My Life In Advertising

by Claude C. Hopkins

Every advertising venture in its initial stage means simply feeling the public pulse.

If people do not respond, the fault often lies with the product, or to circumstances beyond control. The loss is a trifle, if anything, in ventures which are rightly conducted. Hopes and ideas which fail to pan out are mere incidents. I refer to catastrophes, to the crash of wild speculations. I mean advertising men who pilot some big and costly ship to the rocks. Those men rarely recover. Pilots who prove reckless are forever feared. I have seen scores of promising men in this line wreck themselves with their ships, just because they ventured with all sails spread on some un charted course. So far as I remember, not one of them ever came back. The Scotch blood in my veins has for thirty-five years kept me from such disasters. Because of my mother, a dime to me has always looked as big as a dollar. Not my dimes only, but the other fellow’s dimes. I have spent them carefully, both as owner and trustee. I have never gambled in a large way, whether acting for myself or for others. So, the failures I have made, and they are many have never counted strongly against me. I have escaped the distrust engendered by conspicuous disaster. When I lost, I lost little in money and nothing in confidence. When I won, I often gained millions for my client and a wealth of prestige for myself. That I largely owe to my mother. I owe her vastly more. She taught me industry. I can scarcely remember an hour, night, or day when mother was not at work. She was a college graduate with great intellec...

Yet it never occurred to me that I was working hard. In after years, I di...

I had no working hours. When I ceased before midnight. that was a holiday for me. I often left my office at two o’clock in the morning. Sundays were my best working days because there were no interruptions. For sixteen years after entering business, I rarely had an evening, or a Sunday not occupied by work. I am not advising others to follow my example. I would not advise a boy of mine to do so. Life...

But the man who works twice as long as his fellows is bound to go twice as far, e...

One cannot get around that.There is some difference in brains, of course, but it is not so important as the difference in industry. The man who does two or three times the work of another learns two or three times as much. He mak...

If I have gone higher than others in advertising, or done more, the fact is not due to exceptional ability, but to exceptional hours. It means that a man has sacrificed al...

Once I said in a speech, I figure that I have spent seventy years in advertising. The time is only thirty-five years by the calendar but measured by ordinary working hours and amount of work accomplished I have lived two years in one. Frugality and caution kept me from disaster, but industry taught me advertising and made me what I am.

One of the greatest advertising men this country has developed always went out to sell in person before he tried to sell in print. I have known him to spend weeks in going from farm to farm to learn the farmers’ viewpoint. I have known him to ring a thousand doorbells to gain the woman’s angle.

I came to love work as other men love golf. I love it still. Many a time I beg off from a bridge game, a dinner, or a dance to spend the evening in my office. I steal away from week-end parties at my country home to enjoy a few hours at my type writer.

So, the love of work can be cultivated, just like the love of play. The terms are interchangeable. What others call work I call play, and vice versa.

One of the products which father advertised was Vinegar Bitters. I afterward learned its history. A vinegar-maker spoiled a batch through some queer fermentation. Thus, he produced a product weird in its offensiveness. The people of those days believed that medicine must be horrible to be effective. We had oils and ointments “for man or beast” which would make either wild.

We used “snake oil” and “skunk oil,” presumably because of their names. Unless the cure was worse than the disease, no one would respect it.

So, we had all sorts of bitters. Vinegar Bitters was the worst of its kind, and therefore the most popular. Father accepted that wretched stuff dozens of bottles in payment for the advertising. People came to us for pianos, organs, sewing machines, etc., but not for medicines. So, our stock of Vinegar Bitters accumulated. Mother, being Scotch, could not tolerate waste. She was bound to use up that medicine and I, being the sickly one of the family was the victim. I took Vinegar Bitters morning, noon, and night. If the makers of that remedy are still in existence, I can testify that since then I have had remarkable health. Father, in his newspaper office, also printed bills. I used to study them; sometimes I would set them. Then I would go to the advertiser and solicit the job of distributing. There were one thousand homes in our city. I would offer to place one bill in each home for $2.. It meant traveling some thirty-five miles. Other boys offered to do the same job for $1.50, but they would place several bills in a. home and would skip all the far-away homes. I asked advertisers to compare the results, and I soon obtained a monopoly. That was my first experience with traced re...

A good article is its own best salesman. It is uphill work to sell goods, in print or i...

The hardest struggle of my life has been to educate advertisers to the use of samples. Or to trials of some kind. They would not think of sending out a salesman without samples. But they will spend fortunes on advertising to urge people to buy without seeing or testing. Some say that samples cost too much. Some argue that repea...

It will teach any man in one day, that selling without samples is many times as hard as with them.

I learned this also from street fakers. I stood for hours to listen to them in the torchlight. I realize now that I drank in their methods and theories. They never tried to sell things without demonstration. They showed in some dramatic way what the product they sold would do. It is amazing how many advertisers know less than those men about salesmanship.

