Under the Influence with Terry O'Reilly - S7E20 - Avon Calling: Door-To-Door Marketing

Episode Date: May 18, 2018

This week, we explore the art of door-to-door sales. From encyclopaedias, to make-up, to vacuum cleaners, many corporations were built on the shoe leather of direct sales. It was a tough way to make a living. But the best salespeople never met a door they couldn't open. We’ll even look at the famous names in Hollywood that started out as door-to-door salespeople. The list may surprise you… Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hi, it's Terry O'Reilly. As you may know, we've been producing a lot of bonus episodes while under the influences on hiatus. They're called the Beatleology Interviews, where I talk to people who knew the Beatles, work with them, love them, and the authors who write about them. Well, the Beatleology Interviews have become a hit, so we are spinning it out to be a standalone podcast series. You've already heard conversations with people like actors Mark Hamill, Malcolm McDowell, and Beatles confidant Astrid Kershaw. But coming up, I talk to May Pang, who dated John Lennon in the mid-70s. I talk to double fantasy guitarist Earl Slick, Apple Records creative director John Kosh. I'll be talking to Jan Hayworth,

who designed the Sgt. Pepper album cover. Very cool. And I'll talk to singer Dion, who is one of only five people still alive who were on the Sgt. Pepper cover. And two of those people were Beatles. The stories they tell are amazing. So thank you for making this series such a success. And please, do me a favor, follow the Beatleology interviews on your podcast app. You don't even have to be a huge Beatles fan, you just have to love storytelling.

Subscribe now, and don't miss a single beat. From the Under the Influence digital box set, this episode is from, no, noon. You're not you when you're hungry. You're a good hand with all things. You're under the influence with Terry O'Reilly. Knock, knock.

Who's there? A door. A door who? A door is between us. Open up. Yes, the knock-knock joke has been around for a long, long time. It's so perennial that the setup instantly signals

the incoming joke. And while the typical knock-knock joke is incredibly simple, you can almost never guess where it's going. But when did the infamous knock-knock joke start? Knock-knock. Who's there?

Goliath. Goliath who? Goliath down, thou looketh tired. Speaketh of that, some historians think the first knock-knock joke was written by Shakespeare. In the play Macbeth,

written in 1606, there is a scene in Act II where a drunken porter, or doorkeeper, of Macbeth, written in 1606, there is a scene in Act II where a drunken porter, or doorkeeper of Macbeth's castle, complains that his job is worse than being the doorkeeper at the gates of hell. So, as comic relief, he starts playing a little game with himself. He says, knock, knock, knock, followed by, who's there? Then imagines three separate scenarios having to answer the door of hell.

If that was the origin of the knock, knock joke, it didn't catch on, because it really doesn't seem to show up again until the 20th century. Around 1900, there was a version of the knock, knock joke that began with the words, do you know, as in, do you know Arthur? Arthur who?

Arthur Mometer. Good one. But the joke structure we all know really took off in the Depression years of the 1930s. It was a decade in desperate need of a little humor. It is believed the first printed knock-knock joke of the 20th century appeared in a newspaper in 1934. Knock-knock. Who's there?

Rufus. Rufus who? Rufus, the most important part of your house. From there, the punny joke caught fire. In 1936, entertainment industry trade magazine Variety reported that a knock-knock craze was sweeping the country. It became a fun kids' game, then an adult parlor game. Knock-knock clubs sprang up. Then came a hit song.

Knock, knock. Who's there? Sarah. Sarah who? Sarah doctor in the house. Knock, knock. Who's there? Emma! Emma who? Emma gonna have trouble with you. In the 1950s, the knock-knock joke went global.

But instead of knock-knock, it was talk-talk in France, clop-clop in Holland, and Con Con in Japanese. A quick search of Amazon reveals literally hundreds of books dedicated to knock-knock jokes. And to this day, Knock Knock Who's There? is a seminal chapter in the history of jokes. The world of marketing has a knock-knock-who's-there history too. But it wasn't a joke.

