How I Doomed an Author to Hades

I often say that a team will always create a better design than an individual.

I believe this to be true. But only if you understand that a team is a group of individuals who put aside ego and self-adulation to work together for a common goal.

A committee is not a team. A committee usually consists of a group of individuals whose only point of agreement is that they have no point of agreement.

I was laying out a book for an eccentric elderly professor, one of the most delightful clients I’ve had the privilege to work with. I had done several projects for him, published by his own company or several publishers, but this one was being published by the college he taught for at that time.

The book was a book of music, publishing forgotten songs from a movement he had been a part of when he was a young man in the 1940s.

In keeping with the theme of the work, I used a skyscape with the sun illuminating white clouds in a blue sky, a beautiful auditorium with a meeting in progress, and in the foreground, some attractive youth studying on the lawn of a college campus. Components that had been requested, tastefully composed. Not one of my best designs, but attractive overall.

Then the proof went to an individual for approval. The individual called in another individual, and another, and soon we had a Committee.

The Committee liked the design. The Committee nodded its heads. Then the Committee cleared one of its throats and spoke.

“Who are these kids on the cover?”

I explained that they were unknown to me; models in stock photography purchased for the purpose. The Committee shifted its feet.

“If we don’t know who these kids are, how do we know they represent our institution’s standards in their personal lives?”

I tried to explain the creative process, use of stock photography, the artistic aspect of book cover design, and the unlikelihood of the general public connecting the possible moral ineptitude of a stock photography model with the institution through a book cover. The committee lowered all of its eyebrows.

No models unless I could vouch for their morals and actions.

OK. I’ve got this covered. I grabbed some attractive young people who exemplified the high standards of the institution, saw to their wardrobe, arranged them tastefully around a grand piano, and commenced a photo shoot. Painstakingly knocking them out of the background (not forgetful to include the piano), I artfully placed them on the front cover and confidently approached the Committee with a new proof.

The Committee was pleased. The Committee found the new design to be a remarkable improvement over the first attempt. The Committee expressed its approval. Then one of the Committee’s mouths expressed a new concern.

“The young people on the cover were, as the Committee well knew, the finest the institution had to offer. But . . . . what if . . . . in the course of their lives, one of those young people committed some act which could bring disgrace on the institution, all the while being inextricably and perpetually bound to the image of the institution, forever singing away or (the horror!) brazenly playing the piano on the front cover of a book published by the institution?!”

I marshaled all of my logical arguments, but could not breach the Committee’s position. The Committee stood firm. I was the enemy of the Committee.

What could I do? Aha! I grabbed Dr. R—- himself, the illustrious and elderly author of the book. Another photo shoot, a late night date with Photoshop and Quark Express, and the next morning, the Committee had the cover in its hands again, this time with Dr. R—–, elderly and beyond hope of sullying the institution’s reputation with any future shenanigans, confidently leading music at the forefront of the design. It wasn’t as strong as the previous cover, but it would work.

The Committee was impressed. It smiled and nodded its heads. It patted itself on its backs for creating such a masterpiece. Then it had a spectacular idea!

“This book is targeting young people, right? And wasn’t there a popular colour scheme for young people’s books that used reds, yellows, and turquoise or teal blues? Could we use those colors?”

“NO! Not with the current design!” I cried. But the Committee insisted. Another proof. “Couldn’t we make the entire background red? But keep the same design? Another proof. Another idea. Another proof. And then the final death blow to poor Dr. R—–‘s cover:

“We are publishing this book under our name. Do we really want Dr. R—– to be so prominent on the cover of OUR book?”

The Committee did NOT want Dr. R—– to be so prominent.

Could I just sort of . . . . uh . . . . fade him into the background?

Another proof. Fade him more. Another proof and . . . . the Committee looked somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat uncertain; almost sick to its stomachs . . . . “PERFECT!” the Committee cried from all its horrified faces. And on the press it went.

Some days later, the Committee had the finished books in its hands. “Wonderful!” it exclaimed, from faces that looked like they had just seen something the opposite of wonderful. “Has Dr. R—– seen it yet?” Dr. R—– had NOT seen it. “He should see it! Who will take him a copy?”

The Committee’s eyes looked everywhere but at each other. The Committee shuffled its feet. Then pair after pair, the Committees eyes turned on me.

Carrying that book to find Dr. R—– was one of the heaviest loads I’ve ever carried. I did not want to show him that book. I didn’t want to show anyone that book.

Dr. R—– was the most optimistic person I have ever met. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I handed him the book. It was the only time I have ever seen him at a loss for words. But only for a moment. One small stutter in his life of outspoken optimism. “WONDERFUL!” he exclaimed. “This is WONDERFUL! We have to show Margaret!” And off we went at his usual brisk walk to find his wife.

We entered a campus building and walked up to her desk. “Margaret!” he cried, “The chorus books are in. Here’s the first one! It looks GREAT! What do you think”

She took the book. Dismay replaced her smile. Her tone was loaded with sorrow and compassion.

“Ohhhhh, Ed! You’re leading music in hell!”