Note from Lu Chekowsky
I've thought about Ben's passing every day, multiple times a day, since I heard the news.
I am not sure when I will stop thinking about it.
It's not that Ben and I had been so close in recent years, it's because he left such a mark on me when I did get the honor of working with him every day, back at W+K NY around 2010 -- his desk one row over from mine. I followed his trajectory with awe and a complete lack of surprise. He was always, so clearly, one of the greats.
Ben was always hilarious and kind and genius; always bursting with truth and creativity and enthusiasm. He took work seriously and yet, he always knew when to let that go and put it all in perspective too. We were people first, before advertising, before business.
One memory stands out more than others. It was a particularly hard day at the office. My creative partner and I were CD'ing a client that wasn't getting much love from the higher-ups. A row over from us, Ben and his partner were putting in long hours and feeling unsupported too. The office, at that time, put a lot of focus on the sports clients that were front and center at the agency, and although our accounts -- airlines and face wash -- were important to the bottom line, it seemed like most days, the four of us were all flying under the radar, left to our own devices.
Out of the blue one afternoon, while the four of us sat close, heads down in our computers, working, an invitation popped up on my screen. The subject line: YOU ARE OFFICIALLY INVITED TO JOIN THE WIEDEN+KENNEDY RED-HEADED STEP-CHILD CD CLUB. The email under that was hilarious and snarky, self-effacing yet supportive. What a minute before had felt like an affliction was suddenly rebranded into being the coolest secret club around. We didn't need anyone! We had each other. My partner and I laughed out loud and looked up. Ben was slyly smiling over the top of his monitor. His partner was laughing too. My partner and I packed our stuff and immediately the four of us went out to lunch, all the while commiserating and connecting. Ben's gesture -- done with such humor and finesse -- lifted me up and made me feel like a valued creative and a valued human at a time when it was hard to feel valued.
The last time I saw Ben was in 2018. I was working for Facebook and he was at Stink. They were doing a project for FB and I was assigned to it on the FB end. I couldn't believe my luck. We saw each other through a video call and DM'd during it on the side. "It's great to see you!" he wrote. "I'm writing to you from inside the machine," I texted him back. "HELP." I remember making him laugh and watching him hold back a smile while we both cosplayed "serious ad people." Another secret club with Ben. Exactly when I needed it.
I can't believe he's gone and I'm just so terribly sorry for the people who knew him, really knew him because I hadn't talked to him in about six years and I still can't stop crying. He left such a mark on me. What a gem of a human. What a true star.
Ben, the world feels less bright without you in it, but a brightness like yours, I know, can never really fade.
I am so lucky I got to know you, even a little bit.
— Lu Chekowsky