It was a serious method of selling. It was the era of the door-to-door salesperson. From encyclopedias and brushes to makeup and vacuum cleaners, many people have opened their doors to find smiling salespeople standing there. And many corporations were built on the shoe leather of those sales forces. It was a tough way to make a living, but the best salespeople never met a door they couldn't open. Avon calling. You're under the influence.

Back in 1886, David H. McConnell was a door-to-door book salesman. He would travel from town to town in a horse and buggy and knock on doors. To entice housewives to open those doors, he would give them a free vial of rose-scented perfume, which he blended at home at night. Soon, McConnell realized women were much more interested in his perfume than his books. So he dropped the books and concentrated on the perfume. He created the California Perfume Company.

His book-selling experience taught him two things, that many women were struggling to make ends meet, and that the door-to-door approach was ideal for a cosmetics company, especially in rural towns where women had little access to cosmetic stores. Even though it was practically unheard of for a woman to run her own business in the late 1800s, McConnell recruited some of his best customers as salespeople. Women welcomed the opportunity to earn extra income, they were passionate about the products, and because women knew the other women in their towns, they had an ability to network. By 1887, McConnell had 12 female representatives.

Thirteen years later, there were over 5,000. The name of the company was changed to Avon in 1937, and by 1954, sales had jumped to $55 million. That year, the company launched its first television campaign celebrating its door-to-door saleswomen. Welcome her. Avon calling. Today, Avon has over 6 million representatives who generate over $10 billion in annual sales.

Burglar! One of the earliest door-to-door marketing categories was parodied in a very funny Monty Python sketch. Yes? Burglar, madam. What do you want? I want to come in and Yes? Burglar, madam. What do you want? I want to come in and steal a few things, madam. Are you an encyclopedia salesman?

No, madam. I'm a burglar. I burgle people. I think you're an encyclopedia salesman. Oh, I'm not. Open the door. Let me in, please. If I let you in, you'll sell me encyclopedias. I won't, madam. I just want to come in, ransack the flat. Honestly. Promise? No encyclopedias. I won't, madam. I just want to come in, ransack the flat. Honestly. Promise? No encyclopedias? None at all. All right.

As it turns out, he was an encyclopedia salesman who thought he would have better luck getting past the door by saying he was a burglar. There was a time when encyclopedia salesmen was a familiar punchline because they were such a ubiquitous presence in our lives. The Encyclopedia Britannica was probably the most famous brand to be marketed in North America.

It began here in 1903 and was an extremely profitable business. It cost about $250 to produce a full set, and they sold for between $500 a set to over $2,000 for a leather-bound edition. Then, in 1923, Sears Roebuck purchased Britannica and began to assemble a highly polished sales force of over 2,000 people and trained them to sell the books door to door.

See, Britannica had a very interesting marketing theory. They believed encyclopedias were sold, not bought. Therefore, a persuasive door-to-door sales force was critical. The house-to-house salesman symbolizes in a way the function of all salesmen, which is to bring goods or services to the attention of the consumer and to help the consumer buy. The main target audience for encyclopedias was lower-income families. Britannica salesmen capitalized on the aspirations parents had for their kids. They weren't selling books. They were selling dreams.

The encyclopedias were positioned as a ticket to the middle class. Payment plans were offered. In 1943, Britannica was purchased by advertising executive William Benton, co-founder of the powerful

Benton & Bowles Advertising Agency. A savvy marketer, Benton widened the target audience by appealing to the middle class, convincing them that having a full set of Encyclopedia Britannica on display in a living room was a sign of success. Britannica's door-to-door sales force prospered until the 1970s, when suddenly there was no one home to answer the door,

as women were entering the workforce in unprecedented numbers. So Britannica stopped selling door-to-door and instead gave their salespeople leads generated from advertising and 1-800 numbers. Salespeople still did all the selling in the home, but now they were invited. Encyclopedia Britannica sales peaked in 1990. A few years later, Microsoft offered to buy the company,

but Britannica turned the software giant down. You can guess what happened next. The Internet disrupted the encyclopedia business, forcing Britannica to announce the end of its printed books. The 32-volume 2010 edition would be its last. business, forcing Britannica to announce the end of its printed books. The 32-volume 2010 edition would be its last. But the Encyclopedia Britannica, built on the power of its door-to-door salespeople, has survived and exists online today by charging a subscription fee to access its pages.

