Butterfly Down

By D. Richard Truman

An advertising agency founder’s account of freedom in swinging London during a decade of unconventionality and innovation.
A period in time when restless youth were impacted for the rest of their lives by a cultural shift. It was life altering, creating a deluge of new fashion, speech, music, sexuality and introducing the 20th century to unheard of freedoms. But it also kindled a desire for
instant wealth and fame—summoning the sharks to feed on the innocent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Richard Truman
• Release date: Aug 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781773022130

D. Richard Truman

D. Richard Truman is an ad guy, plain and simple. Without London and the 1960s, he would never have made it. He led a pack of the most daring writers, art directors, producers, and planners in the business. Richard currently lives in Oakville, Canada, with his wife of many years. This is his eighth book.

Book preview

DEDICATION

Remembering two of the most daring and delightful admen in the world.

James Jimmy Parrock

Eddy Grant

CHAPTERS

1. WHY DID IT HAPPEN?

2. GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS

3. DEADLY SILENCE

4. THREE BIRDS AND A PLONKER

5. HOME

6. AND THE BEST GOES ON AND ON

7. THE WARMTH OF KING’S ROAD AMIDST THE CHILL

8. IS THE WORLD SWINGING AWAY?

9. THE YARD

10. BUCK YOU

11. SLIPPING OUT OF FASHION TO SOLVE A MYSTERY

12. IN SEARCH OF REASON WHEN ALL IS SO UNREASONABLE

13. AN UNENDING STORY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Donald Richard Truman

ABOUT THE EDITOR: Roy Albert Wilson

COVER ILLUSTRATION: Emma Grant

THANK YOU

EPILOGUE

COPYRIGHT

1.

WHY DID IT HAPPEN?

Looking back, the shockwaves from the British revolution struck quickly and unexpectedly.

A sound reached me, while I was walking along Bloor Street, in Toronto, coughing up exhaust fumes from a passing TTC bus.

As 1964 faded away, my home town was dark and downcast; not a place I wanted to be, nor a place anyone would dare build a future.

The assassination of President Kennedy, a never ending war in Vietnam, the crumbling of the new world’s morality and racial riots in cities across the USA were dark shadows enveloping the youth of the planet. The new and free world had lost its promise of hope! The light was being turned off.

Suddenly a flicker of light appeared in the east. Darkness began to flee with the morning light. I was struck by the incredible power of new ideas, images and sounds from the land of our forefathers.

In a split second, with rubber gripping the winter sidewalk, music from a car radio filled me with hope. I stopped walking. The raw cosmic energy entered my subconscious and signalled a life altering change. Perhaps it was the twang of guitars or the embrace of vocal harmonies; or maybe the words, "It’s been a hard day’s night, and I’ve been working like a dog; It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log; But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do; Will make me feel alright."

The heart-warming music was promising a reward of love for all the hard work. The words from away were a powerful force that awakened an inner sleep.

I asked myself if I should be the first to pack my bags, flee and wash up on British shores. The sorrow and sadness will be left behind, powered by this distant summoning. I’ll regain my footing, and think positive thoughts about hopes and dreams?

Yes I said, at last, I can see the light and I can take control of my future.

CHUM radio’s Bob McAdorey read the signals. The sound was the vanguard of a British cultural invasion with global ramifications. The movement would soon impact the lives of over two billion English speaking inhabitants of our planet. Surely other Beatles songs will lead us to Valhalla, supported by music from the Rolling Stones, The Kinks, The Who, The Small Faces, Gerry and the Pacemakers, as well as Billy J Cramer and the Dakotas. It is merely a knock on the door by the invaders. The tidal wave of change will reach out and shake the hand of an idle world. With little thought I flew into the sunrise washing over London. A land exhausted by post-war austerity and ancient order, certainly wasn’t any more.

Fewer than a dozen courageous Brits were reinventing the world of music, fashion, the hair on your head, the language, humour and indeed a little pill that freed new pleasures for the young to enjoy. Everything had changed. Stalwarts like Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, George Martin, Vidal Sassoon, Mary Quant, Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton, Dusty Springfield, Lulu, Peggy Moffitt and Brian Epstein opened big doors. To a lot of the young creators, thousands of second stringers like Ringo just happened to be there. The masses would be freed, everyone would be happy. After all being a star was a dream come true; the British world had beckoned and gone mod and everyone was invited to the party. Youth was about to savour a lifetime of optimism and hedonism.