I have sent out in magazines and newspapers hundreds of millions of coupons. Some were good for a sample; some were good for a full-sized pack age free at any store. My name is identified with this system of advertising. I have sampled every sort of thing. Nothing else has done so much to make me a factor in advertising. Yet how simple it is and how natural.

I went up that morning to the mayor Mr. Resiguc before he left his home. He received me very cordially. I was a widow’s son. I had the cordial support of all our best people in my efforts to make money. And I have teamed since that every young person has. A man who has made a success-desires to sec others make a success. A man who has worked wants to sec others work. I am that way. Countless young people now flock to my home, but the welcome ones are those who work, whether young men or young women. A boy having a good time on his father’s money has always been offensive to me. So, to a degree, a young woman. If there is to be any equality between the sexes, there should be equality in effort. People of either sex must justify existence.

I realize now why Mr. Resigue received me so politely that morning. I was a town boy, struggling to succeed. Never in my busiest hour have I ever refused to meet such a boy or girl myself. I have spent many precious hours with them, financed them and advised them. There is nothing I admire more than the spirit to win one’s way.

He listened to me until I brought out my book. Then he gave it one glance and threw the book in my lap. He said, “You are welcome in my home, but not your book. One of you must depart. You may stay here as long as you wish to, but your book must go into the street. I consider that an Allen Pinkerton book is an offense to all I stand for.” That was a revelation. I have seen it exemplified scores of times since then. Hundreds of men have discussed their pet projects with me.

Boards of directors have gravely decided that the world must be on their side. I have urged them to make tests, to feel out the public pulse. I have told them that people in general could never be judged by our-selves. Some have listened and profited, some have scorned my opinions. Sometimes those who decided to judge the world by themselves, succeeded. Four times in five they failed. I know of nothing more ridiculous than gray-haired boards of directors deciding on what housewives want.

We live in a democracy. On every law there are divided opinions. So, in every preference, every want. Only the obstinate, the bone-headed, will venture far on personal opinion.

We must submit all things in advertising, as in everything else, to the-court of public opinion.

Let me digress here to say that the road to success lies through ordinary people. They form the vast majority. The man who knows them and is one of them stands the vastly better chance. Some of the greatest successes I have ever known in advertising were ignorant men. Tw o are now heads of agencies. One of them has made much money in advertising a man who can hardly sign his name. But he knew ordinary people, and the ordinary people bought what he had to sell. One of them wrote copy which would induce a farmer to mortgage his barn to respond. But his every sentence had to be edited for grammar.

Now college men come to us by the hundreds and say, “We have education, we have literary style.” I say to them that both those things arc handicaps. The great majority of men and women cannot appreciate literary style. If they do, they fear it. They fear over-influence when it comes to spending money. Any unique style excites suspicion. Any evident effort to sell creates corresponding resistance. Any appeal which seems to come from a higher class arouses their resentment. Any dictation is abhorrent to us all.

I had been growing away from mother’s strict ideas of religion. I knew that she could not approve of me if she knew me as I was. She was a fundamentalist. She believed in a personal devil, in hell fire, and in all the miracles. To her the Bible was a history, inspired by its writers and to be taken literally. The earth was created in six days. Eve was derived from Adam’s rib. William Jennings Bryan would have been mother’s idol. I had been growing away from her orthodox conceptions, but I had not dared to tell her. It would mean the destruction of her fondest illusions. But during the summer I had prepared a sermon based on my ideas of religion. It countenanced the harmless joys of life which had been barred to me. It argued against hell fire, against infant damnation, against the discipline I knew. It even questioned the story of the creation and of Jonah and the whale. I resolved to deliver the sermon that night and face the consequences. I was eighteen then. Never since then have I dared to face a crisis like that. Unless I entered the ministry, I felt that my school days were ended. I had come to Chicago to decide on my course, and this was the test. That evening in the pulpit remains one of my clearest memories. There were eight hundred people in the audience, averaging twice my age. But I forgot them all. Mother was the only auditor whom I had in mind. I knew that the minister who sat behind me was mother’s friend. His orthodox ideas agreed with hers. So, I felt myse...

Mother was never the same to me again. She could not forgive my delinquency. We rarely met after that day. She lived to see me successful in other occupations, but she never discussed them with me. I had blighted her ambitions. But if advertising had ever been made to me as oppressive as religion, I would have abandoned that. I have, in fact, quit many a big account because of some-what similar reasons. I believe every man should do so. No man can succeed in any line where he finds himself in disagreement and where unhappiness results. I consider business’s a game and I play it as a game. That is why I have been and still am, so devoted to it.