What about selling as a career for you? There have been a lot of successful people who started their careers selling door-to-door. John Paul DeGioia, who created the Paul Mitchell line of professional hair products, began his career selling encyclopedias. Sarah Blakely, who invented Spanx, sold fax machines door-to-door. Howard Schultz, founder of Starbucks, sold word processors to companies door-to-door. Advertising great

David Ogilvie, who founded ad agency Ogilvie & Mather, sold Ega stoves door-to-door in England long before his madman career. The Reverend Billy Graham, television personality Dick Clark, baseball hall of famer Joe DiMaggio, actor Dennis Quaid, and businessman Ed Mervish were all door-to-door salesmen. While they didn't sell books or stoves, they brushed up

on another product. And we'll be right back. If you're enjoying this episode, why not dip into our archives, available wherever you download your pods. Go to terryoreilly.ca for a master episode list. In 1906, a man named Alfred Fuller had a singular passion, making brushes. Born in Wellsford, Nova Scotia, Fuller later moved to Massachusetts, where he handcrafted brushes in various shapes and sizes. His goal was to create such high-quality brushes

that they would alleviate the drudgery of cleaning. To sell them, he went door to door displaying his selection and taking orders. Then, he'd head back home, make the brushes, and deliver them the next day. He was the first fuller brush man, and he brought to the home the solution of many a personal and household cleaning problem. His brushes were intelligently designed and well made of materials of highest quality. A Fuller broom cost a pricey $1.95, the equivalent of over $40 today. But they would outwear cheaper brooms. Thus, Fuller's pitch was that his products were more affordable in the long run. It was a

major doorstep selling point. He called his business the Fuller Brush Company. And as word spread about the quality of his products, business began to grow. So Fuller hired a team of door-to-door salesmen to work on commission. Their target customer? Housewives. Salesmen would drop off catalogs to houses between 5 and 7 p.m., containing a coupon for a free brush. But in order to redeem the coupon for their free gift, housewives would have to make an appointment

for the salesman to come back. As every door-to-door salesperson knows, crossing the threshold into a home is the goal. Once past the door, the chances of a sale skyrocket. That follow-up appointment gave Fuller Brush salesmen that very thing, allowing them to display their product line and make a sale. By the 1930s, when people were starting to tell knock-knock jokes, the Fuller Brush Company employed over 5,000 salespeople to knock on doors, all male. Thus, they coined the familiar greeting, Good afternoon, madam. I'm your Fuller Brush, madam. The Fuller Brush

line expanded to over 75 products, from tooth and hairbrushes to brooms and mops. But as the Great Depression loomed, it became harder to sell products for a premium price. So Alfred Fuller made a big decision, to cut prices drastically. The salesmen weren't happy, but Fuller believed that a drop in price would result in an increase in sales. He was right.

Broom sales jumped from about $5,000 a month to $50,000. And by 1937, sales were over $10 million. By the 40s, almost everyone had had a Fuller Brush man knock on their door. I listen for the bell. I primp in powder soap. I know his footsteps well in case you do not know. I've got a crush.

I've got a crush on the Fuller Brush man. Over the next two decades, Fuller Brush thrived. But by the 70s, Fuller Brush salesmen ran into the same problem as encyclopedia salesmen.

The typical housewife was no longer home to answer the door. Sales began to decline. So, in the 80s, they developed a mail-order catalog and opened five brick-and-mortar stores across the U.S. After two years, sales jumped over 40%. But Fuller Brush didn't forget about its door-to-door sales force and finally hired women to join the team. During the 80s, door-to-door sales still generated 60% of the company's $160 million annual revenue. 30 years later, times got tough and the company filed for bankruptcy in 2012, but emerged to still exist today.

