Sir Martin at the bat

 

Quite a bit has been written about the rise and fall of Martin Sorrell, and I don’t have much to add beyond a personal impression I formed when he visited JWT's Bombay office back in the day.

The first thing that struck me was that he was pretty damn short – I suppose people of power loom large in the imagination, Napoleon being the classic case in point.  So here was this ex-Finance Director from Saatchi and Saatchi, architect of their acquisition and expansion spree, who had fallen out with the Corsican brothers and quit.  He had personally bought over a shopping basket manufacturer called Wire and Plastic Products, and spun that into the largest marcom empire the world had ever seen.  Largely through hostile takeover, to boot.

I was nobody much in the JWT scheme of things, but my team and I were on the Unilever business, so I had to make a snapshot presentation as he walked around the office.  So a) looking down on him is one memory I retain; and b) surprise at his single incisive question at the end of my spiel is another.

It was clear as day that here was a mind like a razor, cutting through loads of instantly digested data to the critical bit.  And minds like that are almost always flawed, in one way or another. It’s human nature. Emerging stories of the serial personal abuse suffered by his assistants and chauffeurs do not surprise me.  Neither does the alleged use of a company credit card in a Mayfair brothel.  Because hubris is perhaps the most common of these flaws.

Anyway, to get back to the Bombay visit, Sorrell was apparently a keen cricketer and a game had been organized – graced by Bishan Singh Bedi, by then comfortably retired into playing private matches for a lucrative fee.  Sir Martin at the bat was quite impressive, until caught by my senior art director, a lanky and athletic fellow with no feel for typography.

So my third impression of that day is: c) he lacked warmth, but at least he had a sense of humour, for as he walked off the field past my art director, he muttered:

 “Good catch, you’re fired.”