Grandfather, who lived at my uncle’s home, admired the way I worked. He called me Mr. Stick to-itiveness. There were two of us boys on the farm, cousins of the same age. I worked sixteen hours a day, my cousin worked as little as he could. So, grandfather decided to back me. All he had in the world was $100, saved to bury him. He offered that to me on condition that I assume the burial expense when it came. Of course, I did. That was another crisis in my career. There were two grandsons of similar age. So far as anyone knew, there was no choice in ability. I, being a back-slider, had to face considerable disapproval. But I had saved $100, and I worked. The other boy had saved nothing, and he did not like to work. So, I was the one who secured the help which changed the current of my life. The other boy became a locomotive fireman. So, it has been in many a juncture I have witnessed since.

The saver and the worker get the preference of the men who control opportunities. And often that preference proves to be the most important thing in life.

He gave me a letter to E. G. Studley, and I went to interview him. He was interested in the Grand Rapids Felt Boot Company. The young man who had kept the books had been advanced to superintendent. They wanted someone in his place. If that superintendent considered me qualified, I could have the position. I went to him and secured it. The bookkeeping was a minor item. I was expected to sweep the floors and wash the windows. I was also to be errand boy. The chief condition was that I was never to wear a coat. The superintendent was very democratic. He wanted no “dudes” about him. In the office and on errands downtown I was always to appear in my shirt sleeves. I could qualify for that position because I had two shirts left.

Then came the question of living on $4.50 per week. I found a small room with a widow who wanted a man in the house. That cost me one dollar per week. In a restaurant over a grocery store a dingy man served dingy meals at $2.50 per week. They were beyond my reach. I had to con sider my laundry. So, I arranged with him to miss two meals a week and get board for $2. 25. I was a young man, active and ever hungry. Always the great question was what meals to miss. I tried breakfast but morning found me starving. I tried luncheon, but that lost meal would spoil my afternoon. My only way was to race by the restaurant at night and go to bed. And that I could not do unless I crossed the street. The smell of the food would tempt me to forget the shirt sleeves which formed so great a factor in my work.

That sounds rather pitiful, but it wasn’t. It was a great advance over my cedar-swamp experience. I slept alone in a bed, instead of on a hay mow with railroad section men. So long as we are going upward, nothing is a hardship. But when we start d...

Mr. M. R. Bissell, president of the Bissell Carpet Sweeper Company. He was a genial man, and I saw in him my chance to a higher salary. One day I waylaid him on his way to lunch. I pictured the difficulties of a young man living on $4.50 per week. There was no need to exaggerate. There on his way to lunch I told him of the two meals weekly I was obliged to miss. Above all, I pictured my dream of pie. I knew a restaurant which served pie at dinner, but the board was $3.50 per week. My greatest ambition at that time was to get that pie. From him I learned another kink in human nature. Struggle and poverty did not appeal to him. He had known them well, and he considered them good for a fellow. But he loved pie and had never been denied it. So, he invited me home to eat pie. And he arranged for a salary of $6 per week so I could have pied every day.

HOW I GOT MY START IN ADVERTISING That contact with Mr. Bissell led to frequent contacts. Soon we entered the cold weather season when my duties became heavy. “I hear you are working hard,” Mr. Bissell said to me one day. I replied, “I should work hard, for I have so many easy months.” He insisted on the details, and he learned that I was leaving my office at two o’clock in the morning and appearing again at eight. Like all big men whom I have known, he was a tremendous worker. He had always done the average work of three men. So, the hours that I kept gave him interest in me, and he urged me to join his office force. In the early stages of our careers none can judge us by results. The shallow men judge us by likings, but they are not men to tic to. The real men judge us by our love of work, the basis of their success. They employ us for work, and our capacity for work counts above all else. I started with the Bissell Carpet Sweeper Company in February as assistant bookkeeper at $40 a month. By November I had advanced to $75. I was head bookkeeper then, and my position offered on chance to go farther.

A bookkeeper is an expense. In all business expenses are kept down. I could never be worth more than any other man who could do the work I did. The big salaries were paid to salesmen, to the men who brought in orders, or to the men in the factory who reduced the costs. They showed profits, and they could command a reasonable share of those profits.

One incident which I remember occurred in Pittsburgh. A clothing concern was on the verge of bankruptcy. They called in Powers, and he immediately measured up the situation. He said: “There is only one way out. Tell the truth. Tell the people that you arc bankrupt and that your only way to salvation lies through large and immediate sales.” The clothing dealers argued that such an announcement would bring every creditor to their doors. But Powers said: “No matter. Either tell the truth or I quit.”

Their next day’s ad. read something like this: “We are bankrupt. We owe $125,000, more than we can pay. This announcement will bring our creditors down on our necks. But if you come and buy tomorrow we shall have the money to meet them. If not, we go to the wall. These are the prices we are quoting to meet this situation:” Truth was then such a rarity in advertising that this announcement created a sensation. People flocked by the thousands to buy, and the store was saved.