The revolution was reshaping everything we previously dreamed might be possible and would point the way to the treasured pot of gold.

Our eyes opened to bright and swirling colours, endless legs, shaggy hair for boys, boyish crops and flippy hair for girls, tie-dye shirts, the world’s shortest mini-skirts, plastic wear, flirtatious and evocative new music exciting the flauntingly beautiful bodies.

Hiding in the shadows, opportunists and exploiters would soon take a bite out of the end of the rainbow. But was that a lot to pay after so many gains? I didn’t think so. I went off to London.

2.

GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS

6:54 am Friday, January 22, 1965

Purring along the A12 toward Felixstowe is a motorist’s delight in good weather. Seaside villages are postcard perfect but this Edwardian town clinging to the toffee-coloured coastline of Suffolk is a fisherman’s delight. Today it appears to be filled with happy people jabbering on about a recent flying saucer landing. But there’s other news on the car radio. An enormous storm churning up the North Sea is a couple of hours ahead. By the time I reach the end of my journey north-east I will be in the midst of the storm. At the moment it is still picture perfect.

The birth of the new year landed on Britain’s towns, villages and cities like a pulsating tsunami. The revolution shook everyone and everything and I’m in the middle of the sights and sounds of a future world. After fleeing from a world gone bad, 1965 seduced me. Since arriving I’m constantly reminded to live life to the fullest and associate with good vibrations. I am now part of this flash of renewal, so I believe the lure of sweet harmonies and promising words. Life is a carnival. The vitality is super-contagious; I am where I want to be. England exudes a belief that yesterday is buried and today is tomorrow.

I’m an advertising writer transferred from Canada, working as a creative director for a Knightsbridge ad agency. Everyone has to make a living. I make a living with words born in England and London is the centre of the new university of creativity. Words are interesting, words are exciting. And they are bountiful. Word are necessary to communicate with each other. The English language is special as it has more words than any other used by mankind. Sure, most were stolen from a dozen other languages, but they’re our words now.

The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) was first published in 1928. It took 70 years to compile. The rule while compiling the world’s biggest dictionary was to collect every English word that appeared in printed form from 1671. Words spoken before that date were ignored. The ones chosen form the basis of the language. The exact number of words writers may use is officially 180,976. Some cheat and use a few wayward words from older dictionaries. So that’s what I decide to do in London; use 180,976 words to create advertising magic in the world center of the language. That gives me a lot of options and a lot of opportunities. Most writers have read Simon Winchester’s The Professor and the Madman, about the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary. If not, it is informative and a must read for lovers of the language. Now back to Felixstowe.

While in Felixstowe I am on a public relations mission for a client: to build better relations with the media. The last thing the boss at the agency, Chairman Timothy Brookes, said was to the point! Deliver this package to Felixstowe. We’ve a tender waiting to take you to Britain’s first pirate radio station. I must also hand them a few vinyls and a signed media contract from Ice Music (a division of a multinational British-Dutch consortium). Then he thumps the desk and says, It is big business - so get back fast. You don’t want to spend time on a ship that is anchored in the North Sea, unless you like being sick!

I arrive about 8:10am and the tender is waiting. The weather is now a little nasty. The sea is rough. Despite the weather I am heading to a whale of a tub called Radio Carol. It is anchored six miles from the mainland in international waters. Radio Carol must remain outside of British jurisdiction. What it does is legal but its name pirate indicates it is suspect, as the BBC used to own all the airwaves in the UK. Some say this bright red hulk is named after the owner’s daughter or girlfriend. The name doesn’t matter anyway. Most call her Carol the hooker.

As I mentioned earlier I’m delivering a stack of new vinyl releases by The Ivy League, Marianne Faithful and the Hollies as well as a media deal from a very important client to Radio Carol, bobbing about in a slimy green sea of money.

By the look of the weather, it’s going to be a rough crossing. The skipper stumbles in introducing himself as Finbar Aches. Odd name, I whisper to my inner brain. He shouts Just call me Fin over the rumble of the fired-up Packard engines. Then he rabbits on, Done this since March of ‘64, maybe a hundred times, maybe more. Fishing is my business, except for charters when I scoot people about. Nothing else to do! Then I remind him I first heard of Radio Carol when I heard Simon Dee shouting, "This is Radio Carol on 199, your all-day music station."

I soon discover