Ian Shepherd was a legend of the advertising industry. His strategic genius, ineffable wisdom, effortless generosity of spirit, guidance, mentoring, encouragement and consummate ability in all he did are widely known by so very many. He was deeply loved and respected by the people he worked with, his wonderful close confidantes and his enormous extended family of friends and relations.
But this one has to be written by me.
Everyone has a story about Dad. He was that kind of guy. Gently moving through the world without any fuss or ego (hubris was something he gave up after the Rhodesian Civil War and his massive lie to my mother about having a “desk job” in Harare), always rather astonished at the ripples of impact that circulated all around him. No one was ever amazed when Dad was given praise and accolades. Except Dad
When Dad merged Shepherd Advertising with Grey in the late eighties, he won the coveted Advertising Executive of the Year award. He told us absolutely nothing about it. We all found out from the Business Day over breakfast. Because it was on the front page, and Dad was reading something in the middle. Later we found the award itself plonked discreetly on top of the piano. That was Dad. It wasn’t because he didn’t care about awards. He just didn’t think they were as important as the people.
Earlier this year, I asked him to come and talk to our students at the Red & Yellow School in Cape Town. It took some persuading. Because he wasn’t sure anyone would want to hear him talk about advertising (I know).
It was during this session that I discovered what the worst day, and the best day, of his life were.
When he joined Grey, the OK retail group elected to take their advertising in-house. In one day, Dad had to retrench 47 people. That was the worst day of his life. But, where other CEOs would have called it business and left it there, Dad created a special triage recruitment department within Grey on his own dime, through which every single person found another, often better, position elsewhere.
And his best day? All of the others. Because he got to spend them with my mother, his children and his grandchildren, doing what he loved. Those were Dad’s priorities.
He was the most selfless human being I have ever known. And his loss has been catastrophic for me. There was always something he wanted to tell us, and even more he wanted to ask. He was the most wonderful listener. Every weekend we would talk for hours on the phone. He always wanted to know every detail of college life. I wish I had recorded those calls. I wish I could tell him how much they meant to me, how very precious that time with him was.
There is so much I could tell you about Dad, and still never come close to telling you how much I loved him, how much we all loved him, and how much he brought to the world.
He belongs to all of us. And we will continue to sail the ship straight, with the flag hoisted high, and honour him always.
Daddy, this naval salute is for you.
Wendy Shepherd
Copywriting Lecturer (and immensely proud daughter)
The Red & Yellow School of Logic and Magic
