Editor's note»

Phillip Adams, “Simpleton sells his poll philosophy,”
The Age, May 11, 1974, p. 9.

Heated by the flames of his bombed Cadillac, a new name has been branded upon the political consciousness of the nation. I speak, of course, of Mr. Jim Simpleton, the brilliant 32-year-old millionaire who’s entered the fray to flay the Whitlam Government. Managing director of an advertising agency, Simpleton has produced nearly thirty $3000 commercials attacking “those socialist bums” as his donation to the Snedden campaign.

Scorning Labor’s blinkered policy on foreign ownership, Mr. Simpleton recently sold his agency to American interests. According to industry sources, he was paid a record price for the company, as a result of his reputation for entrepreneurial innovative promotion. Take his campaign for Piledriver Suppositories. Simpleton came up with the immortal caption, “Heamorrhoids are a pain in the neck.” He then went on to increase the business of an Italian money-lending company with the following jingle: “Come to Godfather finance, when you’ve got budget blues. Friendly consultants rough you up, and make you offers you can’t refuse.”

However, Simpleton’s big breakthrough came when he found religion. In 1974 he contracted a Presbyterian vicar to do advertisement for real estate. “For years we’ve been basing our campaigns on the Seven Deadly Sins” he recalls, “using Lust, Envy or Gluttony as the motivating force. Then I saw the light and was inspired to exploit the power of Christianity in marketing. So we signed up the Reverend to flog the Heavenly Vistas Estate. Not only did this add to our campaign credibility, but he was able to advise on real estate purchases. Look at the way these Presbyterians have grabbed better locations than Colonel Sanders.

Simpleton’s agency headquarters (a row of converted terraces in Paddington) abounds in rubber plants, hot-pants and hard-edged paintings. It’s an exciting, exhilarating environment in which to create with-it advertising. Yet Simpleton’s personal office makes a dramatic contrast reflecting, as it does, his deepening involvement in ecclesiastical promotions. He had a small Romanesque church dismantled and shipped from Cordoba in Spain, and now sits within its reconstructed walls using the altar as his desk. “Take a pew” he quipped as I entered, while the organist in the corner played Nearer My God to Thee, “and take a look at my new campaign for Convent Motors.”

Whereupon a stained glass window slid up to reveal a TV screen on which a mother superior was shown walking through a car lot delivering high-speed patter. “Yes, here at Convent Motors our cars have led a sheltered life yet we make a true confession on any mechanical shortcomings. As well, all vehicles are sold with a free St. Christopher medal. And although we give no guarantee, we will pray for you. So when it comes to cars, come to Convent. Remember our slogan — nun better.”

“Isn’t that a great campaign?” Simpleton said, his face aglow. “They’ll be beating them off with the altar candies. Mind you, she’s not a real nun. They sacked her from The Sound of Music.”

“And who can forget my dramatic move into financial advertising. I told a group of geriatric bankers about the significance of the Jesus Christ Superstar phenomenon and about the upsurge in the religious belief among the young. Subsequently a conservative, straight-laced genre was revolutionised by “Jesus saves … at the Bank of NSW.”

On the wall there were autographed photos of George Wallace and John Birch. Did Simpleton identify with their political line?

“No, I don’t go along with them. Frankly, I think they’re a little soft on communism.”

I asked Simpleton how he’d got into Right-wing politics. “Well, I did some reading. The Reader’s Digest condensed Mein Kampf, Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. But while the philosophic side has had an influence it wasn’t the important thing. What finally swung me was Susie Peacock’s ad for Sheridan Sheets.”

Simpleton explained that he’d developed a loathing for the Labor Government when he heard that three-hour lunches might be disallowed as tax deductions. “I tell you what,” he said vehemently, “I wouldn’t forgive my mother if she voted Labor.”

At that moment there was a horrendous scream that seemed to come from somewhere deep below us.

“My God! what was that!”

“My mother,” he snarled, going on to explain that he’d had swords fitted to the hubcaps of the Cadillac so he could cut a swathe through working class suburbs. “As far as I’m concerned, the masses are barely able to choose the right bar of soap, let alone a suitable Government.”

Simpleton offered to show me his latest Liberal commercial, featuring another of his loyal staff members. On the screen appeared the image of a languid young man wearing a Cardin cravat under a cashmere sweater. “I voted Labor last time,” he said. “And it was a mistake. You see, I was drunk at the time. Staggered into the polling booth after being at Trudy Woolstoncroft’s party all night. She’s got this groovy flat in Double Bay. Anyway, I was so rotten that I thought the ballot paper was my restaurant bill and added it up three times.”

“Then I asked the electoral officer if they took Diner’s Club. But I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll be voting for Sir Robert Askin on May 18. That is, unless I get drunk again, which is quite on the cards as I’ll be going to Fiona Breakspeare’s parting in her Darling Point penthouse.”

“That’s what I like,” said Simpleton. “Gut, emotion, straight from the shoulder. And we’ve got another featuring a German migrant I found selling Mercedes at Lane Cove. Nice little bloke with a great story. He escaped from the Russians in 1945 with his wife Eva only to find his freedom threatened by Whitlam’s Red Army. The only trouble was that during the filming his alsation savaged our Jewish cameraman.”

Did Simpleton have anything else up his sleeve? “Yes, my king hit is a spectacular commercial to be directed by Ken Russell. It features 150 clerics from various denominations, backed by a massed choir of castrates we’re flying on a contra deal with Alitalia. I tell you what, with my background in in spiritual salemanship, Whitlam’s kaput!”

“What’s the format?”

“Well, they march down the side of Mt. Kosciusko at night carrying burning torches that spell out the slogan ‘Time’s Up’ while singing a hymn I’ve written especially for the occasion.”

Whereupon Simpleton gave an authoritative gesture to the organist and burst into song: “Hallelujah, hallelujah; don’t let Whitlam foolya. Prepare for Armageddon, unless you vote for Snedden.”

This is an “amusing” “attempt” to “criticise” John Singleton’s business success and libertarian politics.Powered by Hackadelic Sliding Notes 1.6.5