I did not get to have the blessing of having him as my friend, as many who now honor him would profess. But I got the chance to have him as my hero.
His shadow loomed large over the advertising world, as ½ of the dynamic duo, Mon and Abby. Or more accurately:“Mon-and-Abby.” Inseparable and indefatigable and invincible. Together, they built their own advertising ship, steered it across the tempestuous oceans called “regional alignments” and took on multinational giants. And to his credit, Mon, reportedly, would always say that it was Abby who was the “Jimenez on the door.” Stories, legends, myths were told about the revolution they created, the bus they brought to the AdCongress (“Is it parked at Pacific Star?”), the Jedi mind tricks and tough love they gave in equal doses to clients, and of course that line that stays with you and comforts you when you have to choose family over work: “It’s only advertising.” I would hear stories about Mon, or MonJ, as his friends would call him (I never had the guts to call him that to his face. He was always “sir” or “Sir Mon”), from my dad as well, who got to work with Jimenez and its several agency iterations.
I guess I was blessed enough to have caught Mon-the-Advertising-Maverick, just as I was beginning my professional life. I had my practicum at JimenezBasic, a starry-eyed intern who just wanted to soak all the stories and learning and electricity. I then joined them as a full employee (a wannabe copywriter) a year and a half after, and after my first love-hate bout with advertising. There, I got to work with my hero up close.
His legend loomed so large that I was starstruck the first time we met in the office. We met in the restroom. I think I was about to head out, and he was about to just do his business. His mere presence (or maybe it was his polo barong?) and my desire to say something coherent and smart overwhelmed me so much that I bumped my head or shoulder on the hand dryer when I tried to greet him a “good morning, sir.” He said, “O, o, Are you okay?” Flushed with embarrassment, I said “yes,” as I tried to get out before I did any other stupid thing. I think I saw him snickering a bit. Well, in any case, I guess I was able to make him smile that morning.
And as is the case with heroes, you never imagine them dying.
Which is perhaps why this is so fucking jolting.
Yes, Sir Mon had his superpowers, but also so interested in you as a human being.
He was the closest thing to seeing the Jedi Mind trick in action. No, I didn’t get to watch him during client presentations. But he used it on us, his employees. In an industry where emotions run high and you just need to ride the next wave of excitement, we were eager to be roused into belief, galvanized into action, or simply understand the context of what was happening. He had a way of looking us in the eyes and inspiring us, of telling us what was going on in a way we understood and knew exactly how to help out.
Like: There was a tough pitch we had to win. Of course, he contextualized it for us. Something to this effect: “We had been waiting for this. The big ____________ business is now being split into sizeable chunks. And we can grab this big bite.” We had to work through one of those storms – a surreal yet now unforgettable experience of being in the office on Saturday morning while rain and wind banged on the 23rd floor windows, you trying to check the copy you wrote at 1am, the art directors finishing mocks, and the others were trying to wake your Creative Director up so we could use his car and get coffee.
He sent a message of thanks for all our hard work when he knew we were still in the office that Saturday. We joked amongst ourselves that if he could also send breakfast and coffee, it would be great. (Now that I think about it, he would have found a way if we simply asked.)
Then we went on to astound the client that week — but only to the point of forcing the incumbent agency to a tie. There would be, what agency people would collectively groan at, as “Round 2.”
Everyone was moaning and groaning. I didn’t know what to feel. It was my first big pitch. But then he called us in to a meeting again. And he told us (again, this is Sir Mon in my memory, ok?): “Guys, congratulations. You forced the incumbent into a jumpball!”
The basketball side of me was inspired – even if it were to last only until the morning of Round 2. (We went on to lose the pitch the weeks after). We went on to lose, but I’ve never lost the lesson of how leaders must always contextualize, and the power it can bring, to both battle-scarred veterans and starry-eyed fresh-hires.
When the agency was going to add “Publicis” into its name (that’s how we got the long-winded name which thankfully got abbreviated to “PJB” in subsequent years), Sir Mon sent out an email. “The three names on the door are three heritages we are thankful for.”
Their name “Jimenez” would remain on the door to this day, even after they left. The collective shadows of their capes looming over the city when anyone needed a reminder that the good guys were still in charge.
Despite their legendary stature, he and Abby were so interested in you as a total human being. They sent our parents a gift during Christmas. They insisted that we have lives outside advertising (it also makes good business sense to have different talents on the table). And of course, to put even advertising in its proper context in life.
Over the years, stars from eyes having fallen one by one, I would hear more stories, legends and myths (or are they?) about Sir Mon – why did he wear polo barong, how he had 6th floor drinking sessions at Pacific Star, and his belief about awards.
What was amazing was that I heard these stories from so many others outside the agency. The Jimenez family tree was so fruitful, that there was a surplus of great people in various agencies. I have gone through various agencies and jobs in related fields, and I have always found people he inspired, who in turn inspired me. Again, I never got to work with him as intensely side-by-side, but through the people whose lives he touched and changed, I got to catch the light of his brilliance as well – even if by refraction it was already so strong. I’m just hoping that I caught enough of that first-hand light so I can bounce it off for future generations as well.
Part of his superpowers, too, was how he made you feel like you were an equal when you talked to him. NEVER did I feel belittled, humiliated or “initiated” – even as an intern. The meeting you were in – whatever the hell the topic was – you felt like it was going to change the world.
