Author: Mike Hayward
I miss my friend Steve Cunetta.
And if you didn’t know Steve, you missed out.
Steve was employee #1 at Copacino Fujikado. We even have a framed Mariners jersey with his name on the back hanging inside the CF walls.
Now rewind back to me as a young copywriter coming into work. At the door of my office, waiting not-so-patiently, was Account Director Steve Cunetta, newspaper in hand.
Steve waved me in, “Come in, have a seat.”
I laughed, “Yeah Steve, I will come into my own office and sit at my own desk.”
Steve then proceeded to show me a small-space newspaper ad I’d written that he didn’t feel was up to par. It wasn’t terrible but I’d cranked it out quickly because I wanted to focus on the juicier creative assignments.
He said he knew I was a better writer than that, and that our clients deserve our best regardless of the size of the media space. He was right, and I never forgot that lesson.
The thing about Steve was he cared so much. About our clients, about the work, about the people lucky enough to be in his life.
People cared right back. His memorial service was held on the field at T-Mobile Park. It was so packed it looked like a Hall of Fame induction ceremony.
In a way, for those of us who knew him, I suppose it was.
Steve and I got to spend time together nearly every day for my first nine years at the agency. I rewired his kitchen lights. He helped my son learn how to field ground balls. I flew with his kids to spring training when he had to go early. I shared my work and relationship struggles. He shared advertising wisdom and life lessons.
We became really close friends.
In March of 2012, he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, and the end of his story is sadly familiar to far too many.
I loved Steve. Not in the casual way we say “I love that guy!” about a coworker who’s fun to grab a beer with. Steve was an incredible human being, with a big brain and a giant heart. He was a Yale graduate who would only drop that fact if he could work it into a joke. He was warm and funny and quirky, and one of the most devoted parents I’ve ever seen.
And he was damn good at his job, which I didn’t recognize and appreciate as much as I should have early in my career. When he’d review work, it’d go something like this…
Steve: “I don’t think that concept works as well as the other four.”
Me: “I agree. Let’s kill it.”
Steve: “See, the thing is, the reason I don’t think it’s as strong is because…”
Then he’d go on for ten minutes about an idea that was already in the trash bin. He had to explain to you why he didn’t like it in full detail. At the time I thought it was funny and endearing, if a tad exhausting.
I came to realize it was because dissecting the work, and knowing what not to do, helped us all get better.
When it came to clients, Steve sweated every detail. Like only having Pepsi products at Mariners client meetings because the ballpark had an exclusive deal with Pepsi. Steve’s high-touch tradition lives on in our stellar account team.
Thinking about Steve reminds me how important it is to work with good people, not exclusively good-at-their-job people. Here at CF, smart, creative and hardworking comes with empathetic, caring, kind and laugh-out-loud funny. We are also people who challenge each other in the name of becoming the best we can be.
After a recent pitch we won, the clients jokingly told us “We decided either you all really love working together or you’re really good actors.” I’ve seen some of us try acting in a pinch. We are generally terrible (with a few exceptions). But we are people who genuinely enjoy each other.
It’s funny how agencies change and they don’t. I think Steve would still feel right at home at CF in 2025. All of our modern values represent all of his values: Give a Damn, Find a Way, Fueled by Curiosity, Do the Right Thing, Play Offense, and Enjoy the Ride. And I think he would relish the role of elder statesmen (oh the billable hours he’d spend telling agency tales of yore!).
Steve’s legacy reminds me to appreciate the people who make work meaningful and joyful, and care enough to try to make me better. I feel very lucky to have been, and continue to be, surrounded by a whole lot of people like him.
And in honor of Steve Cunetta, who was as wonderfully human as humans get, AI didn’t touch a single sentence of this. Yeah Steve, I know I’m better than that. : )
Damn I miss that guy.