This Bud's For Lou

In the spring of 1975, America's red, white and blue King of Beers is No. 3 with blacks, at best, and the business is hoping for some kind of entrée into the segment nationally. D'Arcy is Budweiser's ad agency, I'm the white boy in wanna-be charge, and after reviewing countless demo tapes, the powers that be have settled on Chicago DJ Daddy-O Daylie, whose legendary WMAQ late-night radio program was already sponsored by Budweiser.A logical call: He's a known entity, and he's already under contract. But the tapes keep coming in, and one day a guy down in the agency's studio says he's got one I should listen to. "Damn," I say. "That's Lou Rawls." I recognize him as the insistent voice behind Sam Cooke's classic, "Bring It on Home to Me"; "(Yeah), yeah, (yeah), yeah," he answers Cooke, before they take it all the way home with a tent-shaking harmony. Jesus. And now Rawls is looking for voice-over work?Fact is, he'd already won two Grammy's, but by 1975 his career is stalled by the swamp that was disco—which he refuses to succumb to—and indeed, here was this tape, with this rich mahogany voice that resonates from way back on the streets of Chicago, mentholated through the early years singing with Cooke, seasoned by a near-fatal car accident, enriched by endless concerts and recordings and arrived now in D'Arcy's Studio D labeled "Lou Rawls, demo tape."Emboldened by my creative partner's shared enthusiasm—and we're the only ones, believe me—we take Lou's demo to Anheuser-Busch, the ones who already have an "ethnic market" spokesman under contract, to try and convince them to hire Lou, and eat Daddy-O's contract. The pitch: Lou Rawls—first-ever black guy hired to be the general market spokesman for a national brand. A beer, no less. A beer for white guys.Back then, Bud was No. 1 because it was at least everybody's No. 2 choice. But it was King in the South, which made it a pure-dee redneck beer down there, God bless 'em every one, but nevertheless. Not so easy, hiring a "negro" to sell beer to Southerners—and everybody else.To A-B's credit, they go for it. Now we have to actually hire Lou, and his manager, seeing what he has on his hands, is holding out. So ad man here, who's making it up as he goes, says, "Hell, I'll just call Lou and get this straightened out."So I do. I get Lou on the phone in Los Angeles, introduce myself as a blues-guitar-player pretender and long-time fan, and pretty soon we warm up to a deal. Lou loves it, his manager's pissed—for 3 seconds—and we have ourselves a spokesperson.And I have myself a lifelong friend.You don't know Lou. But if you know his music, you know Lou. There he is. Tellin' it. His words and his voice come from way down deep inside his soul, massaged by some of the richest pipes in the bidness, offered up as an admission of who he is, and what he's about. "Hhhheyyyyyyyyy….," he would say. His version of "hello." You know. Deep. Deeper than deep. And always with a smile. A handsome, what-it-is smile.Later in the same year we hired Lou, after we shoot the first spots and record his version of the infamous Budweiser jingle, he leaves Capital Records for Philly International and Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff. Outside of Holland/Dozier/Holland at Motown, Gamble and Huff were the ones. The creative geniuses. For Teddy Pendergrass. The O'Jays. Billy Paul. Patti LaBelle. Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes.And Lou Rawls. Now Lou has himself an advertising gig and a new record label, and he has his career back. Soon come "You'll Never Find (Another Love Like Mine)," and "Lady Love." Million-sellers. And now we have ourselves a hot property.Rawls ties his first visit to St. Louis to meet the Anheuser-Busch team with a tour stop. After a ceremonial visit to A-B, and the agency, he limos over to Powell Symphony Hall, where Nancy Wilson opens for him. Now we're hanging backstage in his dressing room, sucking down clean, crisp, refreshing Budweisers when I get around to asking him … "you ever play pinball back in Chi-town??" "Hell yes," he laughs. "Let's go," says me.So we do. His manager is pissed, again—but hell, he doesn't go on for another 45 minutes! His band falls out. His bass player comes with us. We commando his limo across town to Humphries Bar and Grill, where the patrons follow Lou Rawls, Grammy Award winner, Bud spokesbrother, and generally famous dude to the back room, where we play all of 15 minutes of Roller Derby pinball, and back we go.The next day, Lou comes to my house, down inside inner city St. Louis. Pulls up in front of our renovated, 19th century work in progress, across the street from a metro, slammer jammer basketball court, in his limo. And before he can get out onto the curb, every dude playing B-ball is across the street to meet his man, The Man, Lou Rawls. He's gracious. Hell, he's one of them, before, then and always. Later I would visit Lou at his house, on a gated street near downtown L.A. a few doors down from Muhammad Ali. I meet his two beautiful children, Louanna and Lou Jr.Soon he would realize a lifelong dream with an appearance on Broadway. Helen Hayes Theater, the original, right there on Broadway itself, New York City. Our first thought, from back in St. Louis: Merchandise it! So we do. We deliver Lou to his opening night atop the classic Budweiser Clydesdale 8-horse hitch and wagon—a dramatic statement, hoofing it down Broadway after dusk. "Here comes the King…" How clearance for all this was obtained is anybody's guess, but there he was. So far, so good.Then, there's