Chapter 78\ Although Jounieh was not as loyal…

The next morning, Melhem picked me up early and we drove down to the Commodore, where Bill and Najeeb were awaiting my arrival at the coffee shop. They did not even wait for me to sit, as they were still trembling from the previous night’s experience. Soon after they went to sleep, a big explosion took place very close to the hotel. Najeeb’s room was closer to where the explosion had occurred, and he was thrown out of bed. By the time he recovered from the shock and the pungent smell of gunpowder that had seeped into the room through the shattered window, he heard a banging on the door. The power was down because of the explosion, so he reached for the door in pitch darkness, only to see Bill Bowld in his pyjama shorts and a t-shirt carrying his briefcase and a flashlight, which were available in all Beirut hotel rooms. Bill’s room was on the side of the hotel opposite the explosion, and he – unlike Najeeb – had not been able to sleep after reading Herbert Schmitz’s message asking for the shoot to be aborted and the Geneva team to be immediately evacuated.

Bill and Najeeb, who were not accustomed to the sounds of the Lebanese war, ran down the dark stairs to the reception – where other hotel guests were assembling in their amusing night wear – to enquire about the source of the sound, report the broken windows and to see what had to be done next. When they found out that a long-range shell had hit the building close to the hotel, they joined the rest of the Commodore residents in the basement, where they spent the night. By the time I arrived, both gentlemen were packed and checked out, so we instantly drove to Jounieh, taking a long detour through one of the mountain crossings that had been strongly recommended by Transmed’s management.

Schmitz had kept contact with P&G’s Lebanese distributor the previous day as TV stations reported the resumption of fighting in Beirut, and when he failed to get through to Bill Bowld, he asked Transmed to step in and provide support on the project’s security front. Meanwhile, Bill, who had consulted with the production company, had already decided not to abort, but to continue the shoot, aiming to complete the commercial with an additional day of filming at Jounieh Supermarket.

After the long drive, we descended through a winding mountain road that linked with the Beirut to Tripoli motorway at the Dog River junction. There, the mountain range hid Beirut from our sight, so peace fell on my two travel companions, who had remained silent throughout the drive. The change of environment – from war to peace – changed the mood of my driver and my companions, and their singing shortened the remaining distance until we arrived at the supermarket. Khalil Ghammache, who had stayed with his family, arrived at the production site early in the morning, and the production was well underway – having started at 8.30am – when the supermarket opened. The director was waiting for Bill’s arrival and told us that matters seemed to be much faster in Jounieh, as he had already managed to secure five excellent interviews. We soon experienced this as we sat in the control room watching and listening to Paul Matar trying to persuade Ariel buyers to trade their one pack for two packs of Persil. By mid-day, the traffic at Jounieh Supermarket dramatically intensified. Bill went to the management office to enquire and was told that those young housewives were the main shoppers at this time. They take their time before leaving their young children with the nannies, after they had bathed, dressed, and fed them. Meanwhile, the working ladies amongst them had the habit of using the lunch break to do their shopping.

Back in the control room, we all stood on our toes to watch a cocky young mother pushing her shopping trolley while her cute little baby sat straddling the bucket-like seat in the trolley’s handle. She instantly stopped as Paul Matar approached her and seemed to listen attentively to his offer. She then quickly pulled the Ariel pack from the trolley and gave it to him. In a funny way, she tried to take – not only the two Persil packs – but the swap bag as well. Had Paul not put all his charm and effort to keep the precious bag, this important tool of our promotion would have vanished in an instant. When two other shoppers traded their Ariel packs, we immediately got into a huddle at the control room, suspecting a competitive plot to be underway. The director assured us that we already had enough refusal shots in the can, rich with spontaneous, convincing, and memorable comments. The director wanted us to know that what he had already filmed, allowed us to stop the shoot if a fourth person accepted to swap. Bill Bowld insisted that we continue – bringing to our attention the possible refusal of family members to grant their clearance to show wives, daughters, or sisters on TV – when we got to the final stage of seeking legal clearance. Luckily, we did not encounter any further surprises by the time the director shouted, “It is a wrap”.

Bill and Najeeb had been booked by Transmed on the 8pm flight to Geneva via Paris. We loaded all the film cans in the trunk of the car and covered it with blankets that I had bought from the supermarket, as we knew that we were to drive past a few Syrian Army checkpoints on our way to the airport. The thought that all P&G’s investment and our efforts could evaporate in a second if we were searched by an ignorant soldier was my nightmare and that of Najeeb and Khalil, who understood the complexity of the Lebanese Civil War. One of the decisions of our emergency meeting in the control room was to purchase six Persil packs of 3kg size as a precaution in case the swapping continued. These packs remained after the shoot, and we agreed to take them along just in case. Najeeb helped me load these on the backseat between him and Bill and between me and the driver, as I was sitting next to Transmed’s driver, who was not familiar with the side roads we had planned to take.

