“Well,” I said, “let’s think this through. You could call Microsoft and complain that the ad is misleading and unfair and stuff like that, but, you know, while all that’s going on you’re not answering the charge that Microsoft is making. And I don’t think they’ll be very moved by your plight.
“Or, you could employ that famous marketing nostrum that proclaims replying to a negative ad gives it credibility and draws attention to the competition. Of course, that theory was propounded by someone who entered a sealed time capsule in the 1960s [when Godzilla was at his peak] and missed the development and refinement of the attack ad, which seems to work just fine, especially when you fail to answer the charges made by the other party.
“Or, you could consider answering the charges the ad makes in a strong and powerful way that makes Microsoft think twice about developing this type of ad in the future. What do you want to do.?”
Everyone seemed to think the third choice was the best alternative, so we went to work.
“Well,” I said, “how about this? I’ve been teaching you in the course that Microsoft has built a powerful brand element around the persona of Bill Gates. Gates is presented as a nonthreatening guide to computing for the masses. In public he usually dresses informally, he talks glowingly about the benefits of technology, and he never ever ever mentions money. Despite the fact that he’s one of the richest guys on the planet. Why? Because no one likes rich guy’s, usually. It’s the ‘Nobody roots for Goliath’ syndrome described by master marketer Wilt Chamberlain.
“So let’s create the following ad. We’ll call it ‘Famous Cheapskates.’ We’ll have a picture of King Midas, Scrooge, and that Getty guy, the one who put pay phones in his home to prevent guests from making toll calls at his expense. We’ll put a caption under each cheapskate that tells his or her tale. And heading up the Hall of Cheapness will be a picture of Bill Gates. Next to Gates’s picture we’ll put a phone with a coin slot on the dial pad. Next to the phone will be a dime. The caption for the ad will read: ‘Bill Gates has $30 billion [the approximate count at that time], but when his word processor doesn’t work right, he wants you to spend your dime to get help.’
“What do you think? Microsoft isn’t going to like this: It musses up the company’s most important branding symbol. It’s accurate. It’s funny. And it accesses certain primeval emotions in the mind of the audience. Heck, show it to them before you run it. I bet they’ll yank that boat ad if that’s what you want.”
There was a long silence in the room. I did notice one senior product manager from the WordPerfect side of the company giggling to himself and frantically taking notes. Finally, another senior product manager from the Novell side looked at me with a Utah-deer-caught-in-the-glareof-the-headlights-of-an-18-wheel-semi-from-Seattle-bearing-down-on-it gaze and said, “Oh, Novell could never create an ad like this.”
And so they did nothing, except finally sell WordPerfect to Corel at a loss of about $1.2 billion.
Now, to Novell’s credit, new CEO Jack Messman went ballistic when the Crunch campaign appeared and called in the lawyers. Microsoft professed the proper amount of abashment, sent out a correction to the ad, said it was sorry, etc., etc., but all in all it was pretty weak tea. The ad had been sent, the accusations made. What was Novell’s answer to these charges? And how would the company respond in front of the appropriate audience (and that audience wasn’t found in a courtroom)?
The 1990s were full of similar crunch times for Novell and the company rarely seemed able to rise to the challenge. No single problem led to Novell’s loss of market leadership. Rather, a series of interlocking problems sapped the company’s strength and drained the fire from its belly.