Harry Robinson, “The larrikin grows up,”
The Sydney Morning Herald, February 28, 1987, p. 41.

John Singleton is back in advertising but, as HARRY ROBINSON reports, it is a more complex Singo this time around.

He used to be a champ among hucksters, then he dropped out of advertising. Now he’s back. Can he be a champ again? Billings well above $20 million a year say yes he can, and probably will. But that’s not all. He’s driving for something more than that.

John Singleton is a deceptive man. He wants us to think of him as a larrikin who tries to speak English but — alas, poor boy — all he can manage is to mumble Strine.

It is a corny act but he does it with great skill. “Doan yew wroite nuthin sirius bout me, mite. Nuthin sirius.”

With a bit of encouragement he almost admits it is an act: “Sometimes, I can hardly keep a straight face.” And a few minutes later: “People think I’m a yobbo.”

In politics he says, “Joh doesn’t go far enough for me. All he wants is a flat tax. I want absolute deregulation of the economy.” He sounds like the simplistic, down-with-big-government amateur politician that he was in the 1970s.

But he has learned since then and now sees his old self as a fanatic. He has learned society is not simple and won’t respond to simple nostrums. Still, he will say, “Joh doesn’t go far enough for me” to see the effect, to have us take notice of him. He hides behind poor-boy roles.

His great pretence is that he is nothing but a larrikin. Certainly he likes to be a bit of a larrikin sometimes, but he is other things as well. Ace stockbroker and polished gent Rene Rivkin exclaims, “Such an intellect!”

Rivkin would know. His investment company Oilmet has taken a 50 per cent interest in the John Singleton advertising agency. Singo sits on Rivkin’s board. Rivkin sits on Singo’s. Rivkin sings a song of praise. “Anybody as intelligent as John Singleton must be an asset to any board of directors.”

And what is Singo’s response to such praise? What does he do for Rene Rivkin?

He calls his pet office cockatoo Rene. The bird wanders around the posh Hunters Hill agency, waddles to the accounts department to see nobody is tickling the petty cash, comes back and sits on Singo’s shoulder, squawks at the phone, bites the lip of Singo’s coffee cup, interrupts interviews and all the time looks like a sour old curmudgeon.

“Not a smiling person,” as Singo admits. Still, he names the wretched bird after Rivkin. “I don’t mind,” says the human Rene. “I quite like being a boss cocky.”

Maybe stockbrokers and advertising persons understand each other, neither occupation being high on the scale of virtue. But Singo has a mate of impeccable character: Dick Smith.

Yes, the Dick Smith who does good things and fights tobacco giants and flies around like a newborn Sammy Sparrow. They met when Singo was fund-raising for the Wayside Chapel and Dick was setting the Life Education program under way.

Smith is flush with praise for John Singleton: “Most people think he is tough and aggressive but I find him gentle and kind and incredibly generous. I suppose he gives money to good causes but I’ll tell you something better. I’ve known him do work for the Life Education classes to help young people. Giving money is easy. Giving work — in his case, copywriting — is harder.”

Copywriting. That is the nub of the matter. In the late 1960s and early ’70s, John Singleton was the electric charge behind an agency called SPASM. Those were the days of W-h-e-r-e d’ ya get it? Days when Singo banned fake Poms and Yanks from his ads and ockerism ruled the air.

In those days SPASM was innovative, shocking and surprising, and Singo was its storm-trooper. It was probably the first agency in the world to advertising books and records on TV and to do it on a royalty basis.

It make hometown stars like Jeannie Little and Ita Buttrose and John Michael Howson. All the while, Singo was pushing out copy that sold. He was working so hard at it on weekdays that he had to drop out at weekends.

Around 1970 he rented a house on a magical hill at Matcham on the Central Coast just for weekend retreats among the whispering gums and looking out on the soothing Pacific.

SPASM did so well that along came an American giant with a fistful of dollars and bought the whole show. For nearly 10 years Singo sat on the advertising sidelines, married Belinda Green, fathered two girls, ran rodeos, hosted a terrible TV show, did a highly successful radio show on 2KY, raced horses, got fired from KY for his un-Labor attitudes, made a lot of yobbo and larrikin noises and one way or another kept out of advertising.

When the KY job blew up, he turned back to his first love: advertising. Perhaps he knew all the time that he would go back one day, would feel a powerful drive to get back to his ancient Remington typewriter and once again prove himself a Normal Mailer of adbiz.

When he got out of SPASM, he put his office furniture into storage. Now out has come a black plastic lounge suite for visitors — remember when they were supposed to be glamorous?

