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For the last 32 years my brother has made his living reading the words of others.
I am one of the others I suppose, though I have never suggested to any of my producers that my brother be the one they cast to read my words. I am a writer, an advertising writer. I am also a person of principle. I see a smile beginning at the corners of your mouth. An oxymoron, you are thinking. Principled advertising person. Not so. I could introduce you to so many men and women in this business who are thoughtful, scrupulous, moral. Oh they would confess the work they do is of small consequence in the larger world, but they genuinely love their work; they do it with thoughtfulness, with commitment, and yes, with a sense of responsibility. So in a situation like this, I mean in choosing the voice for words I have written, I have never had a doubt about the right moral position. To me it was simply unethical to lobby for using my own brother. That was the honest reason I never did. It would have been wrong. He was my brother. It was that simple. Not because of some perverse feeling I had which made me resent him or want to keep him at a distance from my work. I never even suggested he be included in a casting call. Not once. Yet even without my support, time after time they wanted him. Insisted even that we use him. On at least eight occasions, perhaps more which I can't recall, after listening concentratedly to a hundred-odd tapes, my producers were drawn to one voice and one voice only, the voice of my brother. There were no alternatives to be debated. The voice, they insisted, had to be his. "Nick, why are you fighting it?" the producer challenged me, "It's a voice in a million. A voice that opens up their hearts, their minds, gets out their charge cards. Don't you want that for your words?" I hesitated. How to resolve it? His face came inches from mine. "Well, don't you?"
Silent, with pain on their faces, they focused on me. I could feel the strength of their wills. It was an energy field,...