The company is still considered one of the pioneers of door-to-door salesmanship, and it would inspire two Fuller Brush employees to start their own company. Frank Stanley Beveridge was born in 1879. And like so many of the successful people we talk about on our show, he too was born on the East Coast in Pembroke Shores, Nova Scotia. He eventually moved south to Massachusetts, where he was accepted to Mount Hermon School to study horticulture. But the cost of tuition was steep,

so Beveridge took a part-time sales job at a retail store to make ends meet. Little did he know, it would be his sales job that would plant a seed. After leaving school, he decided to pursue a career in sales, and in 1913, Beveridge was hired in the sales department at the Fuller Brush Company. He worked his way up to the president of sales just six years later

and hired a secretary named Catherine O'Brien. The two worked together at Fuller Brush until 1930, when Beveridge left the company and the pair parted ways. Until one year later when Beveridge had an idea. Smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression, Beveridge decided to reunite

with O'Brien and start a business together. They called it Stanley Home Products. The company began by using the same door-to-door model that had proven successful for Fuller Brush. But while Fuller Brush was cutting prices to stay afloat during the Depression, one Stanley Home salesman knocked on a door that would change the company forever.

The door he knocked on that day belonged to a minister in Maine whose wife was holding a fundraiser inside for her husband's church. Too busy hostessing to listen to a sales pitch, she asked him to return another day. The salesman agreed, tipped his hat, and began to turn away when the minister's wife stopped him and made an offer. If he contributed a percentage of his sales to their church, she would allow him inside to demonstrate his products to her guests.

Both the salesman and the church made big bucks that day. Word of the sale made its way to Beveridge and O'Brien. That gave them an idea. And that's how the Stanley Hostess Plan was born. It worked like this. A Stanley Holmes salesman would knock on a door and ask

a housewife to invite a few of her friends over for a get-together. There, the salesman would give a product demonstration. Guests could order any products they like, and the rest of the time was used for games and food provided by the hostess. All guests went home with a small gift for attending, and the hostess would get a cut of the profits from any sales.

By 1937, the company had grown so big that it struggled to keep up with orders. By the 40s, sales reached $3 million. By the 50s, sales soared to $50 million. It was a successful strategy, until it finally met a door it couldn't open, namely the 1970s. Like the Fuller Brush Company and Encyclopedia Britannica, their happy homemaker-dependent sales took a dive. So, Stanley Home Products began offering mail and telephone sales. In 1983, they shortened their name to Stan Home, selling giftware, collectibles, cleaning agents, cosmetics, and personal care products. By the mid-90s, Stanholm was making over three-quarters of a billion dollars annually.

A child of the Fuller Brush Method that took door-to-door sales to the next level. It was a lesson chemist Earl Topper would soon adopt. If you're looking for flexible workouts, Peloton's got you covered. Summer runs or playoff season meditations, whatever your vibe, Peloton has thousands of classes built to push you. We know how life goes. New father, new routines, new locations. What matters is that you have something there to adapt with you,

whether you need a challenge or rest. And Peloton has everything you need, whenever you need a challenge or rest. And Peloton has everything you need, whenever you need it. Find your push. Find your power. Peloton. Visit Peloton at onepeloton.ca. Earl Tupper was a chemist who experimented with plastics. One day, his employer gave him a few tons of a new polyethylene product they had invented for the war effort, because the war had ended and they didn't know what to do with it. It was a light synthetic material that was black, tough, and had a terrible smell. But Tupper figured out a way to turn it into plastic

that was both translucent, flexible, and unscented. He shaped it into small storage containers and, most importantly, created matching airtight sealable lids. That breakthrough could keep food fresh for long periods of time. And the shape of the containers made them stackable in refrigerators. He called it Tupperware. It was revolutionary. But shoppers didn't think so.

