• November 28, 1977
• Vol. 8
• No. 22

A.T.& T. Chairman John De Butts Puts on Golden Glow and a Big Smile for a Ma Bell TV Pitch

By Kristin Mc Murran

On his way up the world's tallest corporate ladder to the $484,000-a-year chairmanship of AT&T, John deButts paid his dues. Starting as a trainee in 1936, he learned to run switchboards, fix cables, even install telephones himself. A one-company man and proud of it, deButts, at 62, remembers the days when saying Ma Bell was a monopoly was an expression of pride—like saying Boy Scouts were prepared. But recent court rulings have challenged that primacy, a trend which in deButts' view hurts both company and consumer.

So on the theory that anything chicken plugger Frank Perdue can do, John Dulany deButts can do better, the chairman turned himself into a media mouthpiece for AT&T. On a recent afternoon he limousined to a cavernous old Manhattan studio where Warner Bros. once filmed part of The Exorcist. All deButts had to do, really, was amble down a makeshift passageway lined with symbols of industries AT&T serves, meanwhile declaiming for 26 high-budget seconds—the commercial cost $40,000—on the virtues of Ma Bell. The operation was not without its misadventures.

Tripping over a clump of electric cords on arrival, deButts was swept up in a solicitous huddle of AT&T employees and led away to the makeup room. Politely stiff-arming a proffered selection of muted-stripe ties, deButts submitted manfully to a robust slathering of Golden Tan ("Can't use too much!" bubbled the makeup man). The soles of his shoes were taped to prevent scuff marks, his glasses examined for glare, his tie wired for sound and his forehead wiped of sweat. "Chin down, Mr. deButts," the director called at last. "Take One. Action."

Take one was three and a half seconds slow, and the situation deteriorated after that. Technical difficulties snarled the next few takes, then deButts blew his lines twice. ("He flubs one more time," muttered an AT&T defector, "and we got to get a new chairman.") Thirteen proved to be the winning number. "Good God, fire off the skyrockets!" cried the chairman before speeding away to a weekend's skeet shooting in Connecticut. Had it been a hard day? Nahhh, said a prop man, contentedly sipping his beer. "Monday we had to do Ragu Spaghetti Sauce. Now that was tough."