Magic, Maynard and Marketing
IT SEEMED UNLIKELY that I’d ever be able to bring three of my “idea” worlds together in one moment, but when I learned that Canadian high-note trumpet master Maynard Ferguson died Friday, my mind raced to the intersection of magic, music and communications and lingered on one of my favorite memories.
I was 18 years old, skipping a few spring days from my freshman year in college to perform magic for the Diemakers, Inc. trade show booth in Detroit’s Cobo Center. I’d spent the day combining sleight of hand with sales pitches to entice purchasing reps into the booth. Theoretically, after three ropes of different lengths mysteriously became the same length and a chosen card was revealed to be the only one in the deck with the Diemakers name on the back, the reps from Ford or wherever would be primed for the Diemakers sales team to convince them to buy part of their brake assemblies from the company. In reality, the booth across the way with the models on roller skates seemed to be attracting more attention.
A day of performances ended and I packed up my briefcase to walk back to the hotel with Al Achelpohl, the infinitely warm and gregarious marketing manager for Diemakers who had a penchant for calling the company’s location in Monroe City, Missouri, “God’s country.” Al was good to me and I was enjoying chatting with him as we took to the sidewalk with the late afternoon sky glowing low above us.
Then I heard something. Something high in register and high in the sky. A trumpet, riding on top of a full-throttle big band. I’ve noticed musicians can usually tell the difference between live and recorded music more readily than non musicians, and I knew right away a killer band was making that music then and there.
And I was pretty sure I knew who it was. I’d been introduced to that signature sound by my high school band director, and along with my buddy Mike, delighted in listening over and over again to the piercing and pulsating tracks of its owner on vinyl sides and homemade cassettes.
I hurriedly asked Al if he’d do me a favor and take my briefcase back to the hotel for me and if he’d mind terribly if I went in search of the music. He smiled – Al always smiled – and said sure.
I literally wandered the streets guided by my ears, looking, I’m sure, like The Amazing Kreskin in one of his TV appearances zigging and zagging with apparent abandon among a studio audience to locate a hidden object through thought and touch alone. In only a few twists and turns I’d located it: the music beckoned from the top of the Hotel Pontchartrain. I ran inside, found my way to the rooftop lounge, and joined a happy hour crowd who had little appreciation for the machine in front of them. It was The Man. The Horn. The screaming trumpeter with the hit recording of “Gonna Fly Now” – the theme from Rocky. It was Maynard Ferguson.
I sipped Diet Cokes and reveled in my emerging youthful freedom and listened to the musical rewards of my spontaneous outing. I was in the throes of self-discovery, traveling alone and exploring my passions and for that afternoon Maynard’s ebullient horn provided the soundtrack of my life.
When my buddy Mike – the same buddy I’d discovered Maynard with nearly 25 years ago – emailed me the news about Maynard’s death, I was struck with the sense memory of his sound. So distinctive, I kept thinking. Maynard always knew exactly who he was and what his fans expected. He had one of the most recognizable sounds in the business. He never disappointed.
In my business today, we’d call that a brand promise. And when a brand can literally summon someone from the street, change their plans for the afternoon and make them glad they found it, it’s a powerful brand indeed.
I saw Maynard live a few more times after that, but nothing will ever compare to the serendipity of that magical, musical dusk in Detroit. I’ll always remember the silhouette of the man and his band, high atop a hotel, against a sunset streaked with the sun’s gold and Maynard’s brass.
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© 2006 John Armato
Disclaimers and Disclosures
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