1991 Clio Awards: Inside Advertising's Most Shocking Night

They don't do award shows like they used to. Stolen awards, a no-show master of ceremonies, caterer-turned-presenter and stage-crashing advertising executives. There is one night that lives in infamy: the 1991 Clio Awards. For decades, advertising award galas have been staples of the industry with few dramatic moments, aside from the occasional drunken outburst. The first Clio Awards show, presented in 1959, recognized television advertising. The ceremony was even featured on the classic series Mad Men when character Don Draper is nominated for his Glo-Coat commercial. The annual staid evening is typically filled with long-winded speeches, bragging and endless networking. But 30 years ago today, on June 13, 1991, the Clio Awards were consumed by a tidal wave of chaos that made for an evening that continues to be told 30 years later. For Stephen Pieretti, who then co-owned catering business Sterling Affair, the evening began as just another big occasion. The professional caterer arrived several hours before the planned dinner, supporting his team and three trucks that provided the food for about 800 guests. The savvy professional for the rich and famous has consistently serviced high-profile personalities over the years, ranging from Donald Trump and Regis Philbin to Henry Kissinger. “This is routine," he said of the event. "We do this thousands of times each year.” That was when mayhem started.Stephen Pieretti, co-owner, Sterling Affair For the award ceremony in 1991, Pieretti was contracted for two separate dinners on behalf of the Clio Organization, one on a Thursday at Manhattan Center, and the “big event” a few days later at the New York State Theater (now David H. Koch Theater), which holds about 3,000 people. The main ceremony, with the more flashy categories recognizing television advertising, was scheduled to run on broadcast TV. However, it was canceled after Thursday's event unfolded. The reports on the actual number of attendees for the Thursday event vary widely depending on eyewitnesses, ranging from 400 to a more substantial 700. Pieretti had catered the show for five years. As the point person, he was familiar with how these events were organized. "We would do our thing and then the show would get presented. But I would watch the show all of the time because I was always interested in advertising. Clio Awards are really cool," Pieretti told Adweek. Troubling signs There were troubling signs as Pieretti prepared for the event. The celebration was organized by then-Clio president Bill Evans, who had acquired the Clios in 1972 for $150,000 and built it into a multimillion-dollar company. The first signs of concern for the 1991 show happened when Clio organizers were having a hard time locating the trophies and the script, Pieretti said. “It just wasn’t really on point [that] year.” He tells Adweek he worked with a Clios show organizer, and both were unsure of what was happening. Evans, who was set to present the awards, was still not there. “Evans never showed up that night with the full script and the slides all ready to go and the whole stuff," Pieretti said. "We were waiting for him to show up. But he didn’t.” While they waited, food service ran on schedule, beginning at around 5:30 p.m. with the awards show to follow at 8 p.m. I noticed something different, and started to hear rumblings that the show might not happen.David Angelo, founder, David&Goliath At 8:30 p.m., Pieretti went backstage to ask the Clios staffer how he could help the show, which he now realized was going off the rails. She told him that she didn’t know what to do. People were filing into their seats, expecting the awards ceremony. (Adweek attempted to interview the Clios staffer for this story. She declined to give an interview but said she wasn't present at the show and disputed Pieretti's description of events.) One guest that evening was David&Goliath founder David Angelo. “I was a junior art director at the start of my career,” he told Adweek. “And was excited to be attending the Clio Awards and about the possibility of my work being recognized.” He recalls arriving to a packed room on that June 13 evening. “Yet I noticed something different, and started to hear rumblings that the show might not happen,” he said. “And when the event caterer became the emcee for the night, there was an immediate shift in the energy of room. And the scene fast became surreal, like nothing I imagined the night would." One frequently cited detail about the chaotic night is how the caterer became the master of ceremonies. But the reality of that part was less jarring. Pieretti was actually an experienced host and volunteered his services as Clio representatives debated how they could move forward. Pieretti had mentioned his prior experience hosting events, ranging from weddings to guest introductions during other events. Typically, the presenters were local celebrities, like morning show hosts and TV news anchors. This year, the caterer would get center stage. Things were going well, at first. We will get through this, but who are you? “I was pretty familiar with how [the show formula] goes, so she just pushed me out there,” Pieretti said as he stood onstage to present alongside Catterman. There were two podiums and side-by-side microphones. “It started off great. I would introduce the agency and then the band would play the song jingle in their ad. The slide would then show the ad. People responsible would come up and receive their Clio. Everything was working out. It would take seconds. They would shake my hand and go sit back down.” The winners would briefly take their picture with Pieretti with a surprised “who are you?” look on their faces, he joked. “I would say we are just going to get through this." Unfortunately, Pieretti had not looked at all of the material prior to stepping onstage. Fatal mistake, he said. Thirty minutes into the show, Pieretti discovered an unwelcome surprise. “We handed out about 15 prizes, but when I got to page four, the rest of the script was blank,” he said, adding that they had just given him an outline while they waited for the full script. “I didn’t know what to say. I looked at the band. They had no more music or script. I just said, ‘I am just the caterer filling in, and before we get to the rest of it, let’s take a brief intermission.’” There was nobody backstage Pieretti rushed backstage thinking Evans would possibly be there. He assumed the Clio owner would have the script and finish the show. “But that is not what happened. There was nobody back there. And [the Clios staffer] said she didn’t have the full script.” Out in the audience, the lights were turned up and the band started to play music. “That was when mayhem started,” Pieretti said. “I went behind the curtain and then heard people rushing to the stage.” Reports differ on the chaotic scene backstage. Several people noticed the awards were not engraved, leading at least one person to yell they wanted to take one. After that first person stole a trophy, upwards of 150 people rushed the stage to nab one themselves. People were posing like Rocky Balboa and seizing the moment to obtain fame with a shiny gold trophy. Once the awards were all nabbed by the stage crashers, the hall was cleared out with the restless party guests streaming out by 11 p.m. The upcoming TV telecast was canceled. The Clios were done for the year. Maybe forever. “As a caterer, we do anything to protect a client,” Pieretti said. “If we would have had a full script, everything would have been OK, and if Evans showed up, we would have been fine. But instead, it just went off course.” Returning to glory after years of turmoil The Clio Organization filed for bankruptcy nine months later in March 1992, claiming debts of $1.8 million. The company then went through turmoil as creditors and new owners attempted to salvage the ceremony. Chicago publisher Ruth Ratny purchased the name in 1992 and combined two events into one single evening, billed as the New Clio Awards. Show attendance dropped to about 500 paid guests in 1992 while opening up the competition to non-U.S. agencies. Ratny sold the company in 1993 to James Smyth, who relocated the event to San Francisco. Financial turmoil delayed the shows over the next few years, but eventually the Clios regained its status as one of the premier events in the industry. In 1997, Nielsen Global Media acquired the Clios, making it a sister company to Adweek and other business publications. The Clios are now a part of Clio Awards LLC. This year, the event took place virtually on April 28. “I always believe that any company, any event has an opportunity to come back from any challenge or misstep, if the grounded intention for positive change is there,” said Angelo. “And the Clios certainly have. Because behind every setback is a chance for an even greater comeback.” Comedians make fun of 1991 infamous Clio Awards

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1991 Clio Awards: Inside the Most Shocking Night in Advertising History

Caterer-turned-presenter Stephen Pieretti recalls the dramatic evening 30 years ago

Larissa Faw

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Larissa Faw