"The advertising people in this country are the most skilled communicators in history. It would be a major step towards solving human problems if we would use our skills to help persuade people everywhere to value one another. Imagine the difference it would make."

Those words from legendary ad guru Bill Bernbach hang on the wall of my office. They're to remind me of both the power and responsibility I feel as an advertising professional. When I'm advertising a public service cause that I truly believe in, there is nothing more gratifying. It also makes me feel a little less guilty every time I blow off a beggar.

While channel surfing one day, I happen to stumble on a PBS special profiling the life of Adolph Hitler. Much of it I was aware of. However, I was not aware that Hitler's father beat the crap out of him, on a regular basis, when he was a kid. "Not a bad fact for a child abuse ad" I think. The idea of Hitler as an abused child never occurred to me. Once I thought about it, of course, it was not at all surprising. It also piqued my interest about other notorious villains: "Were they also abused?" I wondered.

After doing some research I uncovered documentation that Mussolini, Charles Manson, Al Capone and Lee Harvey Oswald all had abusive childhoods. I felt I was on the brink of a powerful ad. My tagline, which hit me relatively quickly, was"Child abuse. It hurts all of us." What I needed now was a good headline. No, not just a good headlineSť.the perfect headline. After two weeks of racking my brain, I finally got it. The ad featured photos of four of the notorious villains over the simple headline: "Some abused children grow up to become famous."

The ad won several awards. More importantly, it drew needed attention to the issue. In fact, so many calls came in asking for copies of the ad, we ended up printing thousands of 16 x 24 inch posters.

Five years later I decide it's time for follow up. Added motivation is provided by a "Stay in School" public service campaign sponsored by one of the New York outdoor media companies and plastered on dozens of city buses. Creatively, the campaign sucks. Yet , because it's a worthy cause and the media is donated, the trade press gushes over it. It gives me an idea. Maybe the rival media company should follow suit, with a much better ad, and get some great press of their own.

My new ad again features Hitler, but this time he's solo. The headline reads: "An abusive childhood can cause a world of problems." I keep the same tagline; "Child Abuse. It hurts all of us." It feels like another winner and I'm hoping the combination of a great ad and a great cause will be enough for the rival media company to donate the space for it. That hope is magnified when I discover that the upcoming month is Child Abuse Prevention Month. "The Gods are with me," I think.

I phone a contact at the media company, get the meeting, and present my idea. She's blown away by the ad and intrigued with my PR strategy. She now must clear it with her people which, she says, may take a couple weeks. It's definitely encouraging as she thanks me for my idea and assures me she'll get back to me soon. It's hard not to excited at thought of having my best creative work, for a great cause, displayed in 4 x 6 ft. bus shelters around the city. Yet, I wait anxiously, knowing better than to start counting my chickens. The promised two weeks pass without word. "No news is good news", I try to convince myself. More days pass without word. Meanwhile, Child Abuse Prevention Month is a few short days away. I pick up the phone and after four days of phone tag we finally connect.

      "I was gonna call you ...I've just been crazed." comes the almost irritated response.

      "Yeah, right" I think to myself. "So?" I ask eagerly.

       "Well, we've given it a lot of thought and we've shown it around and we just think it's sooo powerfulthat it might not be a good idea to run it. But, I want you to know that we all think it's really creative and really, really, powerful!"

I try to compose a diplomatic response, not wanting to come off upset or defensive, despite the fact that I'm feeling both:

      'Let me be sure I understand this. You're saying that because my ad is so powerful, you're not going to run it?" I ask in my most business-like tone.

      "Oh, as I said, we all love the ad," she responds placatingly. "We just think there might be a few people out there who, you know, might not really understand it."

      "Not understand it?" I repeat.

      "Well, you know, all they'll see is a huge picture of Hitler. They might not bother to read the headline." she explains.

Realizing that a verbal tug-of-war would probably not help my case, I delicately attempt to offer another perspective:

       "I understand the concern. But don't you think that if someone sees a 4 x 6 foot photo of Hitler they'll want to read the headline?"

She pauses momentarily.

      "We've found that a lot of people don't read headlines" she persists. "And, quite honestly, we're concerned about vandalism. We've had problems before with other ads we've run. We think people might just see this big photo of Hitler and try to smash the glass."

      "Smash the glass?" I repeat.

      "Yes," she replies defiantly. "It's a concern."

      "Isn't the glass on the shelters Plexiglas?" I reply.

      "Uh, yes." she responds hesitantly.

      "Well, isn't Plexiglas the same stuff that hockey rinks use because it doesn't break?" I continue. After another pause she responds almost robotically:

      "As I said, your creative is so powerful, I don't think we can run it."

At this point, I realize I'm beating a dead horse. Rather than risk saying something I'll regret, I reluctantly back off. Of all the bogus, ad-killing excuses I've heard in my career, "it's too powerful" has to take the cake. I can't allow the ad to die. Ten minutes later I'm back on the phone:

      "OK. I'm not asking for 20 bus shelters. I'm not even asking for 10. Just give me one." I plead. "And if they break it, I'll pay for it."

I know it's my last shot and rationalize that if I get even one, it at least stands a chance to some press.

       "Just one?" she repeats followed by a long pause. "I'll see what I can do."

Two days later I get the call back; "I'm sorry, it's just too provocative." I explain that if there is controversy it will only draw added attention to the message and the cause.

       "Can you try it without Hitler?" comes the response.

       "Uh, that's kinda the whole idea," I reply trying to contain myself.

Her well intended but laughable attempts at an alternate creative solution are simply too painful to listen to. Rather than subject myself to this conceptual cluelessness, I conclude the conversation. I try to put the issue behind me, telling myself that I gave it my best shot. It's very difficult.

Two weeks later I'm introduced to a columnist for the Daily News as "a guy who does edgy, award-winning work," We eventually meet at my office but when I present samples of my produced work she doesn't act interested in any of it. Then the rejected Hitler ad catches her eye.

      "What's this?" she asks.

I go through the story assuming that, by being honest, I'm killing my chance for press.

      "Interesting," she responds with intrigue. "I can't promise anything, but do you mind
       if I take it back with me?"

To my amazement, four days later my dead ad is resurrected as a half page Daily News story. The article is an honest, well written report. Several congratulatory calls come in from friends, and one from a hysterical women upset about the Hitler visual. The most unexpected call comes from ABC news reporter Doug Johnson -- he wants to do an on-camera interview. An hour later I find myself in front of a mini-cam with a blinding light in my face. I'm fielding questions like a short-stop at fielding practice:

The camera man eventually interrupts -- he's out of tape. When my 15 minutes are up I'm told that I can expect to see it later that same day on the 5:00 news. I'm thanked for my time and told by Doug that he thinks the ad is great. At 4:30 I grab a cab and head to my apartment VCR accompanied by a couple of my excited junior creatives. When we arrive, I notice the light on my answering machine. It's Channel 2 News trying to track me down. They, too, would like to do an on-camera interview! Following a story about a deranged woman with 43 cats, my Hitler ad story comes on. Before the day is over, my ad and I have appeared on three local broadcasts as well as in the morning paper.