It is in his office today, fresh out of storage. As for that ancient Remington, it is at least older than Singo. He’s 45. It must be more than 50. But it is the first typewriter he ever had to himself and he says it is the only machine he can type on. He claims that his fingers do all the wrong things on electronic typewriters.

“There’s one major difference between my office in SPASM and this one. The walls in the old one were painted black to keep distractions out. I don’t need black walls any more.” The rest of the agency sprawls through three elegant sandstone buildings in leafy Hunters Hill.

In his office with his screechy bird and iron-framed clacking typewriter and various bizarre artefacts on the walls, John Singleton suddenly looks vulnerable.

Exit jester, exit yobbo, exit all the commedia dell’arte parts he plays. His eyes soften, the rank swagger of the yobbo fades. A mature and sober man takes the stage and, although he does not want it to show, his body language is saying, “This is what I do. This is where I take myself seriously. I hope you’ll do the same.”

Most agency owners employ copywriters. To Singleton, the writing is the heart of it, the pain and the joy and the reward.

So jealous is he of the privilege of writing the ads that there is only one other copywriter (David Said) on the staff of 35. Singo says everyone on the staff is encouraged to think and write and he no doubt accepts good lines. But he is the chief of the copy.

His method is as old fashioned as his typewriter. “I sit down and write flatout, sorting out what the ad should say. No special effects — but the guts of what the ad should say. I write furiously at that stage. Then I read what I’ve written and a few things get home to me. They might become print headlines or visual hooks for TV. Then I write it again and then I rewrite it …”

Ocker is no longer king in Singleton copy. Ocker has had his day. Singleton’s copy now changes styles to fit the product. A Wyndham wine ad is smooth, with a hint of culture. A radio spot for Sugar Babies is bouncy and showbizzy.

So can Singo be a champ again?

The figures say yes. In the first full year of this agency, billings ran to $21.4 million. They are now running at the rate of $24 million a year. For such a new agency, surprising figures. And for such a new agency, the variety in the client list is also surprising.

In no particular order, it includes The Bicentenary for The 200 Greatest Stories Never Told, Soccer Pools, A.V. Jennings homes, the ANZ Bank’s electronic fund transfer system, 2UE, Australian Geographic (Dick Smith’s wildly successful magazine), Goodman-Fielder with Buttercup Bakeries, Udson with a Haitch building supplies, Ariadne, the Buy Australian campaign for the Federal Government, Sanctuary Cove real estate in Queensland, Southern Cross Foundry in Toowoomba, EMI Records, Palings, the musical show Sugar Babies, Viscount Caravans, Wyndham Wines, Leda, builders and developers.

John, how do you win your clients?

“Open the door and wait for the phone to ring.”

Come on, tell the truth.

“That is the truth. When I decided to go back into it, I didn’t call my old mates and say, ‘I hope you’ll give me some business.’ I didn’t write fancy letters or make pretty submissions. I just called a few and said I was back in the business. That’s all. Some of them gave me a little bit to see if I was serious …”

This is your trick. It is hard to be sure when you are serious and when you are putting on an act.

“I find great difficulty in keeping a straight face sometimes.”

But he is serious about the agency. When the deal with Rene Rivkin was announced, it was also stated that former Senator Don Chipp would be a consultant. That seemed to be so much window-dressing, so the question becomes does Chippie actually do any work for the agency?

“You bet. I’ve just got a note from him. He’s dealing with three things for our clients. For Goodman-Fielder, he is investigating the incredible over-regulation of the baking industry, especially from state to state, and he is formulating a proposal to put to governments. He is expert at that kind of thing. For another company that wanted to float publicly he has piloted the way through the minefield of corporate affairs outfits in Canberra. And Southern Cross Foundry is making components for Nissan — some of them for export to Japan. Sounds incredible but it’s true. Anyway, they need to know where Senator Button will give brownie points and so on — export credits, that kind of thing. Don’s working for us, all right.”

The Rivkin and Chipp connections indicate that this time around Singleton will not be satisfied to simply sell clients’ products. He is working for an agency that will make other things happen — to make and shake Australian affairs.

The brash kid from Sydney’s inner west moved and shook Australian manners with his ocker ads. The middle-aged Singo should be able to do more. He is a walking forum. He has connections — close ones with Premier Barrie Unsworth and tycoon Kerry Packer and others.

He “gets along with” such disparate people as Sir Joh, Senator John Button, Bob Hawke, Ted Noffs, John Brown, the two Renes and Dick Smith. He has more maturity than the first time around when he thought everything could be solved with a few bold slashes of ink.

Has he grown up enough to be a mover and shaker? “Yes,” says Rene Rivkin. “I hope not,” says Dick Smith. “If he grows up he’ll be boring.”