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A friend, pointing to an ad for Fire and Ice, lamented the changes that had taken place at Revlon since the days of the original Fire and Ice. "I actually saw someone laughing in a hallway there," he said snidely. "I miss the old days. The glory days. The days of Charles Revson." His reverential tone, coupled with the sudden pallor that came over his body as he uttered the name made me realize that Charles Revson had reached the status of legend, inspiring awe as though he were still around. The Elvis Presley of the cosmetics industry, in effect, although, unlike Elvis, he hasn't been spotted lurking around the cosmetics counter of a Wal-Mart in Chattanooga. I, myself, had encounters with him (Charles, not Elvis), although the first time was the most vivid. Besides, the other encounters have been repressed.
I was an account supervisor in an excellent advertising agency, now (alas) defunct. One day, while busily plying my trade (groveling and toadying), he president of the agency accosted me "You have experience with cosmetics, don't you?" Not knowing what was in store, I answered affirmatively. "Good," he said cheerfully. "You are now a management supervisor on our new account"--my heart leapt up--"Revlon" --my heart went into arrest. I had heard the melancholy stories of weeping children wondering if they'd ever see their daddies again and I'd beheld the white-haired, wizened, tremulous product managers, their haggard appearances belying their ages (around 24). "Of course, there'll be a raise to go along with that title," he continued. "What the heck," I thought to myself, "maybe the others (a few thousand) were just wimps. How bad can it be?" Well, as Dante might say, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Except that Dante was only...