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Corporate Myths

Have you heard the one about eczema at McDonald's? Read on!

Brian Boling | Issue #19

As the story goes, a car company designed a prototype that traveled 200 miles to the gallon. An oil industry bigwig heard about the car and–concerned that such efficiency would put him and his cronies out of business–bribed the manufacturer to stop production. Somehow the prototype ended up on the showroom floor anyway, and an old lady bought it. When the gas gauge hadn’t budged months later, she asked a mechanic to check out the car. The mechanic, who had heard about the miracle carburetor, realized that she must have been the one who bought it. Word got back to Detroit, and the car company offered the woman a wad of hush money. Or maybe it was a new car. Or perhaps mysterious men messed around under the hood, rendering the car normal. Regardless, the fuel-efficient car was somehow buried and never seen again.

This story is a myth, of course, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore it. Folklore doesn’t spring into existence ex nihilo; it responds to and reflects people’s attitudes about the world. The miracle car legend re-emerges whenever gas prices rise or oil dependence leads to military action. Behind the myth lies a germ of truth. Oil lobbyists oppose renewable energy research. Would they not, then, also oppose improved fuel efficiency? Likewise, there are myths about drug companies suppressing patents for miracle cures–a scenario hauntingly similar to the real-life payoffs that keep manufacturers from releasing generics, less expensive versions of top sellers.

These stories demonstrate popular suspicion of big business. They are one step removed from such actual problems as oil crises, drug rip-offs, and the horrors of sweatshop labor. But corporate public relations staffs do not distinguish between myth and fact–they use the same methods to cover up apocryphal stories as on true ones. The preface to Fredrick Koenig’s Rumor in the Marketplace–a 1985 guide to business rumor control–states that "next to an act of terrorism, what corporations fear most is that they may be targeted with an outlandish tall tale." The potential nightmare of diminished sales scares companies enough that some large firms have devised anti-rumor contingency plans. The miracle car story shows this truth as well–companies do their darnedest to hide information about wrongdoings, whether real or imaginary.

KKK Products

Myth: The Ku Klux Klan owns certain businesses that sell products meant for genocide, usually via smoking or sterilization.

Cigarettes (1950s-present)
In the rumor mill, tobacco companies are often associated with the KKK. The spelling of Kool, for example, was taken as a sign of Klan involvement. In the early 1990s, R.J. Reynolds became the subject of Klan rumors when it planned to market Uptown menthols in inner cities. Marlboro’s packaging was cited as evidence of Klan involvement, including three sideways K’s or hooded figures on the crest. When an anti-smoking tract by England’s Health Education Authority featured a Marlboro-like pack labeled with three K’s, Philip Morris threatened to sue the agency for reviving "defamatory allegations." As a result, the HEA withdrew the pamphlet from schools.

Church’s Fried Chicken (1970s-80s)
Some people claimed that an ingredient in the batter would sterilize black males (or any inner-city resident with access to the fast-food joint). In response to the rumor, Church’s PR department printed a list of fourteen minority individuals as references–headed by the current director of the NAACP–and included positive hiring statistics showing that 72 percent of managers and 50 percent of the board were people of color. California congressman Jim Bates intervened with FDA testing when he heard his constituents’ worries about the food’s safety.

Tropical Fantasy (1990)
This drink appeared exclusively in inner-city grocery stores and was thought to sterilize consumers. Brooklyn Bottling Inc. used standard methods (and some unorthodox ones) to fight the rumor. The company publicized the results of FDA tests and enlisted prominent community members in its efforts: New York mayor David Dinkins drank a bottle on television. They also gave out free samples and drove billboard-sized denials through black neighborhoods. In a matter of months, the rumor faded.

Racist Designs

Myth: A clothing line has Klan ties, or a star designer publicly reveals racial prejudices. In either case, Oprah scoops all news outlets.

Troop sportswear (1985-89)
Troop was legendary for its overpriced clothing. The name was rumored to stand for "To Rule Over Oppressed People," with that slogan (or worse) hidden in the jacket lining. LL Cool J denounced the company on Oprah, though other versions of the story pegged him as a puppet for the Klan. In response, Troop placed anti-Klan posters in stores and publicized endorsements by leaders of the NAACP and Operation Push. Celebrity franchise owners Willie Horton and Gladys Knight also lent their support. Troop’s marketing director dramatically refuted the hidden-message claims by slicing open five jackets at an Alabama store. Even so, Troop declared bankruptcy after four years in business.

Liz Claiborne, Inc. (1991-present)
Claiborne supposedly told Oprah that she didn’t like to see blacks in her clothes, so she designed outfits that wouldn’t fit large bottoms comfortably. Oprah kicked Liz off the set, cut to commercial, and ended the show in a robe, having discarded her Claiborne apparel. Fearing that denials in the press would publicize the rumor, the company responded to individual inquiries with a form letter. The company also aggressively advertised its charitable contributions.

Tommy Hilfiger (1996-present)
According to email forwards, Hilfiger appeared on Oprah saying he never intended blacks or Asians to wear his clothes. The firm debunked the rumor on its web page, then replaced the denial with warm, fuzzy news once the rumor had passed. Oprah herself countered the claim at the beginning of her show.

Rip-Off Recipe Revenge

Myth: A customer requests a dessert recipe from a restaurant or store, but the company charges 100 times the expected price for a fairly standard recipe.

Waldorf Astoria (1950s-80s)
When confronted with a version of this rumor involving a Red Velvet Cake in 1965, the Waldorf denied serving such a cake. By the late 70s, the restaurant’s PR department was distributing "The Authentic Waldorf Red Velvet Cake Recipe." If you can’t beat ’em . . .

Mrs. Fields (1984-89)
Unlike the Waldorf, Mrs. Fields couldn’t divulge its top secret recipe when the rumor hit. Instead the company used an ad blitz and store posters headlined "Mrs. Fields recipe has never been sold." The fine print further refuted the legend by stating that the company uses "specially blended ingredients" (read: mass-produced in factories) unavailable at supermarkets.

Neiman Marcus (1990s)
After an email forward popularized a Neiman Marcus variant of the recipe rumor, the company countered the claims on its website. The site defines "urban myth" and explains that one has spread about their "signature cookie," and then follows the Waldorf’s lead by providing a free recipe. Neiman Marcus cafes didn’t even serve cookies until after the rumor circulated–the store decided to capitalize on the story by marketing a new product.