Many years after, when he was already the Secretary of Tourism (more on that in a moment), I texted him about the great work that mountain trekking guides were doing in the Calabarzon area. I didn’t expect a reply. He had over 7,000 islands to take care of. But he did. And he said he would forward the message to the local tourism board.
When Abby died, I sent him a text message as well. He replied very personally, too: a message that I knew the reference to, something which Abby might have wanted him to really say, and even though it was just characters on a screen, I think it was he who comforted me.
And when I was still a junior copywriter, during his talk at the Creative Guild Raw School, I ventured asking him a question in front of everyone. I already had my first bout of quitting advertising, and so I wanted to know if that feeling wasn’t strange ( I would of course learn that everyone wanted to quit during some part of Monday).
So I raised a hand and asked, “Sir, did you ever feel like quitting?”
Trademark Sir Mon – he began with my name. “Martin, you know…” But it wasn’t the answer I expected. “I have to think beyond the advertising now. I take care of a lot of people as someone who owns a business…”
I didn’t expect that.
But a decade and then some later, I guess it makes sense. Here was the guy who urged us to go home by telling us “It’s only advertising.” To go home to our families, pursue a hobby, have a weekend, and maybe drink. He understood his responsibility was beyond just the work now. It was to take care of people.
Well, he would go on to take care of a country. It turned out, that he would have to go and wear another superhero costume. This time, as Secretary of Tourism.
If I remember correctly, it wasn’t the best of circumstances to become Tourism Chief. The department and the country were reeling from tagline plagiarism accusations and haphazard logo work. Then of course, it was politics. So when his name came up as the Secretary – I didn’t want to believe it, not because I didn’t think he was qualified, but because I really thought he had already ridden into the sunset, and it was now time to take it easy.
But then again, if Sir Mon was going to be true to everything he taught us, to the principles he instilled in us, then it was but logical that he would accept. After all, here was a guy who wasn’t just an advertising genius, and successful business maverick in his own right – he also knew what public service meant, even before he was sworn in (I guess he was also already dressed for the part?). He was perfect for the job, not just because of his excellence, but more so because of his unimpeachable integrity. If we was going to be selfless in offering himself and answer the call of the Flag, then those of us who knew him must also learn how share him with many others. And through the stories of those worked with him at DOT, Sir Mon’s heroism seemed to just keep getting larger than life itself, and the lives he touched just multiplied exponentially.
So with bated breath, with fingers crossed, we waited for the new DOT campaign.
The new campaign, “It’s more Fun In The Philippines” was of course successful- by any standard of you want to measure it against: creativity, results, and is referred to by everyone who participated in that campaign as part of their body of work.
But I knew it would be successful. However, it was his demeanor that stood out as heroic to me. When he gave the brief to the public, it was clear and concise, but also with a love for his country that was so utterly Sir Mon that you believed him when he said , “this is the most beautiful country on earth.” When the campaign was again attacked by charges of plagiarism, he defended David Guerrero and BBDO. And when anybody talked about the accomplishments of that campaign, he didn’t just soak in it. He reflected the praise back to the country.
I got a chance to present to him, finally, when he was Secretary, and I was in Saatchi as a Strategic Planner. We were pitching for this account that wanted his input because it pertained to some government action.
I’m always nervous before presenting, but that time I was almost paralyzed when I saw that he would actually sit in on the pitch. Maybe it was because I was presenting to someone who was a legendary presenter. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to disappoint a teacher. Maybe it was because I was afraid I’d hurt my head on the hair dryer again while talking to him.
But it turns out, he was so compassionate. I would think that people who came from agencies would be the ones to dismiss presentations as boring (also because we have attention spans shorter than toddlers’) , or those who can see the holes and tear them down. But he nodded his head at the right parts. Chuckled when we needed it. And in the end, I felt like he understood what we were trying to say. Yes, he was masterful as a presenter, but I learned that more importantly, he was gracious as a listener.
We would go on to win that pitch. It would be a rocky project, but he would shed light on it until it came into fruition.
Sir Mon is powerful but can be very personal. Sir Mon is an advertising giant, but he is beyond advertising – he is a public servant. And at his death, I can not help but feel that a certain light in our nation has been snuffed out along with it. At least while we try to grieve for him.
I take comfort, though, in another embarrassing moment I had with him, early on in my advertising career.
When I was a fresh-hire for JimenezBasic, Sir Mon and Ma’am Abby treated our batch to lunch. I think it was at Nanbantei in Greenbelt 3.
The topic then came to National Artist Nick Joaquin. I made the mistake of asking, “Isn’t Nick Joaquin dead?” I could have sworn he already was.
Sir Mon looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Nick Joaquin is not dead. He is writing somewhere, with a San Miguel Beer in his hand.”
And so, when anyone asks me from now on, “Is Mon Jimenez dead?”
I will be compelled to answer, “Mon Jimenez is not dead. He is in some conversation or presentation, convincing someone with his Jedi mind trick, in his polo barong.”
Maybe Heroes never die. Maybe they live on in us, the people who in turn, they turn into heroes. And when I need to know if I’m still on the side of the good guys, I’ll just have to imagine what he’d have to say.
hotfishballs 