Since I had done what they deemed impossible and sold sweepers by letter, they could hardly refuse me a reasonable latitude. They agreed to build 2.50,000 sweepers, twelve woods to the dozen, for me. While they were building the sweepers, I arranged my plans.

I wrote letters to dealers in effect as follows: ‘‘Bissell carpet sweepers arc today offered twelve woods to the dozen-the twelve finest woods in the world. They come with display racks free. They come with pamphlets, like the one enclosed, to feature these twelve woods. They will never be offered again. We offer them on condition that you sign the agreement enclosed. You must display them until sold on the racks and with the cards we furnish. You must send out our pamphlets in every package which leaves your store for three weeks.”

I offered a privilege, not an inducement. I appeared as a benefactor, not as a salesman. So, dealers responded in a way that sold our sto...

Let us pause here for a moment. That was my beginning in advertising. It was my first success. It was based on pleasing people, like everything else I have done. It sold, not only to dealers, but to users. It multiplied the use of carpet sweepers. And it gave to Bi...

After that I gave up my bookkeeping and devoted my time to selling. I sold more carpet sweepers by my one-cent letters than fourteen salesmen on the road combined. At the same time our salesmen increased their sales by having new features to talk. Thus, Bissell carpet sweepers attained the position which they hold today. They came to control some 95 per cent of the trade. The advertising was done by the dealer. The demand grew and grew until the Bissell Company became, I believe, the richest concern in Grand Rapids.

This Company dominated with 95% share of the Market becausme they were Marketing at scale while the rest of the companies were using Salesmen. This is what we is happening in Private Poker Games Market. Everyone is using Salesmen. Noone is Marketing.

Just at that time Lord & Thomas of Chicago first offered me a position. They had a scheme man named Carl Greig, who was leaving them to go with the Inter Ocean to increase the circulation. Lord & Thomas, who had watched my sweeper selling schemes, offered me his place. The salary was much higher than I received in Grand Rapids, so I told the Bissell people that I intended to take it. They called a directors’ meeting. Every person on the board had, in times past, been my vigorous opponent. All had fought me tooth and nail on every scheme proposed. They had never ceased to ridicule my idea of talking woods in a machine for sweeping carpets. But they voted unanimously to meet the Lord &. Thomas offers so I stayed. That, however, as I knew then, was but a temporary decision. I felt the call to a wider field, and the Chicago offer had whetted my ambitions. Soon after I received another and a larger offer and resigned.

LARGER FIELDS Now I approach a tragic epoch in my life. I was close to my limits in Grand Rapids. The offer from Lord & Thomas gave me wider recognition. Ambition surged within me, because of my mother’s blood. I became anxious to go higher. But I had built a new home in Grand Rapids. All the friends I knew were about me. There I enjoyed prestige. I knew that in a larger field I would have to sacrifice the things that I loved most. I suppose I was right in my desires, according to general standards. Ambition is everywhere applauded. But I have often returned to Grand Rapids to envy my old associates. They continued in a quiet, sheltered field. They met no large demands. Success and money came to them in moderation. But in my turbulent life, as I review it, I have found no joys they missed. Fame came to me, but I did not enjoy it. Money came in a measure, but I could never spend it with pleasure. My real inclination has always been toward the quiet paths. This story is written in gardens near Grand Rapids, where the homing instinct brought me. When my old friends and I get together here, it is hard to decide who took the wiser course.

In three weeks, I went to Chicago. I secured a room on Forty-third Street, because the cars there ran to the stockyards. The room was a small one, dark and dingy. I had to climb over my trunk to get into bed. On the dresser I placed a picture of my home in Grand Rapids, but I had to tum that picture to the wall before I could go to sleep. 1 The next morning I went to the stockyards and presented myself for work. Mr. Rich was away, so I was referred to Mr. L. F. Swift, now president of the company. He did not remember me. I said, “Three weeks ago you employed me as advertising manager.’’ “Is that so?” he replied. “I had entirely forgotten. If you are really employed here, go out and talk with Howes.” Consider that reception for a lonely man, already half discouraged. For a proud man, who considered himself important. For a man from a small city where everybody knew him, his importance and his place. But I was more unwelcome than I supposed. Mr. G. F. Swift, then head of the company, was in Europe when I was employed. It was his first vacation, and he could not endure it, so he hurried back.

At once he asked what I was doing in his office. When told that I was there to spend his money, he took an intense dislike to me, and it never changed.

The business he headed had been built without the use of print. He catered to nobody, asked nobody’s patronage. He had gained what he could by sheer force. He had the same contempt for an advertising man that a general must have for a poet.

He made my way very hard. I had come from gentle surroundings, from an office filled with friends. There I entered the atmosphere of war. There every conception of business was conflict, inside and outside the office.