When Tupperware hit the market in 1946, it flopped. Up until that time, the public had only used glass jars to store their food. And the multicolored plastic Tupperware containers just looked futuristic and weird. Tupper needed a way to show housewives how life-changing his product could be. Enter Brownie Wise. Wise was a columnist in Detroit, Michigan. She was also a single mother, and when her young son fell ill,

doctors advised her to move south for his health. They settled in Florida, where Wise started a business called Patio Parties. She worked with women to hold demonstration parties and sell products by Stanley Home. But when Wise set her eyes on Tupperware for the first time, she instantly saw potential and knew how to sell it. Her idea was to convince women to hold house parties and invite their friends over, where Wise could demonstrate and sell Tupperware products. Her resounding success didn't go unnoticed by the Tupperware company, and in 1951, Wise made a groundbreaking career move. She was hired by Tupperware to work as the VP of Marketing, an unprecedented position

for a woman in the 1950s. There, she fine-tuned the house party concept and created the now iconic Tupperware Party. At these parties, a female associate would demonstrate Tupperware's revolutionary lid by filling a Tupperware bowl with red wine or grape juice, sealing it tight, then tossing the bowl around the room to the amazement of the guests. Wise was passionate about empowering women and made sure their hard work got the recognition they deserved. Her motto? You build the people and they'll build the business.

She encouraged women to support each other, creating what's been called the antithesis of male corporate culture. By 1954, Tupperware sales hit $25 million and the company employed 20,000 people. Eventually, Wise became the face of the company and the first woman ever to appear on the cover of Business Week magazine. But in the late 50s, Earl Tupper wasn't happy with Brownie Wise and her growing profile. Tupper wanted to sell the company and felt that having a woman as the face of the brand would hinder the sale. So in 1958, after everything Wise had done to build the company, the board abruptly fired her with nothing more than a year's salary as payout. Shortly afterward, Tupperware sold for $10 million. Brownie Wise would go off to work at other sales companies, and Earl Tupper would go off to buy an

island where he lived as a hermit for the rest of his life. But the success of Tupperware was mostly thanks to Brownie Wise. She understood that parties were the best way to demonstrate a space-age product to customers emerging from the sacrifices of the Second World War. Wise's larger legacy was proving that women, too, were capable of rising to the top of the business world. And she did it at a time where most women

were still contained in the kitchen. The history of door-to-door selling is, in many ways, the history of marketing. Many successful advertising agency founders and Fortune 500 CEOs began their careers as door-to-door salespeople. The persuasive techniques they developed back then to survive rejection and get past the threshold became the building blocks of marketing.

The art of door-to-door selling hasn't gone away. There are still companies that use a walking sales force. And it's interesting to note that famed investor Warren Buffett, himself an ex-salesman, owns several companies that still rely on door-knocking, including World Book Encyclopedias and Kirby Vacuum Cleaners. It's also interesting to note that Ontario and Alberta have recently banned the door-to-door selling of certain products,

including heating, air, and water systems, which had generated over 7,000 complaints in just three years. And while door-to-door selling did bring products to isolated rural communities, it also created some predatory selling practices, from promising free gifts that weren't really free to the creation of pyramid schemes. But the original idea of door-to-door selling does have its place in history. It allowed people to put food on the table in tough times, it helped inspire modern marketing, and it gave many women a way to earn money and be independent. Knock, knock. Who's there? Annie. Annie who? Any way you look at it,

you're under the influence. I'm Terry O'Reilly. Under the Influence was recorded in the Terror Stream. Producer, Debbie O'Reilly. Sound Engineer, Keith Ullman. Theme music by Ari Posner and Ian Lefevre. Research, Jillian Gora. Co-writer, Sydney O'Reilly. For a master list of all of our episodes over the past 13 years,

go to terryoreilly.ca and click Under the Influence. See you next week. This episode brought to you by Tupperware. Just burp a little air out and you lock freshness in. By the way, feel free to peruse

the Under the Influence shop. We've got some fun t-shirts that will fit you to a tee. Go to terryoreilly.ca slash shop. Every purchase supports the show and we appreciate it.