coats, and it was impressive; maybe 75 or more, were carefully arranged in rows in a very large, lighted closet. The creatives wanted to use one of his sport coats for the shooting the next day and George’s agent, who I learned was also Jack Benny’s agent, who had been with us the entire time, immediately spoke up. “That’ll be an additional $75”, he snapped. We agreed.

Making the Commercial

The next day we went to the studio. The dance studio set was well executed. It looked like it was on the second floor, with a curved window you often saw in second floor offices then. The upright piano was there and the actor playing the piano man, I was told, had been a child actor who now looked for work as an extra. I guess that was common in tinsel town.

As usual, the client usually wants some last-minute changes to the script and we go around with the creatives until agreement is reached. Jud, as usual, was obnoxious in his demands, but it didn’t stop the commercial. We just took a break while the arguments were settled. We had client people, ad agency people, and George’s people there, in addition to the cast.

The Miracle

The commercial went about as expected and around noontime, a lunch break was called by the director. This was when the unimaginable happened. The black actor playing the piano man stood up and announced he would like to do a shoft shoe dance for everyone. I think he thought of this as an opportunity to do an unscheduled audition of his dancing talents. Everyone was relaxing and not paying much attention. Instinctively, I stood up and told him I’d play the piano for him. He thought that was great. So thinking no one was really paying attention, I sat down and started to play The Old Piano Roll Blues, a favorite of mine when I did my college entertaining (the link is a recording of me actually playing this hit).

Suddenly, people were paying attention, to both of us, and began to gather around. Then, to my surprise, George Burns came out of his dressing room, wearing a beautiful silk robe, and sat down in the front row of chairs that had been assembled as it happened. I was having a great time and I put everything I had into my piano version. We got a loud round of applause at the end, and the dancer smiled and took a bow. Then, and this is the miracle I will always remember, George Burns stood up and looked directly at me, with a big smile. I’ve never forgotten his words, “Hey! You’re pretty good!” he said enthusiastically. He kept looking at me so I stood up and went over to talk to him. My heart was pounding. I had just been anointed by a legend of vaudevillian show business. It was something like an unofficial Oscar to me. I thanked him for his approval and then we talked. I told him I was sometimes hesitant to play in public, but I loved doing it. George said: “I can’t stop playing on any stage, even if they don’t pay me. But don’t tell my agent I said that.” We both laughed. What a moment.

What Happened to Tabby Cat Food

In a word, nothing. The dog food and cat food market were extremely competitive. Leo Burnett had created Morris the cat, and there was a Meow Mix and, even if we could use George Burns, we couldn’t take on that kind of competition. We went home, and before long, the Tabby Cat Food brand was no longer seen in stores. But what a memory I shared of playing for George Burns.

In the next story, I get the opportunity to take on two General Foods assignments, and get a promotion out of it. But nothing in advertising is what it appears to be, as I will learn - “Be careful what you ask for”.