the theater lobby: retail space. Signage! POS. Beer posters, Pick-a-Pair of six packs, buy Bud. All of it. Oh, man. Bad. Very bad. We get killed. Lou gets great reviews. The reviewers kill A-B. Beer signs in the lobby of the Helen Hayes Theater was … bad.Now that I've been a New Yorker for 22 years, I cannot imagine what in the hell we were thinking on that one. Well, yes I can.Soon enough, Lou's back on the road. And we catch up with him to pre-pro something in some long-forgotten city. After the meet I follow Lou and his road manager back up to his hotel room, where we kick back and put room service on all-night rotation. This is a point in my life where I'm … in personal transition. I'm in pain, and Lou knows it. He hangs with me. Listens to my stupid misery. And at 6 a.m., he finally looks me in the eye and says, "You know what to do; you do what you got to do," which was profound at that moment. Saved my ass. Which goes way, way beyond "celebrity spokesperson."Two years later, he sends the same road manager to cash a check for a concert appearance, and this dude runs off with $100 thousand large of Lou's hard-earned dinero. Early on, we need Lou for a photo session. At the time, D'Arcy has exactly one black agency guy working on the business, an art director, and off he goes for the shoot. Two nights later, I get a call. He's screwed up. He gets Lou's head shots, but, hey, we need him actually holding a frosty long-neck bottle of Bud in one hand, and a beer-clean glass, half full, with an inch-and-a-half collar of foam, in the other. But Lou's gone, back on the road. So I say, "Dude, your hands look more like Lou's than mine. Go back in the studio, shoot yours, and crop it in." He does. And for agonizing months thereafter, Lou Rawls' image is all over America, with his own charming face along with his agency art director's gnarly, cheap bejeweled knuckles. Nobody ever noticed. Except me. Two years into Lou and Budweiser, I get an inquiry from a United Negro College Fund representative. I take a meeting with these guys, and, convinced this could be huge and important, we take it to A-B. The rest was, and is, history. The Lou Rawls Parade of Stars continues to raise hundreds of millions of dollars for blacks intent on an education who otherwise might not be able to gain one. At one of these shows, Lou introduces me to BB King, my all-time favorite blues-playing idol. Lou knew it, and he made it happen.In the midst of all this, Lou honors his Budweiser relationship with the release of a new album: "When You've Heard Lou, You've Heard It All." It goes gold.Thanks to Lou, and underscored by several other targeted programs—not just advertising, but grassroots, community-based, genuine programs, Budweiser becomes the No. 1 beer with blacks. Soon enough, Jesse Jackson comes to St. Louis with the threat of a boycott: "Bud's a Dud," he's preaching. But the black community never buys it, a testament to the real relationship we had cultivated with them through the good works of Anheuser-Busch and, honestly, the legitimate marketing and communications efforts from D'Arcy. All led by Lou Rawls, one of the most genuine, believable and likeable people there was. Or is.Two years ago, my wife and I go see Lou at the Blue Note, in lower Manhattan. Hadn't seen him for a while. Now he's singing Sinatra, current with the last album he would release. And he's wonderful. After the show, way after midnight, we go up the stairs behind the front counter and knock on the dressing room door. "Yeah," I hear. Unmistakable voice. The door cracks open. It's Lou. "Hhhhhheyyyyy!!!," he says. In we go, my wife and me. Hugs all around. "Hey, darlin'," he says, and kisses Diane, just like always.We gather in the years. He's good. Kids are good. He's getting married! Life is good. Except that within months, he discovers he's got terminal cancer, with complications.Desperately ill last September, Lou hosts his 25th and final UNCF An Evening of Stars, which aired the first week this past January. Heroic. And typical Lou Rawls.He died Jan. 6 and was eulogized and buried in Los Angeles a week later, in a glorious funeral presided over by none other than the Rev. Jesse Jackson, participated in by Joan Baez, Stevie Wonder, Della Reese and Andrae Crouch, and attended by his extended family and hundreds of friends, including Lou Gossett Jr., Angela Bassett, Kenny Gamble and Dr. Michael Lomax, President and CEO of UNCF. Lomax announces that next year's telethon will debut the Lou Rawls Achievement Award.This is Lou's legacy. His An Evening Of Stars will live on. He didn't create it. It was already a local, under-realized telecast, originating from Houston, when Lou became its host on behalf of Budweiser. He infused it with a larger presence, attracted a host of major talent and took it national 25 years ago. And ever since, Lou Rawls and the United Negro College Fund have given thousands of young, aspiring blacks a higher education and a chance in life. A wonderful legacy for a guy who never got to college himself.I call his publicist in late December, and a couple weeks later send Lou a note along with a favorite photo of him, me and BB King, from that night back in Vegas. He hung it in his hospital room."I love you, my brother," I write. I'm going to miss this guy.Tim Arnold is an agency veteran and a regular columnist. He can be reached at possible20@aol.com.

Brand Marketing

This Bud's For Lou

Tim Arnold

About

Subscriptions

Events

Publications

WORK SMARTER - LEARN, GROW AND BE INSPIRED.

Subscribe today!

Tim Arnold