Transmed had recommended its Tide factory in Choueifat as a waiting point for the Geneva team to stay amongst colleagues, due to their late flight and the proximity of the factory to the airport. We drove in complete silence, which I was about to break when we arrived in Kanater Zbaidi (Zbaideh’s Arches), which was the last stretch of the drive before we crossed to Hazmieh and from there took the Kfarchima road to the Tide factory. We were driving fast and as our car turned around a sharp bend, we saw a Syrian Army checkpoint blocking the road. The time was around 5pm, and this was the time when Syrian soldiers took turns having very sweet, dark amber tea served in small glass Istikans from a roadside shack made from tree branches. A lonely young soldier who was manning the checkpoint waved at our driver to stop. I had rehearsed this scene many times earlier in the day, so I made it clear that I would be the person responding to the soldier’s questions. When he asked for the personal identification of the passengers, I handed them to him explaining that the two backseat passengers were representatives of a foreign detergent company on their way to the airport, following a tour amongst the shops selling their product.

As I concluded my statement, I took two of the Persil packs – which were on the seat next to me – and showed them to the soldier. Henkel had a factory for manufacturing Persil in Syria, so the brand was very well known there. I instantly noticed the sparkle in his eyes, so I offered him one, and before giving him the opportunity to thank us, I gave him the second saying that he might like to give it to his sergeant. This brought a wider smile to his face. Politely, he asked if we had anything to declare, pointing to the car’s trunk. My heart sank as I told him no, so he waved the driver to move. Even after escaping this scary experience, we went back to our silence until we saw the sign of the Tide factory.

Bill Bowld saluted Ziad Shaaban, the factory’s general manager, and asked permission to use his office phone to call Geneva. Najeeb joined him and Ziad stepped out, as if to allow them privacy. But quickly I found out that Ziad’s gesture wasn’t one of courtesy only, as he seemed very eager to whisper in my ear that tons of explosive and combustible chemicals were stored in the factory’s large silo, and a gun shell had exploded close to their forecourt the previous day. He needed my help to communicate this to Bill Bowld and convince him to immediately leave for the airport, instead of taking a chance on their personal safety by waiting until their flight was due to depart. Najeeb proved to be the savior as he instantly took it upon himself to convince Bill to save his breath and to delay the telephone reports until the next day, when he got to Geneva. The Transmed driver dropped them and their many bags of film at the airport and I accompanied Ziad to Hamra, where Melhem was waiting.

After 10 days, Khalil flew back to Lebanon carrying six commercials in a rough-cut format. All of us at Intermarkets were fascinated to have worked on such an unconventional campaign. Khalil brought along the contacts of the people who appeared in these films, as well as the release documents drafted by P&G’s legal department, allowing Ariel’s manufacturer as well as Intermarkets to run these commercials on a long list of TV stations in Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the UAE, and Oman. Our assignment at Intermarkets was to contact these ladies, have them sign the release forms and record Ariel’s “Selling Idea” in Arabic and add it, together with a written super, at the end of each commercial.

Five of the people who were filmed responded to our telephone contacts and agreed to come to Studio Baalbek in Sin El Fil to view their films, sign the release paper and complete the arrangement with Transmed’s delivery department regarding how and where to receive their one-year supply of Ariel; this being P&G’s gift in appreciation of their loyalty. The sixth person did not respond, despite our repetitive calls. OGERO, the telephone company, confirmed our suspicion that the number we were given was a fictitious one, while the Transmed sales supervisor responsible for Jounieh Supermarket was informed by the supermarket management that the lady in the film was not known to them. Once the other five had signed the release documents, we finalized the commercials and started airing them in rotation two at a time and with heavy frequency.

After two weeks, I received a call at Intermarkets from one of the well-known law firms in Lebanon. One of their partners was keen to arrange an urgent appointment to meet me. This lawyer offered to come to my office and suggested that our Intermarkets lawyer be at the meeting as well. In response to my concern, he explained that the meeting had to do with the Ariel films currently on air. I called Bill Bowld and he insisted that the P&G Lebanon lawyer should also join this meeting, bringing along copies of the signed releases. The lawyer presented evidence to confirm that he was representing one of Lebanon’s well-known industrialists, whose wife had been filmed, signed our release and the film in which she appeared was currently running on most Lebanese TV stations. The lawyer continued to say that although his client’s wife had signed an irrevocable release, the husband wanted this commercial off-air as soon as possible. He was ready to pay whatever damage P&G would demand, including the cost of producing the commercial.

Despite the sad reality that Ariel’s new campaign had to run with three commercials only, which risked bringing its overexposure forward – and even though we were losing the best TVC in the pool – the two lawyers agreed to respect the request of the claimant and take the film that featured his wife off air. The lawyers agreed to a fair compensation after consultation with Geneva. Despite this, Ariel moved a great number of packs because of the “No Swap Campaign” and we managed to get one of the highest recall scores amongst all the TV commercials we had produced for P&G.