Mornings With Barney Dick Wolfsie (best ebook reader for ubuntu .txt) 📖

Quite a statement. TV stations never give any air time, even a mention, of a competitor’s on-air personalities. Similarly, camera crews assiduously avoid even having the briefest shot of another station’s vehicle, a boldly colored advertisement for the company. But a dog’s tail. That seemed overly paranoid.

The more Barney appeared on TV, the more he became a household word, the more wanna-be guests realized that the way to my heart was through my beagle. It had reached the point where many requests to be on the show were couched in some reference to Barney and how he could be included in the segment. Guests also knew that not only did a Barney tiein increase their chances that I would be receptive to booking them, but the segment would have additional marketing payoff for them. So even if it wasn’t the guest’s idea, they jumped when I made the suggestion to include Barney in some way.

Willow Marketing, a downtown Indy marketing and PR agency, had a really nifty promotional idea. They were looking for the worst, that’s right, the worst corporate logo in the Indianapolis market. Once it was determined, they would create a new logo for the “lucky winner,” and profits for that company would then soar. Or maybe they wouldn’t soar. But who cared? It was a great idea for a promotion. I liked the way they were thinking. Then I started thinking.

“Tell you what I’ll do,” I told Brad, the president of the company. “Let’s create a logo for Barney that I can use when Barney makes commercials. We’ll show the creative process on TV. It would help promote your contest.”

“So, Dick, you want my company to make a free logo for your dog, so you can then market your dog and make money? That sounds awfully self-serving, self-indulgent, and self-promotional.”

This guy caught on fast. But he knew it made sense. Barney was a star and a franchise. But what’s a franchise without a logo? What’s a tin man without a heart? A scarecrow without a brain? You get the point. Every dog has his day, but not every dog has his own logo. Once again, Barney would become one of the exceptions.

Brad’s staff drew up several ideas and during one of our TV spots we sat with the creative group while they discussed each artist’s renditions—the pros and cons of each logo. They were not haphazardly slapped together. Some honest market research had gone into their designs and production and there was a serious discussion about each option and its chances of success. “Do we want to stress his cuteness or his intelligence? Do we want the logo to reflect his independent nature or his loyalty? Should it just be ‘Barney’ or ‘Barney the Beagle’?” Huh? I had never considered stuff like that. For me, it was a crash course in marketing and design. And having a logo paid off.

All twelve logos were shown on TV and the viewers voted for their favorite. They chose my top pick, a caricature profile of the celebrity dog donning some very cool sunglasses. People said he looked like Snoopy, who, I’ve been told, was another famous beagle. Sorry, never heard of him.

The winning design was so cool that a local Toyota dealership agreed to lease me a car at no cost if I would put the Barney logo on selected spots on the automobile. When I told Mary Ellen, she rolled her eyes, suggesting it would look cheesy. When I told her that it would save us about $10,000 over the next three years, she became a little more lactose tolerant.

That same dealership used Barney for several of their own spots, including one where he appears to be driving one of their top-selling models. We propped his paws up on the steering wheel. It was very funny, but apparently too realistic. The station received e-mails from people concerned that Barney was not wearing a seat belt. So I guess it was okay that a dog was driving a car. As long as he was buckled up.

All over Indianapolis, things were named after Barney. And a few still remain. There’s a special place at a local kennel called Barney’s Suite Retreat. Pet owners frequently request that space. A sandwich at a local deli was named after Barney. It was all meat, no bun. At one local eatery, Barney even had his own mini wine cellar. At the Humane Society, a dog log cabin bore his name for several years. Dozens of people named their dogs—and cats—after Barney. No children, as far as I know.

But what would be the greatest testament possible to any canine? How about a drink named after him at one of the top steak houses in America: Ruth’s Chris. Think of the honor. Patrons sip a very special libation bearing his name, before sinking their teeth into a $35 hunk of heaven.

No dog would turn his nose up at that opportunity. Except maybe a French poodle.

Now, Barney had already had one misadventure at Ruth’s Chris. Years earlier, Ruth Fertel, whose name the restaurant bears, came to Indy to open a new franchise. She was a dog lover and had heard about Barney through her local contacts. I planned a show at the new location. Her PR person requested I bring Barney with me, but I argued that this was a bad idea. Technically speaking, I was not supposed to bring Barney into a restaurant because it violated the health code. However, I had often ignored that rule and had never been questioned.

In any case, Ruth’s PR person was adamant that Barney come along. When I arrived, I initially left him in the car, but then Ruth insisted I bring him in the restaurant. “Not a good idea, Ruth,” I cautioned.

“Don’t be silly. What possible trouble could he get into?”

Heh, heh. That showed she was from out of town.

I brought Barney in and tied him to the leg of a chair. “Oh, let him loose,” said Ruth.