Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt Revealed By Clive Cussler with Craig ...

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Peter found me a publisher with an advance of royalties. I put on my best suit, typed my resume, put
together a portfolio of my work in Los Angeles and knocked on the doors of Denver advertising
agencies, having no concept of how bucolic they were. Three agencies had openings for a copywriter,
and I wasted no time in applying.
The vice president of the first agency looked over my resume and portfolio and shook his head.
"You're overqualified," he said. "A former creative director from major Los Angeles agencies taking a
twenty-thousand-dollar-a-year pay cut to work as a copywriter in Denver. It hardly makes sense."
"It does to me," said I, competing for the congeniality trophy. "You must admit you're getting a
bargain."
"Perhaps, but the last thing we need around here is you hotshots coming in from the east and west
coasts and telling us how to run our business."
"I assure you that is not my intention. I simply have a wife and three kids to support."
"Sorry, Mr. Cussler. It won't work out."
Incredibly, the next agency director who interviewed me had seemingly memorized the last
interviewer's remarks. It was like listening to a recording. He actually said, "You must remember, the last
thing we need is for you hotshots from the big cities coming in here and telling us how it's done."
I was sorely tempted to drive to the city limits and make sure the sign said "Welcome to Denver" and
not "Pumpkin Corners."
I made an appointment with the last agency for the following Monday morning. Over the weekend, I
took my oldest suit, wadded it up and threw it in a corner of the bedroom. Then I revised my resume
backward, putting only a few of my newspaper ads in the portfolio, and left the demo tapes of my
television commercials in a drawer. And, oh yes, I didn't shave for two days. Properly subdued, I drove
to Denver and walked into an agency called Hull/Mefford. I noticed that only one four-year-old local
advertising award plaque hung in the lobby.